October 31, 2009
MY INSTANT MESSAGES WITH ANDRE
[DEBATING ONLINE SAFETY STANDARDS ELECTRONICALLY WITH MY SON IN AN ADJACENT ROOM]
3:50 p.m. - JeffHi Pea
3:51 p.m. - Brian
sup pa
3:51 p.m. - Jeff
Are you cleaning your Facebook?
3:51 p.m. - Brian
yes sir
3:51 p.m. - Jeff
Thank you.
Think you could make your bed while you're at it?
3:52 p.m. - Brian
ugh is this the new way of ordering me to do something???
3:54 p.m. - Jeff
Take your phone number off Facebook, Pea. Not safe.
3:54 p.m. - Brian
i need it for my freinds
3:54 p.m. - Jeff
It's not safe. Take it down.
3:55 p.m. - Brian
my profile is private
3:56 p.m. - Jeff
You're certain of this?
3:56 p.m. - Brian
absolutly possitive
3:56 p.m. - Jeff
That's not how you spell either of those words
3:57 p.m. - Brian
i kno
3:58 p.m. - Jeff
No you didn't
3:59 p.m. - Brian
can you prove it beyond a reasonable doubt?
4:00 p.m. - Jeff
Based on your history of spelling, I would have no problem taking this before a judge.
4:00 p.m. - Brian
fine. i will consult my associate Miles Massey
PREVIOUS MOMENTS WITH ANDRE:
Godfather-themed breakfast with Andre.
Waiting in car line with Andre.
October 21, 2009
GIVE ME YOUR HUDDLED NADS YEARNING TO BREATHE FREE
[BALL JOKES FOLLOW ME EVERYWHERE I GO]
It's 2002. I'm in my job interview at the Tribune.
I'm seated at a giant wooden table in a conference room. In front of me are two women who are mid-level editors in the department I want to join. The lights are off, which strikes me as odd. A window illuminates the room enough, so I say nothing.
The meeting was one of almost a dozen I'd endure during the day as different editors took shots at me to test my resolve. Interviewing at a newspaper, at least what I remember about it, was less about establishing journalism credentials than a 10-hour endurance test designed to catch you in some personality tic or ill humor.
But I digress.
We exchange pleasantries for a few seconds before one of the woman leans to one side of her conference room chair, adjusts her coat and says, "Well, you've got one thing going for you that none of the other candidates has."
"Oh?" I say.
I have no idea where this is going. Neither does the woman's silent partner in the room.
"You've got NADS!" the first woman says, shouting the last word. For full effect, I'm guessing.
"I'm sorry?" I say. "What did you say?"
"You've got NADS!"
The second woman looks at the first in horror and lets out a shock-laugh.
"That's what I thought you said," I reply.
It's not often that the testicle jokes erupt in the first 10 seconds of a conversations, but so be it. When the balls break, the cradle will fall, I think. Roll with the balls, I think.
"NADS!" she says. She's really into it now.
"Balls. Testicals. You know... balls!"
"Yeah," I say. "I'm familiar."
She goes on to explain that every one of the candidates is a woman. I'm the only man. I'd be filling the job of a woman who left for a bigger job at another paper. I'd be joining a department with women in charge.
In short, I'd be a diversity hire.
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
Me. White male. A diversity hire.
But back to the nads....
"You do have some, don't you?" she asks.
What do you say to something like that? How do you address the uncomfortable moment without seeming like a overly sensitive puss who would run to HR over a question like that?
I aim for middle ground. A tropical sarcasm cocktail with an adorning umbrella of irony.
I ask my inquisitor and future colleague for a moment to think.
I lean to the right side in my chair and squint at the ceiling. I then lean to the left and squint again.
"Yep. Still got 'em?"
Both women laugh.
"I had to check," I say. "People have been trying to take them for years."
Ba-da-BOOM! Thankyouladiesandgentlemen. I'll be here all week. Try the veal.
I got the job. And I've used the uncomfortable moment as a point of leverage when needed with this colleague. Works like a charm.
I tell that story to tell this one:
The other day, I get an e-mail from my dear neighbor Beth. She's hilarious. We tend to find the same things funny.
The e-mail reads:
Hey Jeff!I know this isn't a food product, but I though you'd enjoy seeing something named "Nads."
Nads on a woman's face. Very funny.
