Dude, Where's My Car?

Cut Right! No, Cut Left! Go Long!

I have to face the fact that when it comes to losing things,  I am a Jedi Master.

I lose combs, Chapsticks,  and socks in the dryer with such regularity that many businesses work my necessary replacement purchases for such items into their budgets.  It's not unheard of for me to lose jackets and sweaters as well, although fortunately I always have beat-to-crap ones at home to wear in place of the nice new ones I've just lost.  Until I lose those too.

But notwithstanding the above, you'd think I'd be able to hang on to a 5,000 pound hunk of  sheet metal, chrome, and very hard and durable rubber.  But somehow whenever I exit a store, supermarket,  dry cleaner, or other establishment of my rather questionable choice, I invariably wind up smacking my hand against my forehead and exclaiming in grand frustration:

"Dude, where's my car?"   

Is it to the left, to the right, or straight ahead?   I have no idea!

Is it close up to the door here or in a galaxy far, far away?   I have no idea!

Is it on Level A, B, C, or D?   I have no idea!

Or is it on Level E, F, G, or H?  I have no idea!

Or is it even in this #@%! lot altogether?  I have no idea!!

Dude, where's my car?!!!  

I simply cannot remember.  It's as if my mind shuts off  along with the motor as soon as I turn off the ignition.  Seems I'm always so intent on all the stuff I have to do in any given day that I forget to pay attention to the small detail of where I've left the essential means for getting all the stuff done I've got to do.

So I begin running around in search of the lost vehicle like a crazed halfback who's been tackled one time too many. 

"I think it was  two rows to the left near the blue Honda .... NO!   CUT RIGHT! Yeah, it was four rows over to the right next to the ....  NO! LATERAL BACK!  Over there by the minivan ... NO, NOT THERE!   Okay, I'M GOING LONG!  I'M GOING LONG!!  It's gotta be in Section 34-F, not here in 36-F ......  IT'S A HAIL PERRY!!!    NO,  NOT HERE EITHER!!!"   

Although I lose cars winter, spring, summer, and fall, my most inspired misplacings tend to happen during hurricanes, hailstorms, Biblical plagues, and whenever music by ABBA is being piped into the parking lot. 

Someone needs to invent a GPS that works solely to direct you to your car, wherever you've managed to mislay it.  Such a contraption's probably already been invented, but if I can't find a massive metallic object with a broken exhaust pipe and severely dented hub caps which may be 55 feet in front of my face, how would I ever know?!

"Mr. Block," it would say, "you have once again forgotten where you left your car, am I correct?"

"That's why I bought you, Little GPS!"

"And thank you for that, Mr. Block.  Although, may I add, you are a douchebag." 

"C'mon, Dude, Where's my Car?"

"Okay, Mr. Block, first go 25 steps straight ahead to the 2011 Mercedes that you could never afford short of marrying Prince Andrew, then go 40 steps to the right."

"Done, Little GPS.  Now what?"

"Make a left, walk around the open manhole cover (you do know to do that, right?) and go 32 additional steps."

"What's going on, Little GPS?  This is the bus stop!"

"Of course."

"DUDE, WHERE'S MY CAR??!!!"

"It's in for service today.  That's why you took the bus."

 "OMG!  What a douchebag!!!"

"Yes, indeed!  Now, how about a walk to the health food store for a little Gingko Biloba?

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News on the Radio

Goodnight and Good luck .... and you'll need it!

I'm really proud of my son Brandon.  He and a friend have recently begun a once-a-week  program on their high school radio station discussing national and international news and current events.

Naturally to get the program up and running, he turned to his dad for advice. As Brandon realizes, I am an experienced blogger for whom a life-long interest in history and world affairs has been, well, something of a major passion!    

 "Hey, Brandon," I said. "Wait up!  Hey, wait up!"

"What is it, Dad?"

"It's your first show today. Don't you have any questions or stuff you want to ask me about?"

