Category Archives: historical and hysterical

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I was having a triumphant morning commute– sun out, moonroof thingy open, stereo turned up loud (Rick Fuckin’ Springfield, thank you)– and my mind wandered to a random thought:  of any and all compliments I’ve ever received over the course of my life, two stand out in particular. (I’ve lost count of the insults.)

So please allow me a little ego love fest here. (It IS my page, after all.)

The first one:  “He is the most unpretentious person I’ve ever met.”  –Steve Domingo (roommate), to my mom– circa 1994

The second:  “It must be fun to be you!”  –Froggy, 2002.

The best part is that neither of them knew it at the time, and neither of them probably remember it now.  But these two sentences have a permanent residence in my head. Which is something.

Mormon-ah-ma-nah. –or– the Missionary Position –or– here, let me show you to debasement

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So as I’m settling into my new digs (way out there– 42nd x Lawton), I am increasingly eager to go explore the new turf. I thought I’d post a random Craigslist ad to see what sort of wacky responses I might get from this simple question:  what are good places for a new person to go to out there– anything and everything from restaurants and cafes to bars to hardware stores? What all IS out there?

To date, I have received only one response, which I copy here in its entirety:

Go to church at 22nd/Lawton. There’s a singles ward at 12:30 on Sundays.
Pull up mormon.org for answers to your questions.

Further evidence that you, my esteemed readership, can run but you can’t hide.

This could be amusing, though… why should I limit my query to physical locations that I can sully by showing up, when there are entire corruptible GROUPS of people to defile?!?

“Oh sorry, I thought you said SINGLE SWORD.”

Consider the following. –OR– I ♥ NY(e)!

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A short anecdote in which Mig basks in the presence of a great personage. Please, dear readership, allow me to cluck about it for a moment.

A few Saturdays ago, I was doing my usual biweekly volunteer shift at Chabot planetarium in Oakland. Chabot was due to have a special guest that day:  Bill Nye, the Science Guy. I correctly anticipated that they might bring him out to the telescope deck, where I usually work, so I had the camera in my pocket just in case.

I had the solar telescope set up and there were sunspots and solar flares to show a neverending stream of people. My shift was actually busy enough that I’d temporarily forgotten about any impending sci-lebrity encounters… when suddenly I saw The Man himself.

Not only did I get to (excitedly and giddily) get to meet him, but I got to show him the solar scope and the goodies that were visible in it. He was dazzled and amazed and had never looked through something like that before.  (It’s quite a  feeling to impress Mr. Science with something… scientific.) And he happily posed for a picture with me– a treat that only one other person was afforded as the Chabot Secret Service hustled him around.

He later gave a very interesting talk that I got to attend… Sadly, they didn’t get to me in the subsequent question-and-answer session, because I had the best question ever teed up:

Where do you go tie shopping?

A nice start to the year. I think the rest will be accordingly awesome.

To me, you look more like number two, if you know what I mean.

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I was relating this story earlier today, and I share it with you, gentle reader, so that you might derive some amusement from it as well.

There was a girl I knew in the dorms in college, named Katie.  (Note: this is not to be confused with kick-ass Katy whom I also knew in the dorms.  Different person.)  This story is about Katie with an “-ie”.  I don’t remember her last name.

I knew Katie my second year in college. 1991-1992. I lost track of her after that year but I remember her very well because she is in a few pictures I have of a dorm Xmas party where I am wearing– I will admit this to you because I like you– purple muscle pants.

Anyway, that year, my dad gave me a book at Xmas called “How to Shit in the Woods”.  He found that amusing.

Sometime a few months later, I was walking around the University Union and ran into Katie. She was sitting in one of the marginally comfy maroon couch/chair situations that are undoubtedly still there (and undoubtedly not since cleaned). She happened to be reading that exact book– “How to Shit in the Woods.” It turned out that she was actually reading it for a class of some sort.  Being that it was a rather obscure book, I was surprised and said “hey, I have that book too!”

The point here is this:

Sixteen years later, I still think of this girl every single time I take a crap.

And I wonder how she’d feel if she knew.

-mig.

Guard your children… for I am now officially “scary.”

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I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly scary person.  And you, gentle reader, probably know me enough to know that I’m better described by a lot of other words.  Some such words are more complimentary than others, but still, “scary” probably isn’t one that would first come to your mind.

Yet that’s how I came across to someone this weekend. I was out riding my bicycle through the mean streets of San Mateo, just kind of exploring around, seeing where bike trails go, etc.  It was a beautiful and blissful day, and I decided to do a lap around a playground and community pool that I’d come across.

For a public park on a sunny Sunday, it was quite empty.  On the playground were two kids, their parents at a picnic table not too far away.  I was just kind of pedaling slowly, not even really looking at them, and of course doing nothing threatening.  But as I passed on the bike path about 15 feet from them, the girl stated to the boy:

“That guy is scary.”

I’m quite sure her fear didn’t stem from my bicycle-related attire.  Nope, I’m pretty sure that this pronouncement was thanks to the Copycat Luke Littell Biker Mustache that I’ve been cultivating.

Now if only I could scare the kid neighbors’ bratty-ass friends away in the same manner…

VLV t-shirt slogans.

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VLV t-shirt slogans.

 

 

VLV t-shirt slogans.  This is what I’ve come up with after only a tiny bit of thought.  So by all means, please contribute to this list!  I can’t wait!

You win.  You are more rockabilly than I am.

Sorry, the cuffs on your jeans do not meet VLV requirements.

Whassamatta—too tough-guy to afford a wristband?

Trying not to look desperate

You are repulsive, but I’m drunk.

Trolling for skank

It’s okay, my car doesn’t run either

This is my car show dress.

My car is out of oil.  Can I wipe some off your hair?

Save the Orcabetties!

PBR:  still the one, since 2003

My other car is a Saturn

I chose this t-shirt because it matches my parasol

EAST LOUNGE CHOPPERS

I buy stuff from your vintage shop to resell at my vintage shop

 

How about that. Filed 12/17/05.

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A bit of solid gold from the “Police Blotter” in this morning’s San Mateo Daily Journal:

Civil Matters.  An uncertified mechanic was paid $300 to fix a woman’s vehicle on the 700 block of San Anselmo Avenue around 10:49pm Monday, Dec. 19. [ed. note from me:  this is not the time of day to go about car repairs.]  He took the vehicle apart and would only continue working on it in exchange for sex.

A little ponderance for the morning. Or: thanks for the tip, Hawkeye

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On AM news radio this morning:  “Coming up after the break, Alan Alda will tell us his new man-law that should never be broken:  never have your dog stuffed!”

The question-begging is more than obvious:  Alan Alda?  Man-laws?

In terms of being qualified to dish out man-laws, I’d say that he’s in the same category as Richard Simmons, Christopher Lowell, and the singer of the Spin Doctors.  Maybe we could put them all in a battle royale cage match with Julia Childs and see who wins.

And yes, I know that Julia Childs is dead.