The Bests

I didn't notice this last time I was on Maui, but evidently the preferred form of advertising here is to claim you are the best at something.  This applies most especially to food.  Presumably the only way to check the veracity of these proclamations is to try said gastronomic champion and see for yourself.  I have not done this.  If I had, I would have been eating non-stop since my arrival on the island and would have barely made it out of the strip mall across from our condo.  (Buddy the Elf would be positively orgasmic.)



Well, there's competiton on the Ka'anapali coast of Maui, because Java Jazz (in my little strip mall across the street) also claims to have the world's best coffee......and smoothies.  So, I decide to check out a cup of the coffee and it's fine.  But hardly the best.  In fact, of all the coffee I've had in the world (and that's been a lot), it's pretty hard to top Stell's in Redlands or Zona Rosa in Pasadena.  So, I passed on the smoothies.

Java Jazz also boasts the "happiest hour" on Maui.  (And the angriest fellow behind the counter.  A guy who hates Carter, Reagan, W, and Obama...and can't quite remember if he loves Sean Hannity or hates him too.)  Hmm...

Right next door is Soup Nutz, which is hoping to draw customers with its self-professed "best breakfast, lunch, dinner, and cocktails."  Memo to Soup Nutz management: there's a fine line between confidence and cockiness.

Across the parking lot is Nachos Grande, home of the "best Mexican food."  Better than what you can get in Mexico?

A couple tourist shops later--none of which seem to be hocking the world's best snorkels and fins--and I'm standing in front Hula Scoops, whose "Famous Tiramisu" is purportedly the "best dessert."  The sign out front also announces that Hula Scoops is "now serving breakfast burrito," which is just what I want from my ice cream/tiramisu shop.

Similar culinary confusion next door at Pizza Paradiso, which advertises the "best cheesesteak on Maui."  Apparently, their pizza isn't so great.

I'm not an advertising or marketing professional, but this oversaturation of superlatives seems like, well, the WORST THING EVER.  My first impression of their message is, "You are dumb tourists who bought the toy ukulele and fake lei at Hilo Hattie, so maybe you're oblivious to our obvious hyperbole too."

You've noticed I'm a cynic?

It's probably not quite that sinister, though.  After all, they're all just small businesses struggling to get by in a sagging economy hoping against hope that someone can still afford the airfare to their island.  And if someone really wants a one-stop shop for tiramisu and breakfast burritos, then it's quite clear where he should go.

For now, I'm content to lie underneath the world's best palm tree (debatable) on the world's best beach (not quite, but close), sipping the world's best Diet Coke (they're all pretty much the same) next to the world's best wife (undeniable).  Vacations, in my book, are all bests.

The Statues

Last year I won my office Oscar pool having not seen any of the nominated films.  Proving that the Academy Awards have little to do with what was actually on the screen.  It's the same way this year.  Here are my picks:

Actor - Jeff Bridges, Crazy Heart
Supporting Actor - Christoph Waltz, Inglourious Basterds
Actress - Sandra Bullock, The Blind Side
Supporting Actress - Mo'Nique, Precious
Animated Feature - Up
Art Direction - Avatar

Cinematography - The Hurt Locker
Costume Design - The Young Victoria
Directing - The Hurt Locker
Documentary Feature - The Cove
Documentary Short - China's Unnatural Disaster: The Tears of Sichuan Province
Film Editing - The Hurt Locker

Foreign Language Film - The White Ribbon
Makeup - Star Trek
Original Score - Up
Original Song - The Weary Kind, Crazy Heart
Short Film Animated - A Matter of Loaf and Death
Short Film Live Action - Kavi

Sound Editing - Avatar
Sound Mixing - Avatar
Visual Effects - Avatar
Screenplay Adapted - Up in the Air
Screenplay Original - Inglourious Basterds

Best Picture - Avatar

The Advernewsment

This is what subscribers to the Los Angeles Times woke up to this morning:

The entire front page of their Saturday newspaper co-opted by a giant advertisement for the new Disney film Alice in Wonderland.  They've done stuff like this before at the Times.  The most egregious of which came last May when an ad for the ill-fated NBC series "Southland" appeared on the front page in the guise of a news story.

The advertisement even included a line about "this reporter," and described his "experiences" during a "ride-along."  Journalists everywhere squirmed.

Marketers love these things.  Not only do they have a prominent ad on the front page of a major daily, but everyone talks about it too.  And, as they say, any publicity is good publicity.  Or, as the NBC marketing execs put it, the attention stirred up by the ad helped "magnify" the message.  (It didn't work out so well for Southland, which was cancelled by NBC after six weeks.  The show just got picked up by TNT in January of this year, but so far, no plans for a second season.)

