How do you spell pretentious? I spell it A-P-P-L-E S-T-O-R-E

So I bought a MacBook today and the purchase required that I go into my local Apple store, something I typically avoid like the plague, or that one friend everyone has who listens to Cher.

Let me be very clear: I like Apple computers. I hate Apple--and Cher too for that matter. Apple's systematic assault against mankind has been fairly subtle; it often goes completely unnoticed until you actually go into an Apple store and surround yourself with the world they have created. The Apple store went from being a one-stop shop for Apple products and software to what it is today: a glorified man-purse store that also sells computers. It's like Starbucks without the coffee; just a room full of pompous college students and shiny metal objects. The Apple store has become a breeding ground for pretentious trends and annoying ideas. Don't believe me? Go buy something there and wait for the cashier to ask you if you wouldn't mind forfeiting your right to a printed (normal) receipt and instead accept a digital (e-mailed) receipt in order to help "save the environment." Never in my life have I been more proud to drive a Charger with a hemi.

I loathe this recent iJunk trend that has caught on in which any and every useless, sub-par, as-seen-on-tv piece of junk has the letter "i" before its name as if the letter "i" makes it any less a piece of junk. I realize that not everything with an i before it is an actual Apple product and is usually just a cheep knockoff. Yes, i realize Apple doesn't make the iDeoderant, iFern, iPlunger or any of the other i- products one might find at 7-Eleven. However, Apple single-handedly popularized the iJunk craze and therefore should be held responsible.




As soon as you walk in an Apple store, the first thing you might notice is the varying classes of Apple employees. Toward the front of the store, you have the "greeters," identified only by their light blue shirts and total lack of knowledge regarding any of the merchandise found in their store. Keen observers might also recognize a slight look of shame, hastily masked by a thin mustache and patchy facial hair. The responsibilities of a greeter are simple. They are:

1. say hello
2. tell the customer their name (usually Stephan in my experience) and,
3. lisp about as often as the English language will allow.

Once Stephan verifies that you are there to make a purchase and not to ask for a bathroom key, he will direct you to the second class of Apple employee: the service person. Identified by their dark blue shirts and standard issue Kabbalah bracelets, the Apple Store service person is an unsettling character indeed. Most of these guys seem to be named Troy, and they almost all have long, unwashed ponytails. First-time Apple store shoppers might make the mistake of approaching a service person on foot. This is a major Apple store no-no. In order to speak with a service person, one must first locate a display computer and generate an email to said service person, reserving an appointment to actually speak to them face to face.

Gone are the days, apparently, of walking up to a salesman and requesting they help you. No, that's too simple, too analog. These days, you send him an email from across the room and wait for him to approach you, that way the evil corporation he works for can obtain your email address and bombard you with spam for the rest of your life. Ya see? Everybody wins.



Take my word for it, this is the Apple store's protocol and they will not allow their customers or employees to deviate from procedure. It's in the books. I'll be honest, I felt a little silly entering my email address into a computer in order to get the attention of the guy who was sitting 10 yards away from me. I've actually attempted to bypass the entering-of-contact-information stage and simply approach an Apple service person with a question on foot. The service person (who was literally sitting in a chair doing nothing with absolutely no one in line) informed me that per Apple policy, he could not answer any of my questions until after I entered my information into a computer and waited to be called.

After the customer has caved in and given Apple their contact information, they are free to wait in line to eventually ask the service person anything they want. When the customer inevitably stumps the service person, it is their job to direct said customer to the third and final class of Apple store employee; the Guru.




The dress code for the guru is a bit more lax. After all, they've earned it. Their computer knowledge is slightly greater than that of a first-year foreign-exchange student, and their social skills are slightly worse. They all seem to wear fleece sweaters but somehow, the look is not uniform. Each guru has their own little touch that they've added to their overall apperance, which on the street would cause you to avoid them at all costs. However, in the Apple store setting, it gives you the assurance that they possess the nerdiness and more importantly the knowledge to help you with your query. Each guru is different in their own way, however a few characteristics are always present:

1. they all sport their own, custom designed, heavily sticker-ridden name badge that is perhaps a relic of a prior job at TGI Fridays.
2. they all choose to express their own individuality by wearing the same acid wash t-shirt featuring a dramatic portrait of a wolf howling at the moon.
3. inevitably, somewhere on their bodies, a series of intricate yet incomplete dragon tattoos can be found.



