Zeroing Out the Moleskine, vol. 41

OK, enough of the whiny shit, let’s get busy zeroing out this here Moleskine…

And just to be clear, and in the interest of full disclosure, I don’t really use a Moleskine.  I tried to get into the habit of carrying one around, because they’re pretty cool little notebooks, but it didn’t take.  It made me feel kind of pretentious and tool-like.  Ya know?

The only time I used one consistently, was during our trip to London.  I stuck it in my jacket pocket every morning, and jotted notes in it during our adventures.  Then, every evening I’d go to the bar in our hotel, drink Boddingtons, and summarize the day’s events.

It was perfect for traveling.  But not the real world, for some reason.  So, when I say “Moleskine,” what I really mean is “cheap-ass spiral notebook from Target.”

I’m never far from one of those.  I don’t literally carry one around, but usually have one in my car, and take one to work every night.  ‘Cause, if I don’t write down an idea soon after it appears, it’ll be lost forever.  I’ve got a black belt in forgetting “genius” ideas, fifteen minutes after they’re born.

And so it goes.

A few days ago I overheard a woman describing a man to someone.  And she said, “He kind of looks like a surgeon.”

Any idea what that means?  Do surgeons have a certain look?  As far as I know, they don’t.  I’m fairly certain they come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.  So, WTF?  What a bizarre statement…

Perhaps she was talking about TV surgeons?  But I don’t think even that holds up.  I’ve heard people say, “He looks like a mechanic.”  And that’s semi-valid.  But a surgeon?

What professions can you say “He/She looks like a ___” about?  And what do you think that loony chick was talking about, when she was talking about surgeons?

Crazy, man.

I also noticed a woman in a grocery store a few days ago, who just continuously and rapidly changed her expressions.  I think it was some kind of tic, but I’m not sure.  Her face muscles were in constant motion.  She’d be frowning, then smiling, then worried, then sad…  REAL FAST.

Perhaps she’s suffering from Restless Face Syndrome, I don’t know.  But what are the most memorable nervous tics you’ve encountered in your life?

I’m not sure if this technically qualifies, but Mumbles always goes, “Mmmm…” whenever he’s finished talking.  He’ll say, “Can you pass me the salt? Mmmm…” and “Would you mind moving your car? Mmmm…”

What do you have on this one?  Anything?

And speaking of grocery stores, I stopped in one today, after picking up the younger Secret from his golf camp.  We were planning to have hot dogs on the grill for lunch, and I wanted a bag o’ chips to go with them.

So, I went inside the store, made my selection, and headed toward the self-checkouts.  I don’t like the ones with real people, because… well, you know, they often feature people, and all that nonsense.

At this place they have three self-checkouts, and one was out of order.  So, I walked over to another.  A rotund women with an ass the size of Illinois was leisurely ringing up a heaping cart of food.  Grrr…

I went to the other, and there was an old man there, with only one item.  Not too bad, I decided.  But he was trying to use four or five coupons — on one thing.  It was a bottle of ketchup, and he was trying to use a whole stack of coupons against it.

Needless to say, the machine was having none of that, and the light above the register started flashing.

Some zitster shuffled over, and the old guy started getting all argumentative with him.  He wanted to use all his coupons, in conjunction with each other.  Zitty, all flustered ‘n’ shit, said he’d have to call the manager, etc.

And at that point I lost it, hollered, “Jesus!” and turned and stuffed the bag of chips deep inside a fixture.  The thing made a loud crushing sound, followed by a hollow POP!  And I left, shaking my head with righteous indignation.

I have no doubt those Lay’s are nothing but a big sack of chip dust at this point.  But I don’t care.  My ridiculous boolshit sensor was triggered.

I need to take it down a few notches, don’t I?

And finally (this doesn’t really come close to zeroing anything out, but I’m tired), I’d like to know if you’ve ever caught your hair on fire.  I have.  And I took an informal poll at work, and it appears I might not be in the minority.

When I was in high school, or shortly thereafter, I was drinking beer and smoking cigars at a friend’s house.  I bent over a gas stove to light my stogie, and when I turned — a puffin’ away — everyone started laughing.

I smelled something weird, and someone yelled, “Your hair’s on fire!”  Shit!  I smacked out the flames, and when I looked in the mirror I saw a big gray spot on the front of my Gabe Kaplan ‘fro.  My friends, of course, were buckled over and nearly crapping themselves with laughter.  But it freaked me out a little.

I brushed at the big gray spot, and the burnt hair just fell to the floor.  It was no longer attached to anything.  Freaky.

Have you ever caught your hair on fire?  Or have you seen it happen to someone else?  If so, tell us about it in the comments.

And please don’t feel obligated to answer all these questions, I’m just plowing through the stuff I have scribbled in my Target notebook.

I’ll see you guys next time, whenever that happens to be.

Thanks for reading!  I sincerely appreciate it.

Now playing in the bunker
Visit the Surf Report Souvenir Shop!