The Alice in Wonderland ad isn't quite as bothersome as the Southland ad.  And frankly, we should be used to this: after all, Google and Facebook ads lie in wait for us constantly on the internet, pouncing after our every click.  Corporate marketers (especially drug companies) film fake news packages and send them to local TV stations for use on the air.

But newspapers...the printed media, should be a bastion of unadulterated  coverage.  The wall between a media organization's advertising department and the news department has been crumbling in so many places.  Let newspapers be the last stand.

LA Times film critic Kenneth Turan did his part.  Two days before today's ad, he wrote a not-too-friendly review of the film.  (See if you can find it among all the ads.)

Of the giant Johnny Depp adorning the fake front page, LA Times editor Russ Stanton said it best: "Obviously, it was not my decision."  But it should be.  The editors should get to decide what goes on the front page.  Then again, inept management at the LA Times is nothing new.

The Quote

"I have nothing to say.  I am saying it.  And that is poetry."

--John Cage

The Dreamless

My wife insists she doesn't dream.  Or when she does dream, she never ever remembers it.  I dream.  Two or three different ones every night.  The best is when the dream is a really great story that continues after I wake up and then fall back asleep.  The worst is when I really want to know what's going to happen next, I wake up, and when I fall back asleep it's a totally different story.  (Well, really, the worst is when the alarm interrupts the dream and it's time to get up.  Still not very good friends with morning.)

I dream, but I don't have a dream.  If you were to ask me what the perfect life scenario would be for me, I would have no idea how to answer.  No financial, geographical, professional, or relational constraints?  No idea.

Sure, I'd like to not have to ever think about having enough money, but living within certain financial limits inspires avoidance of excess in other areas of life.  I'd love to be able to point to a spot on the globe and move there, but I also rather like where I am right now.  I wouldn't mind turning my hobbies into my livelihood, but then they wouldn't be recreation anymore.

The slacker's creed says: if you don't aspire to anything you won't be disappointed.  But this is America, damn it, the birthplace of the dream.

I don't consider myself dreamless.  I already married the girl of my dreams...and go to work every day at a dream job.  Rather, my world is filled with many micro-dreams.  But those aren't the subject of great oratory.  I dream of new tile in my kitchen; I dream of someday owning an old VW Karmann Ghia convertible; I dream of a world without 24-hour cable news networks; I dream of a grand jam session with mandolins and banjos and harpsichords and cellos and drums...and maybe a washtub bass.

Sounds easy enough.  Now, could you please hit the snooze button for me?

The Not

It all happened in the backyard.  I was five, maybe six years old.  There were ants.  And they were powerless to stop me.  I held dominion over them.  

It started with an innocent stumbling over their anthill.  I knocked a bit of their architecture askew and they instantly came scurrying to rebuild.

The next time it was on purpose.  And I got all of the anthill.  Wiped it out completely.  Take that!  Scurry, scurry, scurry.

Oh man, was that fun!  I went looking for more.  My mom must've wondered what I was doing traipsing around the backyard, looking at the ground, kicking periodically.

I didn't exercise my option to kill as much as one might imagine.  The fact that I had the power at any moment obliterate the entire colony was enough for me.  Mostly, I just damaged their handiwork.

It was really only a fleeting moment that I wondered if the devastation I engendered was ever traumatic to my victims.  But I often wondered if they saw it coming.  Especially when I would whip out the garden hose and douse the suckers.

I think it was the first time I encountered the problem of perception versus reality.  Inside these anthills are there little ant freeways, little ant houses, with little ant living rooms?  Are there little ant T.V. stations with little ant weather forecasters and did my giant human shadow holding the garden hose nozzle show up on their Little Ant Super Doppler 7000 Radar screens as a hurricane?  Just how vast is ant infrastructure?

What about me?  Are clouds and raindrops and thunder and lightning simply the machinations of some giant six-year-old playing his giant parents' backyard?

As a kid, I never quite grasped the paradox of perception being a direct access to reality.  At age six, I never got as far as the Sense-Datum, Adverbial, Intentionalist, or Disjunctivist theories of perception.  (Still working on those, actually.)

It all makes me wish René Magritte were around for a chat.  I fell in love with that guy's work the moment I saw it.  "Everything we see hides another thing," he said.  "We always want to see what is hidden by what we see."  

