- My sister and I have often debated which is most irritating: talking to our parents when they’re both on the line together, talking to our parents one right after the other, or telling a story to one parent, only to have them relay it incorrectly to the other. The answer is a toss-up, but I’ve realized – as we stand halfway between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day – that it is possible to have a strong relationship with your parents and simultaneously be infuriated by them. Some twenty-somethings can hardly bear their parents. Others treat their moms and dads like sisters or brothers (which is weird). When it comes to the delicate parent/child relationship, though, I’m kind of in the middle – appreciating their unconditional support, while wishing they were just a little less annoying about it.

- I essentially serve as the buffer between my parents and the Internet. If my mom has a question about the latest episode of “Lost,” she calls me, I look it up on Lostpedia, and then give her the scoop. When my stepdad wants a book, he calls me, I order it on Amazon, and have it sent to him. It’s all very efficient – for them.

- Back in my old blog, I bemoaned the fact that my parents don’t know how to text message. I got a surprising number of responses from readers who said this was a blessing, not a curse. Apparently, once parents learn how to text message, they don’t stop. And the last thing I need is my stepdad texting in his book orders. Plus it took me about three years to get my mom to configure her Bluetooth headset properly – I’m afraid if she hits any button but “Call” all my hard work will go to shit.

- I think my mom is starting to come to the realization that I will not be giving her grandchildren anytime soon. I’m very honest – I tell her I want kids, but don’t foresee this happening anytime soon, if ever. And you can just see that look on her face – that look that says, “I raised you and put up with all your bullshit and you can’t do this one lousy fucking thing for me?” As if summarizing every episode of “Lost” for her isn’t enough.

- Even though we’re supposed to be turning into our parents, lately I feel like my mom has been turning into me. Recently remarried, she spends a lot of time in New York City, going out to bars, events and dinners. When I was still in NY I would receive calls from her at all times of the night asking what subway line she needs to take to get to Union Square (or wherever)… and as long as I wasn’t in Union Square I would tell her, but first I would wonder what the hell Union Square has to offer at 1:00 AM for a pair of Jewish 50 year olds??? Suddenly she has trouble sleeping (something I’ve suffered with for years), and has no patience for idle banter (a personal hallmark of mine). But the final straw came a few months ago, when I was home visiting and dropped my mom off for work so I could have the car for the day. Strangely enough, I found myself waiting an extra minute until she got all the way inside – before she waved enthusiastically while holding her lunch as I drove off.

- Sometimes I feel like my family is a sitcom: loud father, doting mother, mischievous older brother, ditsy younger sister and overachieving younger brother. Still, I’m fortunate that my parents have provided more laughs than agitation over the years (barely). Now that we live on opposite ends of the country, it’s good to know that they’ve always got my back – and that they won’t be visiting any time soon.

- As always, here are some random things I've been thinking about lately…

- I have mixed feelings about my friends who have employed the feature on their cell phone that forces the caller to listen to music instead of ringing. I can’t decide whether to punch them in the face or merely never call them again.

- One of my guilty pleasures is receiving free, personalized return address labels from charities I have no intention of donating to.

- Maybe if you just watch and stop asking questions during the movie you will understand what is going on.

- If you don't eat red meat, but eat fish and occasionally eat chicken, you're not a vegetarian, you're an idiot.

- Although I've got nothing to hide, I get severe anxiety anytime someone goes through my phone.

- I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

- Listen, dude, there are only a few legitimates reasons why you should be taking up valuable real estate at the bar when the place is packed: you’re ordering drinks, you’re distributing drinks you just ordered to your friends, or you’re closing out your tab. However, all of these excuses are considered null and void if you are performing said tasks while wearing a fucking fedora.

- No more spoofs of the Mastercard "priceless" commercials, people. No more.

- I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

- I still hold an irrational grudge against the word that eliminated me in the 5th grade spelling bee.

- Sliding out of an airplane on that yellow emergency slide looks fun as hell. It’s probably the only fun part of being involved in a plane crash.

- Some things just taste better when your mom makes them.

