911 is a Joke in My Town

I was hiking up at Runyon Canyon yesterday with my friend and neighbor Jonas; Runyon is the popular little mountain a few blocks up from my building that the local yuppies and dog-walkers turn to for exercise. While we were up there, an LAPD helicopter repeatedly circled overhead. It seemed like they were looking for somebody.

On our way down, Jonas and I noticed an extremely suspicious person. He was clearly hiding behind a tree, watching the helicopter. After it circled once more and flew away, this guy took off jogging down the hill. At Jonas's insistence, we jogged after him, to see where he went.

We followed the guy back out to the street, where he continued to appear somewhat like a fugitive, glancing behind him, until he ultimately got in a car and drove away. Some 30 minutes later, as Jonas and I were on our way to a happy hour, he was obviously still concerned.

"Do you think I should call it in?" he asked me in the car. "Am I crazy?"

"Call what in?" I asked, having already forgotten about it. "That guy we saw?"

Jonas felt a yearning to perform a civic duty that clearly eluded me, but I told him to go ahead if it made him feel better about himself. Not knowing what else to do, he called 911.

Now, I've never called 911. Never had I needed to. But I would expect there would be some sense of urgency. Instead, our call was immediately put on hold, because "all operators are busy," and the message went on to suggest dialing 311 if it was a true emergency.

Really? 311 is the new 911? Did you guys know this? I thought 311 was just an enjoyable pop-funk band from the late 90's.

The voice recording was followed by about 30 seconds of what it sounds like when you accidentally call a fax machine: horrible high-pitched digital screeching. Jonas and I looked at each other in disbelief. Then, finally, an operator got on the line. It had been about a minute and a half since he dialed in. If I had called at the beginning of being raped by a rapist, I would have been raped already.

Jonas told the operator what we had seen. The operator clicked away on her computer, then said nonchalantly: "Um, I see that there was a helicopter over Western and Crawford............?"

Jonas let that hang, not really knowing how to respond. It wasn't like we were looking for confirmation of the helicopter buzzing Runyon Canyon. We were just trying to be helpful. Jonas told the woman that he was just providing a tip. She promised to "make a note of it," and we hung up.

I can't say I was ever truly concerned about the particular individual we may or may not have thwarted from further criminal activity yesterday. But after the way that 911 call played out, I certainly hope that I never have to rely on an employee of the Los Angeles government to get me out of any kind of legitimate jam.

Ma-newer

How come only horses and chickens get to refer to their excrement as "manure"? Why don't we say "dog manure" or "bird manure," or get to use this word for our own droppings? It's a much more pleasant euphemism than any of the other words we have: "crap," "shit," "dump," etc. I'm partial to "poop," but it's a little on the immature side, especially when you have to excuse yourself from a business meeting.


George Costanza has already proven the attractiveness of the word "manure" with his analytical breakdown to Marisa Tomei: "If you think about it, manure is not really that bad a word. I mean, it's 'newer,' which is good, and a 'ma' in front of it, which is also good. Ma-newer!"


The primary definition dictionary.com gives for "manure" is "excrement, especially of animals, or other refuse used as fertilizer." But you could argue that not all horse manure is used as fertilizer, especially those big green clumps I had to avoid when I used to bike around Venice Beach, thanks to those highly modern mounted police. You could also make the case that all feces, of all species, eventually returns to the earth, and thus every organism produces manure.


So going forward, I've decided to refer to my own waste as my manure. When I have to go, I'll inform people that "I'm off to make manure." And if you're interested, I'll be selling 10 lb. bags of it at Orchard Supply Hardware for $5.99. Garden season is upon us!

Sequitur

I think Mohammar Gadhafi is getting a little bit of a bad rap in the media. I keep hearing about how he's "killing his own people." Ehhh...I mean I get that he's the leader of Libya, and he's having Libyans killed, but I wouldn't really describe them as "his people." They're an angry band of armed rebels who hate him. In fact, they're trying to kill him.


So when Gadhafi says things like "My people all love me," that's really not all that crazy, when you put it in context. I'm sure he considers "his people" to be the gun-weilding maniacs slaughtering rebels in his name. Those people definitely love Gadhafi. He probably gave them all Gadhafi t-shirts that they wear all the time. I mean, that's basically how I became a Giants fan. Subsequently, it's also the reason why I'd murder a Dodger fan in a heartbeat like the Libyan rebel dogs they are. So I get it.

