Sanka

Left to Right: Me, David (Thanks, Amanda!)

Those of you that came to hear us on Saturday at the Unurban: Thanks! That was probably the best show we ever played, I think.

Me (Thanks, Amanda!)

Saturday

Padre Pio's Revenge

Left to right: My Jack O' Lantern, Amanda's

We're roasting pumpkin seeds right now, which seems kind of ruthless, in a way.

Pines and Needles

Longtime "readers" will know that I don't consider this one of those "party blogs," and I don't feel like anyone would want to look at self-indulgent pictures of me and my friends clowning around and mugging for the camera, but this is different. This is music-related, so there's an excuse.

For Halloween, my friend Brian (who happens to be in The Gold State) put together a sort-of Devo tribute band that dressed as Devo and played all Devo songs. David and Leo of The Gold State were also in the band. Their versions of the songs were amazingly spot-on renditions, and I wish I got to hear more, but I was late to the party because I had mistakenly thought it was supposed to take place the following night. I probably shouldn't admit this. Thankfully, somebody called me and I got the message around 10:00.

Left to Right: Leo, Brian, Mr. P, David, Ricardo

Amanda and I were probably dressed as the most obvious things a couple could have possibly been for Halloween. You guessed it: Marie Antoinette and a pizza box chef, respectively.

Left to Right: Me, Amanda

Left to Right: Same as above, Amanda

CMG's Carlos DJed (dressed as Duff from Guns and Roses, as if you couldn't tell). He displayed the ultimate trust in me by letting me reluctantly take over the turntables for a half hour or so later in the evening. Needless to say, I played a completely unappetizing mixture of songs that repelled partygoers in droves. One thing I learned: One should never follow Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" with Hall & Oates' "Did it In a Minute."

Left to Right: Me, Carlos
Left to Right: You get the picture

Left to Right: Me, Brian

Left to Right: Me, Leo

I learned that my nose is really, really big, and I'm never going to grow a moustache, no matter what, partially because it accentuates the bigness of my nose in a bad way. I also learned to write down things such as dates of parties.

No more mugging party pics for quite some time. I promise.

Tin of Biscuits

Here's another primitive Instant Messenger drawing from my "Pants-Wetting Icons" series.

Please enjoy your H-ween weekend.

Ambergris

Do you know what ambergris is? I've heard of it before, and all I knew was that it was a vaguely nautical substance that's mentioned in sea-fairin' tales and the like. I found out recently that it's really expensive, so expensive, in fact, that if you find a chunk of it on a beach, you can use the proceeds to buy a house or two.

Ambergris has been used as an ingredient in perfume for ages due to its unique odor and properties. It comes only from sperm whales. Because the whales eat lots of giant squid, a substance forms in their digestive tracts that protects them from the squid's sharp beaks. After this substance collects inside a whale for some time, the whale will belch out a big ball of it into the water.

However, at this point, the ball of stuff is just smelly and disgusting and repellent. In order for it to achieve the texture, fragrance and chemical properties that make it more valuable, it has to float around in the ocean.

For TEN YEARS.

Oh wait, I forgot to mention that it's believed only one percent of sperm whales actually produce this substance.

So keep your eyes peeled.

Oh, one more thing, it's illegal to posses it in the US because of the Endangered Species Act of 1978.

Nighty night.

Packet of Crisps

"They" make us use Microsoft Instant Messenger to communicate with each other at my day job, and occasionally I use its primitive drawing tools to execute things like the above. Just thought I'd share.

Beaches

My "Best Gal" and I both ditched our day jobs Friday to go to Disneyland, and let me tell you.

Should I start with the stuff that sucked or the stuff that was good? I obviously can't hear you, so I'll pretend you said, "The stuff that sucked." Here's what sucked at Disneyland:

1. The Haunted Mansion - This should have been the highlight for me. What time of year is it? It's nearly Halloween, isn't it? And what better time to enjoy the Haunted Mansion? But no. For the season, they've decked the Haunted Mansion out in "Nightmare Before Christmas" stuff, inside and out. They changed almost every single thing!
   I craved the creepy organ music, and the rocking basslines that you used to be able to hear during the graveyard party scene, but it's all been replaced with crappy, new-agey Danny Elfman garbage.
   No more, "Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding," and, "Is this haunted room actually stretching," either. The narrator's whole spiel has been replaced with some "Nightmare Before Christmas" songsong-y, rhyme-y crap.
   As if this weren't bad enough everything has been covered with "snow" and "presents," and it's so poorly executed, it looks like it could have been done by the San Pedro Scrapbookin' Club.
   I could go on. My advice is don't go to Disneyland until they change it back. I'm done talking about it. I'm going to have nightmares.
   
2. Pirates of the Caribbean - I've heard rumors that this ride has been ruined by the addition of crap from the recent "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies, which is only partially true, and for that, I'm grateful. I'll tell you what they've done.
   They've changed some audio to include awkward, out-of-place references to "Captian Jack Sparrow." For example, in the scene where the ship and the fortress are exchanging cannon-fire, the ship's captain used to say something like, "Avast ye, scurvy scum," but now he says something like, "Avast ye, scurvy scum, Captian Jack Sparrow!"
   There are also several new animatronic "Captian Jack Sparrows," that really look like Johnny Depp. The problem is that all the other pirates look somewhat cartoonish, so it's totally incongruent and lame and fucked up. Goddamn it, why? Do you people have no fucking shame whatsoever?
3. Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln - In case you've never seen this (and most people haven't and don't care) the Mr. Lincoln is good ol' Honest Abe the Great Emancipator, or rather, an animatronic version of Ol' Iron Logs himself. What happens is you enter a theater and watch a little Patriotic slide show that's accompanied by America-y, "Glory Glory, hallelujah," music, and then the curtain opens to reveal a robotic Old chicory who gives a Gettysburg address. I've forced countless faceless and nameless girlfriends to watch it over the years, girls whose faces and names escape me.
   Apparently, the Lincoln attraction was always considered "boring" by most people, and the Disney brass always wanted to get rid of it, but they kept it around because it was a pet project of Uncle Walt's.
   Much to my pissed-offness, it's gone now, but only temporarily, I was assured. The theater is now showing some "50-Years of Disneyland" thing, but the lady who worked there told me they'd bring back Lincoln as soon as that show was over, but conveniently, she didn't know when that would be.
4. Toontown - I wish it would go away. It's not good.
   

