Tag Archives: Alan

Why real life is not like the movies.

1 Jun
Me and technology: what it looks like.

Me and technology: what it looks like.

The other night, seemingly out of the blue, Alan said, “I really need to remember what my computer password is.”

I gave him my best, “Whachewtalkinbout, Willis?” looks.

“You know,” he explained, “So you can log into my computer when I’m not here in case you want to stream something on the flatscreen.”

I nodded slowly, appreciating that he was looking out for me. “But why do you need a password?” I asked. “Doesn’t your computer scan your thumbprint?”

It was his turn to nod slowly, waiting for me to find the flaw in my logic. “It does… but it’s my thumbprint. It won’t work for you.” 

I shook my head. “I’ve seen this on Mission Impossible. We just need to cut off your thumb and leave it here. That way neither of us need to remember a password. Everyone wins!!”

And ever since then, I haven’t been able to find a knife in this house.

C’mon, Alan – it was a JOKE. Kind of.

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You say tomato, I say messy.

25 Mar

I had some friends over for brunch the other weekend. Before they arrived, I asked Alan to perform a final walk-through to pick up any of his stuff that was within eye-shot. He hollered from the second bedroom, “Do you want me to move these ties?”

I knew exactly what he was talking about. In recent weeks, when he changed clothes after work, he’d taken to draping his tie “du jour” over the door. There was quite a collection.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly the type of thing I’d like you to put away.”

He came walking out, gesturing back down the hall. “You don’t think they look good there?”

I was speechless. Random clothing hanging on a door? Was this a trick question? I shook my head.

“I kind of like them,” he explained. “It’s a nice pop of color.”

I shook my head. “Um, no.”

Then he paused and looked thoughtful. “Just understand, every time you think I’m cluttering, I think I’m actually decorating.”

Nice try, Alan.

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I’m clearly not going to be an astronaut. And it’s a good thing I’m not a teacher.

24 Jan
But I'll be damned if I can name them...

But I’ll be damned if I can name them…

Apparently I didn’t pay good attention during astronomy lessons as a child. This was highlighted the other night when I had to ask Alan, “Which one isn’t a planet any more? Jupiter or Pluto?”

He started giggling. “You’re joking, right?”

I was not.

“Unless it’s the Earth, Mars or Saturn, I don’t really have time for it,” I told him.

This made him laugh even harder. “You don’t ‘have time for it’? What does that even mean?” He paused. “Wait – you do know all the planets, don’t you?” he asked.

“Duh,” I nodded. “Every fourth grader knows the planets. Just don’t ask me to say them in order.”

My mind started to think back to the mnemonic we’d been taught to remember the order of the planets. “My mom makes pizza every Tuesday.”

Image Source: https://www.facebook.com/HumocracyI felt 90% confident, but thought perhaps I’d left out some descriptors. When I tried to puzzle out the planets, I came up with, “Mars, Mercury, Mmmm, Pluto, Earth, Tttth.” Which didn’t sound exactly right.

I tried again. “My mom makes delicious pizza at noon every Tuesday in June?”

Clearly, now that I’ve looked up the answer, that looks ridiculous. What planet did I think started with the letter T? Or D? And – now that I think of it – where’s the “S” for Saturn?

(In retrospect, I’ll admit – I think the phrase, “See you next Tuesday,” crept into this and confused me. If you don’t know what that means, try saying it to people and see if you get any raised eyebrows.)

Fortunately, Alan couldn’t hear my internal monologue and didn’t challenge me to name the planets. But he again seemed amused when – a few days later – we walked past the Smithsonian’s Air & Space Museum and I pointed out the planets they’ve constructed (to scale) in front of the building. “I wonder if they’ve yanked down the statue for Jupiter at the end.” I commented. Then amended, “Or is it Pluto?”

He shook his head, exasperated.

“Wait,” I said. “Let’s look at this line-up so I can get it straight.” So we started with the sun… and then walked to Mercury… and then walked to Venus… and then Earth… and then Mars…

“Whoa,” I stopped. “So we’ve been doing these expeditions to Mars?” Alan nodded. “Looks to me like Venus is much closer. Why don’t we go there instead?” I suggested, feeling brilliant for discovering a shortcut the so-called “scientists” at NASA had overlooked.

Again, Alan looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Perhaps because Venus has a surface temperature around 800 degrees?” he offered. “And an atmospheric pressure almost 100 times greater than Earth’s?”

“Riiiiiight,” I conceded. “That probably wouldn’t be good.” I thought for a moment.

Image Source: http://static.themetapicture.com/media/funny-earth-third-planet-from-sun.jpg“Speaking of – we’re only the third planet from the sun? That’s a lot closer than I was thinking.”

“Hence the television show ‘Third Rock’ with Jonathan Lithgow,” Alan prompted.

Indeed. (Though to be fair, I never watched that show because I thought it was a sci-fi show about aliens who lived on a rock. I had no idea it was actually set on the Earth.)

So clearly I’m a dumb-ass when it comes to astronomy. In case you are too, I thought I’d share the mnemonics I discovered to keep the planets straight. Apparently the one I learned has been obliterated since Pluto has been demoted. Here are the new versions:

My Very Educated Mother Just Saw Uncle Nick
My Very Energetic Mother Just Served Ur Nan
My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nuts

I would like to point out: these make NO sense. Why does your mom have to be educated to see Uncle Nick or serve us nuts? And what’s with “Ur Nan?” Is that a kind of bread? And why must your mom be energetic to do that?

So here are the phrases from when Pluto was considered a planet (pre-2006):

My Very Excellent Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas
My very exquisite mother just served us nine pizzas
My very energetic mum swam under north pole

I’m going to guess a MOM created all of these since the “E” adjectives are all very flattering. And I’m going to guess that – like me – no one actually remembered them since they weren’t very vivid. Had I been the teacher, a generation of pupils might have memorized the following:

My Very Eager Mother Just Serviced Uncle Nick’s Peter

Aaaaand… that’s probably why I didn’t become a teacher.