Images from his The Human Condition series.  The Treachery of Images is Magritte's iconic example of the problem of perception.

"This is not a pipe," the canvas says.  Magritte, for his part, offered this nugget: "Could you stuff my pipe?  No, it's just a representation, is it not?  So, if I had written on my picture, 'This is a pipe,' I'd have been lying."


I still wonder about the ants.  And the sky.  And I wonder about all of the nots in life.  Can a not ever become an is?  I think not...er...

The Script

On the silver screen, is it really all about the performance?  I often find myself wondering why some actors seem to always end up in good movies and others have hits and misses.  Think about it: folks like Tom Hanks, Leo DiCaprio, and Meryl Streep almost always hit it out of the park.  (No, this isn't an exhaustive case study--it's a blog.  I realize not every single film these guys have been in has been cinematic art, but it's a very high percentage.)

And why do some really good actors/actresses end up with a lot of ups and downs in the theater?  Samuel L. Jackson comes to mind.  (Snakes on a Plane...seriously?)  So do Halle Berry (Perfect Stranger) and Robin Williams (Flubber, et al).

We've seen all of these people in great roles in great movies.  So, why are some winning percentages much, much higher?  It can't be all about the performance.  Because even a great actor/actress can't save a bad script.  

So often critics or fans make excuses for these flops: "Oh, he got some bad advice on that one."  "I can't believe her agent would let her take that part."  Or..."He must really need the money right now."

But doesn't the buck ultimately stop with the performer?  At some point, don't they have to read the script and either take the gig or pass?  I think the great intangible skill--that can't be taught at any acting school--is the ability to read a script and visualize first, the role, and then ultimately, the film.

Right now, Leonardo DiCaprio has 27 projects "in development" on IMDB.  Halle Berry has four.  Tom Hanks is signed on for "How Starbucks Saved My Life," based on a true story about a fired corporate who takes a job at Starbucks.  Robin Williams has something called "Wedding Banned."

I'm not saying DiCaprio and Hanks are better actors than Berry and Williams.  I'm just saying, to be a great actor, it takes more than great acting.

The Closing

I'll miss the Olympics.  The Winter Games are far more interesting to me than the Summer Games.  For some reason I'd much rather watch someone in a leotard barrel headfirst down an ice track at 90 miles per hour than someone in a leotard heaving a giant, heavy ball from the palm of his/her/its hand.

Despite NBC's star-focused American-centric coverage, these games provided plenty of drama, if tape-delayed.  Had to avoid Facebook for two weeks because some crazies on the East Coast found it necessary to post medal results as their status updates.  (I think I'll get back at them by posting Lost spoilers for a while.)

I think my favorite thing was watching the ends of the cross-country ski races.  After interminably boring races, you have this furious sprint and then they crumple in a heap just over the finish line.  Then the guys who are more even winded than the winners have to stumble around the pile of bodies to find a place where they can collapse.

I also love the chaos of short track speed skating and the snowboard cross.  (Ski cross doesn't do it for me.)  Any event with tightly packed bodies careening around at high speeds, to me, is brilliant.

Loved Measha Brueggergosman's hair in the opening ceremony.  Was just as awesome at the Hollywood Bowl last October when she sang at the LA Phil's Dudamel coronation.  (Got to see that up close--she handed me her lipstick/makeup just before walking on stage.  But I digress...)

Totally impressed with Scott Hamilton as a broadcaster.  I realize he's not new to the broadcast booth, but he's really quite excellent.  He doesn't say too much, is sensitive to the performance, and his tone always seems to match the moment.

I watched my first hockey game ever.  And got to sing the words to Deck the Halls to the Norwegian national anthem.  (My people are awesome!)

Now it's over...and we go back to The Office.  I wonder what Jim and Pam will be up to in 2014.

The Punch

Perhaps you've seen this commercial:



Is it just me or is this totally inappropriate?  Call me a purist, but you can't play Punch Buggy with just any old Volkswagen.  It's vintage Beetles and vintage Beetles only that count.  (I know the "official rules" say the new Beetles count, but I'm sorry, they don't.)  You see one, you yell "Punch Buggy: ___color___!", and then whack the person next to you.  (Verbal variants such as "Punch Bug" or "Slug Bug" are acceptable, though, for consistency's sake, it's best to agree upon nomenclature prior to commencement of  the game.)  But you just can't start wailing on everyone for Jettas, Passats, and Touaregs.  Unacceptable.

