Last weekend, I went to my girlfriend’s aunt’s house to celebrate the Jewish holiday of Passover. Passover (or Pesach, as observant Jews — or non-observant Jews who pretend to be observant Jews — call it) is the celebration of the Jews’ escape from their Egyptian slave masters and the remembrance of their struggle.
And like all Jewish holidays, it has food.
All Jewish holidays, by the way, revolve around food. Hanukah? Potato latkes. Purim? Hamantashen (Jewish cookies). Yom Kippur? You don’t eat anything for a day to atone for your sins, but once the sun goes down, you have a big meal before commencing more sins.
Food. Food. Food. And Passover is no exception.
Now I have a confession to make (and I know I’m going to make myself an outcast among my fellow Jews everywhere with this statement): I hate Passover food.
There, I said it. It’s out there. In the open.
I mean, Passover food is just plain awful. And I’m not just referring to the bitter herbs that we eat to remind us of the bitter times when Egyptians made us build the pyramids (and it’s not like those things came fully assembled, I might add). I’m talking about the traditional cuisine associated with this holiday.
For example:
Matzah.
Matzah, for those who don’t know, is unleavened bread, which Jews eat during Passover to symbolize how the Jews had no time to leaven their bread – and instead made flat, hard cakes known as matzah – before running away from the Egyptians.
What’s wrong with Matzah?
Nothing.
Except for the fact that it sucks.
People, matzah is tasteless. It’s literally like eating drywall. It is absent flavor, smell and taste. It is so bad that one time, when I was a wee little Nev, I told my mom the following:
"Did you ever think the Jews ran away from slavery so we wouldn’t have to eat this crap? Did you ever think that we’d be dishonoring their memory if we didn’t eat real bread?"
She didn’t buy it.
Thus, in order for me to make matzah somewhat edible, I use the following ingredients:
Lots of salt.
Lots of pepper.
1 whole cube of butter.
Anything less than a cube and I have drywall aftertaste.
Now some people love this stuff. My girlfriend’s great uncle Fred, for example, was shoveling it like there was a 15-minute time limit. Fred, who is pushing 90, apparently woke up that day, decided he was once again a teenager with an insatiable appetite, and ate 47 pieces of matzah during the meal.
47.
It was like watching a Sizzler "all you can eat shrimp" commercial unfold before my very eyes.
And then there’s:
Manishevitz.
Manishevitz is the wine that is drank at all Jewish events involving prayer. It is also the first alcohol that most Jews consume in their lives, partaking in the beverage as children.
And that leads me to the following point:
If you hook every Jew up to a lie detector test and he or she said, "I LOVE MANISHEVITZ!!!" they would be branded as a liar.
Why?
Because deep down, they – like me – hate the stuff. It’s not that they think it tastes good. It’s that, when they drink it, they’re reminded of the days of yesteryear, when they were no taller than the end of Mommy’s skirt or Daddy’s knee, and they were allowed the rare treat of consuming alcohol.
They don’t like Manishevitz. They just like how cool it makes them feel.
Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me I’m wrong, fellow Jews!!
Regardless, this doesn’t stop them from consuming Manishevitz in mass quantities at Passover. It’s like the Jewish version of white lightning. You might as well just put it in a flask and sit under an oak tree with a banjo.
And finally, there’s:
Gefilte fish.
I have a theory about God:
I believe that every now and again, God makes something disgusting, makes sure it gets served at a religious holiday so that we feel blasphemous if we think ill of it, and laughs His ass off as we pretend to love His creation.
Hence, gefilte fish at Passover.
Simply put, this is the most disgusting food known to man. It’s poached fish patties, or balls, and typically stored in jars of jelly. It looks like something you’d find in the movie "Aliens."
At last week’s Passover, it was served with onions and horseradish on a big leaf of salty lettuce, and everyone was shoveling it in their mouths like it was gold from a treasure chest.
I could literally picture God laughing, a bag of potato chips and ice cold Pepsi in his hand, muttering, "What morons" as he partakes in his Ruffles.
Gefilte fish.
Vengeful, vengeful God.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Recently, I read an article about how adult film star Jenna Jameson is hell bent on segueing from porn movies to mainstream films.
With that in mind, she’s recently starring in the following movie:
Zombie Strippers.
No doubt a coming-of-age picture.
(Do you need to cheer someone up but have no idea how? Send them to nevdogg.blogspot.com and let me do the cheering up for you. Really, I don’t mind.)
-------
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Stephanie Friedberg. She’s a writer, she writes a blog about the art of writing, and she’s one of the few women on Earth who understand Major League Baseball’s "infield shift" concept. Read what she has to say at http://www.thewaterglass.blogspot.com/
Friday, April 25, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Motion-Detector Paper Towel Dispensers: Now We've Gone Too Far: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
I'm all for modern conveniences. I'm a simple guy, and as such like things that make life simpler.
Examples of modern conveniences that have changed all our lives:
Microwaves. Frozen dinners – and bacon – in under four minutes.
The remote control. For obvious reasons.
And finally:
Bags of ice.
Genius. Absolute genius.
But sometimes, we go too far. Sometimes, we just take the whole "simplify" concept a bit too literally.
Last weekend, I was visiting my friend Evan over in the Hollywood Hills – where I partook in an awesome chili and cheese omelet from my friends over at House of Pies – when I used the restroom and ran across a "modern convenience" that I absolutely can't stand:
The motion-detector paper towel dispenser.
I'm sure by now all of us have come across these, but for those who haven't, this is a machine in which – instead of grabbing the paper towel out of the dispenser by hand – you put your hand under the machine and a paper towel comes out for you to grab.
Here's my problem:
I'm an American. And as an American, I'm a fan of the concept known as "a lot." I like "a lot" of cheese in my omelets. I like "a lot" of ice in my beverage. I like having "a lot" of television channel options.
This also applies to my paper towels. When I'm finished washing my hands, I don't grab one. I grab two or three, maybe even four. I don't have time to see if I can dry my hands with one towel. I'm on the go, damn it. I want to be able to have the ability to grab a number of towels in a period of 0.75 seconds, bundle them up into one big "water-sapping" quilt, and be able to get my hands dry in one smooth once-over movement.
This motion-detecting machine?
One paper towel at a time.
If I need a second one?
I put my hand under the machine.
If I need a third one?
I put my hand under the machine.
Any extras?
Hand under the machine.
One at a time.
It's like asking the waiter for another basket of bread and him coming back with a single slice of pumpernickel.
And while we're on the subject of annoying technology, these motion-detector faucets are really starting to piss me off.
I don't know about you, but I like my water to run. I keep it running when I lather my hands with soap, I keep it running as I wash the soap off, I keep it running to make sure the water gets between my fingers to ensure a thorough hand cleaning.
But with these "new and improved" faucets?
Wave my hand under the faucet to lather the soap.
Wave my hand under the faucet to wash the soap off.
(repeat that step seven times, since the water only stays on for 2.3 seconds at a time)
Wave my hand under the faucet to get between-fingers soap.
(repeat step four times)
And after taking 10 minutes to do something that pre-modern technology took me eight seconds to do, where do I go next?
To the motion-detector paper towel machine.
It's a vicious, vicious cycle.
And one last thing:
Automatic flush toilets.
C'mon, people. Now we're just being lazy.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I was at work the other day talking to some co-workers about cross country trips. I personally have never done one, but a couple of these folks had. They talked about taking turns driving long distances, figuring out where to stay every night, how to find the best route, etc.
But one co-worker, who also had never been on a cross country trip, had one particular concern that made her hesitant to pursue such an adventure:
Where would I go to juice my iPod?
Yep.
Who knows? Maybe Triple AAA will soon come out with "iPod juicing" hot spots in their travel guides.
And then we'll have really passed the point of no return.
Do you like this blog? Tell friends, family members, even pets (you heard me: pets) about nevdogg.blogspot.com
------------
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
Examples of modern conveniences that have changed all our lives:
Microwaves. Frozen dinners – and bacon – in under four minutes.
The remote control. For obvious reasons.
And finally:
Bags of ice.
Genius. Absolute genius.
But sometimes, we go too far. Sometimes, we just take the whole "simplify" concept a bit too literally.
Last weekend, I was visiting my friend Evan over in the Hollywood Hills – where I partook in an awesome chili and cheese omelet from my friends over at House of Pies – when I used the restroom and ran across a "modern convenience" that I absolutely can't stand:
The motion-detector paper towel dispenser.
