Where can you buy a book of email stamps?

I've blogged about how funny it is when older people use their old slang words to talk about new ideas or technology, specifically the all-encompassing word for drugs, dope. Two weeks ago I was talking to my friend's dad about another one of our friends who is apparently doing 'dope'. It was only after about fifteen minutes of talking that I realized he was talking about popping pills and not coke, heroine or weed. Parents are funny about slang that way.
But what's even funnier is the way older people use new technology. They can't get over the fact that it's nothing like the equivalent of the technology they used to use. Take the cellphone for instance. The other day I was sleeping and my dad called me to let me know I had left the lights on in my car. "This is your Dad. You left the lights on in your car. I repeat, you left the lights on in your car." I guess he thought he was on a walkie-talkie or something. The only thing he was missing was, breaker 1-9, do you copy.
And it's funny because if you have the slightest idea about a certain technology then you're automatically an expert on it. Because I can maintain the simplest of computer tasks—an email account, a website and a blog—I'm some kind of computer genius to my mom. I don't know much, but i can do the basics. She always comes to me as if I know everything about computers. I've become the designated I.T. guy at home just because I know that you don't need stamps to send an email and a guy with hot pants on and a mailbag isn't coming to pick it up.

Are you gettin' what I'm givin'?

There are very few universal terms in language today. If I said, that's the shit in Saudi Arabia, I may have my tongue cut out for using fowl language, or somebody would bring me a bowl of donkey manure. If I said, that's fly in Russia, somebody would start swatting the air for bugs. I have a special place in my heart though for a special phrase that I'd like to think is universal. That phrase is—she could get it. You know, when you're walking down the street on the way to lunch and a pretty girl walks by. You tap your buddy on the shoulder and say, "She could get it." I said it just yesterday, as did probably half on the men on the planet. Nothing more needs to be said. You don't need to describe what IT is. And you'll probably never see the girl again, much less talk to her, but it gets the point across in very few words. I could be wrong. Maybe they don't 'say she could get it' in Sweden, but I'd like to think that they do.

Food for thought

I'm no foodie, but every now and again I watch Food Network when I'm bored. I was watching the other day and I realized something—I don’t really watch for the food. There are some pretty attractive women on the Food Network. I mean, Giada's head is too big for her body, and Racheal Ray’s voice could pierce the hardest of steel, but both are fairly attractive women. I think there could certainly be more sexual innuendo on the shows. Then I started thinking—in today's economic climate it's important to be versatile. You need to be able to switch hats at the drop of a dime. What if the Food Network and the Spice channel had a spinoff channel? It'd probably be called Spicy Food or something like that. The network would feature an Australian-themed show called Cooking Down Under or Recipes from the Bush. The shows would be decidedly more colorful, featuring dialogue like, "See how great these potatoes look," as they bend over a pan of french fries. Or maybe, "Mmm, check out these melons," while cutting cantaloup. This will probably never happen, but it's just something to think about.

First impressions

The other day I was talking to a friend about meeting his girlfriend's parents for the first time. He was pretty nervous about it. I told him the story about the time I was dating a girl (whatup Dana), and I went to her house to meet her parents. I was nervous too. I got even more tense once I met her father. Not because he was imposing or menacing, but because he had a lazy eye. It was swimming around in his head like a dolphin in a tank at Sea-World. I didn't know what to do. You can't make a good first impression on pops if you can't even look him in the eye. I couldn't even concentrate because I was sitting there trying to decide whether to look him in the eye and risk him thinking that I'm staring at his eye, or looking away and having him think that I can't look him in the eye. I decided to try and act busy when I was talking to him—looking for things in my pocket, petting the dog, moving food around on my plate—so I never really had to look at him. I purposely stepped on my shoe laces to untie them so I'd have to bend over and lace them back up. I went to the bathroom a lot too. That was the only place I could take a minute to decompress. I could go in there and laugh to myself or regain my composure. Luckily the relationship didn't last too long. I don't know if I could've kept doing that. And everybody knows how dads are. When a relationship is over they give each ex a nickname. I'm sure I'm the guy with IBS who couldn't tie his shoes or look a man in the eye.

Self-important drivers not wanted

And those are the same people (read previous post) who turn their ring on loud on the subway or in the grocery store so everybody can hear when their cellphone rings. As if they're so important they can't miss a phone call. And then they talk like they're at a Metalica concert as if somebody else gives a damn that their dog had to go to the vet. I think that if somebody wants to talk loud on the phone in a public place, others should feel free to add their input.
But those people are also the ones who do the one thing that really makes me want to tap dance on somebody's forehead. They creep up to the white line at a traffic light like it's the starting line at the Daytona 500. Are you kidding me? Are we racing? I'll answer that for you. No. Because races end up in the same place, and since I'm not going to the Asshole Convention we couldn't possibly be racing. Where the hell could you possibly be going that the quarter of a second you're saving by creeping up to the line really matters? Unless you've been shot, your wife is in labor or you're driving a getaway car, creeping to the line is unacceptable. Not wanting to miss the results show on American Idol is not an excuse. And your online Halo group will still be playing once you get home. They're not going anywhere. So don't patronize me by cutting me off and sticking up your hand in thanks. I didn't let you in—you muscled your way in. It's like breaking into somebody's house and leaving a note thanking them for all the cool stuff. Asshole.