Last night, I was listening to Loveline on the way home from the James Joyce bar, which is the only place in Santa Barbara pretentious enough for these New Yorkers. Adam Corolla was bitching about "the nasty" that forms on flip flops after about 6 months. For most people, I suppose, this isn't a problem because the flip flop season is not more than 6 months anyway. In California, where Adam's probably living now (seems like the LA type), we wear flip flops all year long. I think Adam can afford a new pair of flip flops after 6 months, but I'm too broke to afford the injection-molded version of the first shoe ever invented.
Anyway, since these days half a glass of Woodford Reserve straight up and two glasses of white--white
--wine gets me pretty...extroverted...I decided to call up Adam and let him know how I avoid "the nasty." This is pretty gross actually, and I'm sacrificing dignity for the sake of a post, but I spray my flip flops with deodorant, the aerosol kind. It works. Shut up.
I kept dialing 1-800-LOVE-131 until I finally got through to a smart-sounding woman who asked me what my question was. I smoothly replied, "I wanted to give Adam advice about his flip flops."
"He was complaining about his flip flops. I've got good advice."
[Short silence.] "We've switched topics." *click*
I would have had a better chance of getting on the show and humiliating myself less by asking why urine causes my face to break out.Recent Media
Question from Trivial Pursuit: Whose name appeared on a Martin Luther King Day plaque intended to honor James Earl Jones for "Keeping the Dream Alive," in 2001?
Answer (highlight the following text): James Earl Ray
The Suck of the Irish
What would you do if hundreds of Irish people suddenly moved into your town? That's what New Yorkers were asking themselves in 1847 when waves of Irish immigrants flooded the New York harbor after a potato famine struck--Oops, wrong century, wrong New Yorkers. Let's try this again: That's what New Yorkers-who-moved-to-California-last-year were asking themselves in 2005 when waves of Irish coeds flooded our quiet beach community after a potato famine, er, a study program at Santa Barbara Community College struck--okay, I'll give up the parallelism. This New Yorker, for one, wasn't concerned. After all, contrary to the negative stereotypes, the Irish are actually a quiet, studious people with a love of stamp collecting. Right? Wrong! And nothing pushes me closer to the right than having to listen to 30 drunk Irish people sing "Total Eclipse of the Heart"--twice!--at 4 am on a Monday night. Also, they only knew, "A total eclipse of the heart..." Likewise, when they sang "Dancing Queen"--twice!--they only knew "Dancing queen, young and sweet, only 17..." and "Do de do de do." Being busted by the cops--twice!--didn't dampen their party spirit, if last night's performance of "He-e-e-e-e-e-ey, he-e-e-e-e-e-e-ey, I said, hey, what's going on?" is any evidence.
I guess not all the stereotypes are true. They do NOT listen to good music, despite their rich musical history. Or maybe that's just Northern Ireland. They also do NOT drink good beer, from what I can tell from the beer cans littering our beautiful courtyard. I'm not saying that littering is an Irish trait, since the California state bird, animal, and flower have all had the opportunity to be flattened by the California State FU to Planet Earth, the Hummer. So maybe their throwing their trash on the lawn is just their way of assimilating.
Here's another thing I've learned about the Irish--they don't need sleep. Apparently, alcohol, when mixed with one part Holy Spirit, undergoes a process known as "transubstantiation," resulting in a virtually limitless supply of energy, allowing you to stay awake long enough to drink more, have 12 kids, and make it to church just in time to eat the cracker. I postulate this process because they're not just rowdy at 4 am on days when I have to get up early to work. They hit the Schlitz all day long!
I could go on and on , but I'm just going to relate one more anecdote. In the middle of the day, a couple of weeks ago, there was the typical hooligan convention, the Chk-shhhhh! of carbonation escaping from Coors Light cans, choruses of "Arghs!" and "Oys!" and "Ehs?" and "Har har hars!" Why do they sound like Canadian Jewish pirates? I don't know! Anyway, out of the din, I could discern one voice dominating the others--not more intelligible, but it was still apparent that an engaging story was being related that cuminated in the triumphant cry, "A nice derriere!" The crowd, the huddled masses, responded by clapping hands, stomping feet, "Argh!" "Hey!" and affirmations of "A nice derriere!" Maybe it loses something in the translation...
Man, that last one was a real crap post. Am I right?Coming Soon
...The Suck of the Irish!