I'm sure by now all of us have come across these, but for those who haven't, this is a machine in which – instead of grabbing the paper towel out of the dispenser by hand – you put your hand under the machine and a paper towel comes out for you to grab.
Here's my problem:
I'm an American. And as an American, I'm a fan of the concept known as "a lot." I like "a lot" of cheese in my omelets. I like "a lot" of ice in my beverage. I like having "a lot" of television channel options.
This also applies to my paper towels. When I'm finished washing my hands, I don't grab one. I grab two or three, maybe even four. I don't have time to see if I can dry my hands with one towel. I'm on the go, damn it. I want to be able to have the ability to grab a number of towels in a period of 0.75 seconds, bundle them up into one big "water-sapping" quilt, and be able to get my hands dry in one smooth once-over movement.
This motion-detecting machine?
One paper towel at a time.
If I need a second one?
I put my hand under the machine.
If I need a third one?
I put my hand under the machine.
Any extras?
Hand under the machine.
One at a time.
It's like asking the waiter for another basket of bread and him coming back with a single slice of pumpernickel.
And while we're on the subject of annoying technology, these motion-detector faucets are really starting to piss me off.
I don't know about you, but I like my water to run. I keep it running when I lather my hands with soap, I keep it running as I wash the soap off, I keep it running to make sure the water gets between my fingers to ensure a thorough hand cleaning.
But with these "new and improved" faucets?
Wave my hand under the faucet to lather the soap.
Wave my hand under the faucet to wash the soap off.
(repeat that step seven times, since the water only stays on for 2.3 seconds at a time)
Wave my hand under the faucet to get between-fingers soap.
(repeat step four times)
And after taking 10 minutes to do something that pre-modern technology took me eight seconds to do, where do I go next?
To the motion-detector paper towel machine.
It's a vicious, vicious cycle.
And one last thing:
Automatic flush toilets.
C'mon, people. Now we're just being lazy.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I was at work the other day talking to some co-workers about cross country trips. I personally have never done one, but a couple of these folks had. They talked about taking turns driving long distances, figuring out where to stay every night, how to find the best route, etc.
But one co-worker, who also had never been on a cross country trip, had one particular concern that made her hesitant to pursue such an adventure:
Where would I go to juice my iPod?
Yep.
Who knows? Maybe Triple AAA will soon come out with "iPod juicing" hot spots in their travel guides.
And then we'll have really passed the point of no return.
Do you like this blog? Tell friends, family members, even pets (you heard me: pets) about nevdogg.blogspot.com
------------
Hey, guess what? I'm trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There's a high standard in today's fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There's a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Trying To Find My "Center" Among The Hollywood Crowd: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
A lot of people have told me over the years that I would be a good voice actor. More than once, I’ve been told by someone that they can picture my voice on the radio.
With that said, last summer my girlfriend Ramona spotted an ad for this four-week introductory voice-acting class in Studio City that I decided to take to see how my voice would sound trying to sell Tide Detergent over the airwaves.
While I did OK but could use more training, I also found out that classes like these are home to a bunch of folks who are trying to make it in the "biz."
(note: The term is "biz", by the way. During the whole "introduce yourself" portion in the first class, I called it the "entertainment field" and was immediately besieged by cold, icy looks. )
To give you a sense of what I mean, here is a description of my other classmates:
---Naomi: A woman in her early 40s who has some voice acting experience and is now a "fine artist" in Studio City, doing paintings that "can't be described in words."
---Miranda: A mid-20s comedian from Hollywood, who has "conquered the stage and now wants to conquer the 'behind-the-scenes' network."
---Paige: A late-20s Barbie blonde (without the boobs) who is currently living in Hollywood. Paige is an aspiring actress who, while waiting for her "big break", works as a waitress in a Sushi restaurant.
Paige, by the way, introduced herself in the first class by saying, "I just want everybody to know that I’m not here to socialize. I’m her to work. This is business. Hence, I will not be speaking to anyone on a personal level."
I’m thinking she and I won’t become friends.
---Joe: The oldest of the group, a British guy who looked to be in his late 60s. Joe specialized in Shakespeare in the jolly ol' U.K. and wants to "expand his pallet in the twilight of his life."
---Albroon, who goes by "Bruno". Bruno was the only person other than myself with no previous experience in entertainment. He tests sunglasses for the Oakley company and counts drinking three Coronas in the mid-afternoon as part of his daily work schedule.
I asked him how he came about his current job.
"My man," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, "that's just the luck of Bruno."
Uh-huh.
---And finally, there was Joyce, a late-30s blonde who was commuting from Temecula to attend this class because she’s raised horses all her life, realized one day that "she has the heart of an actress" and is now taking life by the horns and pursuing her "destiny."
Right.
Some other stuff to know about the class dynamic:
---Miranda and Paige are already clashing, which is interesting given that Paige hasn’t actually "spoken" to Miranda (as was the vow she made during the first class). Miranda is this New York-Latina-looking brunette and you can tell that she and Paige are already sizing each other up and considering each other rivals. It's like being on an episode of "Fame."
---Bruno is trying to get into Miranda's pants.
---Joe went on and on for 15 minutes about how he did children's theater in Wales back in the 1840s and is convinced that it will help him launch a "Books On Tape" career.
---And the teacher went on a tirade about how she was once "forced" to live in a "piss hole" known as Winnetka, California, causing the classroom to gasp.
Winnetka, so you know, was where I grew up. I even played baseball and basketball at Winnetka Park when I was a kid. And you know what? There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. It's got nice people, a nice park and a fake Tommy's that serves awesome chili cheese fries.
Honestly, what more do you need?
To give you an idea of what each class was like, here’s a running diary of what went on during one of them:
6:58 p.m. Arrive at the studio and am first greeted by Bruno, who says: "Come give Bruno a fist tap!"
Apparently, the Coronas were flowin' in the evening as well.
7:22 p.m. Get my first studio time of the evening with Naomi (we are practicing a duet commercial). Before we begin recording, Naomi warns me: "Bear with me, Nevin. All day long, I've had trouble finding my center."
7:36 p.m. I realize that Paige is sitting to my right. She has not said a word to me, or anybody for that matter, since I arrived. Truly, she is a woman of her word.
7:45 p.m. Bruno attempt to get into Miranda's pants No 1:
"Why are you wearing those ugly boots?"
Miranda doesn't reply.
8:01 p.m. I am handed a commercial for Carl's Jr. that I will be performing with Miranda, in which I'm trying to convince her to take her shirt off and give her a back rub.
8:15 p.m. Miranda and I are practicing in a back room. After we went through it a few times, she said: "Oh my God, you're sounding really creepy."
"Perfect!!" I replied. "That's exactly what I was going for!!"
8:26 p.m. I'm in the same back room practicing a hospital commercial with Joyce. And she asks me a question that is only asked by those trying to break into Hollywood:
Do you think my boobs are too big for voice acting?
For the record, I said no, pointing out that her voice would be the part of her on display in this field.
She seemed to buy it.
8:59 p.m. Back in the studio doing my stuff with Joyce. The "boob" question remains planted in my memory.9:07 p.m.
Joe puts a hand on my shoulder.
"I haven't had this much fun since doing 'Othello' in Abington with Johnny Winchester!!"
Words escape me.
9:16 p.m. Bruno attempt to get into Miranda's pants No 2:
"Could you read me my Miranda rights?"
No response.
9:20 p.m. Speaking of Bruno:
"Dude," he whispers, nodding toward Joyce, "those boobs were made for voice acting, don’t you think?"
9:27 p.m. "Good times!" says Joe.
9:36 p.m. Miranda shows me a picture of her little puppy Peanut on her cell phone, which leads to:
9:38 p.m. Bruno attempt to get into Miranda's pants No. 3:
"I'd teach that little mutt to hunt and be a killer."
No response.
9:45 p.m. Naomi does a great job on a two-line voiceover, nailing it on the first take. "I finally found my center!!" she exclaims.
10 p.m. PAIGE SPEAKS!!!"Bye," she says.
Progress, people. Progress.
In the end:
Attending four weeks of voice acting classes: $350
Spending a total of 12 hours with those who are trying to find their "center," realize their "destiny" and believe that a suburb that doesn’t have a Whole Foods is a "piss hole":
Included with your class registration.
Sorry, I couldn’t bring myself to say "priceless."
It’s been done.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Last night, Ramona and I went to see Leatherheads, the football movie starring George Clooney. As the movie was about to start, she came to her seat after a brief trek to the snack bar and delivered some exciting news:
I bought something at the snack bar that was only $1.50!!
I quickly looked at her hand to see what sort of delicious delight she found that was so cheap.