Gurus are an odd bunch. Until summoned, they wait restlessly in the back storage area, engaged--no doubt--in heated Dungeons and Dragons tournaments that often continue long after the Apple store has closed its double doors. The life of the Guru is at its best whilst inside the confines of the Apple store. Work is the only place where a guru is the guy with all the answers. Everywhere else, he's just the guy that has to wear a t-shirt in the pool.

But what really annoys me is that because Apple products are so trendy and popular, no one seems to notice that the organizational hierarchy inside the Apple store perfectly mirrors that of Jabba's palace on Tatooine. Before you make it to Jabba the Hut, you must first get past the mindless droid who's running interference at the front gate. Next comes Bib Fortuna, a man(?) of questionable skill who can't get you any real answers, but he's still the guy that decides whether or not you actually get to see Jabba. Finally there's the great Hut himself, who mostly just lays there in a pool of his own filth, mumbles unintelligible gibberish, and mocks anyone who dare question his verdict. Plus, on your way out you always wish you had your own Rancor. See what I mean, just like at the Apple store.




But hey, I still really like my Macbook.

Sorry ladies....

.....but meet the future Mrs. Pecadillo.

Pectators

pec·ta·tor (pëk’tat'õr) n., pl. pec·ta·tors, pec·ta·tory or pec·ta·noc·ity. 1. One who is a spectator of the Pecadillo. 2. A person who willingly wastes large portions of their life reading mindless drivel (much like a "Trekkie" only without the assumed computer and technological skills). 3. A drain on society, typically regarded as a half step above a hobo.



Since starting my blog over a year and a half ago and subsequently gaining (and losing) steady readership through a perfect combination of luck and nepotism, I've been getting recognised by people from all walks of life. My fans, henceforth known as "Pectators," much like menial street vendors, share a common set of values and interests that can only be truly understood by someone who has spent a lot of time at one of those portable carnivals they set up in vacant lots for three days. Pectators, while frightening and clearly unstable, actually experience and sustain brief moments of normalcy. These rare moments, stretched out over periods of unsupervised time, allow the Pectator to at least appear to function amongst the normal population and thus, exist amid us undetected.



When approached by one of these freaks of nature, it is important to keep in mind a few facts about the Pectator. Like most members of the animal kingdom, Pectators only attack when threatened. The problem is that even the slightest change in wind can cause intense fear and despair for the Pectator. The key to surviving the inevitable Pectator attack is to always keep a supply of Hi-C and Bacon Bits at the ready. Trust me, I've sidestepped countless Pectator assaults by using everyday household items to my advantage. If you're all out of substitute pork products and over priced sugar water, you can always use other everyday items. I've found that car keys or really any shiny metal objects are very effective in stalling the Pectator. Although nothing has proven more effective than the time tested flashlight-on-the-wall trick. Pectators may be unstable, but they're also very easily distracted...



The Pectator is small in stature, typically no more than 4 foot 8. This is just one of many physical disadvantages that the Pectator must endure. But what he lacks in looks, health, social skills, and basic sense of hygiene, the Pectator makes up with thin mustaches and a vast knowledge of obsolete computer technology. Due to his usual diet of nachos, cigarettes and pure caffeine, mixed with his inability to exercise and years spent sequestered from fresh air and sunshine, the Pectators' life expectancy rate rarely exceeds 42 years. They can put a man on the moon but they can't improve basement/boiler room ventilation systems... But don't let those dark rings and Harry Caray glasses fool you, at night, the Pectator can see for miles by using his heightened sense of smell.



It is true that the Pectator suffers from chronic poor eyesight, however they boast an unusual bond and rapport with all members of the animal kingdom. Here, Darren "the kitten wrangler" Montoya demonstrates his comradeship with one of his many, many cats.



This Pectator has had a few run-ins with the law. I'm happy to report that Anton is now reformed and is nearing the end of a five year sentence. He's doing a nickel at San Quentin for undisclosed reasons. Here, he demonstrates how to floss imaginary teeth with imaginary dental floss. That can come in handy... someday... I suppose.



