WHATTHEHELLAREYOUWAITINFO?

Foreword

Yes!!  I've beaten the scores of one-issue zines out there, and released a second issue!  I feel so superior now.  Take that, People Magazine Celebrates The Life Of Ronald Reagan!  Never made it to issue 2, did you?  Neener neener nee-nerr!

Yes, my little upstart publication, this semi-autobiographical brain-vent known colloquially as What the Hell (or simply WTH to a select few who don't like to type much) is officially a series.  Logically, that makes this automatically superior to everything which had a single issue with no followup, like Forest for the Trees, Stephen King's The Stand, the DMC-12, the I Ching, Gandhi, The Ugly American, and Last Tango in Paris.

But enough self-congratulation.  Spring is in the air, a milestone which was celebrated here at WTH headquarters by chopping the ice off the front steps with the side edge of a snow shovel.  This is the time of rebirth, time for nature to get friendly again, time to feed this past Winter's coats to the moths.  I'm all about nature, and I'll be celebrating as the grass grows, the butterflies fly, the rain rains, the thunder thunders, and the lightning lightnings.

So pour yourself a glass of jazz, put some lemonade on the stereo, and enjoy issue 2!

Rob

EXCEPT FOR THAT BIT.

AND THAT ONE, AND THIS ONE HERE.

UP

LEFT          RIGHT

DOWN

Nice belt!      Thanks.
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Health concerns

Mom gave me an old "Expectant Motherhood" manual her obstetrician gave her in 1977, when she was pregnant with me.  It offers much wisdom to the new mother of the 1970s, such as this gem (which I swear I did not make up:)

It seems clear that the newborn of mothers who smoke tend to weigh somewhat less than those of mothers who do not smoke.  But whether this lower birth weight indicates an injurious effect has not been established.  Regardless of these findings, most physicians recommend that smoking should be eliminated in pregnancy or at least curtailed to ten cigarettes or less a day.

Need just the right angle

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just pick a direction and start walking, leaving all my cares and worries behind me, not knowing what's ahead.  Letting my path lay itself out before me, unexplored, untamed!  Adventure and excitement await!   Going ever forward, never straying!  Onward!  Excelsior!!

Then I remember that I live on an island.  Glub glub glub...

Everything floats down here

One day my mom, my sister Fina, and I were watching Stephen King's It miniseries.

The main characters are a group of childhood friends, one of which was played by a young Seth Green.  Later, the show fast-forwards to a time when the characters are all grown up, and therefore played by adult actors.

We were all amused at the fact that the adult version of Seth Green's character was played by an actor who looks nothing like how Green actually looks nowadays.

Mom came up with an obvious solution to this...

"Why didn't they just use the adult Seth Green?"

It took a full minute of Fina and I laughing at her before she realized why we were.

Fight for your right

When I registered to vote, I didn't want to select a party.  That is a perfectly valid course of action, and the one which I think suits me best.

Things got interesting when the counter lady at the Department of Motor Vehicles completely failed to understand the concept.

The conversation between her, myself, and my mom began thusly...

Lady:  You didn't select a political party.
Rob:  That's because I don't want to register with one.
Lady:  So you want to register as Independent?
Rob:  No, "Independent" is a party.  I don't want a party, unless there is cake involved.
Lady:  Cake?
Rob:  Yes, cake.  Or pizza.  Food is what labels are for.   Not people.
Lady:  But what party are you registering to vote with?
Rob:  None of them.
Lady:  So, that's the Independent party.
Rob:  No it isn't, that's a party called "Independent."
Mom:  You can't vote in the primary if you don't pick a party, Rob.
Rob:  That's because the primary is an internal party thing, it's not the real election.  I don't want to vote in any primaries.
Lady:  You don't want to vote?  But you're registering to vote.
Rob:  No, I don't want to vote in a primary of some party of which I'm not a member.
Lady:  That's why you register with a party, so you can vote in their primary.
Mom:  If you don't, you can't.
Rob:  Oh, for crying out loud...