All the other stuff I loved that is now destroyed, has been gone for years, so I won't even mention any of it. On with the good stuff:

1. Pirates of the Caribbean - The 90% that hasn't been ruined is awesome!
2. The Indiana Jones Ride - It's so good, I can't believe it was made in the 90s.
3. Small World - It's worth it purely for the retro design elements.
4. Space Mountain - It's totally better than it was, I can't explain it.
5. Enchanted Tiki Room - Oh my god. How does this even exist anymore? How did the minds that decided to destroy midcentury classics like Mission to Mars and Adventure Through Innerspace allow this to remain?
   
6. Teacups - Teacups!!!!
7. All the Fantasyland Rides - Hooray!
8. The Primordial World - As seen from the Disneyland Railroad train. Somehow, this slipped through the cracks and was allowed to remain in existence.
9. Everything else that slipped through the cracks and was allowed to remain in existence - Tom Sawyer's Island, The Storybook boat thing, etc.
10. FastPass - My method is to go do the weird stuff that nobody likes (Mr. Lincoln, Tom Sawyer's Island, etc.) when the lines are long, and the FastPass thing totally enhances that.
    

Here's a free, unflattering picture of us on the new Buzz Lightyear ride which is kind of fun but who cares. You shoot stuff from the moving car thing and get points. They email you the unflattering photo for free, which is good publicity, because now, Reader Dearest, you're suddenly willing to shell out the 60-something bucks it costs to enter Disneyland, right?

Wait 'til the Haunted Mansion gets back to normal, though. I'm warning you.

Computer Software

I promise to be funny again very soon. In the meantime, please allow your whole family to enjoy these pictures of The Gold State last week at 14 Below in Santa Monica.

(Thanks for the pics, Amanda!)

Czechs & Balances

The Gold State, puzzled and vibrating at 14 Below (Photo: Thanks, Amanda!)

Stand By Your Mansion

Here's the dream I had last night:

The Gold State was playing a show in a 70s-era supermarket. I was up high near the ceiling at the back of the store on some kind of balcony thing with some employees who were listening to us.

I noticed that the other guys in the band weren't on the balcony with me, but I could hear them playing. It turned out that they were scattered separately all throughout the store in different aisles. I remember seeing the drums in the front corner of the store near the produce. None of the guys could see the others, but I could see all of them, as I was up on the balcony thing. I remembered thinking that it was a bizarre and probably bad idea for a show.

That's all I remember.

This dream could have something to do with the fact that we have a real, live, 21-&-over, FREE show tomorrow night (Tuesday) at 14 Below in Santa Monica with The Black Heartthrobs. Not that you should go or anything, but our band is really good and The Black Heartthrobs are really good.

Not that you should go or anything.

Clear as a Daisy

Hello and Jesus Christ. Here are a couple of upcoming free shows we're playing:

10/03/2006 9:00 PM (TUESDAY) - 14 Below
Don't miss The Black Heartthrobs at 10:00pm!
1348 14th St, Santa Monica, CA
21 & Over
FREE

11/04/2006 9:00 PM (SATURDAY) - UnUrban Cafe
3301 Pico Blvd, Santa Monica, CA
All Ages
FREE

Gosh bless America...every one.

Schick Center

The first half of the following conversation happened to a friend.

"Hey, do you like Mercury?"

Pause.

"Um...are you asking about the substance or the planet?"

Pause.

"Planet? Naw, man! I'm askin' about the GOD Mercury!"

Pause.

"Oh, the god. Yeah, he's pretty good."

Listmania!

We're fortunate to have so many generous friends with cameras.

More The Gold State, crowded onto the Unurban's tiny stage.
(Thanks for the photos, Amanda!)

You Are Soaking In it

The Gold State, crowded onto the Unurban's tiny stage.
(Thanks for the photo, Gerit!)

It's a Boy and/or Girl!

Here's your Print-and-keep "The Gold State at the Unurban Cafe" Camera Flyer.

You can cut out the camera and everyone will think you're holding it at a three-quarter angle, about to photograph someone other than them.

CLAMBAKE: Epilogue

We held the first CLAMBAKE(!) on Saturday, and we definitely learned a few things about holding a guerilla-style, all-acoustic beach/party show. More importantly, however, I think we all learned a little something about (pointing at chest) ourselves.

If you don't have time to read the whole thing, the following statement should convey the nature of the event: Our CLAMBAKE(!) turned out to be "A Charlie Brown Xmas" meets "National Lampoon's Vacation." Have fun at work.

Some of the planners and I agreed in advance to view this first CLAMBAKE(!) as an experiment of sorts, as a precaution against becoming disappointed in case things didn't go as smoothly as we'd hoped, which was fortunate.

I should first mention why we chose Dockweiler as opposed to other area beaches. We (the planners) had all agreed that fire was an essential element for our event, and there are only two beaches in the whole LA area where fire is allowed: Cabrillo Beach here in San Pedro, which is my own personal Alma Mater beach where I spent a great portion of my childhood, and Dockweiler State Beach which is directly beneath the flight path at LAX. We anticipated big crowds because of the Labor Day weekend holiday, and Cabrillo only has about five fire pits. However, Dockweiler has a seemingly infinite number of pits so I figured we'd have better luck there.

I arrived at 4:00 PM and there were no fire pits to be had on the whole goddamn beach. I planted the flag and figured that we'd merely grab the first pit to be vacated. I'll just tell you now, no pits ever opened up.

We all decided, at around sunset, that we wouldn't allow the lack of fire to sully our CLAMBAKE(!) so The Black Heartthrobs started their set, and it was really good.
We had all expressed concerns about the lack of amplified vocals, but it turned out to not be a problem. (We'd even talked about cheating a bit and bringing microphones.) I don't know why, but the singing and the instruments all came across at about the same volume.

By the time the The Black Heartthrobs finished, it had become apparent that all the fire pit-hoarders were there to stay, so I was a little worried about the sun going down and coldness setting in. In addition, we couldn't roast or toast anything, but I tried to put on a brave front.

Then CMG started their set, and during the second song, someone noticed that a tow truck was taking CMG Carlos's car! We scrambled up the hill, and we saw that the street signs were very ambiguous, and it took us a while to even figure out why they had towed it. As you might imagine, this put quite a damper on the already-fireless evening. The phone number-to-call on the street signs was a disconnected number, so we had to track down a policeman in order to get that information.

When we returned to our site, it was pretty much dark. Several revelers were getting ready to leave, and one volunteered to give Carlos a ride to the impound yard. It didn't seem that he was going to return, and I didn't blame him at all. The CLAMBAKErs shivered and huddled together for warmth in the grey twilight as the rest of the beach was ablaze in bonfires. Dockweiler was going to close in less than two hours, and I mulled over the possibility that Jesus once again had us licked.