- And, finally, I leave you with my favorite mom story of all time. At the beginning of the year, my mom was at the mall and decided to buy a new wall calendar. Like a typical mom, she chose one with a different pretty flower each month. She happily hung the calendar in her office and went about her business. Several uneventful months went by. Then, about six weeks ago, one of her employees was standing in my mom’s office and said to her, “That’s quite an interesting calendar you have there.” My mom thanked her, flattered that someone else liked the pretty flower calendar she had picked out. And that’s when her co-worker informed her that these weren’t just any pretty flowers. For the past fours months, my mom had unintentionally been displaying a calendar full of marijuana plants. My mom had absolutely no idea and no one else noticed (or admitted they noticed) until that moment. She had a laugh and then called to tell me the story. She also told me she had decided to leave the calendar on the wall. After all, they were still pretty flowers. (she eventually took it down) That story alone is worth a few more summaries of “Lost” – and maybe even a couple of grandchildren. Damnit!

-Paint

My powers of observation are both a blessing and a curse.  On one hand, they allow me to document and mock some of life’s more obscure moments.  On the other hand, I tend to notice and over analyze the tiniest inconveniences, often sending me into a blind rage.  But I can’t be the only one out there who pays attention to these things.  If you’ve ever wondered why the faucets in restaurant bathrooms always seem to have only two settings – “off” and “splatter everywhere” – then you, like me, may be doomed to a lifetime of sweating the small stuff.  

When a certain friend of mine counts on her hand, she does it backwards.  She starts with her pinky for “one,” ring finger for “two,” and so on.  This drives me fucking crazy.  She says it’s normal.  I say she can forget a career as a boxing referee.

I’m staunchly pro-seat belt, except when they suddenly cinch tightly around me for no apparent reason, cutting off oxygen to my extremities.  I wonder how many accidents are caused by people yanking wildly on a seat belt that’s gone anaconda on them.

I met this girl at a party a few weeks ago.  She clearly had fake breasts.  Later, my friend told me she was a virgin.  This annoyed me.  Virgins shouldn’t have fake breasts.  In fact, if you have implants before intercourse, I think you should get an asterisk on your v-card.
As always, here are some random things I've been thinking about lately…

Using email and texting so much has led to the side effect of me barely being able to write by hand anymore.  If I try to write anything longer than a shopping list manually, I can barely hold the pen and my wrist cramps up – the real world equivalent of my g-chat messenger crashing.

My old roommate Brian visited me in LA last month and we went out for lunch.  When I returned from the bathroom (soaked by the faucet, of course), I found Brian studying the menu intently.  Soon, he looked up and declared that if you ordered the chicken Caesar, it was five cents more expensive than if you ordered the plain Caesar and then just added chicken.  I was perplexed.  Finally he proclaimed proudly, “Don’t you understand?  I found an arbitrage opportunity in the appetizers!”

I wish I could put a paper bag over her personality...

Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

If you're trying to not laugh at something, the worst possible thing you can do is look at another person who's also trying not to. Once that happens, it's all over.

And, finally, probably the bit of small stuff that bothers me the most is the phrase “Don’t worry about it.”  I can’t stand when people say that to me in response to a question.  I never said I was worried, asshole!  But the truth is, in private, I do worry a lot.  About weird shit, too.  I worry that Steve Bartman might never get to see another Cubs game (poor guy).  When I see an elderly person running to catch a bus, it makes me depressed.  About three years ago, I was working out at this gym that had an in-house daycare center for members, and there was this one little kid I saw who no one was playing with.  To this day, I still wonder if he’s OK.  So yeah, I spend my days getting pissed off about little things, while at the same time worrying about shit I can’t possibly control.  I guess you could say I’m simultaneously frustrated and overcompensating, but hey it's part of who I am and if I'm going to walk out of a bathroom with half of my shirt soaked due to a malfunctioning faucet - there's no reason I shouldn't be smiling.

- Paint

Today's video of the day:

"Puke in my mouth"
-When I first saw this, I assumed someone was puking in her mouth. That is not the case. I was surprisingly disappointed.

Today's funny video:



www.newgoldtooth.com

Are you in an office right now, barred from windows and any form of sun light? That sucks.

You should probably start a website where your only duties are to write something semi-comical. Then spend the rest of your time on the beach or exploring caves in Maharashtra.