After that it got even more "Who's on first"-like. But eventually all parties concerned were made to understand.

Facial where

Jamie Foxx.  A fine actor, and a capable comedian.  But, what the hell is the deal with his upper lip?  When he doesn't have a moustache, he still looks to me like he has a moustache.

Seriously.  I'll be watching him on screen, or looking at a picture, of a completely-shaven Jamie Foxx, and all I'll be able to think is "What an odd moustache."

Like some weird Schrödinger's Cat of the facial hair world, it both is and isn't there!  But cruelly, no amount of opening the box can collapse this wavefunction!

...Am I really the only one who notices things like this?

FBI Statistics:

• A larceny occurs every 4 seconds
• A burglary occurs every 12 seconds
• A robbery occurs every 54 seconds
• An auto theft occurs every 21 seconds
• A assault occurs every 29 seconds
• A murder occurs every 24 minutes

I say we find that guy and stop him!

An excerpt from Here, Nowe, in Thye Barlye Fieylds by 17th century romance novelist Andreas von Rambling

..and the goode Lord Pfarthingbotham reached unto thy hemme of his goodly wyfe's skirts, and shifted them asundir, revealing hir lace'd petticoat.  He similarly shifted awaye that petticoat, and reveal'd in all its glorye anothir petticoat.  He lifted awaye this petticoat, to reveale unto him yet anothir petticoat.  He shifted that petticoat awaye from his goodly wyfe, and lookd upon thye next petticoat, this even more silken and lace'd than the manye before.  It was this verye petticoat whych Lord Pfarthingbotham lifted asundir, for to reveal another petticoat, which its verye self was discovired to mask an othir petticoat all togethir, which Lord Pfarthingbotham mov'd awaye, revealing a newe petticoat...

Arrivederci

Since I reached (technical) adulthood I don't speak with my dad's side of the family often, but we bump into each other occasionally.

A few years ago a cousin happened into my old job and we got to chatting for a bit, and I found out that my paternal grandmother had passed away something like a year previously with nobody bothering to let me know about it.

The first thing that came to my mind was along the lines of, "You twunts ever think of maybe telling me I'm down one grandmother, probably the relative I felt closest to out of you lot?"

My second, and more pragmatic, thought on the matter was, "I wonder if anyone will finally use those little soaps and towels in the bathroom we were never allowed to touch."

Come on, baby

Sometime in the late 1990s, I was picking up a few things in the Virgin Megastore in Times Square.  The place was ridiculously crowded, so I figured it was one of their celebrity signing whatevers.

Having made my purchases, I ninja'd my way to the back of the crowd, and asked a record store employee who the honored guest was.

"Kylie Minogue."  He didn't seem thrilled.

This was back when Kylie was first trying to make her comeback in the US, before her "look at my boobs in this impractical dress" video ensured it.  So, I knew her only as;

"That 'Locomotion' chick?  She sucks canal water," I wittily replied, trying to get a chuckle out of the miserable retail drone.

The employee started laughing, but gagged it back, looking over my shoulder.  I followed his gaze and realized that the autograph table was right behind me, and she was glaring in my direction, having heard every word.

I smiled sweetly, and added to her face, "Sorry, but you do."  I then made a hasty retreat before the approaching security guys made it for me.

Annoying and unnecessary

Why do hospitals advertise?

On the horribly repetitive radio station my coworkers favor, there are constant ads for a local hospital.  Why on Earth is this necessary?

If you get hit by a bus, stabbed in the eye with a pen, accidentally shake hands with a running bandsaw, or something equally unfortunate, don't you hope that help arrives soon, and takes you to the nearest hospital?  It's not really a time for comparison shopping.

"Sir, you've just been shot through the head with a crossbow bolt, and your only hope is surgery.  Where would you like this ambulance to take you?"

"Well, I hear Good Samaritan Hospital is absolutely wonderful with head injuries, but the testimonial I heard on the radio for Brunswick Hospital sounded so convincing..

"Please decide quickly, sir, you're losing a lot of blood."