I remember the first time I visited Europe my sister and I tried to include the Citroen 2CV in our Punch Buggy game, but even that didn't feel right.

Also troubling is a slightly different version of this commercial that actually takes place on a Volkswagen dealership lot.  Everyone knows that VW lots are off limits.  It's the "zone of disallowance."  (Also part of said zone: a truck full of Beetles.)  Once a Beetle leaves the lot, it's fair game.  (The transition from truck to lot, albeit brief, is also fair game.)

Punch Buggy is as sacrosanct a game as I Spy or The License Plate Game--you just don't mess with it.

The Bite

There’s nothing quite as personal as a baked good. That’s why we give our culinary creations such high status among life events: we cut cake at wedding and birthday celebrations; we send bread (of all varieties: wheat, sourdough, banana, pumpkin, zucchini) to friends and family to let them know we’re thinking about them.

Even something as simple as a chocolate chip cookie is imbued with the essence of its creator. Everyone does it just a little bit differently. A pinch more salt here; a dash of vanilla there. Oats? Sure! All brown sugar? Why not! Some make them thick and gooey; others prefer thin and crispy.

And this human touch is the singular source of chocolate chip cookie joy for me. Give five people the exact same recipe and you’ll still end up with five different tasting specimens. That’s because five different pairs of hands have shaped each batch of dough; five different ovens have baked them; five different cooling racks on five different countertops.

I love how a homemade chocolate chip cookie has a faint taste of the house it was made in! (In a good way, of course…) What an amazing microcosm of life.

This is why mass-produced cookies just don’t work. Chips Ahoy make me want to walk the plank. Mrs. Fields put me out to pasture. Otis Spunkmeyer? Umm…spunky: need I say more?

The Breeze, part 2

Now with video!  So, the performance last night of Mauricio Kagel's "Eine Brise (A Breeze): Transient Action for 111 Cyclists" was a blast.  Around 5:00, I loaded up my borrowed bike (thanks, Bill Salvador) into my NOT bike friendly car and headed off to rehearsal.

Everyone gathered on lower Grand Ave (at the unpronounceable cross street Kosciuszko Way) in Downtown LA to practice the sounds Kagel's score indicates.  First, the bike bells: one forte ring, followed by a fortissimo tremolo, followed by a triple-forte tremelo.  This was to be performed as we first caught sight of the audience.



Then, whistling: three different pitches, each one higher and louder than the last.



Singing was next.  Like the whistling it was three pitches, each one higher and louder than the last...on the vowels Ah, Eee, and Oh.



The whistling and singing was to be combined in the performance.  At a predetermined landmark (in this case, the colorful MOCA sign), we would switch from bike bells to whistling/singing.



As soon as we started to pass the audience, the score instructed us to alternate between a whooshing sound (crescendo from piano to fortissimo, decrescendo back to piano) and flutter tongue (fortissimo at two pitches: the second higher than the first).



Put it all together and the performance goes something like this.  (Okay, it was super dark and the camera I stealthily attached to my handlebars isn't so hot, but you get the idea.)



It was a little lighter at rehearsal.

The Breeze, part 1

I'm super excited to be a part of a bicycle ensemble this evening.  It's part of the Monday Evening Concerts' performance of Eine Brise: Transient Action for 111 Bicyclists.  This music/conceptual art piece, by composer Mauricio Kagel, is entirely written out on sheet music.  A performance lasts about 60-90 seconds and looks/sounds like this:

The Monday Evening Concerts performance will be the Los Angeles premiere of this work.  I've been watching this training video and am heading to the rehearsal in about half an hour.

Hopefully, I'll have some pics or video from tonight's performance.  Thanks to Bill Salvador for letting me borrow his bike and helmet!

The Forecast

It was supposed to rain yesterday.  Instead, it looked like this:

(Okay, the crappy Blackberry camera doesn't do it justice.)  I think that's one of my favorite things about calling California home.  I've lived places where a 30% chance of rain means it'll definitely rain.  Here, a 70% chance of rain means it'll probably be sunny.

Walking along the cliffs in the bright sunshine when it was supposed to be raining got Lennox Fleary's song "Days of Rain" stuck in my head.  Which is a good thing, because four hours later I was playing "Days of Rain" and a dozen other tunes in concert with Lennox and an amazing cadre of voracious musical animals: Daniel Estay (guitarist, singer, songwriter); Isaac Sturtevant (guitarist, keyboardist, singer, songwriter, and one-half of the Oregon-based indie band In My Opinion); Anthony DiRocco (drummer, songwriter, and the other half of In My Opinion); Keaver Brenai (singer, songwriter); and Marika Papazoglu (singer, songwriter).