It was a cup of nacho cheese.
Only $1.50, Nev!!
At the movies – where junior mints go for $3.25, hot dogs run $4.50 and large popcorns are zooming past $6 – some of us will take whatever bargains we can find.
Do you like my blog? Spread the wealth!! Let them know about nevdogg.blogspot.com
----------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmVsdXNpdmVjb3dnaXJsLmNvbS8=
With that said, last summer my girlfriend Ramona spotted an ad for this four-week introductory voice-acting class in Studio City that I decided to take to see how my voice would sound trying to sell Tide Detergent over the airwaves.
While I did OK but could use more training, I also found out that classes like these are home to a bunch of folks who are trying to make it in the "biz."
(note: The term is "biz", by the way. During the whole "introduce yourself" portion in the first class, I called it the "entertainment field" and was immediately besieged by cold, icy looks. )
To give you a sense of what I mean, here is a description of my other classmates:
---Naomi: A woman in her early 40s who has some voice acting experience and is now a "fine artist" in Studio City, doing paintings that "can't be described in words."
---Miranda: A mid-20s comedian from Hollywood, who has "conquered the stage and now wants to conquer the 'behind-the-scenes' network."
---Paige: A late-20s Barbie blonde (without the boobs) who is currently living in Hollywood. Paige is an aspiring actress who, while waiting for her "big break", works as a waitress in a Sushi restaurant.
Paige, by the way, introduced herself in the first class by saying, "I just want everybody to know that I’m not here to socialize. I’m her to work. This is business. Hence, I will not be speaking to anyone on a personal level."
I’m thinking she and I won’t become friends.
---Joe: The oldest of the group, a British guy who looked to be in his late 60s. Joe specialized in Shakespeare in the jolly ol' U.K. and wants to "expand his pallet in the twilight of his life."
---Albroon, who goes by "Bruno". Bruno was the only person other than myself with no previous experience in entertainment. He tests sunglasses for the Oakley company and counts drinking three Coronas in the mid-afternoon as part of his daily work schedule.
I asked him how he came about his current job.
"My man," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, "that's just the luck of Bruno."
Uh-huh.
---And finally, there was Joyce, a late-30s blonde who was commuting from Temecula to attend this class because she’s raised horses all her life, realized one day that "she has the heart of an actress" and is now taking life by the horns and pursuing her "destiny."
Right.
Some other stuff to know about the class dynamic:
---Miranda and Paige are already clashing, which is interesting given that Paige hasn’t actually "spoken" to Miranda (as was the vow she made during the first class). Miranda is this New York-Latina-looking brunette and you can tell that she and Paige are already sizing each other up and considering each other rivals. It's like being on an episode of "Fame."
---Bruno is trying to get into Miranda's pants.
---Joe went on and on for 15 minutes about how he did children's theater in Wales back in the 1840s and is convinced that it will help him launch a "Books On Tape" career.
---And the teacher went on a tirade about how she was once "forced" to live in a "piss hole" known as Winnetka, California, causing the classroom to gasp.
Winnetka, so you know, was where I grew up. I even played baseball and basketball at Winnetka Park when I was a kid. And you know what? There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. It's got nice people, a nice park and a fake Tommy's that serves awesome chili cheese fries.
Honestly, what more do you need?
To give you an idea of what each class was like, here’s a running diary of what went on during one of them:
6:58 p.m. Arrive at the studio and am first greeted by Bruno, who says: "Come give Bruno a fist tap!"
Apparently, the Coronas were flowin' in the evening as well.
7:22 p.m. Get my first studio time of the evening with Naomi (we are practicing a duet commercial). Before we begin recording, Naomi warns me: "Bear with me, Nevin. All day long, I've had trouble finding my center."
7:36 p.m. I realize that Paige is sitting to my right. She has not said a word to me, or anybody for that matter, since I arrived. Truly, she is a woman of her word.
7:45 p.m. Bruno attempt to get into Miranda's pants No 1:
"Why are you wearing those ugly boots?"
Miranda doesn't reply.
8:01 p.m. I am handed a commercial for Carl's Jr. that I will be performing with Miranda, in which I'm trying to convince her to take her shirt off and give her a back rub.
8:15 p.m. Miranda and I are practicing in a back room. After we went through it a few times, she said: "Oh my God, you're sounding really creepy."
"Perfect!!" I replied. "That's exactly what I was going for!!"
8:26 p.m. I'm in the same back room practicing a hospital commercial with Joyce. And she asks me a question that is only asked by those trying to break into Hollywood:
Do you think my boobs are too big for voice acting?
For the record, I said no, pointing out that her voice would be the part of her on display in this field.
She seemed to buy it.
8:59 p.m. Back in the studio doing my stuff with Joyce. The "boob" question remains planted in my memory.9:07 p.m.
Joe puts a hand on my shoulder.
"I haven't had this much fun since doing 'Othello' in Abington with Johnny Winchester!!"
Words escape me.
9:16 p.m. Bruno attempt to get into Miranda's pants No 2:
"Could you read me my Miranda rights?"
No response.
9:20 p.m. Speaking of Bruno:
"Dude," he whispers, nodding toward Joyce, "those boobs were made for voice acting, don’t you think?"
9:27 p.m. "Good times!" says Joe.
9:36 p.m. Miranda shows me a picture of her little puppy Peanut on her cell phone, which leads to:
9:38 p.m. Bruno attempt to get into Miranda's pants No. 3:
"I'd teach that little mutt to hunt and be a killer."
No response.
9:45 p.m. Naomi does a great job on a two-line voiceover, nailing it on the first take. "I finally found my center!!" she exclaims.
10 p.m. PAIGE SPEAKS!!!"Bye," she says.
Progress, people. Progress.
In the end:
Attending four weeks of voice acting classes: $350
Spending a total of 12 hours with those who are trying to find their "center," realize their "destiny" and believe that a suburb that doesn’t have a Whole Foods is a "piss hole":
Included with your class registration.
Sorry, I couldn’t bring myself to say "priceless."
It’s been done.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Last night, Ramona and I went to see Leatherheads, the football movie starring George Clooney. As the movie was about to start, she came to her seat after a brief trek to the snack bar and delivered some exciting news:
I bought something at the snack bar that was only $1.50!!
I quickly looked at her hand to see what sort of delicious delight she found that was so cheap.
It was a cup of nacho cheese.
Only $1.50, Nev!!
At the movies – where junior mints go for $3.25, hot dogs run $4.50 and large popcorns are zooming past $6 – some of us will take whatever bargains we can find.
Do you like my blog? Spread the wealth!! Let them know about nevdogg.blogspot.com
----------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmVsdXNpdmVjb3dnaXJsLmNvbS8=
Friday, April 4, 2008
Going To The Mall At The Age Of 28: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
Going to the mall these days is always a unique experience for me. Like many youths, as a teenager I often ventured to the mall to check out -- and hit on -- girls (succeeding at the first task and...having not quite as much success at the second). But today, at the ripe old age of 28, going to the mall is a bit different: I'm no longer going there for the women, and even if I wanted to, I'm too old for these ladies anyway.
A little side note:
The first time I realized I was too old for mall girls, I was in my early 20s and with a buddy of mine. As this realization hit me, I looked around and was astonished to find something:
"Dude," I said to my friend, "did you know there were stores here?"
True story.
Anyways, I recently ventured to the mall to get a birthday present for my mom and was once again reminded of how old I had become:
------------------------------
OK, I honestly don't get the way kids dress today. When I was in high school, only the gangstas dressed like gangstas. But today, everyone is doing it: Big sideways caps, pants with shiny buckles, weird shirt designs. They look like they dressed themselves while on acid.
And here's another thing: Everyone acts like gangstas. It's like I walked into the movie "Menace II Society." Everyone's talking loud, nonsensically, and while throwing a lot of random hand signals.
I was walking past the food court when I heard a high school lad -- an overweight white kid wearing the aforementioned sideways hat, buckle and acid-induced shirt -- say the following to his group of friends:
TOLD YOU!! TOLD YOU, FOOL!!! I TOLD YOU YOU'D BE GOIN' FOR MORE KETCHUP!! WHADIDITELLU!!! WHADIDITELLU!!! OH YEAH!! I BE SLAMMIN'!! I BE SLAMMIN', BABY, I BE SLAMMIN'!!!
And then he threw out a random hand signal that made him look like he was having a spasm.
SOUTH COAST!!!
Yeah.