People were complaining about being cold and hungry and about there not being fire, and I can't blame them because I felt the same way, and the clock was ticking and the threat of cars being towed loomed large, and it seemed like the CLAMBAKE(!) just might be finished.

Someone earlier in the day (I think it was my sister Michelle) had suggested buying a small hibachi-style barbecue thingy for us to use. Even though the only "legal" place to have a fire on the beach was inside the stone fire pits, we decided that we'd take our chances and buy one at the nearest supermarket. Everyone assured me that they'd wait until I returned.

Naturally, the market didn't have anything like a small hibachi-style barbecue thingy at all. After almost giving up, I spotted some aluminum baking pans, and I chose one that would have been suitable for baking a turkey, and I also bought a small bag of light-in-bag charcoal. Not so fast, "Prince of Peace!"

I arrived back at camp and I was promptly mocked for my aluminum baking pan, but after we lit the coal and the revelers began warming themselves and toasting/roasting things, all was merry and bright. (See picture of flaming pan below.) This is the part of the CLAMBAKE(!) that's reminiscent of the Charlie Brown Xmas special.
Then The Gold State played and during our set, CMG's Carlos came back. It was all a mistake! The police apologized and gave him his car back (that part's actually not true, but he did come back). Then CMG played and everyone hugged.

Things we learned:

1. No CLAMBAKE(!)s on holidays weekends
2. I forgot the other thing.

The next one will be in a couple of months, and we hope that it'll be more of a "Grinch Stole Xmas" meets "Caddyshack" kind of thing.

CLAMBAKE!

Saturday (September 2nd), we're having a "beach party" thing where we and a few friends' bands will play. It'll be fun. You better go. Here are some details:

CLAMBAKE!

Have you gotten the most out of summer? Neither have we! The CLAMBAKE is a guerilla-style, all-acoustic outdoor beach party/show to help us ring out the summer season. Where Imperial Highway dumps into the ocean, turn right and park on the street, OR be fancy and pay $7 to park in the lot. We'll be at the northernmost firepit that we can secure. Look for the CLAMBAKE flag, which should be visually pleasing and will have been made by some artistic type or other. Bring wood, food & drinks for burning and eating and drinking (respectively).

MAP

Lineup:
7:00 -The Gold State-
6:00 -CMG-
5:00 -The Black Heartthrobs-
& Possibly More TBA

-Goodbye cruel summer!

Station to Stanchion

From Google Maps, here's a picture of San Pedro's own Knoll Hill, taken from outer space or 30,000 feet or whatever. Who fucking cares.
From down here, the letters look slightly larger and higher. Don't patronize me.

Please feel free to send links to your own found landmarks.

Wake me when it's over.

The Bitch is Back in Black

One of my long-held assumptions has just been shattered, and my sense of well-being has been compromised. I will elaborate.

My dad taught me how to tie a necktie when I was pretty young, and non-necktie-tying friends have always come to me for help when they had weddings or job interviews. "Paul knows all the knots," they used to say (not really).

I'm reasonably proficient at two different knots, and I had always thought they were the Windsor Knot and the much simpler Half Windsor Knot. Yesterday, however, I discovered that what I THOUGHT was a Windsor Knot was actually a HALF Windsor Knot.

Yeah.

It also turns out that when I thought I was tying a Half Windsor Knot, I was actually tying a Four-in-hand Knot. Who's ever even heard of that?

Four-in-hand Knot.

This is precisely why you should never try anything ever.

Upcoming Shows

We have some upcoming shows, so I thought I'd announce two of them now. Please don't argue.

The one that's chronologically second, but more straightforward and easy-to-explain is our upcoming show at the UnUrban Cafe in Santa Monica on Saturday, September 16 at 11 PM. This place is really funky and "folksy" and California-y, and it's definitely where Chrissy from Three's Company would've played at the open mike nights if she was a singer/songwriter. This is probably the greatest compliment I could ever pay to a place.

The show that's chronologically first but slightly more difficult to explain is the CLAMBAKE on Saturday, September 2 at 2 PM. We're saying farewell to the summer season with a guerilla-style, all-acoustic beach party/show thing. Imagine a beach party where people are playing instruments, except instead of just playing classic rock sing-alongs, the people are entire bands playing their own songs (and classic rock sing-alongs). Goodbye cruel summer!

We haven't decided yet if we're going to have it at Dockweiler in Marina Del Rey or at Cabrillo Beach in San Pedro. Those are the two local beaches that have firepits. We'll let you know. We've already received confirmations from a couple of acts, and we're waiting for at least a couple more. Yes, I am a bit premature announcing this, I admit.

A "clam" is also a jazz slang term for a wrong musical note. Isn't that funny?

09/02/2006 2:00 PM - CLAMBAKE!
Venue will be determined, either Dockweiler Beach or Cabrillo Beach, CA.
FREE
Lineup:
The Gold State
CMG
The Black Heartthrobs
& More to be announced

09/16/2006 11:00 PM - UnUrban Cafe
3301 Pico Blvd, Santa Monica, CA
FREE

Me, Myself & the Ottoman Turks

I was just thinking how mentally convenient it is for those of us in the U.S. (United States) that we can refer to our country as the US, because it's spelled the same as the word "us." This helps prevent us from having to mentally switch gears (figuratively) when we're referring to our country as opposed to other countries. For example, the phrase, "Britain and the US" is extra-easy for our brains to process because we (us) are the US. Imagine if we lived in the T.H.E.M., for example. We'd have to say that we are "the THEM." In the Olympics and in soccer, we'd root for the THEM. God bless the THEM, and we'd have clothing and other crap emblazoned with the letters T H E M.

We'd say things like, "Look, pal, that might be the way you do things over your country, but here in the THEM, we do it like this."

That would suck.

Survey

Please name your favorite berry and your favorite vampire.

Calling all Subjugate!

Yesterday my leading paramour and I ordered some alcoholic beverages at a tavern. The perky barmaid (who was at least our age, it should be noted) eyed my companion somewhat suspiciously.

"Do you have ID?"

My consort graciously fished through her purse, produced her California Driver's License and then handed it over. The server examined it closely. She then regarded my companion again, and then, somewhat incredulously, she returned to studying the license.

"Wow," she finally said, as she returned the license with a chipper smile. "You look really young."

(We are totally aware that servers will occasionally do this kind of thing to flatter patrons. Not only are we fully aware of this, but in general, we have become keenly attuned to all manner of phoniness. In other words, you cannot fool us, and she was totally not doing the thing.)