Fell in love with Lennox's music from the moment I heard it.  He was playing the Saturday morning I walked into the Purple Church for the first time.  His music was the reason I went back the following Saturday.  Pretty amazing for me: a guy who HATES Christian music.  Just goes to show that good music is good music...and as "positive" and "encouraging" as K-Love can be, bad music is bad.  Okay, tangential rant over.

Speaking of opinions: in my opinion, In My Opinion rocks!  These guys have a wonderfully organic feel to their tunes...creative, poignant, bitter, fun.  Playing with them was a highlight of 2010.  We're hoping to arrange a few gigs together here in LA and up in Portland.  And if those shows work out, I hope we can have as many post-concert dinners like we did last night.  Though, it's tough to choke down food while being regaled with tales about poultry in trees at a gas station ("yeah, we've got a chicken problem"), torching furniture in the back yard, the Sheridan Mud Drags (the city's fire dept turns the hoses on a pile of dirt and the locals race trucks),  and turning the bed of a pickup truck into a swimming pool.  Abs hurt lots from laughing so hard.

Finally headed home around 1:00a.  Figured that would be a safe time to brave the 5 fwy traffic through East LA.  Irvine to Eagle Rock: 35 minutes.  I should say so.

The Addiction

It's amazing to me how dependent we become on routine.  How certain facets of our everyday lives morph from being insignificant to being indispensable.  And how so often, if we try to change things up, it completely knocks us off our game.  I know it's not just me.  Please let it not be just me.  I swear I'm not obsessive-compulsive.

For my wife and me, nowhere is this more evident than at bedtime.  I've gotten hooked on those Breathe Right nasal strips.  (Actually, the generic brand from Target is better.)  I don't snore--they just make my nose feel more open and me more relaxed overnight.

 

The last thing my wife does every night as she climbs into bed is lotion her feet.  She says she can't sleep otherwise.

Silence is also deafening for both of us.  If we don't have a fan, or some kind of constant white noise source, we go absolutely nuts.  No fan, no sleep.

 

I have to start the night on my left side--no exceptions.  If I don't, I feel unbalanced the entire night.  (I also have to--throughout the course of the night--sleep on each side equally.  This is done through groggy approximation: if I feel like I've been on one side too long, I must flip.)

We both have to have water nearby.  She sips.  I gulp.

I read somewhere that if we drive the exact same route to and from work every day, our brains actually age faster.  But the minute we introduce the slightest variation into that route, it stimulates brain function, literally keeping us younger.  (And I was so proud to have found the perfect back way to work...)

Do these habits, eccentricities, neuroses affect us similarly?  Should we be actively trying to banish all of this micro-order from our lives?  Are we addicted to routine?

Or does strict adherence to routine in these minor areas of our lives allow us greater spontaneity in the big things?

The Return

Two years since I last blogged? That's what it says.

Well, I'm back. Because I gave up e-silence for Lent. Not really. I've never really observed Lent at all. And I actually don't really believe in giving up stuff for Lent. Such a negative emphasis...and also gives folks way too many opportunities to brag about what they're depriving themselves of. Why not, instead of focusing on the negative things, take up new challenges instead? Like writing.

A couple of years ago playwright Suzan-Lori Parks embarked upon an ambitious project called 365 days/365 plays, in which she wrote a play a day for a year. "It's about embracing the spirit of the text instead of noodling some idea about things," she told The New Yorker magazine.

Okay. I like word hugs. I'm game. I'll write every day throughout Lent. Maybe it'll help me be more observant. Maybe it'll help me discover new joys in my everyday life. We'll see. Read it, if you like. I won't be hurt if you find this incredibly boring, though.

Driving Music

It's not the most awe-inspiring of automobiles--the Ford Focus. But Ford has rolled out an awe-inspiring ad campaign for the Focus in Great Britain. This TV ad debuted this week to the tune of £45m. It features 15 prominent LA studio musicians playing 21 instruments designed by the Car Music Project. The instruments are also used in an Alesha Dixon music video...um...whoever the heck that is. Anyway, here's the video:

Kinda reminds me of this Honda commercial from a few years ago:

Tom Shady

Nobody's perfect. And during the NFL salary cap era, nobody should be perfect. It's not that I have anything against the Patriots--I'm mostly jealous of them--I just always root against the undefeated teams. (Can't wait until Memphis loses.) That's the first reason why I was a Giants fan last night.

