My Conversation with the Solar Energy Guy

"Hi," he said, with a big wave of his arm. "Do you have a minute for solar energy?"
"Right now?" I asked
"Yep. I'm with Solar Energy Worldwide, a non profit that helps normal people like you succeed without the hassle and expense of electric energy."
"What makes you think I'm normal?"
"Oh, I meant nothing by that comment!" he said joyfully.
"Go on," I said.
"So we are committed to making to the Earth a safer and better place by expanding knowledge and use of solar energy. Do you currently use solar power?"
"I have a calculator that does, but nothing else."
"Very good! That's a great start."
"Thanks."
"No problem! What's your name?"
"What does that have to do with solar power?" I was confused.
"Nothing, technically, but I'm just trying to build a relationship with you."
"Are you hitting on me?" I said excitedly.
"No, I'm trying to inform you about the benefits of solar energy."
"Alright. So how much for a snickers?" I was hungry.
"What? I'm not selling snickers." He was confused.
"But I thought you said you were talking about solar power."
"I am. Did you know that the average household can save over 1oo dollars a month by making one simple switch?" He asked.
"Yes. I knew that. My house is powered by solar power. So is my calculator," I said all snarky-like.
"Interesting. So you were lying earlier about using solar power?" He was confused again.
"Yep. I'm a liar and a solar power user. Me and Al Gore."
"Al Gore is a genius. Not a liar. Don't even start," He said.
"What's your name?" I replied
"Al Gore."

Facebook's Slippery Slope

There's a new trend in the interweb/cyberspace/intranet/online community. It's devastating. It's ruining my online experience, and probably yours. It's when people change their names on Facebook to their first name and middle name. Abraham Zoltan Lincoln turns into Abraham Zoltan. Susan Princess Sontag turns into Susan Princess. It's happening now and it's happening fast. Every day another FB user loses a piece of their identity.

This poses one giant, massive question: Who the hell do you think you are? What are you afraid of? Newsflash hotshot! Your friends are still your friends whether you eliminate your last name or not. They can still see your pictures, your Farmville chaos and your Perez Hilton fan page. Ok, ok, you don't want people to be able to search for you. Well then how do you expect to network? How do you expect to spy on new people? Eventually your stoner friends from high school are going to slip into oblivion. You need to expand. You need to exist. What's the next move? Changing your birth certificate? Legalizing gay marriage? It's a slippery slope, people.

Looking for a Job in Chicago

So my girlfriend and I are thinking about getting a cat. We're also thinking about getting jobs. Last night I had a few hours to do nothing. I did it well. I watched The Office wedding and I searched for cats online. There's a website - petfinder.com that lets you type in your zip code and they show all the cats/dogs/reptiles/bonsai trees that have been rescued within a 20 mile radius of your house. I spent a good two hours perusing the cats - from Aristotle to Zeus (and other ridiculous pet names).

This got me thinking - why is it easier to find an abandoned, malnourished cat in Chicago than a job? Is this economy so bad that there are more cats than jobs in a major metropolitan city? I thought cats live on farms. I was wrong. Got me again, Mayor Daley! First you let me down on the Olympics and now you flood our streets with cats, most of which have silly names.

So for all you unemployed people in the world, get a cat, not a job. It will provide you with warmth, comfort, companionship and as a bonus, it won't be hard to find one. But if you do end up wanting a job - don't look in Chicago. Try another place where there are no cats - like Farmville, Iowa or Middle of Nowhere, Kansas.

The Playlist of my Awkward Years

I'm making a playlist of all the songs I loved during my awkward years. It's really bringing back a lot of memories. Allow me to share.

1) Bush - Machinehead. I'm sitting in my bedroom getting pumped for my bar mitzvah. I have it blasting as I'm putting my new suit on. My sister walks in and yells over the music, "You're gonna be a man!"

2) Rush - Tom Sawyer. 6th grade sitting in the cafeteria listening to this song on my headphones thinking I'm so cool. I know nothing about the band, except that the drummer is awesome. This girl I had a crush on comes up to me and I act way too cool for her. I'm listening to Rush, leave me alone. She never talks to me again.

3) Third Eye Blind - Semi-Charmed Life. 7th grade social studies. I know this song by heart and I make sure everyone at Wilbur Wright Middle School knows this. I'm so freaking awesome - sitting in my desk singing the song at the top of my lungs. Mr. Colias gives me detention. I don't care, I'm singing about cocaine. Mr. Colias is so dorky, but detention sucks.

4) Dave Matthews Band - Let You Down. Trying to woo girls by singing the words "I have no lid upon my head, but if I did, you could look inside and see what's on my mind." It kind of worked. Only because everyone liked Dave Matthews. Some hot girl told me my Adidas gym pants were cool. They were cool.

5) Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - American Girl. Going into my older brother's room while he was out of the house and memorizing all the band members of the Heartbreakers and then bringing them up on the way to school the next day so he would think I was cool. He didn't think I was cool. He thought I was AWESOME.