------------------------
My mom likes stuff from Bath & Body Works -- a store with lots of bath lotions and potions of various scents -- so I ventured in there to buy her gift. Going to Bath & Body Works is also interesting because, though its patrons are predominantly women, it always includes a smattering of three types of men:
a) Someone like me, who is shopping for a woman.
b) A guy dragged into the store by his wife or girlfriend who starts trying some of the lotions just to keep himself from screaming and finds that he actually enjoys them.
(that's how I discovered Cucumber Water Melon body wash)
and c) The gay guy.
In this instance, the gay guy was a spikey-haired individual wearing a tight-fitting white shirt, hot pants and really bright pink sneakers. I was waiting in line while he was trying a couple of hand lotions and I heard him say the following:
Ooooooh, that's the one that smells like love. Tommy's gonna loveeee this. Someone's tearin' up this big daddy tonight.
Now look:
I love the gay community. I truly do. Over the years, I have had several wonderful gay friends, and besides, like my dad always said:
The more gay men, the less competition there is for the straight ones.
But there are certain conversations even I don't want to overhear. I don't want to hear any man refer to himself as "big daddy" in relation to another man.
I mean...no.
--------------------
Bath & Body Works also sells scented candles.
A quick note about scented candles for the ladies:
If you go to a man's place and he has scented candles, he wants sex. Pure and simple. With the exception of that "Friends" episode where Chandler got addicted to candle-laden baths to de-stress, a man only has scented candles to try and convince women that's he sensitive, in tune with your chi, and thus different from all the other guys who have tried to sleep with you.
Write that down.
---------------------------
And finally, as I walked out of the store, I walked past a long-haired boy -- who looked all of 12 -- and heard him talking to his other friend about his various ex-girlfriends and how none of them ever gave him any peace.
I just had to say something:
"What ex-girlfriends?" I asked him. "I mean, what are you, 7? How many girlfriends could you have possibly had? And what could you have possibly learned from being with them for four days each? Just what do you think you know? Really?"
The boy's quick response told me that my words had failed to make a dent.
Man, whatever dog. I get mine. The D-Man always gets mine!!
And his friend chimed in.
YEAH YEAH, THE D-MAN ALWAYS GET HIS, FOOL!!!
YEAH!!!
YEAH!!!
I knew what was coming next.
SOUTH COAST!!!
Random hand signals.
And at that moment, I thought to myself something that my dad once told me:
Kids today are morons.
I mean...
Morons.
Indeed.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE:
New Cuban dictator Raul Castro recently declared that everyone in the country -- not just the few wealthy citizens -- can have access to cell phones.
Kudos to you, Raul.
Granted, your country is still having issues with food shortages, horrific living conditions and overall poverty in general.
But it's nice to know you're focusing on the important issues first.
Cell phones.
They're for Cubans now, you know.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
--------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
A little side note:
The first time I realized I was too old for mall girls, I was in my early 20s and with a buddy of mine. As this realization hit me, I looked around and was astonished to find something:
"Dude," I said to my friend, "did you know there were stores here?"
True story.
Anyways, I recently ventured to the mall to get a birthday present for my mom and was once again reminded of how old I had become:
------------------------------
OK, I honestly don't get the way kids dress today. When I was in high school, only the gangstas dressed like gangstas. But today, everyone is doing it: Big sideways caps, pants with shiny buckles, weird shirt designs. They look like they dressed themselves while on acid.
And here's another thing: Everyone acts like gangstas. It's like I walked into the movie "Menace II Society." Everyone's talking loud, nonsensically, and while throwing a lot of random hand signals.
I was walking past the food court when I heard a high school lad -- an overweight white kid wearing the aforementioned sideways hat, buckle and acid-induced shirt -- say the following to his group of friends:
TOLD YOU!! TOLD YOU, FOOL!!! I TOLD YOU YOU'D BE GOIN' FOR MORE KETCHUP!! WHADIDITELLU!!! WHADIDITELLU!!! OH YEAH!! I BE SLAMMIN'!! I BE SLAMMIN', BABY, I BE SLAMMIN'!!!
And then he threw out a random hand signal that made him look like he was having a spasm.
SOUTH COAST!!!
Yeah.
------------------------
My mom likes stuff from Bath & Body Works -- a store with lots of bath lotions and potions of various scents -- so I ventured in there to buy her gift. Going to Bath & Body Works is also interesting because, though its patrons are predominantly women, it always includes a smattering of three types of men:
a) Someone like me, who is shopping for a woman.
b) A guy dragged into the store by his wife or girlfriend who starts trying some of the lotions just to keep himself from screaming and finds that he actually enjoys them.
(that's how I discovered Cucumber Water Melon body wash)
and c) The gay guy.
In this instance, the gay guy was a spikey-haired individual wearing a tight-fitting white shirt, hot pants and really bright pink sneakers. I was waiting in line while he was trying a couple of hand lotions and I heard him say the following:
Ooooooh, that's the one that smells like love. Tommy's gonna loveeee this. Someone's tearin' up this big daddy tonight.
Now look:
I love the gay community. I truly do. Over the years, I have had several wonderful gay friends, and besides, like my dad always said:
The more gay men, the less competition there is for the straight ones.
But there are certain conversations even I don't want to overhear. I don't want to hear any man refer to himself as "big daddy" in relation to another man.
I mean...no.
--------------------
Bath & Body Works also sells scented candles.
A quick note about scented candles for the ladies:
If you go to a man's place and he has scented candles, he wants sex. Pure and simple. With the exception of that "Friends" episode where Chandler got addicted to candle-laden baths to de-stress, a man only has scented candles to try and convince women that's he sensitive, in tune with your chi, and thus different from all the other guys who have tried to sleep with you.
Write that down.
---------------------------
And finally, as I walked out of the store, I walked past a long-haired boy -- who looked all of 12 -- and heard him talking to his other friend about his various ex-girlfriends and how none of them ever gave him any peace.
I just had to say something:
"What ex-girlfriends?" I asked him. "I mean, what are you, 7? How many girlfriends could you have possibly had? And what could you have possibly learned from being with them for four days each? Just what do you think you know? Really?"
The boy's quick response told me that my words had failed to make a dent.
Man, whatever dog. I get mine. The D-Man always gets mine!!
And his friend chimed in.
YEAH YEAH, THE D-MAN ALWAYS GET HIS, FOOL!!!
YEAH!!!
YEAH!!!
I knew what was coming next.
SOUTH COAST!!!
Random hand signals.
And at that moment, I thought to myself something that my dad once told me:
Kids today are morons.
I mean...
Morons.
Indeed.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE:
New Cuban dictator Raul Castro recently declared that everyone in the country -- not just the few wealthy citizens -- can have access to cell phones.
Kudos to you, Raul.
Granted, your country is still having issues with food shortages, horrific living conditions and overall poverty in general.
But it's nice to know you're focusing on the important issues first.
Cell phones.
They're for Cubans now, you know.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
--------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at http://www.ibiztraining.com/
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to http://www.spooles.com/
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit http://www.elusivecowgirl.com/
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Grocery Shopping In The Inner City: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
I grew up in California’s San Fernando Valley. And the great thing about being a Valley Boy is that you grow up among many different types of people. Different races, religions, backgrounds, points of view. And I’m eternally thankful for growing up in a melting pot, because that’s exactly what the world is: a melting pot.
But even that didn’t quite prepare me for my little adventure a couple of days back. I was in Hancock Park at my friend Sanger’s place for some NCAA tournament basketball action and Texas Hold ’Em poker. During the evening, I decided to accompany Sanger to the market to pick up a few food and beverage items. As we drove out in his truck, I quickly realized that we moving out of the quiet peacefulness of Hancock Park and out toward L.A.’s inner city near the USC campus, finally coming to a stop at the Food 4 Less.
Now like I said: I’ve grown up with every type of person imaginable. But the one thing I’m not used to is being the only white person in any one large location.
And I’m going to confess something right here:
It’s a little odd.
But when I walked inside? That was where the fun began:
-----------------
So Sanger and I ventured to the alcohol section -- where he was looking for tonic water -- when I came across a woman speaking to her 5-year-old son in way that’s a bit more colorful than the "mother-to-young son" conversations I would overhear at my neighborhood Ralphs.
The woman said to her little boy:
Where the fuck are the 12 packs of Coors?!? Your dad likes the 12 packs, but all they have are the six-packs!! He don’t like the fuckin’ six packs!! What the fuck?!? Go see if they have some 40 ounces.
And you know what was so cute? The little boy found the 40 ounces and tried with all his might to reach them on the top shelf.
And you know what?
He did.