The second is that the Giants beat my Packers. And it lends the Packers more credibility in their loss. (By the way, Brett Favre, please retire. It's Aaron Rodgers time.)

No other real wisdom here except that the Patriots didn't really get tested in the regular season--and when they did, they barely won. Their opponents' combined record was 120-136. They weren't as invincible as everybody thought and the Giants proved that all you need to beat them is average offensive production and to knock Tom Brady down. Five sacks did it.

No, Tom Brady, 18-1 isn't as good as 19-0, but at least you still have Gisele.

And by the way, my MVP was not Eli Manning--it was Justin Tuck: 11 tackles, 3 assists, 2 sacks, and a forced fumble.

And time stood still...

If you've never heard of the group Improv Everywhere, you should check them out.

www.improveverywhere.com/

This is their latest work. Described on their website as follows:

"On a cold Saturday in New York City, the world’s largest train station came to a sudden halt. Over 200 Improv Everywhere Agents froze in place at the exact same second for five minutes in the Main Concourse of Grand Central Station. Over 500,000 people rush through Grand Central every day, but today, things slowed down just a bit as commuters and tourists alike stopped to notice what was happening around them."

If this ever comes to LA, I'm so there. Of course, the LA version of this stunt would be more apropos on the freeways. Oh wait...that happens EVERY DAY. It's called the 405.

LA Metergate

A private parking ticket company...a $113 million a year industry...a class-action lawsuit...even a PBS documentary called "Pain and Parking in Los Angeles."

The biggest scandal in LA should not be the mayor sleeping with a Telemundo news anchor, it should be the unmitigated orgy of parking tickets cluttering windshields across the city.

My own windshield has housed a few of those dubious doilies recently and I'm not happy. There is a street near where I work that has free two-hour parking with no meters. It's a long enough street so I can park there and move my car every two hours (more than the required 500 feet) and not have to pay to park all day. (I know, you're thinking what a cheapskate I am, but hey, I usually ride the Metro but when I don't: free beats the $5 a day lot nearby or the $55 monthly fee to park in the structure at my building. Plus, I get a nice walk from the car to work all throughout the day.)

Recently, though, LA parking authorities have ramped up enforcement on this street. One day last week I counted six parking enforcement vehicles within the three blocks from where I work to where I park. They lurk in the shadows, clock-watching, and waiting for you to leave your car for two hours and one minute. Then they give you a ticket.

My first thought is, don't the police have better things to do with their time? I hear there are a few gangs in LA. Upon further investigation, though, it's actually a private company who runs parking enforcement here. It used to be Lockheed-Martin until a few years ago. Now it's the Dallas-based Affiliated Computer Systems company. (Pardon a brief digression here: what's the problem with hiring a local company to do this? Why must we send money out of the state of California when it could just as easily stay here?)

Back to topic. The privatization of parking fines brings up several questions:

1.) Is the company's profitability tied to how many tickets they issue?
2.) Are their employees granted merit-based promotions?
3.) Where does the money go?

The answers to these questions are simple and a bit disturbing. The more tickets Affiliated Computer Systems issues, the more money they get. As they contribute to the success of the company, ACS employees move up the corporate ladder. (The primo position in LA is "booter." There are more than 200 of these employees; and since unpaid parking tickets eventually end up either being deducted from California state income tax refunds or added to California state license plate renewals, the booters tend to focus their efforts on out-of-state vehicles--forcing these people to pay if they want their cars back.)

The one bright spot is that while parking fines account for nearly 2% of the city's budget and Affiliated Computer Systems gets as much as three bucks per ticket, the administrative costs of processing an appeal are greater than what ACS would pocket if the fine is enforced. Meaning, even if one loses his appeal, he still costs the company money.

You can bet I'll appeal every single ticket I ever get.

My Anti-Blog Intro

I hate blogs. Always have; always will. Mostly it's because I hate the word "blog." But also, why should I care what some 35-year-old nerd with too much time on his hands and too many action figures on his shelves thinks about life. I don't. I hate that guy.

But I also like giving unsolicited opinions. What better way to coerce angry e-mails from the masses than going on ridiculous rants? Okay, fine...I'll try not to rant too much. Hence, the title of the blog. (I really hate that word: blog. Blech.)

There aren't many things that are better than granola. Muesli is one of them, though. You don't eat it every meal--probably not even every day. Some batches have more grains; some have more fruit. But when you eat muesli, it's so satisfying.

Hope you enjoy my Muesli Morsels, direct from Lala Land.