"Not really, Dad.  We're good to go. We're leading off with the latest on the Syrian uprising."

"Well, that's very good, of course," I replied,  proud of Brandon's knowledge of what's going on in the vitally important but troubled region of the Middle East.  

I'm pretty sure that's where Syria is. 

"But you want to make sure you've got the domestic issues covered too," I said. "Like Occupy Wall Street."

"Sure, Dad, we're doing that," said Brandon.  "We've got some pretty good analysis on both sides of the issue, including the need for the protesters to speak with a more precise unified voice and for conservatives to try to understand the frustrations that have sparked the protests."

"Oh .... sure .... yeah ....  good.  Y'know, Bran, did I ever tell you about that peace march back in the early 70's when ...." 

"You were following that girl you thought might be Peggy Lipton from The Mod Squad all the way from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial and you hooked up with that stoned guy who kept getting Coretta Scott King confused with actress  Loretta Young?" 

"Right, that's the one!"

"Half dozen times or so."

"Now that was truly a ...."

"Dad,  we've got it all covered.  We're also going to be talking  about the debt crisis in Italy and strategies the new prime minister there might implement to handle it."

"The new prime minister?!!  What happened to the old guy with the hookers?!!!"

"They threw him out.  The new prime minister is an economist who may be better prepared to tackle the nation's problems.  Oh, gee, look at the time!"

"Okay, well then  ....  have a good show, Bran! And don't worry about brain farts, it can happen to anybody!"

"Brain farts? Like with Herman Cain and Rick Perry?  Why would I have a brain fart?"

"Well, let's say someone asks you about ... uhhh ... the Iranian nuclear thingie ...  umm ....  or the .... uhhh ... super committee which is ... I think ... if it should be exposed to kryptonite like Superman, it  might ... umm ...."

"Dad, why don't you just listen to the program today?" said Brandon.  

"Okay." 

"And if you like, when I get back, we can discuss any questions you have!"  

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Regis for President!

 

Hail to the Chief!

If you've been anywhere near a television this entire week, you know one thing:

The next President of the United States should be
 Regis Philbin! 

And I am today announcing that I am the volunteer head of the newly-formed  "Committee to  Draft Regis Philbin For President of the United States - 2012!" 

Here's why Regis is the most qualified person in the nation to be your next President:

1) America loves him!  You've seen it all:  Regis is a combination Joe DiMaggio, Harrison Ford, Astronaut John Glenn, George Clooney, Beatles, Elvis, Lady Gaga, Batman, Scarlett Johansson, {insert whoever you think is really cool here but it's probably Regis anyway so don't bother},  and of course,  Justin (Beiber and Timberlake!).  He is all things to all people.  

Regis is chocolate if chocolate were a person!

2) Would that face lie to you?  

3) You can't help but like him.   Think Ahmadinejad could resist the Regis charm?

"Gelman!  Gelman!  Pull up a chair for my friend Mahmoud!   Mahmoud, we don't want to go out of control!  You don't want nuclear weapons,  Mahmoud,  what you really want is a night on the town in New York City with Kelly Ripa!" 

Missile crisis defused. 

4) He knows how to work with vice-presidential types.  And if he could work with Kathie Lee Gifford,  he could easily handle Dick Cheney.

5) Gridlock?  What Gridlock?  Regis could bring Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher back together by 9:07 including a commercial break.  Don't be surprised if  Congressman Barney Frank and Newt Gingrich aren't next!

6) His wife Joy would  make a lovely First Lady.  As she's demonstrated from her countless televison appearances, Joy Philbin is poised, intelligent, and at 70 still even  a bit hot.  And if anything should happen to her, Kathie Lee would lose no time leaping in to fill the void! 

7) He appears to still have pretty good hair.  America will never elect a bald president other than one that was more or less responsible for winning World War II.  Regis' hair looks darn good for somebody his age, and if it isn't all his, who the hell cares? 