In the mean time, while you suck at life, take a look at these pictures of what you're missing out there. Forget about those T.P.S. reports and how your skin is probably blending in quite well with the grey cubicle you spend your life in. Let me help you drift away for just a moment.

- Red

I have been living in Los Angeles long enough to realize that some people don't know how to drive. When I say "don't know how to drive", what I mean is they are constantly trying to end my life with their vehicle.

As I started to experience these near death experiences on a daily basis, I began to notice that 99% of these would-be-assassins were Asian;  I could tell they were oblivious to what they were doing.

My immediate reaction was that they should all be shot with frozen turkeys out of a large cannon at 400mph. I began to hatch my plan to find such a cannon. It turns out, thanks to congress, the purchase and/or materials to manufacture such a cannon is not an easy thing to come by these days. Needless to say, I continued my grueling daily drive without the retaliatory means to bring this conflict to an end.

I realized that I was not the only one who was hounded by these Asians and I started to investigate further. I surveyed everyone I knew who had been in an accident recently, and every accident seemed to involve someone of Asian descent. Then it hit me, these so called "Asians" were all Ninja Assassins! As the conspiracy theory formed in my head, everything seemed to fall into place. Here are some key elements:

• These Ninjas passed their driving tests, they MUST know how to drive.
• In every incident, no Ninja was ever harmed.
• Ninjas are sneaky. You don't see them and out of nowhere, there they are almost killing you!
  
• They always strike at the perfect time attempting to cause the most amount of damage, like a Ninja.
  

Therefore I would like to answer my own question, Asians are totally fine at driving. Why are Ninja's trying to kill me? Someone I must have wronged in my past has sent a clan of ninjas to take me out. If this was Japan circa 1603 I might have understood, but it's not and I don't have the proper Tom Cruise-esq Samurai armor for which to defend myself.

So if you are a Ninja, and you live in Los Angeles, I am sorry for whatever I did to offend you guys. Please stop trying to kill me and my friends. I don't always have the time to dodge you, as evident from my totaled motorcycle, me learning how to fly without proper flight training, and that old man freaking out on how I was still alive after showing that windshield/asphalt who was boss.

P.S. My ankle still says fuck you.

- Red

One of the oldest running jokes in Los Angeles is that no one is actually born here, they’ve just moved here from someplace else.   That’s why at parties, when asked how long they’ve lived in LA, people will often tell you their exact anniversary – like they’re an alcoholic telling you how long they’ve been sober.  For instance, having left New York on September 5th, 2008, next week marks eight months since I arrived in California.  The second-oldest running joke in LA is that people come out here only intending to stay temporarily, and then never leave.  Considering my lease is basically a month to month sublet, I can’t argue with that one either.  Having long since resigned to the fact that my foreseeable future will be spent on the West Coast, I’ve tried my best to adapt.  Like our forefathers, who believed that America was destined to reach the Pacific Ocean, I too have come here to follow my dreams.  Though of course, back then, no one could have imagined that Manifest Destiny would eventually spawn the whacked-out freak show known as Los Angeles that I call home today.

Whenever a celebrity enters a bar in LA, the paparazzi set up camp outside.  Then, when you walk out of the bar wasted at 2am, they’ll look you up and down to figure out if you’re famous or not, before letting you pass.  They might even snap a picture or two just in case.  If you really want to fuck with them, you can walk out with your hands covering your face, which makes them take pictures like crazy.  And there’s nothing like seeing a photographer’s disappointment when he realizes you’re merely just a regular, upstanding, underwear-wearing citizen.

Before I moved here, I checked weather.com to get an idea of what the weather would be like.  I didn’t know what any of the local zip codes were, so I simply entered 90210.  Only later did I feel stupid.  Not because my knowledge of LA was limited to a cheesy ‘90s television show, but because it turns out the weather here never varies more than five degrees.

The most striking difference between New York and LA is that New York is so much more egalitarian.  Everyone takes public transportation in New York.  In LA, there’s a bus and subway system that half the people (myself included) have never used.  Merely waiting at a bus stop in LA reveals much about your socioeconomic status.   I hate that.  New Yorkers never really know exactly how much one another makes, but rather assume it based on preconceived notions and rash judgment – you know, like normal people.