But one idea hits me clearly between the eyes.
Women are clearly comfortable sharing ball jokes with me.
You know what? I'm okay with that. Everyone needs a cypher. I can fill that role.
Given the safe haven I provide, perhaps I can help this woman:
October 19, 2009
SCENES FROM A BUCCANEERS GAME
[WAS THIS GAME REALLY NECESSARY]
Halloween pirate masks that made us into mini celebrities? Priceless.
Search long enough and you'll eventually find a kindred spirit.
Plenty of good seats still available in the upper deck.
A neck massage is only an incoming call away.
"I'm making this up as I go."
"You don't say!"
Plenty of good seats still available.
"I'm making this up as I go."
"You don't say!"
For some, football is a religion. For others, religion comes first.
All shame is relative.
How bad was the game? Even cyclists needed a smoke.
October 16, 2009
HOW WAS YOUR WEEK?
[A SUPPOSEDLY FUN THING I'LL NEVER DO AGAIN]
My week got a little weird Monday night.
How weird?
I saw a harmonica-playing hedgehog.
Oh, and I heard the worst rap song in history:
The end.
October 15, 2009
THE TINY SOMBRERO PROJECT GAINS A NATIONAL PROFILE
[I HAVE FIVE CLOCKS IN MY LIFE AND ONLY ONE HAS THE TIME RIGHT]
It's official: The Tiny Sombrero Project has gone mainstream. Or at least tiny sombreros have.
A few weeks back, the new NBC comedy "Community" featured a sequence in which Joel McHale's character attempts to make amends with Chevy Chase's character by joining him in an interpretive dance in Spanish class.
Hollywood has discovered the formula:
Tiny Sombrero = Comedy Gold
PREVIOUS TINY SOMBRERO POSTS
October 14, 2009
GRAAAAAAASSSSSSS ROOF. RUSTED!
[ADVENTURES IN TRAFFIC]
Sitting in traffic, you realize everyone is just trying to paddle their own canoe. Each person in each vehicle has their own narrative. We interrupt each other's story so infrequently, it makes me wonder about the stories contained in their rolling metal boxes.
Just like me, people do whatever they can to pay the bills. Some people are lawyers. Some build homes. Others are doctors and cooks and funeral directors. You know, normal occupations.
And then you roll up to a car like the one on the left and realize that the imagination machine in your head might need a little extra calibration.
The B-52s would have a field day with this guy.
PREVIOUS ADVENTURES IN TRAFFIC:
Gather ye rosebud tattoos while ye may.
Eye Would Drive 4 U
Asphincter says what?
Brush it off.
Get me a truck and make it snappy.
Color me bemused.
Custom mods are cool.
It's great to be a Florida Gator. We think.
The ball cops are here. They have a warrant.
We've got wood.
Flipped off.
Timing is everything.
Haten and hogs.
Drive-by Twinkie.
Jimi Hendrix Edition.
Sit on it and rotate.
I'm your private antenna dancer.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Welcome to Springfield.
Orange you glad you're not this guy?
Everything's better when it sits on a Ritz.
Patriotic turtles.
Bubba's sidekick.
Goin' mobil.
G'day, mate.
Porn as a windowshade.
Jonathan Livingston Redneck.
Buc off, pal.
Such a dirty mess.
How cheep can you be?
I'm super! Thanks for asking.
Would you like an apple pie with that?
Hearse so good.
Drive fast, take chances.
Riding with Fab the deejay.
Beware of the Death Explorer.
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right.
My other car is a rocket-propelled grenade.
Live long and prosper. In an Altima.
Just two good ol' boys.
Asshats aplenty.
Nicotine is my crash helmet.
Jazz hands moms.
Ugly lug nuts.
Pretty ballsy.
My honor student can kick your ass.
Garfield mudflaps.
Horse and buddy.
October 11, 2009
THE GIRLS GO CRAZY FOR A SHARP-DRESSED MAN
[SALAD BOY GROWS UP FAST]
Last night was Homecoming Dance for Son O' Salad. I took the opportunity to buy the young man his first grown-up suit with big-boy pants and shoes. Got his hair trimmed. Got him fitted for a dress shirt. Great fun. It was a lot more fun than buying my own clothes.
But never did I imagine he'd look this handsome:
I believe the technical term would be, "lady killer."
Yep. The correct term indeed.