8) He is a friend to the Jews.  Gelman and Joey Bishop, to name just two.

9) He's worked with many beautiful women over the years.  Who knows?  Maybe Regis could help us older guys get chicks! 

10) He needs a job.

Just a minute, folks, I think I hear Regis calling me!

Nah, he was just calling for Gelman.

Which is a good thing!  Because, folks, I have an awful lot of work to do and ...

 I'm out of control!

 

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Lost in the Shuffle

If there's any holiday that always gets lost in the shuffle,  it's the one coming up next week.  You know the one.

It's the holiday that's anymore just a pit stop between Halloween and the fun holiday where you get presents.  The name'll come to me.   

To most of us, its significance can best be described as: 

Two days off and too much Turkey!

Wait!  Is it called Twosday? Or Toosday?

Nah, can't be.   Cause it's  marked by a family and friends-attended meal eaten on a Thursday that has most of us overdosed on typtophan until late the next Sunday.   

As I recall, it has an interesting back story:  

The Pilgrims were a group of early settlers in America who came to our shores seeking freedom of worship because in England there was a building fund. Once they'd safely arrived, however, they unexpectedly found themselves regularly serving as hot lunch for the flora and fauna indigenous to the New World, and learning to survive in a Caesar Salad was not a coping skill they had mastered. 

In a pickle, and literally serving as one, the Pilgrims developed the smarts to befriend the neighboring Indians, who taught them how to hunt, fish, plant and harvest crops,  and look bad ass while doing it.    And in the spirit of peace and brotherhood,  the Pilgrims thereupon celebrated a feast with their new Native American friends, marred only by Priscilla Mullens' insistence on bringing  jello mold. 

This all made for a pretty cool moment in time, especially since subsequent generations of settlers implemented a minor adjustment in policy regarding the Indians,  shifting slightly away from celebrating joyous feasts with them and somewhat more towards annihilating them, robbing them of their lands, and making movies and TV shows in which the Indian roles were played by white guys like Victor Mature,  Ed Ames,  and Joey Bishop.

Today, nearly 500 years later, anticipation of this meaningful holiday runs high every year, as we highly anticipate it being over before we've even gotten our children's Halloween costumes back into the box.  

Of course, there are a handful of television specials that do promote the approaching special Thursday occasion.  Starting with A Charlie Brown Special About this Holiday, you can also view A Charlie Brown Special About this Holiday, and finally, for good measure, there's  A Charlie Brown Special About this Holiday.

Meanwhile there's hardly a celebrity in Hollywood short of Patton Oswalt who doesn't helm a colorful special devoted to the holiday yet two months away or a product other than Cialis for Daily Use not trading on its reindeer, elves, or snow-covered imagery to penetrate (sorry!) the seasonal marketplace.  

Oh, look what's on!  Patton Oswalt's Holly Jolly Special from the Holy Land sponsored by Dick-So-Hard Liquid and Pills!

Finally comes the Thursday of the holiday itself,  and yes indeed, there are major parades from coast to coast.  But who's the guest of honor at each and every one of them?  None other than that chubby little man in the red jump suit named Santa Claus.  Isn't he also connected in some way with that other holiday still about a  month away?  

Wouldn't somebody like Squanto, Samoset, or one of the other Native Americans who helped the Pilgrims avoid becoming guacamole dip for Smokey the Bear make a better guest of honor?   I guess maybe there aren't enough white guys willing to work the holiday to play them.

For all its sometimes annoying aspects of Herculean food prep, cranky family members intent on talking politics with a mouthful of stuffing,  and post-gorging induced terminal stupors, this holiday ---  whatever it's called ---  used to mean something all its own. Something that, unlike as with so many other holidays, reached across and transcended ethnic and religious boundaries.

Now we define the holiday in terms of its surroundings.  It's two days off and too much food surrounded by too much hype!

Maybe it is called Toosday after all.

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