The Rants of Mister P

My pants are wet.

I got up this morning, took a shower, and went to get dressed. I couldn't find any pants. This wasn't an issue of not being able to find a certain color pair of pants to match a shirt; I couldn't find ANY pants. (Well, that's not exactly true. I still have the rack of size 30-32 slacks hanging in the closet which I'm saving for the day I stop eating Oreos and will be able to wear them again. But that's another story). There aren't many places for pants to hide. They are either in the closet, in the dresser, or thrown in a heap at the foot of the bed. Yet I couldn't find my pants. Did someone sneak into my home last night and steal my pants? And more importantly, why?

I then remembered that I did a large load of laundry last night but forgot to put the clothes in the dryer. I opened up the washing machine and found a giant wad of denim and cotton. I took a single pair of jeans and threw them in the dryer, maximum heat. I checked them every 5 minutes. Already running late, I tried to find that point where they would be dry enough to be tolerable without wasting too much time waiting for them.

Of course the Fundamental Law Of Laundry says that pants will always feel drier to your hand than they will to your pants. Sure enough, the pants were dry on the outside. Let's just leave it at that.

Why The West Wing Sucks

Back in the old days (1998), Hollywood presidents were larger than life. They'd pound their fists in the Oval Office and pick up the hot line and shout obscenities at the Kremlin. And we cheered them on.

Then came The West Wing. And although still overly dramatic at times, we got a somewhat more realistic portrayal of the president. A calmer president. One who doesn't slip up or feel threatened by his underlings. Unfortunately, President Bartlett has ruined things for all other Hollywood presidents.

24 premiered tonight, with once-Senator Palmer now the big head-honcho of the good ole' U.S. of A. And he's Old School. He threatens Prime Ministers over the phone, snarls at his staff, and at all times looks like if things go down he's ready to pick up an AK-47 and kick some terrorist butt. But he just doesn't seem "real".

Maybe it's scary that in the pre-West Wing years, we accepted a machine-gun-toting president as "realistic". But today, they're just not fun anymore.

Angels Win!

How did the Angels win the World Series? Simple. Michael Eisner made a deal with the devil:

Brilliant.

The Bill of No Rights

It begins "ARTICLE I: You do not have the right to a new car, big screen TV or any other form of wealth. More power to you if you can legally acquire them, but no one is guaranteeing anything."

It then goes on to basically tell people to stop being crybabies. Bravo.

I was given this Blog because the other Mister P always says that my mind races twice as fast as normal people and he thought I should write down my typical daily dilemmas. This is probably the kind of entry he was hoping for:

There was a sneak preview of the new movie The Ring this weekend. My New Friend Travis had a copy of the original Japanese version, and he let me borrow it a few weeks ago. Having seen the original, we were all (including his girlfriend Kim) looking forward to seeing the new version.

The movie is only showing in two theaters: The REALLY nice Arclight theater in Hollywood, and the generic AMC 14 in Burbank. Travis told me that he and Kim were going to see it in Hollywood. I had to work Saturday, and as I was finishing up around 5:30 I realized I could also catch the movie. Here's where my brain slips into hyperdrive: If I simply show up at the Arclight, knowing that they are going to be there, then I'll look like a stalker. (Important note: the legal definition of stalking includes the condition "with intent to do harm". So simply following people is not stalking. That's good to know sometimes.)
If I call ahead and tell them I'm going to the Arclight, then I'm inviting myself along on their hot Saturday night date. Not cool, and also rather sad on my part.

So clearly I should go to Burbank.

On my way to the Burbank theater, I call Travis and assume he is already in line in Hollywood to get tickets. Since he loaned me the original tape, I figured he'd be happy to know I was going to see the movie and we could discuss it on Monday. As it turns out, he had some guy doing construction in his condo and they weren't going to make it to the Hollywood show. Brain goes back into hyperdrive. Should I offer to get them tickets?

Here the tables are turned: I am not joining them on THEIR date, but rather they would be joining me on MY date. Of course, I'm alone but I'm good company so that's OK. But there is still a problem: Would they rather wait one week to see the movie in the really nice theater in Hollywood, or see it tonight in the so-so Burbank theater? Will they feel obligated to accept my offer and see it in Burbank, and wind up with a lesser movie experience? I take a chance, offer to pick up tickets for them and they accept.

Now I'm in a bit of a grey area. Who exactly is responsible for the evening's entertainment? Since the original tape belonged to Travis, we're seeing this movie on his recommendation. But since I'm the one who is getting the tickets, I think I usurped responsibility. Which means that I have to make sure to get a good place in line to get good seats. Travis and Kim are avid movie-goers and now I feel responsible for their movie experience. Fortunately, they are lightweights compared to my natural obsessiveness over movie seat-selection and we did rather well in that area.

We had a rather annoying audience (your cell phone has an OFF button: use it. Your baby does NOT have an OFF button: leave it at home) but I don't think that's technically my fault. Overall, I think we had a good time.

Scariest...discovery...ever...

One of these tablets is used to clean your dishes.
The other is used to clean your toilet.

Don't even THINK about replacing my Folger's crystals.

Today's update:

Travis sucks.