Who's the asshole here?

The scene: I'm at Walgreens buying dried cranberries, a cream soda and a small tin Spider-Man lunch box (impulse buy). A very attractive woman in a hurry and a short skirt -- the type who probably is used to guys being awfully happy to help her out -- taps me on the shoulder and says, "Can I go ahead of you? I only have one thing."

I say, "I've got three," and turn my back. I can't deny enjoying the annoyed noise I heard behind me.

I can't plan for shit

I find that people are often surprised by what I'm into, really into, especially because different people meet me from different contexts. I remember the horror in one person's voice when she was flipping through my CDs and asked, "Why do you have a Cardigans album? Holy shit, why do you have ALL the Cardigans albums?"

No one would mark me as a country guy, and I'm really not, but with Stevie Ray Vaughan gone and Pizzicato Five broken up, the #1 show I want to see any time possible is Junior Brown.



Well I checked his tour schedule, and he's playing the House of Blues at Mandalay Bay the week I'm in Las Vegas in January -- an hour after my flight leaves. And there's an Indian stripper I'd love to take to that show. Goddamnit.

More tales of laziness

I live in a small apartment. It doesn't take much to keep clean, and I usually do a half-decent/half-assed job of maintenance cleaning, but I just don't want to. So I might get a maid.

But it's kind of embarrassing to hire a maid service for a glorified studio. In my head, I see her showing up and thinking, "He needs me to clean this?" Really, there isn't even two hours worth of work to do. So I feel like I need some kind of other excuse to have a maid come over.

Hiring a naked maid would be an excuse. I've found more than one ad for this kind of service, and although I'm actually more concerned about the cleaning than the nudity, the pretense gives me a plausible reason I would go to the trouble of hiring someone just to avoid five fucking minutes of vacuuming.

The funny thing is, as Kiki points out, that the pretense is supposed to work in the other direction: For most clients, the cleaning is actually an excuse to ogle a naked woman. But most clients aren't sick-in-the-head lazy.

Further bonus with the naked maid: Given that she'll assume I'm a pervert anyway, I won't have to do a porn sweep and hide the case for "Suck My Ass, Win Valuable Prizes".

You never hear people say "hanky panky" anymore

I have a dry cleaner in my building, but I go down the block because I like the motherly Korean lady who runs the place. I took my vacation laundry in today, and while she sorted through it, she said, "Ai-ya! Lipstick all over this shirt. You have some hanky panky?"

I think there are people other than doctors and priests who need confidentiality rules.

All my stories have strippers

Several loose ends and stray threads got tied up on this trip to Las Vegas. The top 5 things I learned:

1) I think I know things, but I don't know dick. About betting football, partly, but it's a good thought to keep in mind generally.

2) A burnt orange suit may just look like a slick, stylish brown indoors and at night, but in bright desert sunlight, hoo-boy, it might be pretty orange.

3) For fondue, putting a hunk of rice krispie treat on a stick and dipping it in chocolate is a kick-ass idea.

4) Jesus is only interesting up to a point. And even pretty naked ladies talking about Jesus is only interesting up to a point.

5) If a dancer insists that you exchange cell numbers, sometimes it is because you're going to be friends, but sometimes it's because she's trying to conduct certain types of business off-premises. I should be the last one to be naively unable to tell the difference, but, getting back to lesson #1, I fool the shit out of myself sometimes.

I love October

It's the official start of pumpkin pie season, Michigan is 5-0, the Tigers are in the playoffs, and it's time to bring out the jack-o-lanterns. I always get started with a Mr. Pumpkin Head for Kiki.



In a couple of weeks there will probably be a pumpkin-carving party (with pie). But I'll never be able to match this one.

Ah, memories ... wait, I don't remember

My sister mailed me something she found in an old book that apparently hasn't been opened in more than 20 years since she took it from the house we grew up in. Note the memo on what the check is for.



Apparently no pictures or negatives were found in the vicinity of the check, and for the life of me I can't remember what the gag was. Man, I'm getting old.

Anil, if you're out there, I guess it's safe. I've got nothing on you.