This Pectatorette has found herself in quite a predicament; I hope I never have to make the tough choice between cigarette, Dr Pepper, phone book, or a whole Turkey leg. So many treasures, yet just two arms to carry them. What a dilemma indeed.



Periodically, a Pectator will get separated from the rest of the herd. Alone, and completely lacking any survival skills, it won't be long before this little guy takes his next step in the circle of life.



Such grace, such elegance, such untamed beauty. Yeah, I think I just puked in my mouth.

Catherine, the striking young beauty on the left, is one of my biggest fans. Don't let that bored, near death look on her face fool you; she was very excited to meet me. I bumped into her one afternoon while I was deodorant shopping at the local Rite Aid. She was there to replenish her stock of powdered milk and horse tranquilizers in time for winter. Catherine and I shared a lovely conversation about Geritol side effects and John Tesh's career before he "sold out".

Norabelle, the one on the right - although at the time I was sure her name was "Walter" - is credited with the invention of the nylon tourniquet. I wonder how she got that idea...

Why couldn't I have been born in India?

The Hindi answer to every bad musician America has to offer:

I wonder what the hindi word for "thriller" is...

Ugly Dog Olympics

I've already shown you the ugliest dog in the world. But since he's been mercifully put down, the world title for ugliest dog alive is now up for grabs. Which of these hideous pooches will walk away as the new champ? That's up to you; cast your vote in the comments section of this post. The contestants are broken down into four categories, choose wisely.

Our first round of competitors is the "Spawn of Kujo" category:



This is Muffie. She likes to play fetch, go on long walks, and tear the flesh off paper boys and delivery men. Fortunately, she was born completely blind so she's not as threatening as she appears, every once in a while though she gets lucky.



This is Reginald T. Berkowitz. The first four years of his life were happy ones spent with his owners at a lake house in Vermont. That all changed one fateful winter night when little Reginald was struck by lightning, giving him the power to destroy anyone who makes the mistake of looking him in the eye.



Meet Scurvy. He's a very disturbed dog that was almost put down last year after he attacked his owner and three senior citizens. Luckily - for him - he was run over by an ice cream truck later that night. The accident claimed both his hind legs, causing him to be viewed as less of a threat to his neighborhood and in turn, saving his life.



This is Steve Perry, he was born with Hydrophoby. I think he's sufferin'.

The next round is the "Wait, that's a dog?" category.



This is Stanley J. Binkus. Stanley is most commonly mistaken for a mop... until his hair gets really dirty and then he is mistaken for Bob Marley.



This is Oprah. She is most commonly confused with a pile of dirty rags. She has had multiple owners due to the fact that she has, on numerous occasions, been accidentally donated to the Good Will. Strangely, all of her masters have seen fit to name her "Oprah". What are the odds of that?



This is Lil' George Clinton. This little pooch has more soul in one of his little dred locks than anyone else in his native Alaskan homeland.



This is Stripe. Stripe has maintained an illustrious film and television career playing the villain in many B-movies, namely "Gremlins" and "Gremlins 2 the new batch".



Meet Reuben, he is most often mistaken for something that another dog has regurgitated.

Round three; the "Dog Deluise" category:



This is Jabba the Mutt. I can't seem to figure out how he got that name.



This is Matt. Theoretically speaking, Matt still has the ability to stand up on his own. However no one has witnessed him do so in over 7 years.

And last, it's the "Honey, put it in reverse and finish him" category:



It's unclear if Lil' Justice here is foaming at the mouth or choking on some kind of rodent. By the looks of him, I'd say it's probably a little bit of both.



This dog's name is the "Unsinkable Doggy Brown". He's survived numerous near-drownings despite the best efforts of literally all of his owners.



Wait a minute, that's not a dog. Wow, I can't imagine how that one could have slipped in.



The jury is still out on weather or not Roscoe here is even a dog. Some say it's a rat, others say it's a Mogwai. Either way, I wouldn't feed it after midnight until I get the okay from a licensed veterinarian.



This is Skippy. If nothing else, Skippy's life has served to raise more questions about the possible evil nature of Chihuahuas, not to mention their questionable status as a bona fide K9 in the first place.