I think I can. I think I can.
(By the way, I have finally figured out why 40-ounce malt liquors are the inner city beverage of choice. They were going for only $1.98 at the Food 4 Less. $1.98!! Holy cow!! The same drink at my neighborhood Ralphs would go for $15.75. I took a swig of malt liquor once in my wilder, sexy college days and thought that it tasted like a mixture of gasoline and piss. And even I was tempted to buy a couple for $1.98.)
--------------
When we went to wait in line at the cashier, there was a woman in front of us who had in her shopping cart the following items:
Top Ramen
Marshallows
Little hot dog cocktail weenies
Guavas
Assorted dented cans
And more Top Ramen
And I’d like to say something at this point:
I don’t know what the stigma is against dented cans. The food isn’t damaged, it tastes the same and the can is 30 to 40 cents cheaper. What, I ask you, is the problem?
We Valley folks can learn from this woman, as far as I’m concerned.
--------------------
And finally, there was what happened after the cashier scanned our items:
I was standing there waiting for the cashier -- or somebody -- to begin putting my groceries away when I noticed that no such help was forthcoming.
I stood there for a moment, confused, until I saw Sanger go to the other side and reach for the plastic bags.
It then occurred to me:
I was expected to bag my own groceries.
Now look: I am not uppity, a snob or against hard work. But this was bullshit!! Nevin Barich does not bag his own groceries. I mean...no.
Besides: It really is an exact science. Don’t put the eggs at the bottom. Soda and pie do not mix. Separate bathroom and tooth-care items. How the hell do you keep it all straight?
But...when in Rome. So I reluctantly went over to the other side and grabbed a couple of plastic bags of my own.
The cashier -- who by this point was already onto the next customer -- looked over my way, saw me hesistantly put a bag of chips in with the Heinekens, and gave me a little smirk that said exactly one thing:
White Boy.
So much for blending in.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
The other day, I went to my local 7-11 and purchased a Big Gulp from a female worker.
I say this again:
A female worker at 7-11.
In my 28-plus years on this Earth comprising hundreds of visits to this franchise, I have never, ever seen a female work there. I mean not once.
As I was walking out, I noticed the other worker there -- who was male -- staring at this woman, a kind of awed look on his face.
I caught his eye.
"Times are changing," he said
They certainly are. They certainly are.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
-------------------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at www.iBiztraining.com
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to www.spooles.com
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
The laziest man in Earth…is blogging about it. Go to www.lazyhank.com and find out more.
But even that didn’t quite prepare me for my little adventure a couple of days back. I was in Hancock Park at my friend Sanger’s place for some NCAA tournament basketball action and Texas Hold ’Em poker. During the evening, I decided to accompany Sanger to the market to pick up a few food and beverage items. As we drove out in his truck, I quickly realized that we moving out of the quiet peacefulness of Hancock Park and out toward L.A.’s inner city near the USC campus, finally coming to a stop at the Food 4 Less.
Now like I said: I’ve grown up with every type of person imaginable. But the one thing I’m not used to is being the only white person in any one large location.
And I’m going to confess something right here:
It’s a little odd.
But when I walked inside? That was where the fun began:
-----------------
So Sanger and I ventured to the alcohol section -- where he was looking for tonic water -- when I came across a woman speaking to her 5-year-old son in way that’s a bit more colorful than the "mother-to-young son" conversations I would overhear at my neighborhood Ralphs.
The woman said to her little boy:
Where the fuck are the 12 packs of Coors?!? Your dad likes the 12 packs, but all they have are the six-packs!! He don’t like the fuckin’ six packs!! What the fuck?!? Go see if they have some 40 ounces.
And you know what was so cute? The little boy found the 40 ounces and tried with all his might to reach them on the top shelf.
And you know what?
He did.
I think I can. I think I can.
(By the way, I have finally figured out why 40-ounce malt liquors are the inner city beverage of choice. They were going for only $1.98 at the Food 4 Less. $1.98!! Holy cow!! The same drink at my neighborhood Ralphs would go for $15.75. I took a swig of malt liquor once in my wilder, sexy college days and thought that it tasted like a mixture of gasoline and piss. And even I was tempted to buy a couple for $1.98.)
--------------
When we went to wait in line at the cashier, there was a woman in front of us who had in her shopping cart the following items:
Top Ramen
Marshallows
Little hot dog cocktail weenies
Guavas
Assorted dented cans
And more Top Ramen
And I’d like to say something at this point:
I don’t know what the stigma is against dented cans. The food isn’t damaged, it tastes the same and the can is 30 to 40 cents cheaper. What, I ask you, is the problem?
We Valley folks can learn from this woman, as far as I’m concerned.
--------------------
And finally, there was what happened after the cashier scanned our items:
I was standing there waiting for the cashier -- or somebody -- to begin putting my groceries away when I noticed that no such help was forthcoming.
I stood there for a moment, confused, until I saw Sanger go to the other side and reach for the plastic bags.
It then occurred to me:
I was expected to bag my own groceries.
Now look: I am not uppity, a snob or against hard work. But this was bullshit!! Nevin Barich does not bag his own groceries. I mean...no.
Besides: It really is an exact science. Don’t put the eggs at the bottom. Soda and pie do not mix. Separate bathroom and tooth-care items. How the hell do you keep it all straight?
But...when in Rome. So I reluctantly went over to the other side and grabbed a couple of plastic bags of my own.
The cashier -- who by this point was already onto the next customer -- looked over my way, saw me hesistantly put a bag of chips in with the Heinekens, and gave me a little smirk that said exactly one thing:
White Boy.
So much for blending in.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
The other day, I went to my local 7-11 and purchased a Big Gulp from a female worker.
I say this again:
A female worker at 7-11.
In my 28-plus years on this Earth comprising hundreds of visits to this franchise, I have never, ever seen a female work there. I mean not once.
As I was walking out, I noticed the other worker there -- who was male -- staring at this woman, a kind of awed look on his face.
I caught his eye.
"Times are changing," he said
They certainly are. They certainly are.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
-------------------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at www.iBiztraining.com
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to www.spooles.com
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
The laziest man in Earth…is blogging about it. Go to www.lazyhank.com and find out more.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Let The (March) Madness Begin: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
Everyone who knows me knows I’m a big sports fan. And for me, it gets no bigger than March Madness.
March Madness, for those of you who are not American or live under rocks 10 months out of the year (coming out only in July and August to enjoy the sunny weather), is the nickname of the NCAA men’s basketball tournament. Every year, 65 teams compete in this single-elimination tournament and people like me fill out brackets trying to figure out who is going to win each game.
Why do we do this? For money, of course. :-)
How big is March Madness? Put it this way: It is estimated that companies lose more than $1 billion in productivity every year because people are focusing more on these games than on their jobs.
I am one of these people.
Folks, this is like my Christmas. To me, there is nothing like filling out my brackets (I have six this year) and living and dying on the basketball talents of spoiled, moronic college kids.
Nope, I can’t think of anything more satisfying.
With that in mind, the first days of March Madness were last Thursday and Friday. The following is a running diary of these first two crucial days:
-------------
THURSDAY
8 a.m. There is nothing like the opening morning of March Madness. The first game is just over an hour away, and you spend the remaining time figuring out how to follow the games online without your boss seeing, and feeling hopeful -- even confident -- that your upset picks will pan out.
I get an e-mail from my friend Joe:
I have Temple upsetting Michigan State and going far!!
I speak to my co-worker Matt:
I think USC can make some noise!!
As for me:
Georgia is the scariest 14th seed I’ve ever seen!!
And that’s the great thing about the waning moments before March Madness begins: Anything...everything...is possible.
9:20 a.m. Midway through the first half: Temple is losing by double digits.
E-mail from Joe: Temple takes it in the ass.
10 a.m. Georgia is beating Xavier by nine at halftime!! I start to let my mind wander...
10:25 a.m. Georgia is still up 9!! Joe and I exchange e-mails of glee. Temple, by the way, is getting killed.
10:32 a.m. No!! Xavier has cut the lead to 4.
10:38 a.m. I return from the bathroom.
"Xavier has tied it up," Matt says.
"DAMN IT!!" I scream.
10:39 a.m. A female co-worker of me and Matt, who is not from America, ask us what we’re doing.
This leads me to:
NCAA March Madness Tangent No. 1: I hate it when non-Americans ask me to explain what March Madness is. I don’t have time to explain it, you won’t understand it, I’ll get pissed because you’re taking me away from the games, and you’ll be rolling your eyes because this whole thing sounds like a complete waste of time. Just don’t ask questions and we’ll both be better off.