As you might expect, there were a few moments filled with aw-shucks false humility and did-she-really-mean-that, yes-she-really-did mental question/answers. The server scribbled in her pad.

I said, coyly, "If you don't ask to see my ID, I'll understand."

"M'Kay," she blurted, WAY too quickly, as she spun around and scurried off to the kitchen.

Optional Bonus Ending:

Later, at a different bar, not only did I not get "carded," but I actually ended up asking the doorperson and bartenders if I could see their IDs. That's how not-young I look. I was all, "Can I see your ID," to the staff at the bar. And they were all, "Yes."

Because I look so not-young.

Alliteration is Still Cool

It's time again for another nasty note! But first, some background:

I've told you before about our icky neighbors that are, thankyoujesus, moving away. To summarize, we lived here for 2 years, then they moved in and, within the first week or so of their arrival, they called the police because our stereo was barely perceptible to them on a Friday at 10:00. Ever since then, they've done nothing but complain and be complete creeps to us.

Then, months later, we were planning a party on a Saturday, so we sent them a polite little note about it well in advance, which included my mobile number in case there were any real problems, which I knew there wouldn't be, but I was honestly just trying to placate them so they wouldn't call the police.

Then THEY sent US a note that:

• Cautioned us that we were breaking rules of the complex in which we live (including a direct quote).
  
• Warned us to give our, "Cooperation," after 11:00.
  
• Told us to bear in mind that one of them had to wake up at 6AM the next morning (Sunday).

So now, they're finally moving. I wanted to have a big party on their last night, but I wasn't sure exactly when that was. However, I found a note from them yesterday that said that they were going to have "contractors" moving their "household goods" tomorrow and the next day, and perhaps the next, and although they may be blocking our alley and/or garage they would move their vehicles to, "Accommodate our needs."

Nice, right? That's perfectly fine, isn't it? -Oh, but wait. They just had to throw in this sentence: "Any efforts to reduce the number of times they have to stop work would be greatly appreciated."

Oh, OK. So we should try to make "efforts" to help them by figuring out ways that we can limit our comings and goings in return for them complaining every time they heard a peep out of us for the past two years.

So here's my note to them because I'm completely tired of taking crap from icky people in general:

Dear Neighbors,

Thank you very much for your note, alerting us of your plans to have contractors' vehicles blocking our garage and the alleyway. As you probably know, parking in the alleyway is a direct violation of not only the rules of our complex, but local ordinances as well. This is made very clear on the numerous signs posted prominently throughout the alleyways. However flagrant this infringement might be, we have decided that we will probably overlook it.

Please be aware that our busy schedules may require us to make numerous trips in and out of our garage on any given day. We very much appreciate the fact that your contractors will stop work to move their vehicles to allow us access to and from our garage, and we certainly will not hesitate to ask them to do this as often as necessary.

Thank you so much,

The Neighbors

Contest Song - Part 2

Today, I will present to you part two of the little song that is the result of the contest I held here on the The Gold State Remarks page a number of months ago. This one contains fine lyrics that were submitted by Geritopia from the Bloggy Blog.

This is by no means the final installment of this thing. There are at least two more (count 'em) song parts that I'm going to record for this.

Incidentally, this whole thing was inspired by something very nice that that Geritopia did over at Bloggy Blog. You can read about it here on my old The Gold State Remarks page if you're so inclined. Thanks very much to everyone who submitted stuff, and I wish I could use it all, but it's not humanly possible. Remember, this isn't finished yet, so your stuff might make it into the next song part thing.

Part one of the song, "Easy Breezy Japanesey," can be heard by clicking HERE, but I warn you that it's much louder than part 2, and I'm sorry, but I just discovered this and I can't fix it right now because I have to go out. I'm warning you. You can read about that part here.

Please click HERE to listen to this part of the song, which is probably called "Queen of Tarts."

"Queen of Tarts"

There's a beehive
knocking at your door
and the Queen of Tarts
wants to borrow a whore

Pins and needles
an anthill of sin
the mole inside
drinks his last pint of gin

and the Queen of Tarts
wants to borrow a whore
(etc)
-------------
Thanks again for playing and, again, stay tuned.

Stairway to You-Know-Where

I know I'm really late to this, but I just saw the documentary Metallica: Some Kind of Monster, which is pretty compelling and entertaining, I have to admit, and you should see it whether or not you're a fan of Metallica. (Guess what? I'm not.)

You may know that the film shows the band recording a particularly forced and uninspired album, while utilizing the services of a shrink to help them work through all their fighting, bickering and tantrums. It's good stuff.

Here's the thing I wanted to mention: There's this guy named Dave Mustaine (Who, I leaned from the movie, is in this other successful band called Megadeth) and I guess he was a guitar player in Metallica, but they allegedly unceremoniously kicked him out like 20 years ago because he was an alcoholic or something.

So there's one scene where he comes to a session with the band and their shrink, and he bitterly confronts them about throwing him out of the band without having given him a chance to clean up his act. He tells them that he's widely ridiculed for this, and he says that people routinely yell, "Metallica," at him on the street to demean him. He says this really gets to him and it's apparent that it really does.

But what I was thinking, is that the people who yell, "Metallica," have no idea who he is or that he was ever actually IN Metallica. I think they're just assholes who are yelling, "Metallica," at him simply because he has long hair, and he's merely one of the millions of long-haired men who have "Metallica," routinely yelled at them by assholes.

I hope someone will suggest this to that poor Dave Mustaine fellow at some point so that he can have some peace.

Birthday Yer Blues

Sunday's my birthday. July 23rd.

I'm a Leo. I'm very creative, I have questionable leadership qualities and I'm prone to brooding.

Oh. I brood.

Likes: Cuddling, snuggling and nuzzling. Dislikes: Cantaloupe, ill-fitting socks and people who lie about me behind my back. -Bummer!

Did I mention the brooding thing? -I'm a brooder!

I Attended the Orange County Fair

My Birthday is on July 23

Every year, I get really bummed out about my birthday. You can probably relate. I don't need to go into the reasons because I'm sure you have the same ones, and if you don't, you'll never understand.

I also find it really embarrassing and distasteful when people do this big look-at-me-hooray-it's-my-birthday-look-at-me thing, but I have a problem where I ignore the birthday and I don't tell anyone or think about it, and then it sneaks up on me and it's a shock.

This year, I decided that I'd try something completely different by making a really big deal about the birthday well in advance, which is the opposite of what I normally do. The problem is that I unconsciously did what I always do and I forgot about it until now. The birthday is on July 23, which is nine days away, so it's a little late to start planning a big party or something, but it's not too late for me to make a big deal about it and then get really depressed when nobody remembers.