Say hello to Monty. This frightening little pooch is what happens when zoo keepers foolishly cross-bread a dog with a giraffe as a joke. Monty is said to be the only dog in the world that voluntarily wears a smoking jacket. He may not be pretty, but he's got class!



Here's Festus. I think the name says it all.



El Jefe here is possibly the ugliest dog in the contest. What gives her that extra edge is the fact that you know that some crazy lady out there thinks that El Jefe is adorable. It's one thing to have an ugly dog and know it, this is way worse... but that's for you to decide.

Halloween: a day of mistakes

October 31st is a day for people all over the world to do things they're sure to regret as soon as November 1st...



Need I say more.

Well, since it's the season of bad choices, I think it may be time to make the biggest mistake of them all. And lets face it; all big mistakes have something to do with Spam, America's favorite mystery meat.



It's been brought to my attention by a loyal pectator that people without access to pumpkins have begun turning to other food items to fullfill their jack-o-lantern needs.



Well it's definitely scary.

Yes folks, nothing says, "Grandma's medication must be out of date" like the Spam-o-lantern. You'll be the talk of the town when your front porch boasts this homemade catfood scented candle. I can't think of anything that could clear out a room faster than the smell of burning Spam. Well, maybe one thing...

The purpose of Camera Phones

Camera phones are a great invention. Without them, many of my favorite pictures would simply not exist. An image like the one below would never have been captured and thus never released amongst the public for the enjoyment of all mankind.


What a waste that would be.
I don't know who took that picture, but if the photographer didn't have his camera phone with him that day, he never would have been able to prove to his friends that he'd seen the Michelin Man's son at MacDonalds.


This picture was taken on Christmas Eve, 2004 from my phone. NOTE: contrary to what your eyes are telling you, this man is not sans pants. He's simply wearing shorts that are entirely too short for a non-foreign, male adult to be wearing in public.

Myself, the C-train, and Muffin were having our annual breakfast/gift exchange at the local IHOP, a tradition we've continued for years. This guy was already seated behind Muffin's chair when we arrived. He was wearing a matching jacket and shorts combo but because he is approximately 80 years old, the top of his shorts reside a few inches below his armpits. This meant that while seated with a white napkin in his lap, his shorts were completely invisible to the naked eye. It took me and the C-train roughly ten minutes to determine that he was in fact fully clothed. After our discovery, Muffin was kind enough to pose like I was taking his picture while I captured this Kodak moment. Merry Christmas indeed.


My dad took this picture of me in the Tower of London. This guy fell asleep on a bench in the White Tower while hoards of other tourists walked around him. Some stood and pointed, others laughed. I decided to pose for a picture next to the poor guy. He almost woke up twice, once when I sat down and again when onlookers realized what me and my dad were doing.


This guy fell asleep on a bench in a popular shopping area in Santa Monica called Third Street Promenade. Something - either a gust of wind or perhaps a mischievous Seagull - caused the front of his shirt to fly up exposing his protruding belly with a suspicious growth just above his navel. I would have posed for another picture but this guy smelled of old cheese and feet. Dad has really let himself go.


This is the back wall of a dirty Mexican Food joint off Laurel Canyon Boulevard, deep in the heart of the San Fernando Valley. I'm talking about the type of restaurant that proudly displays its well-earned "D" rating by the California Department of Environmental Health. The type of place that probably runs an underground cock fighting/cat juggling gambling ring after hours. This is where society’s outcasts and degenerates spend their time.

I was there having lunch with my family and I was struck by how much this Lone Mariachi looks like Burt Reynolds. "El Smokey era el bandido."


This is the front sign of an abandoned aerobics center near LAX. It's a relic of a time when two men clad in flamboyantly colored spandex could stand that close together without questions of their manhood being raised. At the height of its popularity, this gym was patroned by some of Hollywood's most fabulous stars. It was not uncommon to see George Michael and Elton John spotting each other as they did squat thrusts, power lunges, and seated chest flys. This was a time when "Sweatin' to the Oldies" and "Jazzercise" were acceptable forms of workout. A time when people thought Richard Simmons was just really happy.

Boy, I'm glad those days are gone.

Yikes

All right, check this out and try not to dry heave.

Pecadillo: the triumphant return

Please rise for our National Anthem.