10:46 a.m. Xavier is pulling away. Temple has lost. Joe and I, in separate offices, lament over what might have been.
11:15 a.m. Top-seeded Kansas is blowing out Portland State, which was expected, so Matt and I turn our attention to...
Matt: Did you know that the odds of putting together a perfect bracket are in the trillions?
Me: Trillions?
Matt: Trillions.
Me: Wow.
Matt: CBS Sportsline is offering $5 million to anyone who picks the perfect bracket. I’d love to have $5 million.
Me: Yeah.
Matt: Yeah.
When there’s no good games to watch, it’s either conversations like these. Or work.
I choose conversations like these.
1:15 p.m. E-mail from Joe:
I’ve got UCLA winning in all my brackets.
I sigh. This leads me to:
NCAA March Madness Tangent No. 2: March Madness brackets are like an investment portfolio. You need to diversify. Almost without exception, if you don’t pick the champion in your bracket, you won’t win. It’s that simple. Me? Out of my six brackets, I have four different teams winning it all.
But Joe? If UCLA loses at any point, all of Joe’s brackets become as useful as wadded-up toilet paper.
Joe did the same thing last year, and UCLA lost. And I had to console him.
Why do people insist on repeating their mistakes?
I’m not playing counselor this year. I refuse.
If Joe’s wife, Kristy, is reading this, I hope this message is sinking in. This year, you’re offering the shoulder to cry on.
2:30 p.m. Reason No. 571,463 why women should not publicly predict the outcome of sporting events:
Only two women, including my girlfriend Ramona, are full-time sportswriters at the Daily News. The one not named Ramona publicly picked Cornell to upset Stanford. Her picks actually ran in the paper, where tens of thousands of people could see.
Cornell is losing by 27. They’ll go on to lose by 24.
Along with Hillary Clinton potentially blowing the democratic primary, this will set the women’s movement back 20 years. I guarantee it.
4 p.m. I’m talking to my dad -- sports afficianado Bob Barich -- about that women’s Cornell prediction.
"What is she, nuts?!?" my dad exclaims. "Stanford was favored by 30 points!!"
Then, for some reason, my dad goes into this long rant about how when he wrote for his high school paper in the 1960s, he managed to sneak into the press boxes for Dodgers and Angels games. He talked about the food and drinks they had in the press box -- steak, lobster, whiskey, etc. All free of charge. It was a story I’ve heard many times.
"Hey Dad," I ask, "were women in the press boxes back then?"
"Nevin," he replied, "who do you think was serving the food?"
Totally demeaning.
Totally sexist.
Totally classic.
A father-son moment not soon forgotten.
My male readers will understand.
8:30 p.m. The first day of March Madness ends rather uneventfully, with the exception of USC being upset by Kansas State. This will be important when we go to...
FRIDAY
8:30 a.m. "I hate USC" e-mail from Joe No. 1:
I had USC going far. Christ.
9 a.m. Question from a female "What is March Madness? I’ve never heard of it because I’m not from America and my country’s national sport is cricket" co-worker:
Are you and Matt planning to do any work today?
Someone give me the number for Immigration. Now.
9:45 a.m. What the hell??? Tennessee, one of the top seeds in the tournament -- and a team I picked to go far in a number of brackets -- is struggling against American. Yes, that’s the actual name of the school. American.
9:50 a.m. E-mail exchange between Joe and I:
Me: C’mon Tennessee!!
Joe: I hope they lose. I think they’re overrated and don’t have them going far anyway.
Me: Hey Joe, how’s Temple doing? Did they go far? Oh...wait...
Joe goes silent.
10:30 a.m. Tennessee continues to struggle.
Matt: "Tennessee continues to struggle."
Yes, Matthew. Thank you.
10:45 a.m. Tennessee starts to pull away. I take a swig of Diet Dr. Pepper and breathe a sigh of relief.
11 a.m. "I hate USC" e-mail from Joe No. 2:
My brackets would be looking a lot better if USC didn’t play like a bunch of little bitches. I hate USC. They’re bitches. I hate them. Bitches.
11:15 a.m. Upset special!!! Western Kentucky is beating Drake, a team several people had high hopes for, by double digits.
11:17 a.m. E-mail exchange between me and Joe:
Joe: I need Western Kentucky to win. C’mon...whatever the hell their mascot is.
Me: Hilltoppers.
Joe: Hilltoppers?
Me: Hilltoppers.
Joe: How the hell do you know that off the top of your head?
Nev: It’s March Madness, Joseph. No detail is too small.
11:40 a.m. Drake is storming back and Western Kentucky’s lead is shrinking. I can feel Joe cringe.
11:45 a.m. Western Kentucky and Drake are going to overtime!!
If you heard a loud wail permeating throughout the landscape yesterday at that time, that was Joe. It’s understandable.
12:05 p.m. Western Kentucky wins on a crazy 3-pointer at the buzzer.
E-mail from Joe:
Western Kentucky!!!
By the way: Had Western Kentucky blown this game, I would’ve sent Joe an e-mail entitled "March Madness Kiss of Death" and attached a picture of himself.
During March Madness, it’s not only OK to stomp on your friends’ dreams. It’s expected.
12:25 p.m. Conversation between myself and Rachit, another co-worker of mine and a USC alum:
Rachit: Nevin, when is USC playing?
Me: They lost last night.
Rachit: Oh, they did?
Me: Yeah.
Rachit: Well, that’s OK. Because we still get to play in the tournament.
Me: No Rachit, last night was their tournament game. And they lost.
(pause)
Rachit: So when do they play again?
Me: They don’t. Their season’s over.
(pause)
Rachit: Over?
Me: Over.
Rachit then gives me one of those "I can’t believe you just told me there’s no Santa Claus" looks.
March Madness. She’s rarely kind.
1:15 p.m. "I hate USC" e-mail from Joe No. 3:
USC: University of...Stupid...Chariot...Riding...people. This sucks.
This leads me to:
NCAA March Madness Tangent No. 3: When one of your teams lose, you’ve got to let it go. You can’t harbor grudges. There’s more games left to be played, more teams that need your love and support.
Like your grandfather told my father who told me:
Sports teams are like Tijuana hookers: Cheap and replaceable.
There’s a message in there, people.
2:15 p.m. Upset special!!! San Diego is beating perennial powerhouse Connecticut. Matt and I have dropped all pretenses of work and are watching a live broadcast of the game through his computer.
2:17 p.m. E-mail from Joe:
I’ve got UConn going far too. Damn it!!
2:30 p.m. San Diego and UConn are going to overtime!! Matt and I are in "I can’t believe we’re watching a potential Cinderella story" giddiness mode.
2:40 p.m. San Diego wins on a wicked "how the hell did he hit that shot with a guy in his face?!?" fadeaway jumper!!
2:41 p.m. E-mail from Joe:
F*UCK
He wrote the word 51 times in that e-mail.
I know.
I counted.
March Madness.
Yep. It’s begun.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE:
One of my best friends, Kevin, turns 30 today.
He’s the first close male friend of mine to turn 30.
Damn, we’re gettin’ old.
Damn.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
--------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at www.iBiztraining.com
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to www.spooles.com
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
The laziest man in Earth…is blogging about it. Go to www.lazyhank.com and find out more.
March Madness, for those of you who are not American or live under rocks 10 months out of the year (coming out only in July and August to enjoy the sunny weather), is the nickname of the NCAA men’s basketball tournament. Every year, 65 teams compete in this single-elimination tournament and people like me fill out brackets trying to figure out who is going to win each game.
Why do we do this? For money, of course. :-)
How big is March Madness? Put it this way: It is estimated that companies lose more than $1 billion in productivity every year because people are focusing more on these games than on their jobs.
I am one of these people.
Folks, this is like my Christmas. To me, there is nothing like filling out my brackets (I have six this year) and living and dying on the basketball talents of spoiled, moronic college kids.
Nope, I can’t think of anything more satisfying.
With that in mind, the first days of March Madness were last Thursday and Friday. The following is a running diary of these first two crucial days:
-------------
THURSDAY
8 a.m. There is nothing like the opening morning of March Madness. The first game is just over an hour away, and you spend the remaining time figuring out how to follow the games online without your boss seeing, and feeling hopeful -- even confident -- that your upset picks will pan out.
I get an e-mail from my friend Joe:
I have Temple upsetting Michigan State and going far!!
I speak to my co-worker Matt:
I think USC can make some noise!!
As for me:
Georgia is the scariest 14th seed I’ve ever seen!!
