L'histoire de sa vie

“Speaking of cancer,” the TV news anchor shouted, “studies have now shown that bladder cancer can be prevented in individuals with high levels of selenium. Selenium can be found in breakfast cereals…”

At this point I stopped listening, not because I was uninterested (which I was), but because I had knocked over my glass of water and had to clean up the mess. However, the message still stuck in my head, largely because I was at least partially interested in where else to find selenium.

But only partially; I’ve eaten enough breakfast cereals in my life to know that any mineral I need is included in the cereal. When I was younger, it seemed to me like cereals were in a competition to have the highest number next to the words “essential vitamins and minerals,” followed by a requisite exclamation mark.

Even “unhealthy” cereals are healthy by this measure: Cinnamon Toast Crunch (twelve) Cookie Crisp (twelve), Count Chocula (eight), Lucky Charms (twelve), Trix (twelve). The list goes on.

Of course, it seems to me that most of these (“essential”) minerals are things like Boron, Manganese, and Gallium. They don’t seem that essential to me, and the box always explains that the included one microgram is 6700% of your recommended daily value. One box of cereal I ate once had Gold listed, which I thought was awesome.

Anyway, apparently Selenium is good for you. So who knows? Soon, I’ll find out that the essential Manganese prevents spleen cancer! Now pardon me while I pour myself a bowl of cereal.

You know the scene from many movies you’ve seen: some terrible plot is about to go down, and someone has to be debriefed. In order to give the second party the information he or she needs, they duck into the restroom. But because our hero may be in the same restroom (in fact he or she is), the villains first check under the stall doors for legs.

Invariably, our hero has tucked his or her legs up and is sitting or crouching on the toilet so that no legs are dangling below. The villain then spills the plot, and the hero has all the information necessary to foil it.

Recently, I realized just how ridiculous this action is. See, stalls only lock from the inside. So it doesn’t make sense to look under stalls, when instead the villains should just push open each stall door. If it’s locked, there’s someone inside. If it’s unlocked, there either isn’t, or you’ll find that person.

So, the next time you’re discussing a nefarious caper inside the bathroom, follow my advice: push open each stall door rather than craning your head to look for legs. You’ll thank me when your plans are not ruined by a pesky eavesdropper.

Yesterday, I called Target in the Bronx, to see if they had some sheets available. When the phone picked up, an automated voice welcomed me to Target and then said, in a very strongly-American accent, “para Español, oprime dos.” It then continued with the various department listings, and I eventually spoke to an operator.

There’s nothing wrong with the scenario I just presented. The Spanish part was pretty funny because it was such a non-Hispanic accent, but everything else about it was just fine. You may be thinking, “what could be wrong with any similar situation?” Or, if you’ve read the title of this post, you may have already determined what my complaint is.

The issue is when the automated voice tells me “For English, press one” and then waits for me to take the phone away from my ear, press the button, and only then will it continue with the options. This is highly inefficient and stupid.

There should always be a default option, and as long as I’m calling some place in America, where English is still the primary language, that default option should be English. Offer as many different languages as you want, but for one default, don’t make me press anything. If I were calling a phone in China, I would expect the same behavior: For English, press two. No mention of Chinese, in which case, one should just stay on the line.

Enough of this inefficiency. I suggest that everyone complain to the operator each time you reach a “for English, press one” prompt. Maybe with enough complaints, this will change.

Last night, John and I went to see The Expendables, which was a ridiculously stupid movie that shall get no more discussion here. Afterwards, around 12:20, we were driving back toward our houses, when I noticed, on a random, sparsely-populated street corner, a fully lit and open taco truck.

I thought this was ridiculous, though John didn’t seem to mind. The concept, that there was a taco truck set up and doing business past midnight on a remote corner far from any discernable nightlife on a Tuesday, confused me. Yet there was this taco truck, operating in exactly those conditions.

In New York, I’m used to food carts being open late at night. Usually around bars or other places that the nightlife calls home, and usually only on weekends. These are the night-owl Halal carts of the city, dispensing Chicken over Rice and Lamb over Rice to the hungry drunken masses. They do a booming business, I’m sure.