Yes, I know that some people have called to wish me a happy birthday before and been met with a less-than-enthusiastic response from me, and that doesn't mean that you shouldn't do it, but it does mean that you'll probably never understand.

Contest Song - Part 1

We ran a little contest here a few months back where alert readers of The Gold State Remarks page submitted lyrics for me to put to music. The whole thing was inspired by something similar or "identical" that Geritopia did over at Bloggy Blog. You can read about it here on my old blog. (I'm trying to avoid the word "blog" in general, but you wouldn't know it to read this post, would you?)

Thanks to everyone who submitted stuff, because certainly, you didn't have to, and sorry it took so long, but I'm finally getting around to recording the thing. It's eventually going to be a medley with five or six different parts, but I'm posting only the first part right now, I guess, as a "teaser" of sorts.

This part contains words submitted by Cocovan and Geritopia with just a few supplemental words thrown in by me. It's a really rough mix, obviously, but I think it's appropriate for a teaser of sorts.

Click HERE to listen to Part 1 of the medley, "Easy Breezy Japanesey."
---

"Easy Breezy Japanesey"

Easy Breezy Japanesey
You've got the way to set yourself free
Easy Breezy Japanesey
You've got the way to set yourself free

Easy Breezy Japanesey
Greaseneck monkeys all in a row
Easy Breezy Japanesey
Like snowbanks on your worried furrow

Easy Breezy Japanesey
Feed the people watching TV
Easy Breezy Japanesey
They need help, on that we agree

----
Thanks for playing, and more soon.

Good Night and Good Vibrations

"I ain't a-scared o' no firey-works!" -Staff Photo

Why is it that you can never buy the right amount of crackers? You never end the evening by saying something like, "Wow, look; one cracker left." It's always, "Jesus, look at all these fucking crackers."

(With apologies to every comedian ever.)

Deadly Nightingales

So there's a new Adam Sandler movie called "Click," which is about a man with a magic remote control. Is this the most retarded idea for a movie ever? I'm thinking it just might be.

There's something about the billboard with the bloated, misshapen remote control and Adam Sandler's smug, smirking face that yells to me, "Dude. You are gonna LOVE this." If you're like me, your imagination instantly starts running wild with all the scenarios in which it would be so awesome to have a remote control.

Then to further goad your fertile imagination (as if you needed it) there's the supplemental billboards that show:

1. A screaming baby with a giant "MUTE" button.
2. A man viewed from behind wearing a Speedo with a giant "FAST-FORWARD" button.
3. A close up of a woman's cleavage with a giant "SLO-MO" button.

Get it? Because everybody hates screaming babies and men's asses, but everybody LOVES boobs! Right everybody? Because when you see boobs, you wanna slooow down and take a real goood look! But when you hear a little brat screaming its head off, you wanna shut that kid up, right?! Shut the kid up and get rid of that man's ass! Ugh!

Hey! This gives me an awesome idea! If I could just invent a product that would help people enjoy things they liked, while helping them avoid things they hate, I'd really be onto something! Because good=good and bad=bad! It's so simple, I don't know why I didn't think of it before.

I just realized it's never going to work. Too many people hate good things and vice versa.

That movie's going to flop, too. Big time.

Alliteration is Cool

Can I just share this, Dear Reader, that the crappy neighbors are moving? Yes, they're moving and I'm pretty happy about it, I can tell you.

You may recall that these neighbors, a man and woman of indeterminate age, moved in about a year ago and promptly summoned the police to our door because we had a really small gathering and were playing music on the stereo at a low volume on a Friday night. Who does that? Who moves into a new place and then calls the cops on the perfectly resonable and affable young hipster couple next door?

You may also recall, Dear Reader (but possibly not and you would quickly be forgiven), that these are the same unreasonable neighbors who complained to us numerous other times about numerous other things. One time, they came to my door at 6:00 on a weekday evening to complain about me playing music (my vinyl copy of The Slider, if anyone cares). I stood in the doorway, incredulous, as you can well imagine, and much the way you might stand if someone had the nerve to disturb you in such a way.

The guy invited me to come over to his place next door to hear what it sounded like in there, and I accepted, because I truly don't want to be an ass, and I would never want to infringe on anyone's tranquility the way he was making it seem like I was. I fully expected to step into his place and hear some kind of echoey, booming caucophany as if the exact placement of my speakers freakishly just happened to be above certain beams that carried and amplified the vibrations, making our units into some kind of giant string-cup-telephone thing. I really did, I thought it was going to be loud, and I was all prepared to say something like, "Golly, mister! I had no idea it sounded like that over here! I sure am sorry!"

Yes, but guess what? Of course, I couldn't hear anything. That's right. I stood there leaning forward, head cocked, straining to hear something as the guy gestured at his living room in self-satisfied, I-rest-my-case smugness.

He said, "See? We're sitting here, quietly trying to read, and there's this, 'Boom, boom, boom.'" I stood there in silence for a few more seconds, and then, finally my ears adjusted, there it was, the faintest little booming you've ever heard.

I told them that I could barely hear it, but that I would turn it down a bit, just as a show of good faith or whatever. I added that it was unreasonable for them to expect us to be imperceptible to them.

I mean, really. What would it take for you to feel compelled to march over to someone's home, pound on their door and tell them to shut up or whatever? Jesus. I'm saying that it would have to be a lot more than the faintest little booming you've ever heard.

Then there was that one time when we had our Three's Company theme party, and I tried to be nice so I wrote a note to them, giving them more than a week's notice, informing them that we would be having a party the following Saturday, with approximately however-many people, and that although they were sure to hear something, because after all it IS a party, we would try to keep the noise level down and if it got crazy to give us a call, here's my cell, and THEY responded with a note to US saying that they would allow us to have the party but that we should be aware that his wife had to wake up for work at 6 AM the next morning which was a SUNDAY and quoting the various rules that were were breaking by even having a party at all and suggesting that we'd better keep it down after 11:00 and what I REALLY wanted to do after that was march over there and inform them that, listen to me now, I was in no was ASKING you for permission to have the party, I was merely TELLING you that I was having one because I'm a polite and nice person who has fucking manners.

Anyway, Dear Reader, they're moving, and I don't even feel like telling you about all the other ways they're only ever been c0mplete, 100% creeps to us, but jesus christ we're going to have a really big party to celebrate on their last night here.