And that’s the great thing about the waning moments before March Madness begins: Anything...everything...is possible.
9:20 a.m. Midway through the first half: Temple is losing by double digits.
E-mail from Joe: Temple takes it in the ass.
10 a.m. Georgia is beating Xavier by nine at halftime!! I start to let my mind wander...
10:25 a.m. Georgia is still up 9!! Joe and I exchange e-mails of glee. Temple, by the way, is getting killed.
10:32 a.m. No!! Xavier has cut the lead to 4.
10:38 a.m. I return from the bathroom.
"Xavier has tied it up," Matt says.
"DAMN IT!!" I scream.
10:39 a.m. A female co-worker of me and Matt, who is not from America, ask us what we’re doing.
This leads me to:
NCAA March Madness Tangent No. 1: I hate it when non-Americans ask me to explain what March Madness is. I don’t have time to explain it, you won’t understand it, I’ll get pissed because you’re taking me away from the games, and you’ll be rolling your eyes because this whole thing sounds like a complete waste of time. Just don’t ask questions and we’ll both be better off.
10:46 a.m. Xavier is pulling away. Temple has lost. Joe and I, in separate offices, lament over what might have been.
11:15 a.m. Top-seeded Kansas is blowing out Portland State, which was expected, so Matt and I turn our attention to...
Matt: Did you know that the odds of putting together a perfect bracket are in the trillions?
Me: Trillions?
Matt: Trillions.
Me: Wow.
Matt: CBS Sportsline is offering $5 million to anyone who picks the perfect bracket. I’d love to have $5 million.
Me: Yeah.
Matt: Yeah.
When there’s no good games to watch, it’s either conversations like these. Or work.
I choose conversations like these.
1:15 p.m. E-mail from Joe:
I’ve got UCLA winning in all my brackets.
I sigh. This leads me to:
NCAA March Madness Tangent No. 2: March Madness brackets are like an investment portfolio. You need to diversify. Almost without exception, if you don’t pick the champion in your bracket, you won’t win. It’s that simple. Me? Out of my six brackets, I have four different teams winning it all.
But Joe? If UCLA loses at any point, all of Joe’s brackets become as useful as wadded-up toilet paper.
Joe did the same thing last year, and UCLA lost. And I had to console him.
Why do people insist on repeating their mistakes?
I’m not playing counselor this year. I refuse.
If Joe’s wife, Kristy, is reading this, I hope this message is sinking in. This year, you’re offering the shoulder to cry on.
2:30 p.m. Reason No. 571,463 why women should not publicly predict the outcome of sporting events:
Only two women, including my girlfriend Ramona, are full-time sportswriters at the Daily News. The one not named Ramona publicly picked Cornell to upset Stanford. Her picks actually ran in the paper, where tens of thousands of people could see.
Cornell is losing by 27. They’ll go on to lose by 24.
Along with Hillary Clinton potentially blowing the democratic primary, this will set the women’s movement back 20 years. I guarantee it.
4 p.m. I’m talking to my dad -- sports afficianado Bob Barich -- about that women’s Cornell prediction.
"What is she, nuts?!?" my dad exclaims. "Stanford was favored by 30 points!!"
Then, for some reason, my dad goes into this long rant about how when he wrote for his high school paper in the 1960s, he managed to sneak into the press boxes for Dodgers and Angels games. He talked about the food and drinks they had in the press box -- steak, lobster, whiskey, etc. All free of charge. It was a story I’ve heard many times.
"Hey Dad," I ask, "were women in the press boxes back then?"
"Nevin," he replied, "who do you think was serving the food?"
Totally demeaning.
Totally sexist.
Totally classic.
A father-son moment not soon forgotten.
My male readers will understand.
8:30 p.m. The first day of March Madness ends rather uneventfully, with the exception of USC being upset by Kansas State. This will be important when we go to...
FRIDAY
8:30 a.m. "I hate USC" e-mail from Joe No. 1:
I had USC going far. Christ.
9 a.m. Question from a female "What is March Madness? I’ve never heard of it because I’m not from America and my country’s national sport is cricket" co-worker:
Are you and Matt planning to do any work today?
Someone give me the number for Immigration. Now.
9:45 a.m. What the hell??? Tennessee, one of the top seeds in the tournament -- and a team I picked to go far in a number of brackets -- is struggling against American. Yes, that’s the actual name of the school. American.
9:50 a.m. E-mail exchange between Joe and I:
Me: C’mon Tennessee!!
Joe: I hope they lose. I think they’re overrated and don’t have them going far anyway.
Me: Hey Joe, how’s Temple doing? Did they go far? Oh...wait...
Joe goes silent.
10:30 a.m. Tennessee continues to struggle.
Matt: "Tennessee continues to struggle."
Yes, Matthew. Thank you.
10:45 a.m. Tennessee starts to pull away. I take a swig of Diet Dr. Pepper and breathe a sigh of relief.
11 a.m. "I hate USC" e-mail from Joe No. 2:
My brackets would be looking a lot better if USC didn’t play like a bunch of little bitches. I hate USC. They’re bitches. I hate them. Bitches.
11:15 a.m. Upset special!!! Western Kentucky is beating Drake, a team several people had high hopes for, by double digits.
11:17 a.m. E-mail exchange between me and Joe:
Joe: I need Western Kentucky to win. C’mon...whatever the hell their mascot is.
Me: Hilltoppers.
Joe: Hilltoppers?
Me: Hilltoppers.
Joe: How the hell do you know that off the top of your head?
Nev: It’s March Madness, Joseph. No detail is too small.
11:40 a.m. Drake is storming back and Western Kentucky’s lead is shrinking. I can feel Joe cringe.
11:45 a.m. Western Kentucky and Drake are going to overtime!!
If you heard a loud wail permeating throughout the landscape yesterday at that time, that was Joe. It’s understandable.
12:05 p.m. Western Kentucky wins on a crazy 3-pointer at the buzzer.
E-mail from Joe:
Western Kentucky!!!
By the way: Had Western Kentucky blown this game, I would’ve sent Joe an e-mail entitled "March Madness Kiss of Death" and attached a picture of himself.
During March Madness, it’s not only OK to stomp on your friends’ dreams. It’s expected.
12:25 p.m. Conversation between myself and Rachit, another co-worker of mine and a USC alum:
Rachit: Nevin, when is USC playing?
Me: They lost last night.
Rachit: Oh, they did?
Me: Yeah.
Rachit: Well, that’s OK. Because we still get to play in the tournament.
Me: No Rachit, last night was their tournament game. And they lost.
(pause)
Rachit: So when do they play again?
Me: They don’t. Their season’s over.
(pause)
Rachit: Over?
Me: Over.
Rachit then gives me one of those "I can’t believe you just told me there’s no Santa Claus" looks.
March Madness. She’s rarely kind.
1:15 p.m. "I hate USC" e-mail from Joe No. 3:
USC: University of...Stupid...Chariot...Riding...people. This sucks.
This leads me to:
NCAA March Madness Tangent No. 3: When one of your teams lose, you’ve got to let it go. You can’t harbor grudges. There’s more games left to be played, more teams that need your love and support.
Like your grandfather told my father who told me:
Sports teams are like Tijuana hookers: Cheap and replaceable.
There’s a message in there, people.
2:15 p.m. Upset special!!! San Diego is beating perennial powerhouse Connecticut. Matt and I have dropped all pretenses of work and are watching a live broadcast of the game through his computer.
2:17 p.m. E-mail from Joe:
I’ve got UConn going far too. Damn it!!
2:30 p.m. San Diego and UConn are going to overtime!! Matt and I are in "I can’t believe we’re watching a potential Cinderella story" giddiness mode.
2:40 p.m. San Diego wins on a wicked "how the hell did he hit that shot with a guy in his face?!?" fadeaway jumper!!
2:41 p.m. E-mail from Joe:
F*UCK
He wrote the word 51 times in that e-mail.
I know.
I counted.
March Madness.
Yep. It’s begun.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE:
One of my best friends, Kevin, turns 30 today.
He’s the first close male friend of mine to turn 30.
Damn, we’re gettin’ old.
Damn.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
--------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at www.iBiztraining.com
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to www.spooles.com
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
The laziest man in Earth…is blogging about it. Go to www.lazyhank.com and find out more.
Channeling The Little Boy Within: Buying Toys For a 4 Year Old: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
My girlfriend Ramona has three male cousins who live in Mammoth, ages 12, 8 and one who is about to turn 4. Whenever their birthdays or the holidays come up, I’m the one in charge of buying the gifts for them.