This all relates back to my anger about the dude I met in Cabo last weekend with the "San Francisco" tattoo who told me he switched from being a Niners fan to a Saints fan because of Hurricane Katrina. I'm the one who stole your jacket.

Cocaine is Awesome

One thing that really chaps my lips is how people, especially the "liberal media elite," are always talking about how drugs are bad. Without the magic of drugs, we would never have the 18 minute phenomenon that is this Charlie Sheen interview:

http://www.tmz.com/2011/02/24/charlie-sheen-two-and-a-half-men-chuck-lorre-argument-radio-talk-show-tirade-turd-thomas-jefferson/

Without cocaine, we would have never gotten the uber-accurate definition of San Francisco Giants closer Brian Wilson as "a Vatican Assassin."

"It's his job to embarrass people. Not just beat them, but embarrass them in the process. And he's as radical as you think he might be."

Preach the truth, brother. This dude is enlightened. He also screamed "Thomas Jefferson was a pussy!" I can't speak to that, but at least Charlie Sheen is offering a different point of view. Tea Party candidate, anyone?

And don't forget, without drugs, we wouldn't have the Libya uprising. That's a direct quote from their leader of 42 years.

Mental note: create a sitcom starring Charlie Sheen and Gaddafi. Instant smash hit.

See? Without drugs, I'd never have thought of that!

Hey, I Tried

It's Thursday, 9:15 AM. Due to a series of unfortunate events, I'm giving up on today and going back to bed.

I take medication for high cholesterol. The other day, when I went to the pharmacy to get my prescription filled, I was told they were unable to do it and that I had to call my insurance. My insurance provider told me I had to get it filled by mail, and to have my doctor fax them the prescription. My doctor said I had to come in to get my blood tested again. I made an appointment for today at 9:45 AM.

Unrelated to this, BMW sent me an email saying I was due for a service. I took my car in on Tuesday, where I was told my car in fact did not need a service; the email was some sort of inexplicable mistake. But there were in fact four recalls (!!!) they needed to do on my car, so they could do those and have it back to me in the morning.

Well, yesterday evening, when I still hadn't heard back about my car, I called BMW and was told my car had "failed programming," and would hopefully be ready first thing this morning. As you can guess, I have not received a call, so I still have no car, and thus cannot go to the doctor. Appointment cancelled.

I just opened my front door to discover that not one but both of my newspapers (the LA Times and Wall Street Journal) have been either not delivered or stolen. The coincidence of the former is highly unlikely; the fittingness of the latter is not.

G'night.

Illiterate = Irresponsible

Today was the end of an era. Well, not an era, really. Whatever the opposite of an era is. An episode? A blip? Today was the end of a relatively brief, less-than-meaningful span of time.

It began on a Saturday last June, when I spent all day inside the public library at Exposition Park in a seminar on tutoring illiterate adults, and ended today, in that very same library, when my student, Marvin, failed to show up for our bi-weekly session. In between were numerous canceled appointments (on both our parts, to be fair), many frustrating hours of sitting in rush hour traffic, some fleeting moments of satisfaction derived from helping a man slightly improve his reading and writing skills, and one delicious KFC chicken sandwich.

I liked Marvin. He was affable, enthusiastic, and black (that was a nice perk, as I don't know a ton of black people). A family man, he often spoke of his multiple children from multiple baby mamas. In retrospect, this may have contributed to his downfall, as recently he had been canceling several appointments to appear in court for custody hearings.

Nevertheless, he was the best student out of the three I had been assigned since volunteering for the program, mostly because he was an English-speaking American. That's more than I can say for the young Korean girl and Guatemalan businessman who tried to suckle from my literary teet.

But alas, my pride is just too damn big to let me keep waiting around government funded book warehouses waiting for lovable African-Americans who aren't coming. So I went back to my car, called Marvin up, accepted his sincere apology for forgetting our standing appointment we've had for the last 8 months, and suggested that we suspend the tutoring until he had his life a little more sorted out.

(That means "never," Marvin, in case you happen to be...oh, right.)

Farewell, Marvin. I truly hope that someday, somehow, you learn how James and the Giant Peach ends.

Then Again, I'm the One Watching Him

I just watched an episode of "My Strange Addiction" that featured a guy who likes to eat glass and bullets. The doctor he went to see was incredulous, telling him this is extremely dangerous, potentially fatal, and tells him he should stop right away. The guy isn't really convinced, and at the end of the show it said that he had "only eaten one champagne glass" since then.

This is why everyone should have to have health insurance. I can't be responsible for jamokes like this.