I Heart Invisible Martyrs

My romantic interest and I took her toddler niece with us (22 months old, if that means anything to anybody) on our afternoon excursions today and I learned some things:

1. I curse a lot.
2. I'm never ever having kids never ever I don't care what you say.
3. Never ever.

I racked my brain today trying to come up with some kind of amusing trick to teach the child. I want to top or match the thing that another friend of the parents taught her. Check this out: If you're drinking a beverage and the child is drinking from her, um, "sippy cup," and you say, "Cheers," to her, she'll cheerily blurt, "Cheers," and heartily clink drinking vessels with you!

Despite my stubborn persistence, and to my great astonishment, the child inexplicably failed to show any interest whatsoever in mimicking my Ricky Ricardo-esque, "AI-ai-AIs." The best I could do today was that I taught her to act pensive. Now, if you ask her a question, she puts her index finger up to her cheek, looks skyward and lets out a really long and deliberate, "Hmmmmmmm."

Stacked, Cracked & Mittens

This weekend, the Laguna Art Museum will present a joint show by artists Tim Biskup and Gary Baseman. It should be a major dorkfest.

I'm so there.

I've never been to the Laguna Art Museum, and I haven't spent much time in Laguna Beach, but it's really pleasant and "California-y."

Actually, I went to a party a few years ago in Laguna. Friends of friends of friends or something. They were these wired coke/porn people. I don't know what their deal was. I didn't really like them.

This should probably not affect this weekend's art show in any way.

UPDATE: I just noticed that I wrote "wired" instead of "weird," but the former is actually a better fit.

Dingy & Singed

You know that trite little workplace phrase that people sometimes use, "Work smarter, not harder?"

OK, check it out. If you subscribe to the school of thought that believes this is helpful and/or makes sense, then what would you say about labor-saving devices? You couldn't really say that a labor-saving device would make your job "easier," since you're not working "hard" in the first place, just "smart."

I guess if you embrace that, "Work smarter, not harder," thing, you'd have to say that labor-saving devices allow you to work "less smart."

Salesman: If you implement this thing, your job will be much, much easier.

Boss: What do you mean, "Easier?" I work smarter, not harder.

Salesman: Oh, well, I mean, if you implement this thing, you can work more stupid.

Missions Impossibles

Do I have to do everything around here?

Castles Made of Sand Castles

We're having what we call a "heat wave" here in Southern California. It was hotter than a welldigger's family christmas album today, and that's pretty hot.

But, I went to one of the best art shows I've ever been to today, "The Société Anonyme: Modernism for America," at the UCLA Hammer museum. They had more Duchamps, Man Rays and Ernsts than you could ever hope to shake a stick at.

The thing that captivated me for the longest, however, was Max Ernst's Paris Dream. I'd seen it in books many times before, and it was pretty cool to stand face-to-face with it.

Plus, the Hammer's never too crowded. We've got some really world-class museums here in Los Angeles, but sometimes LACMA gets a bit cramped, and if you go to the Getty, you always have to fight the undiscerning throngs of soccer moms who have no interest in art but are only there to have lunch because of the view or whatever.

Nothing against soccer or motherhood, mind you, but screw those people.

Blue Bonnet on it

This weekend, my companions and I happened upon some "model homes." I always like touring model homes because they're always set up to look as though someone lives there, so there are plenty of things like framed snapshots of people, fake baked goods on kitchen counters, fake breakfast trays on beds, and even fake notes on refrigerators and desks. I find it kind of creepy because I feel like I'm poking around in someone's home without permission, about to be discovered any minute. I also think it's amusing because the whole thing is just a big charade designed to manipulate people, and it's all so utterly lost on me.

We had to go through a main office kind of place first, though, and an older guy who worked there asked if he could help us. I realized I couldn't really say, "We're here to make a complete mockery out of everything," so I stammered something about wanting to look at the model homes.

"Are you looking for yourself or for your parents?"

"For...for us," I said.

"Oh, did you know that this is a 55-and-over community?"

One of my quick-thinking companions said something intelligent-sounding and the guy happily turned us loose into the homes, but I found it bizarre how easily I slid into junior-high-schooler-ditching-class mode, especially considering I'm nearly 80.

We had loads of laughs pretending to eat fake candy apples and pretending to trip while carrying breakfast trays fully laden with fake coffee and fake croissants.

Checkered Past Cabs

I'm going to LACMA to get a glimpse of some Klimts (Thanks for that one, Carlos!).

Kraft Singles

It's finally here! No more pencils or books, and no more dirty looks - not from teachers, anyway! That's right, school's out for summer (but not forever), and I'm going to make this the most exciting summer yet, starting now, with a liberal sprinkling of sentences ending in exclamation points!

My grades are already in, too, which surprises me. I guess all of my instructors were eager to dole out Bs to me. That's what I got, a B in each class. Is this impressive or disappointing? Do you expect better or worse from me? Actually, I think that's pretty good, considering how poor my attitude was this semester.

My girlish accomplice and I got a really nice chair last weekend however, which is already improving our lives immensely. I keep wanting to write about it, but I haven't had a chance to take a picture and I figured what's the point. I found the picture below on the internet, and our chair is exactly like it, except in black. It's a knockoff of one of those Eames chairs , and it was made by the Plycraft company in the 60s or 70s.We found it in the lamest thrift store in the region, the Salvation Army on 6th and Pacific in San Pedro. I haven't bought anything there in years because there's never anything useful or good or even entertainingly bad in there. It's the most dismal, depressing, malodorous thrift store I've ever been in. It doesn't have that mildew-y smell that some thrift stores have. I kind of like that smell actually, and it doesn't really smell like dust either. Those smells actually appeal to me, and I welcome them as olfactory clues that there are bargains to be had. The Salvation Army on 6th and Pacific in San Pedro just smells like baby diapers and corpses.

That's why I was pretty surprised to see this chair in there. It had a $40 price tag on it, but I knew it was worth a bit more than that. I thought about trying to haggle with them about the price, but the tag indicated that the chair had only been there one day. As I brought the chair up to the front counter, I abandoned any ambition of haggling, because I actually hate haggling, but for some reason, the lady at the register decided to charge me $30. I guess I must've charmed her or something.

Anyway, we brought the chair home, and I scrubbed off all the diaper/corpse residue, and we moved some other furniture around to make room for it, which resulted in an amazingly harmonious arrangement that, almost magically, made our place seem much larger and more peaceful and much more fun.

So my advice to you is, "Buy that chair, you'll be glad you did."

A Bayonet is a Gun and a Knife

At practice last night, we agreed to have a "fake British accent jar." It's a lot like a "swearing jar," where people deposit money every time they swear, except, in our case, the offender has to put a nickel in every time he says something into the microphone in a phony British accent.