This was a task that evolved over time. Originally, both Ramona and I participated in the gift-getting for these young lads. But one day a few summers ago, Ramona was giving a speech in the middle of Toys R Us on the importance of providing educational toys for these boys, in order to set a positive example.
I was holding the Super Soaker 8000 at the time. Capable of shooting water at your enemies up to 50 feet.
Educational material. Super Soaker 8000. Educational material. Super Soaker 8000.
Despite my pleas, we didn’t get the Super Soaker that day. Ramona disapproved.
So the next day, I went down there by myself and bought it.
The kids loved it.
Hell, I almost bought one for myself.
:-)
Luckily, Ramona understood at that point that I could relate to boys a bit better than she, so this task became mine and mine alone in the years to come. And that’s why I was in Kaybee Toy Stores yesterday buying a gift for young Drevin, who is soon to turn 4 years old.
Now, buying a gift for a 4-year-old boy isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s a difficult age. He’s too young for major Super Soakers, too old for anything that says "Fisher Price." And what is the age range for a Nerf basketball set, anyway?
So there I was, in the little boys section of the store, wondering if little Dre would choke on of these toy trucks I was thinking of purchasing, when down the aisle walked a little boy, who looked to be around Dre’s age. At this point, I felt a great opportunity was presenting itself before me, as who better to ask what toys to get a 4-year-old boy than to ask a 4-year old boy?
"Hey kid," I said to the little tyke -- whose name, I found out later, was Juan -- waving a package of toy army trucks in his face, "would you play with this?"
He looked at me. No response.
"OK," I said. "What about these toy tractors? Would you play with these tractors?"
Juan looked at the tractors. Then looked at me. Then shuffled his shoes. No words yet.
"All right," I continued. "What about this Nerf gun? It says ages 6 and up. But would you play with this Nerf gun if it was in your possession?"
Possession. The word threw the kid. I could tell. He simply gazed at me with a blank stare. His mouth began to open and a bit of drool started forming on the right side of his face. Still no words.
Clearly, speaking to the youth generation of today was proving more difficult than anticipated. So I got down on my knees, to be eye level with young Juan, and attempted to explain my plight in words he could understand.
"You see," I told him, "I need to get a toy for a little boy who is your age. He’s going to turn 4."
And at that point, I held up four fingers. I held them up for a long time, too, to make sure the message sunk into little Juan’s head.
"And if you like the toy, then he’ll like the toys."
When I said you, I pointed at Juan. When I said he’ll, I pointed at the trucks.
"So," I concluded, "do you like any of these toys?"
And then Juan spoke.
"I’m 3," he said.
And then he walked away.
Mystifying. Truly mystifying.
One day, years from now, a woman is going to scream at Juan, "I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU!!!" I guarantee it.
So I decided to go with the toy trucks and the little Nerf gun. As the good folks at Kaybee Toys was ringing me up, I gazed over to the little boys aisle and noticed young Juan had returned there with his mother. There, pointing at the toys that I had previously displayed before him, I heard him say the following:
I WANT IT!!! I WANT IT!!! I WANT IT!!! I WANT IT!!! I WANNNNNTTTTT ITTTTTTTT!!!
I then smiled.
That was all I wanted to hear.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Earlier this week, I was at work when I heard Kathy, one of my co-workers, sneeze.
"Bless you," I said.
Now, why is this weird?
Because I told Kathy "bless you" via Instant Messenger.
And the funny thing was: I didn’t even think twice about it. No verbal communication was used, and neither of us found it remotely strange.
I wrote "bless you."
She wrote "thank you."
And we went upon our day.
A wordless society.
The foundation is building.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
--------------
Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at www.iBiztraining.com
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to www.spooles.com
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
The laziest man in Earth…is blogging about it. Go to www.lazyhank.com and find out more.
This was a task that evolved over time. Originally, both Ramona and I participated in the gift-getting for these young lads. But one day a few summers ago, Ramona was giving a speech in the middle of Toys R Us on the importance of providing educational toys for these boys, in order to set a positive example.
I was holding the Super Soaker 8000 at the time. Capable of shooting water at your enemies up to 50 feet.
Educational material. Super Soaker 8000. Educational material. Super Soaker 8000.
Despite my pleas, we didn’t get the Super Soaker that day. Ramona disapproved.
So the next day, I went down there by myself and bought it.
The kids loved it.
Hell, I almost bought one for myself.
:-)
Luckily, Ramona understood at that point that I could relate to boys a bit better than she, so this task became mine and mine alone in the years to come. And that’s why I was in Kaybee Toy Stores yesterday buying a gift for young Drevin, who is soon to turn 4 years old.
Now, buying a gift for a 4-year-old boy isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s a difficult age. He’s too young for major Super Soakers, too old for anything that says "Fisher Price." And what is the age range for a Nerf basketball set, anyway?
So there I was, in the little boys section of the store, wondering if little Dre would choke on of these toy trucks I was thinking of purchasing, when down the aisle walked a little boy, who looked to be around Dre’s age. At this point, I felt a great opportunity was presenting itself before me, as who better to ask what toys to get a 4-year-old boy than to ask a 4-year old boy?
"Hey kid," I said to the little tyke -- whose name, I found out later, was Juan -- waving a package of toy army trucks in his face, "would you play with this?"
He looked at me. No response.
"OK," I said. "What about these toy tractors? Would you play with these tractors?"
Juan looked at the tractors. Then looked at me. Then shuffled his shoes. No words yet.
"All right," I continued. "What about this Nerf gun? It says ages 6 and up. But would you play with this Nerf gun if it was in your possession?"
Possession. The word threw the kid. I could tell. He simply gazed at me with a blank stare. His mouth began to open and a bit of drool started forming on the right side of his face. Still no words.
Clearly, speaking to the youth generation of today was proving more difficult than anticipated. So I got down on my knees, to be eye level with young Juan, and attempted to explain my plight in words he could understand.
"You see," I told him, "I need to get a toy for a little boy who is your age. He’s going to turn 4."
And at that point, I held up four fingers. I held them up for a long time, too, to make sure the message sunk into little Juan’s head.
"And if you like the toy, then he’ll like the toys."
When I said you, I pointed at Juan. When I said he’ll, I pointed at the trucks.
"So," I concluded, "do you like any of these toys?"
And then Juan spoke.
"I’m 3," he said.
And then he walked away.
Mystifying. Truly mystifying.
One day, years from now, a woman is going to scream at Juan, "I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU!!!" I guarantee it.
So I decided to go with the toy trucks and the little Nerf gun. As the good folks at Kaybee Toys was ringing me up, I gazed over to the little boys aisle and noticed young Juan had returned there with his mother. There, pointing at the toys that I had previously displayed before him, I heard him say the following:
I WANT IT!!! I WANT IT!!! I WANT IT!!! I WANT IT!!! I WANNNNNTTTTT ITTTTTTTT!!!
I then smiled.
That was all I wanted to hear.
And now for this week’s:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Earlier this week, I was at work when I heard Kathy, one of my co-workers, sneeze.
"Bless you," I said.
Now, why is this weird?
Because I told Kathy "bless you" via Instant Messenger.
And the funny thing was: I didn’t even think twice about it. No verbal communication was used, and neither of us found it remotely strange.
I wrote "bless you."
She wrote "thank you."
And we went upon our day.
A wordless society.
The foundation is building.
Do you like these blogs? Hate them? Somewhere in the middle? Leave me a comment and let me know. Your words keep me motivated...to write mine. :-)
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Hey, guess what? I’m trying to make a living writing blogs about the dumb things of everyday life. How am I doing this? With the help of the folks at iBizTraining.com, an online training resource that shows you how to run your own online business (Online Training, Online Business. My God, it fits!!). Find out more at www.iBiztraining.com
The best sportswriters in the world are women (I have always said this). And the best in the world is none other than my girlfriend Ramona Shelburne, sports columnist for the Los Angeles Daily News. Read more about her at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_Shelburne
There’s a high standard in today’s fashion world. And no one meets that standard better than Spooles, which provides customers with high-quality purses and other accessories that are both affordable and trendy. Get trendy!! Go to www.spooles.com
There’s a cowgirl inside every woman: Elusive, passionate, untamed (I wrote that myself!!). Elusive Cowgirl caters to the free spirit within you, priding themselves on a special line of high-quality products unique on its own yet tailored to fit your everyday style. Find your inner cowgirl: Visit www.elusivecowgirl.com
The laziest man in Earth…is blogging about it. Go to www.lazyhank.com and find out more.
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