"Oh, am I?  Because I heard Southside Hospital is having a special this week on transfusions..."

This is just another in the long line of entities that pay lots of money to advertise, when there doesn't seem to be any logical reason to do so.

Take the California Milk Processor Board's ongoing "Got Milk?" campaign.  This ad campaign is not paid for by one particular milk company to push their product over the competition, as in standard advertising procedure.  Instead it's paid for by some roomful of suits representing a the dairy industry in general, just to push milk, any milk at all.  The California Milk Processor Board pays all these celebrities lots of money to take disturbing "milk moustache" photos for print ads and billboards, they put up TV commercials extolling the benefits of milk.. but why?

Is there really anyone in the world who hasn't come to a final decision on whether or not they're going to buy and use milk?  If you do buy milk, chances are it's because like the majority of people in modern civilization, it's a staple of your diet and always has been.  If you don't, you've either got a medical or a moral reason not to.   Either way, your mind is not going to be changed by an ad, no matter how flashy.

"Gee whiz, my vegan lifestyle means I don't consume any animal products.. but that commercial was just so cool and funny!  Screw this whole moral code thing, I'm-a buy me some moo juice!!!"

"Golly, my extreme milk allergy means a single glassful can send me into anaphylactic shock and kill me instantly.. but look, Shaquille O'Neill has a milk moustache!  I'm gonna get some now, so I can be like Shaq!!"

Memories

Sometimes I walk around the neighborhood where I grew up, and reminisce about all the stores I used to hang out in when I was younger.  I take note of which ones have closed down since, all the businesses that failed, the stores boarded up or bought by big chains, the remnants of broken dreams of local entrepreneurs, and I wonder... should I not have shoplifted quite so much as a  kid?

Live each day like it's the last;
run around in the nude and rub up against anyone you want to.

Unforgivable

No matter how old I live to be, no matter how much I dig the rest of his work, I'll never, ever, forgive Quentin Tarantino for reviving John Travolta's career.

I was doing just fine when Travolta was confined to talking baby movies and Saturday Night Fever jokes in weak standup acts, and I didn't have to deal with his lumpy dimples and complete lack of talent.  All of a sudden, along comes an overrated movie that lets him shoot people and say "fuck" a lot, winning him a new seat at the dinner table of Public Consciousness.

Screw Pulp Fiction anyway.  The parts without Bruce Willis or Christopher Walken sucked on toast.

Quentin, you of the improbable jaw structure and vast collection of 1970s films to rip off/pay homage to, you of the fun Kill Bills and the silly From Dusk Till Dawns, you of the sloping brow and overrated yet stylish cinema that instantly obsesses the gloomier portions of the current year's high school sophomores, you have got one hell of a lot of moon-faced Scientologist to answer for.

Owie

Something happened to me last Summer that's still sort of bothering me...

While walking home from work, I felt a tickle on my arm.  I looked, and there was a mosquito, in the process of sucking my blood.  Rather than kill it, I decided to just watch.  The mosquito kept sucking down my lifejuice for a second, then - all of a sudden - it dropped off my arm and fell to the ground, dead.

What do you suppose that was all about?

High concept

Dreams are fun.  I'm a big fan of dreams.  However, dreaming itself has a flaw I would like to address.

We all know how much it bites when you're having an awesome dream, the type you'll be happily remembering for years, only to have something wake you up just before the good part.  But, have you ever been in a position where you could immediately go back to sleep?  The immediate urge is to try and continue that great dream, as you would pick up a book where you left off, or unpause a video.

It never works out that way, though, does it?  If your next dream is in any way related to your last, it's some strange mutation of the original's content or concept.   You wake up from dreaming of sharing a waterbed with Tori Amos, which when revisited turns into sharing a watercress sandwich with John Amos.

That's the sort of thing which makes me wish my subconscious had a complaints department.

Preparations

She was getting ready for a wonderful night out.  She made sure her outfit, her look, everything was just so.