You’re welcome. 

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Tip: Your ass is not a parking meter

28 Dec

Image Source: (c) 2012 - pithypants

Sometimes, when we’re having a lazy Sunday, Alan and I like to walk up to The Diner on 18th Street for breakfast.

The other weekend, sitting there nursing a tall Diet Coke, I looked over Alan’s shoulder and did a double-take. “Dude. There are at least two inches of visible plumber crack behind you,” I told him. “Turn around and look.”

Alan – game for anything amusing – slowly turned, his mouth full of egg. Had he been anyone else, I might’ve cautioned him to “swallow your bite” before looking. But Alan has an iron stomach and finds most disgusting things simply “curious.” (Don’t even ask him about watching a caesarean section unless you want to lose your cookies.)

This time, however, he took a big swallow to clear the egg before allowing his mouth to hang open. I took pleasure in watching his eyebrows lift in incredulity. He turned back to face me. “What? The? Hell?”

Exactly. Behind him. perched on a stool at the diner’s counter, was a young woman wearing low riders. Very low riders. So low, that every time she wiggled, her pants would tug down another few centimeters. By the time Alan looked, she was showing more than two full inches of crack.

“It looks like you should slip a quarter in there when you walk by,” I commented.

Alan agreed. “Can you imagine if we were seated directly behind her?” He mimed creating a paper wad out of the straw wrapper and tossing it at her. That line of thought prompted us to assess the people who were seated behind her, right at eye/crack level. Miraculously, no one seemed to have noticed. Yet.

And then our game began… as we wrapped up our meal, we kept surveying the other diners, watching for their reactions as they picked up on their scenic vista. As their lights slowly came on, we were rewarded with some pretty vivid double-takes, elbowing, and smirking whispers. By the time we left, the rear section of the restaurant was filled with tables of strangers all catching each other’s eyes as if checking to see who was in on the joke.

I suppose I should’ve gone over to the girl and – as if I were pointing out a downed zipper or toilet paper trailing from her shoe – alerted her to the issue. Call me shy, but I couldn’t find the words to approach a stranger and tell her her she’d shown her ass to the entire restaurant. Or maybe shy isn’t the word for it. Call me karma.

Maybe I’ll order a bunch of these and hand them out as subtle hints:

Image Source: http://starspangle200.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Butt-Shirt.jpg

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The Nutcracker: Bah Humbug!

7 Dec
Image Source: http://b5media_b4.s3.amazonaws.com/28/files/2006/11/nutcracker-girl.jpg

Boring. Sigh. Zzzz….

I’m just going to put it out there, even though I realize this isn’t going to be a popular statement: I’m not a fan of the Nutcracker.

I’ll add this to the list of things I don’t like – such as pumpkin pie and babies – that make people regard me with some combination of horror and disgust. Get over it. More for you. (Note: My friends’ babies are exceptions. Their pies are not.)

Anyway… I had a vague recollection of being bored stiff when seeing the Nutcracker as a kid, so I was curious to see if I’d enjoy it as an adult. Alan’s daughter is dancing in it for the first time, so we went to watch her performance last week.

Five Reasons I’m Not a Fan:

  1. I have no tolerance for mimes. I know, the thing is a ballet, so they’re primarily dancing, but a lot of the first act relies on people acting without talking. Also known as miming. I find it physically painful to watch a family of characters cross the stage pretending to have an animated conversation, moving their mouths like they’re chewing on the largest hunk of bubble gum known to man in an attempt to show us they’re talking.
  2. The story is lacking.  In case you’re not familiar: a rich family throws a Christmas party, their daughter receives a Nutcracker that she loves, her brother breaks it, a magician mends it, the Christmas tree grows like it’s on steroids, and then she dreams that a bunch of people are dancing for her. Someone needs a lesson on plot development. And less LSD.
  3. The Sugar Plum Fairy is full of herself. The one thing the Nutcracker does pretty well is provide an opportunity to showcase a LOT of dancers. The scenes can accommodate a seemingly limitless number of dancers, so it’s the perfect show for making sure everyone has a role. Until the Sugar Plum Fairy takes the stage. Once she arrives, it turns into her show and you realize that all the other parts were just humoring the parents in an attempt to sell more seats. She single-handedly undermines the adage that, “There are no small roles, only small actors.”
  4. Really, a NUTCRACKER? When is the last time you saw a child get excited by a nutcracker? Probably NEVER, because they are inherently boring and hardly qualify as a toy. I know this story was developed long before American Girl Dolls were on the scene, so I’m not proposing they replace the title character with a modern toy. But SURELY there’s something more compelling from those days. I mean, even a corn husk doll (circa Little House of the Prairie) would be more exciting. Which says a lot.
  5. The Magician is creepy. I find it interesting that a holiday/children’s classic includes a character who is clearly a pedophile. His arrival with a trunk full of tricks would’ve been only marginally creepier if he’d pulled up in an ice cream truck. And has no one ever asked why he’s hiding behind a clock watching little Clara sleep?

So I might revise my opinion of The Nutcracker if someone would stage a version where Chris Hansen (from Dateline’s ” To Catch a Predator” series) made a cameo and busted the magician, and Kristen Wiig repeatedly photo-bombed the Sugar Plum Fairy’s scenes. Until that production is available, I’ll stay home.

Unless, of course, Alan’s daughter remains a ballerina. In which case, I’ll dutifully attend and clap during her scenes… and secretly try to enlist her in my battle against the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Now *this* I would pay to see.

Now *this* I would pay to see. (Image: courtesy of my sister, Alicia.)

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