To be fair, I should mention that I'm the only one who ever does it, except for David, who occasionally does it in response to me doing it, but always in a gallant effort to make it seem less awkward that I'm the only one doing it.

We only just came up with the idea last night, so we didn't have an actual jar yet, but already the guys were trying to bust me for talking in what was clearly a bogus Australian accent.

If you want to play that game, that's a whole different jar.

This Could Be The Real Thing But Probably Not

There's this girl who works in the office at the day job, a very sweet girl actually, but she does this one thing that drives me absolutely bonkers.

She frequently snacks on edamame, but she eats them in the most ghastly possible way. Most people gently squeeze the sides of the pods as if they were damp, fuzzy coin purses, causing them to easily open, and then they gingerly pluck the glistening beans from within. This girl holds the end of the pod with her fingertips and then inserts the rest of it into her mouth where she begins to suck and gnaw and slurp on it, frequently removing it from her mouth to inspect her handiwork and gesture with it while speaking. I've only ever seen one person eat edamame like this before, and it was equally disgusting. I figured out that they most likely do it this way in a desperate attempt to savor every molecule of salt from the shell.

Also she says, "EdamaNE," with an "n." That's two things, I guess.

The other day she was standing next to me , waving one of her frayed soybean carcasses at me and I said to her, "You know, I can suggest an alternate method of eating edamaME that doesn't require quite so much sucking and gnawing..."

If you think that was harsh, I have this to say to you: Sir or Madam, this is the way in which I prefer to roll.

Not Going for the Gold

Hi!

I haven't been writing much, I know. Finals.

I have my final Final Exam tonight, though. It's not my FINAL final Final, school's just out for summer. I've still got a bit more schooling until I graduate.

Anyway, I'm very much looking forward to being done with this semester. "Look out," is all I'm saying.

Look out for me.

The Gold State will be playing some shows, and we'll be doing some recording as well.

So, do look out for me, and us, and that.

Ding Dang

My special female significant and I were with some friends a couple of weeks ago, when the guy broke out a bootleg DVD of a special that Mr. T made in the 80s called "Be Somebody...Or Be Somebody's Fool." There were lots of amazing moments, but by far, the stand-out segment is one where Mr T raps in a musical number called "Treat Your Mother Right." It blew our minds, which aren't easily blown. My friend promised to burn me a copy of the DVD.

Today, to my extreme delight, and totally by coincidence, I stumbled across the video for "Treat Your Mother Right," which some sick bastard posted to YouTube. It was linked to on Neatorama in honor of Mother's Day, which makes complete sense, you have to admit.

You have to watch this. It's the greatest thing ever, and it's going to alter the way you do everything from now on.

Link

Catch as Catch Can (Catch)

Happy Mothers' Day, everyone!

So I spent Mothers' Day with some mothers and it was fun and everything and there was lots of joy but I couldn't help thinking that it would be a nice gesture if we had a similar counterpart day for fathers.

Nothing against mothers, you understand. They deserve everything they get and then some. Mothers are awesome.

I'm hereby proposing that we set aside one day each year to day to celebrate fathers. How does that sound? I don't have any ideas for a name yet, though.

Anybody got anything?

Ship in a Bottleneck

I've got this awesome idea. Check it out.

OK, you know how all across the globe there are time zones, and each time zone has a difference of one hour? We all know that this is essentially just a dictation from the man though, because in reality, there are no physical zones. However, the world is turning, and it actually is later in Arizona than it is in Los Angeles, for example.

But, it's also later in Long Beach than it is in San Pedro, again, for example, although they're only a few miles apart. The sun definitely sets slightly sooner in Long Beach, our neighbor to the east.
So here's my idea: Split up each of the current time zones into 60 smaller zones so that the time difference between each one is one minute. I figure if there are 24 time zones on earth and it's working out pretty well, then 1440 time zones would have to be even better.

Wouldn't that be awesome?

Stitch Not in Time

Calling all haters: Brian, who plays drums for The Gold State, has a band called The Leeches, and they're playing tomorrow night (Friday) at Harold's in San Pedro. They do a crazy, crazy instrumental thing, and they're quite renowned, locally and otherwise, in case you're not aware.

I'm going. Go.

The Leeches

Friday, May 12, 2006 at Harold's
1908 S. PACIFIC AVE. (19TH & PACIFIC), SAN PEDRO, CA 90731
Cost: free

Times and bands are subject to change. 21 & Up / Full Bar
THE MEGAHURTS 9:00 PM THE MEDIKS (from Portland, Oregon) 9:45 PM (members of BERZERK) THE CHUCK DUKOWSKI SEXTET 10:30 PM THE LEECHES 11:30 + POSSIBLE SPECIAL GUEST(S)

Your Time to Shine

(I usually never talk about "music" here on The Gold State Remarks Page, but please bear with me. I'm doing some "research.")

Attention, self-centered musician-types: Does anybody know what kind of acoustic guitar pickup is good these days? By "good" I mean one that sounds "warm" and/or "nice" and/or everything.

For example, I used to hate those transducer pickups because they sounded like "crap." Have they made any great technological advancements in the last few years? I also thought that regular magnetic pickups distorted too much, too, but are there better ones now?

Sure, I could "research" this on the internet, but I wanted to know if any of you discerning "musicians" have made any recent discoveries.

I'll never ask you for anything ever again, I promise.

Heres and Theres

I have no idea if I'll be able to convey this, but here goes:

I'm walking through the lobby of my day job's building, toward the elevator. As I round the corner, I can see that there is a lady standing at the rear of one of the elevators, waiting for the doors to close. As I walk, I'm trying to debate whether I have time to get aboard that one or not.

I've pretty much decided that I'm just going to wait for the next elevator when I notice that the lady is looking right at me, with a strange, smug facial expression. Suddenly, before the doors even begin moving, from her stationary position, she lets out a completely unnecessary and inappropriately loud shout-y type of noise, which was intended to convey to me, "Oh, I so want to help you get on this elevator, but, alas, it is too late! I have only just noticed you, and it's impossible for me to reach the 'Hold door' button in time! God save you, good sir!"

Of course, at this point, I'm thinking it would be kind of funny if I were to end up riding the elevator with this lady. I take these elevators every day, so I'm aware of how much time passes before the doors close, and I estimate that if I take two giant strides, I'll make it, and I do. However, the doors just begin to close, and I break the electric eye beam, causing them to lurch open, momentarily, before finally shutting.

"I'm OK, I've got it," I say cheerily, with mock gratitude.

This is how I roll.

Stinkin' Badges

At OfficerStore.com you can build and order your own real-looking badges, which is sort of creepy and scary but what makes me giddy with delight is that you can preview them online.