She ran through her mental checklist one last time before leaving home.  The dress was great, one of her best.  Under it were a few strategic garments, made to suppress her body's shape here, enhance it there.. it was really a vast improvement.  A bit uncomfortable to be sure, but it was worth it.  She fleetingly wondered if maybe she shouldn't have "stuffed" quite so much, but looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she really had to admit it made her look much sexier than normal.   Her shoes sported very high heels, not the best for walking around or standing much, but check out what it did for her legs!

That morning she had hit several salons.  Her hair was now several shades blonder.   She had even had some extensions woven in.  She could never look like that with her own hair.  Her fingernails were sanded to a rough surface and replaced with plastic ones.  Painful to be sure, and she'd have to adjust to having less dexterity for a while, but look at that color!  It worked so well with her newly tanned skin.

The skin, though, still needed more done with it.  She sat for an hour in her bathroom, smearing on a ton of new coverup she had gotten to match her new shade.   Then came the blush, eyeshadow, and lipstick, all done perfectly to spec according to the latest beauty magazines.  Look at those models, they're so pretty.  How do they stay like that?

And the eyelashes.  God, but they're uncomfortable to wear.  But wow, look how they flutter!  They're the perfect accessory to the contact lenses which gave her the crystal blue eyes she heard were currently in favor.

A final series of checks in the mirror, a few last tweaks and adjustments to her various accessories, one final makeup check, a tug on the weave, a plastic eyelash pasted back into place, some tucking in here and there..

At last she left for the night, satisfied that she was presenting her personal best to the world.

Old Lady MacFirefly's Bannanamon Lumps

Ingredients (vegan versions of all are available if you like):

• 4 cups Flour
• 2/3 cup vegetable shortening
• 1 large banana
• 1 cup softened margarine
• 1 tablespoon vanilla
• 1 cup plain sugar
• 1 cup dark brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

Directions:

With a potato masher, blend the banana until it's brownish and goopy.  You can use a fork if you don't have a potato masher, but then you'll be living a lie for the rest of your life.

In a large bowl, stir up everything except the salt, baking soda, and cinnamon. You may wish to add an extra tablespoon of vanilla or a few tablespoons of hot water if there is some powder remaining.

Stir in the baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. It should now look and smell quite a bit like banana-y cookie dough.  If it doesn't, run for your life, as it's slightly possible you've accidentally made napalm.

With a tablespoon, drop half-inch thick lumps onto an ungreased baking sheet.   Leave an inch or two in between lumps, because as Julia Child once said on her classic cooking show, "these bitches'll spread like a goddamn prom queen."

I think it was Julia Child that said that.  Either her or Snoop Dogg, I always confuse those two.

Bake at 350º for 10-15 minutes.  When ready they'll look undone, but after a minute out of the oven they'll look perfect.  Check the bottoms for slight browning.   Too long in the oven and the bottoms will burn, you'll be sad and angry, and the day will probably end with you up a bell tower dictating manifestos to a nervous crowd of reporters and police.

Sprinkle a bit of extra cinnamon and/or sugar on the tops and let them sit for a couple of minutes.  When ready they'll be soft and lumpy, with a texture a bit like buttermilk biscuits.

Then, eat.  If the people around you begin to threaten your personal safety, then share.

Preparation time: about 20 minutes

Serves: anywhere from 1 - 47 dozen, depending.

If you're in the mood to screw around with this recipe, you can try the following hacks...

• a 12 oz bag of chocolate chips in place of the ground cinnamon
• chopped nuts
• coconut flakes, sprinkles, or other cookie-appropriate toppings
• just eat the dough with a spoon, all the ingredients are safe raw
• a half-cup of applesauce in place of the banana
• maple syrup in place of the sugars
• a morris dancer in place of the cookie sheet

Hollywood, take notice...