6) Aeroplane - Red Hot Chili Peppers. Wishing I could be one of the kids singing back up on the track.

7) Sophie B. Hawkins - As I Lay Me Down. My friends thought I was lame. I guess I was.

That's what I have so far. I'm going to keep working on it. Wish me luck.

Wazzup Xerox?

Wazzup Xerox? That's what the maintenance guy at my apartment building says to me all the time. Whenever I see him, maybe 3 or 4 times a week, it's "Wazzup Xerox?" I'm a nice, considerate guy so I never talk back. I just drop my head and say, "Hi, Boris." That was until yesterday.

Boris had to come up to my apartment to fix my oven and he walked in and obviously said, "Wazzup Xerox?" Instead of saying "Hi Boris," I said, "Boris, can I ask you something? Why do you call me Xerox?" This followed...

Boris: Your name iz not Xerox?
Me: No, it's Gabe
Boris: I likez Xerox better. You look like a Xerox.
Me: Like a photocopy?
Boris: No, like my nephew Xerox. He livez in St. Petersburg.
Me: How old is he?
Boris: Seven.
Me: I look like a seven year old?
Boris: No, Xerox lookz like he'z 25.
Me: Can I make up a nickname for you?
Boris Yez, of courz.
Me: How about BrontoBoris. Like the dinosaur.
Boris: Do I look likez a dinozaur?
Me: No, it's a play on words.
Boris: I hate dinosaurz. They are scary and ugly.
Me: I didn't mean anything by it.
Boris: You aren't Xerox anymore. You are azzhole.

Now Boris says, "Wazzup azzhole?" And I say, "not much."

Famous like Mitch Hedberg

There is a small group of people in the world that can best be categorized as a group that people say they like because its cool to like them. OK that explanation was a bit convoluted. I'll try again. So there's a group of people that are cool in society - like Johnny Depp and Steven Tyler. Then there is a group of people that people think they should think are cool in society -like Mitch Hedberg. It's the second group that interests me. The Mitch Hedberg group.

This can be confusing, so stay with me. When someone says, "God, I just LOVE Mitch Hedberg," 90% of the time they are really saying, "I've HEARD of Mitch Hedberg and people will think it's cool if I say I love him." Mitch Hedberg, now dead, didn't really have to do much to be loved because 9 out of 10 people who "love" him have never heard any of his jokes or looked at his ridiculous haircut. (This, of course, is unscientific. What do you think I am, a scientist?)

So what am I getting at? I want to be Mitch Hedberg. Wait. No I don't. I want to be famous like Mitch Hedberg. I want people who have barely even heard of me say, "God I just LOVE that guy." I want 14 year old girls to have posters of me on their wall without even knowing my middle name. I want my records to go platinum with the help of people who will never listen to it. I want my movie to be #1 at the box office and people to walk away saying, "Why do I tell people I love that guy?" and then still tell people they love me, you know, to be cool.

Where the Urinal Cakes Smell like Trees

Every man has been there. Standing at the urinal surrounded on either side by other men peeing. No matter what your sexuality, what your color, where you are from, there's always the "OMG this is awfully awkward and horrifying." Every guy will tell you the first thing he does when walking into a public bathroom is see whether or not there's a urinal with two empty spots next to it. If so, they will make a bee-line to that spot. If not, they will meander slowly over, hoping that the fellow washroom users will finish their business by the time they wander over.

Anyway, back to the point. It's awkward. There's the feeling that the other person is looking at you. There's the feeling that you are peeing too loudly. There's the feeling that you're peeing too softly. There's the feeling that if you slip and fall maybe you pee on the other guy's feet. There are a lot of feelings. For example (there's ALWAYS an example!), I was at the symphony orchestra last night and I had to use the facilities. I walked into the room marked "Men," and I obviously checked to see if there was a urinal with the vacant adjoining spots. No dice. I checked my blackberry, looked in the mirror, tied my shoes, adjusted my belt, coughed a few times, pretended to look for my contact lens - all in the hopes that the people would leave so I could do my thing in peace. Again, no dice.

I walked up to the urinal and gave the kindly fellow next to me a quick glance and a grin. Not too friendly, not too mean, just enough to let him know that I was cool. I wasn't going to pull any fast ones on him. I was standing there with my fly down hoping to the good lord that it would be smooth sailing. The man (who by this time had been peeing for well over 2 minutes) did a little shake, zipped up his pants and flushed. He walked away but suddenly turned around and said, "I like your shoes."

What the hell? What did he mean? Were shoes a metaphor for my urinal style? Did he like my stance? My flow? Or really did he just like my shoes? I couldn't answer him. I couldn't pee anymore. I just stood there with my eyes closed hoping that when I opened them he was gone. I opened my eyes, my fly was down, my stream was halted. I turned my head and he was no longer there.

The urinal is nature's way of telling me to pee in the woods, where no one is watching you. Where nobody likes your shoes. Where the urinal cakes smell like trees.