I dare you not to do at least one. (Via Neatorama)

Sick and/or Tired

I've been doing lots of "home-work" and studying because the school semester is almost over, which is one of the reasons I haven't been writing much here.

I was in one of my classes last night, and the professor came over to me and asked if I'd seen the Société Anonyme show at the UCLA Hammer Museum, and I told him that, no, I hadn't seen it yet, although I'd like to. (In case you're not an art dork, the Société Anonyme was an art organization founded in 1920 by Katherine Dreier, Man Ray and Marcel Duchamp.)

He had brought up the Société Anonyme show because way back on the first day of the semester, he had asked me what my major was, and I told him it was art. When he asked me who my favorite artists were, I told him Duchamp and Man Ray.

So, naturally, I was flattered because the guy remembered this detail about me all these months later.

But then, a short while later, he passed out the instructor evaluation forms. Occasionally at the end of a semester, instructors are required to have students fill out these forms so that the school can determine whether the instructors suck or not. I realized the guy was trying to suck up to me so I'd give him a good evaluation. The nerve.

So, naturally, I wrote a glowing evaluation because I truly am that shallow.

Wick of the Moment

I have this funny story, and the friends and family members I've told it to in person have laughed heartily at it, but I know the story is very dependent on vocal inflections and physical gestures of incredulity, so I know I'm gonna blow it by writing it here, and if I see you soon and you've already read it here, it'll have ruined the whole thing for you, but check this out.

I took a date to an Indian restaurant based solely on the recommendation of a co-worker whose judgment I'm seriously beginning to question. The first sign something was amiss was that there were only 2 other tables that had people seated at them in the whole place, and it was a Friday night. We were seated by a hyper-gracious Indian man who brought us very delicious, but mouth-searingly spicy papadam.

The waitress came to our table right as we sat down and asked, "Who had the Iced tea?" We told her that we hadn't ordered anything yet, and she stood there with a totally inappropriate amount of befuddlement for way too long, and then muttered something like, "Oh...it must have been one of the other people at..." and then she very slowly wandered off. There were only two other parties in the whole place!

At this point, I should mention that, although the people who ran the restaurant were clearly Indian-born, the waitress was most definitely from here, so there wasn't a, "Language barrier," as each listener has suggested to me so far. Good suggestion, though.

She came back to take our order, and we told her that were were going to get the "Bombay Special" or the "New Delhi Special" or whatever it was called. It said on the menu that we could choose chicken or lamb for the main dishes, and we knew we were going to get chicken because
neither one of us ever eat lamb, ever. Never ever.

She said, "Ok, I just have a couple of questions for you. Would you like lamb biryani or chicken biryani?"

"Chicken biryani," I said. "Actually, we're going to get chicken everything. No lamb."

She scribbled on her waitress-pad. "OK...and would you like that mild, medium, or spicy?" We remembered the papadam and agreed on, "Medium," just to play it safe.

"OK...and would you like tandoori lamb or tandoori chicken?"

"Um, chicken. Tandoori chicken." My date and I were kind of chuckling uncomfortably and looking at each other, trying to figure out if the girl was trying to be funny, and trying to laugh with her if she was.

"Actually, to save you the trouble of asking all these questions, we're going to get everything chicken and everything medium. No lamb."

"OK...and would you like that mild, medium, or spicy?"

"Medium," my date and I said in a somewhat sing-song-y unison. I continued,"Heh, heh, gotta ask the questions, right? Medium, though. Seriously, everything chicken and everything medium."

"OK..." She jotted. "Now I just a have a couple more questions for you...would you like chicken curry or lamb curry?"

"???!!"

"Umm, chicken?" I said. "And medium on the chicken curry, too, please? Everything, um, chicken, and everything medium, too, just to make it... easy?"

Then she began to read the order back to us, "OK, you've got lamb biryani-"

"No," my date interrupted, bemusedly. "Chicken. No lamb. Everything chicken."

"Yes, chicken biryani," she said, as if that's what she had said the first time. She then rattled off the rest of the order correctly.

"Just to be clear," I added, "Everything chicken and everything medium. No lamb." She confirmed that she understood.

You have to think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not.

Of course, when the food came, everything was lamb, except the tandoori chicken, so we called her over. "Hi, I think there's been a mistake. This is lamb, but we ordered chicken. Remember? 'Chicken everything?'"

"No," she said, with a completely straight face, "You ordered lamb."

You should know that I'm not one of those people who's demanding of servers at all. I've had lots of friends who've worked in restaurants, so I know all the stuff they hate, and I go out of my way not to do these things. I always tip well, I never send food back, and I go out of my way to ask for all the stuff I need at the same time, so they don't have to keep running back and forth for me.

After many moments of stunned silence, she said, "It doesn't come with chicken. Only lamb."

We assured her that not only did the menu clearly say that it comes with lamb or chicken, we reminded her that she had also asked us which one we wanted, and that we told her chicken, no lamb, repeatedly.

"Let me check the menu," she said, and she walked away, leaving my date and I to shrug at each other. When she returned, she looked at the menu, and without showing it to us, triumphantly said, "Nope, see, it only comes with lamb!" My date said, "Can I see that," and began to tug at the menu, which eventually the waitress relinquished.

"No, see right here, it clearly says that the biryani comes with, 'Chicken or lamb.'"

Long pause.

"Well...it comes with lamb. Nobody ever gets chicken."

"Look, I said, it's no big deal, it's just a mistake. We ordered chicken. Can you just take it back, please, and get us the chicken?"

Long pause.

"It only comes with lamb."

"Well, OK, let's forget that for a minute," my date said, pretty annoyed by this point, but still being a really good sport. "This is lamb curry here, we specifically asked for chicken, and the menu is very clear about this. Look, it says,'Your choice of chicken or lamb curry. There's no way to misinterpret that.'"

After a pause, the waitress looked right at me and said, "It's chickenlamb."

CHICKENLAMB!!!

I'm not making this up. I have a witness.

My date said, incredulously, "Chickenlamb. It's, 'Chickenlamb?'"

"Yes. Chickenlamb."

Pause.

"You know," I said very calmly (and you have to be wondering why I didn't say this earlier) "We're...we're gonna leave."

Right then, the gracious guy from earlier ran over and vowed to fix everything, and we wanted to leave anyway, but we didn't, and then the chef came out and was overly apologetic and ashamed, but we told him it was no big deal, that it was just a mistake, and then we got our correct food, and it was quite good, and the waitress came over and apologized as if she had insulted us, which she had, and everything was really awkward, but I didn't even care, because I like this story.