If a taco truck were to open up in New York, it too would do booming business under such circumstances, and I would welcome it due to my love of tacos. However, I still can’t get over the idea that somewhere in a remote Houston neighborhood, someone’s Tuesday midnight taco desires can be quenched.

At Minute Maid Park, there’s a deal where if an Astro hits a Grand Slam during the sixth inning, a randomly chosen spectator shown during the middle of the inning wins $25,000, courtesy of Sonic Drive-Through.

This is a poor promotion, in my opinion, and it’s just added to a park that is gradually becoming filled with nonsense. See, I don’t really care if some random guy I don’t know wins a lot of cash. If I’m on the line, I guess that’s more exciting, but in a stadium of say 30,000 fans (or more like 3,000 these days), the odds are against me.

There is another promotion the Astros have, one that I much prefer, which provides the blueprint for a better Sixth Inning Slam promo: the Chick-Fil-A “Eat More Fowl” Foul Poles. See, if any Astros homerun hits the foul poles, everyone in the stadium gets a free Chick-Fil-A chicken sandwich.

That’s awesome. Everyone, one sandwich per person. Nobody hits the jackpot, but everyone is rewarded, in contrast to the sixth inning slam promo, in which only one person is rewarded. Imagine if instead, a sixth inning grand slam promised everyone in the crowd a Cherry Limeade or Strawberry Cream Slush.

Now that would be a heck of a promotion. And one for which I would cheer heartily in the case of a four-RBI four-bagger. As opposed to now, when I would likely cheer for the runs but not care much about the lucky jerk who just won while the rest of us advanced to nowhere.

The other day, as part of an “employee appreciation” thing at camp, I received a new fleece. It’s quite nice, and I’m really happy to have received it but I am at least a little worried that I may not have it for long.

See, I have a really bad history with fleeces.

I got my first fleece when I was in middle school, to use on Boy Scout camping trips. Almost immediately I burned a hole in the sleeve, near my hand. I’m not entirely sure how this happened but for a while I used it as a thumb hole. Until my freshman year of high school, when I lost the fleece in New Orleans.

The next fleece I owned was given to me in December of 2008 as an employee appreciation gift from National Ramah, my employer in New York. I brought it to camp the next summer, because it was awesome, and promptly lost it.

I received another fleece this December, but I haven’t worn it anywhere out of caution. It seems that I’m not destined to wear fleeces. I now own two but I’m in constant fear that using them will require losing them.

The more fleeces I collect, the more I’m reminded of the bygone fleeces of my past. But at the same time, they are really comfortable, so I don’t know how much longer I can afford to live in fear.

I came up with a great idea last night. The concept is to take rap lines out of context, but not just any rap lines: specifically lines that are tame and aren’t necessarily hip-hop-ish. Frankly I think this could be hilarious, though I suppose there could be a possibility to overlap with this hilarious-but-not-oft-updated website (NSFW).

I got the idea from the Sir Mix-a-lot line from “Baby Got Back”:

“I’m tired of magazines”

Perhaps you should consider canceling your subscription?

Anyway, the idea is that these are lines that might come up in a reasonable non-rap conversation. They are lines in perfect English, therefore almost inappropriate for a popular hip-hop song. In fact, what’s fantastic about these lines is that they seem to be out of context already. Here are some other ideas I’ve come up with:

• “Yesterday is over; it’s a different day” – Yes, thank you Annie. (Eminem – “Love the Way you Lie”)
• “I really can’t complain, everything is Kosher” – I’ll pass your compliments on to Chef Rosenblatt.  (Drake – “Over”)
• “I would like for you to pay me by the hour” – I prefer a monthly salary myself but that can be arranged. (Lil Wayne – “A Milli”)
• “I’m circumcised” – You should probably check out the restaurant where Drake eats then. (Rick Ross – “MC Hammer”)
• “Who gave Saddam anthrax?” – Great question. There’s some folks at the DoD who would love the answer. (Kanye West – “Crack Music”)

Feel free to comment with more. Perhaps this could go somewhere if a critical mass of lyrics is found.