You know those absurdly hot chicks that walk around in every scene of Entourage?  It’s not too much of a stretch.  I’ve been in fairly low-key bars in LA and still had trouble keeping track of how many “tens” were in the room.  I’m not saying I hook up with them, or even talk to them, but I’m strangely comforted by the fact that at least someone is.

By far the most frequently asked question I get from friends and fans is: “How is LA?”  But the emphasis is always on the word “is” – “How IS LA?” – as if I moved to Mars.  No one asks, “How IS Chicago?” or “How IS Boston?”  Why are we subjected to such scrutiny?  I think it’s because people are fascinated by Hollywood.  But in truth, the city of Hollywood is only a small segment of Los Angeles (and, ironically, one of the seedier parts at that).  Most people in LA don’t even work in the entertainment industry.  That’s why, from now on, when people ask me, “How IS LA?”, instead of racking my brain for an appropriate response, I’ll merely tell the them truth: 85 degrees and sunny.  Every fucking day.

LA is dominated by graduates from colleges that feed the entertainment industry, namely Harvard, Syracuse, Northwestern, USC, and UCLA.  This is a marked difference from New York, which I found to be filled with alums from Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Cornell, and Penn.  Luckily, however, we’re all brought together by the common language of Flip Cup.  

Despite the unapproachable but Entourage-worthy chicks that abound, one area that LA is severely lacking in is nightlife.  Sure there are cool bars, but there’s much fewer of them, they’re much farther away from each other, and they’re much harder to get into than any other city I’ve partied in.  Plus they’re either dives or really upscale – there’s nothing in between.  Getting laid is supposed to be hard work; getting drunk is not.

People tell me all the time that they love LA because the “quality of life” is better than on the East Coast.  But how is having to get in your car to go to the ATM better?  How is waiting 90 minutes for your food to be delivered better?  How is spending half your day searching for parking better?  To me, quality of life means instant gratification and not having to deal with people who use the word “stoked.”

In New York, if you run into someone in the street who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re hurrying back to your apartment to use the bathroom.  In LA, if someone calls who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re gonna lose them because you’re about to drive into an underground parking structure.

Here are some things I've been thinking about lately....

I love being the one that "initiates the crossing" at a crosswalk. Wait for the walk signal? Hell no! I walk, and everyone follows.

At the end of being given any directions or instructions I respond with "Great, no problem." And then always walk away realizing I wasn't listening to 85% of what they told me. Crap, I don't even know where to start.

The fact that I steal my wireless internet from my neighbors doesn't make me any less angry when it's not working.

Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "i have nothing else to say".

I would like to officially coin the phrase 'catching the swine flu' to be used as a way to make fun of a friend for hooking up with an overweight woman. example: "Dave caught the swine flu last night."

Wearing a case on your belt to hold your cell phone is the modern day equivalent to a fanny-pack.

And, finally, a cursory glance at my life would seem to reveal that I’m not only living in the state of California, but a state of denial as well.  After all, I still have a New York State driver’s license, still subscribe to New York Magazine, still have a New York cell phone number, and still see my dentist in New York every six months.  I have a clock set to New York time in my home office, the only Lakers game I’ve ever been to was against the Knicks and I’m still pale as fuck.  But despite all that, my current career path necessitates that I live in Los Angeles, and I’ve been doing my best to integrate.  I’ve made some great new friends out here and reconnected with old ones.  I’ve learned my way around the city pretty well (thank you, TomTom).  I have a doctor and a broker here, bought a pair of Chuck Taylors, and even have a landline with a local area code.  And, OK, I’ll admit, I occasionally say “stoked.”  I guess I just eventually realized that living in Los Angeles doesn’t change the fact that I’m originally from New York, and never will.  So, I’m not there yet, but hopefully one day I’ll learn to love LA.  After all, when the paparazzi mistake me for someone else and snap my picture – there’s no reason I shouldn’t be smiling.

- Paint

Welcome to the blog.

This is the very first entry to ever be posted to Paintmered.com!
It’s kind of weird to launch a blog or forum and there is only two readers. It's kind of like throwing a party and hoping that people will actually show up. In both instances, the only thing you can do is wait – and know that no matter what happens, in about two hours you’ll be outrageously drunk anyway.

Hope you enjoy!

- Paint & Red