Casper cartoon = good

Casper live-action movie = bad

Flintstones cartoon = good

Flintstones live-action movie = bad

Grinch cartoon = good

Grinch live-action movie = bad

Inspector Gadget cartoon = good

Inspector Gadget live-action movie = bad

101 Dalmatians cartoon = good

101 Dalmatians live-action movie = bad

Looney Tunes cartoons = good

Looney Tunes live-action movies = bad

Cat in the Hat cartoon = good

Cat in the Hat live-action movie = bad

Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon = good

Rocky and Bullwinkle live-action movie = bad

Dudley Do-Right cartoon = good

Dudley Do-Right live-action movie = bad

Garfield cartoon = good

Garfield live-action movie = bad

Fat Albert cartoon = good

Fat Albert live-action movie = bad

Scooby Doo... okay, bad either way, but the movie was a whole pantload worse...

Has Hollywood actually learned anything from its myriad brutal failures?  As of this writing. currently in the works are live-action movie adaptations of GI Joe, Speed Racer, Transformers, Curious George, Akira, Aeon Flux, and The Jetsons...

Bets, anyone?

True fact

If you take James Doohan to a Harold Pinter play, time actually runs backward for a while.

It's the little things

I've reached a point in my life where doing a load of laundry containing lots of socks and underwear gives me an odd sense of glee.

"Wow, I won't have to do this again for a while! Good for me!"

The thought that counts

Back when I was in the arcade business, my old boss once loaned two of his less popular arcade games (set up for free play) to some children's hospital in Manhattan.  While I was suitably impressed by his uncharacteristic display of generosity, and while the games he sent were in perfect working order, and while they were not really bad games in my opinion...

Let's just say that were it me choosing two second-rate arcade machines to send to a bunch of sick and dying children, I just might send something other than Mortal Kombat 4 and Die Hard.

I'm no idiot

Here's a true story that happened to me years ago.

When in public, I usually get mistaken for an employee no matter where I am.  I'm constantly approached as an employee in stores and facilities of all types.  Maybe I just look generic.  Maybe it's my aura of helpfulness and goodwill.  Maybe I'm such a good social engineer that I even do it when not trying.  Or maybe I just constantly maintain that overworked, slightly glazed, broken-spirit look that most of the world's workforce exhibits while on duty.  But sometimes it's really an inexcusable mistake.

About ten years ago, I was shopping in my local Pathmark grocery store.  I was dressed in a big puffy blue and green winter coat, and pushing a shopping cart full of groceries, looking a lot like a customer and nothing like an employee.  But sure enough, a customer came up to me.  He didn't ask whether I worked there, he wasn't at all polite, he just snapped "Where do you keep the pesticides?"

Just for fun, I replied "Under my sink," and smiled brightly.

"No, idiot," - yes, he called me idiot! - "I mean here in the store!"

"Well, fool-ass, check aisle seven!"  I smiled even more brightly.

He turned several shades of red.  "I'm going to speak to your manager!"

"I'm going to speak to your manager!" I replied.

He stormed off, I laughed and went on with my shopping.

Later, as I approached the checkout, I passed the manager's booth.  I suddenly realized that I was passing behind that angry guy, who was venting his spleen at the poor confused manager lady over some employee she didn't have.  I tried very hard not to laugh out loud as I proceeded to the checkout, leaving a scene of angry customer chaos behind me.

   _TO
Letter From ^The Editor

Dear WTH:

You have a great zine!  It's certainly better than anything I ever wrote.   Your quality is superior to anything I'm capable of, and you contribute so much to the lives of all who read your words in ways that I never could.  While I'm out there selling my lame rehashes of old self-help books to drooling Oprah drones, and flogging diet books I don't even write (imagine that - me, an unattractive, overweight man getting rich off diet and image books!) you're out there actually making a difference, and leaving the world just a little bit better than you found it.  I respect that immensely.

I'm off to kill myself now.  Bye!

Dr. Phil McGraw (fictitious)

Dr Phil,

Thanks for writing!  I hope others take this cue from you, and write to WTH themselves.  Praise or criticism for the zine, personal problems requiring expert advice, random thoughts on the state of the world, and such would really fill out the actual letters column I hope to start with the next issue.  All readers would have to do is write to letters (at) this domain and check the next issue for a response!  Email addresses will not be published unless requested.

Bye!

Rob