Quick hits

- My massage turned out great. It was the same crazy lady, and she hurt me as much as before, but it was a good hurt, a good touch. For the first time in months I can rotate my neck 360 degrees. Bonus: The steam room was empty.

- My affection for old cranks grows by the day. Last night at Trader Joe's, this elderly man was walking around with a scowl on his face, literally pushing people out of his way without ever once saying "excuse me." As there were so many annoying L.A. types in the store who deserved a big shove, I wanted to give him a little hug of approval. Although I'm sure he would have then pushed me away.

-Two more reasons I kind of hated L.A. last week: 1. My pilates instructor was absent because she was at Sundance; 2. Standing in line for coffee on a rainy day, I noticed the woman in front of me was decked out in classic, everyday raingear: high-heeled Ugg boots.

-Then again, it's 75 degrees out today.

No happy ending, please

Sort of against my better judgment, I just made an appointment for a massage at a place around the corner from our apartment. It's an old-school, few-frills, massage-only spa complete with a fake rock waterfall in the lobby.

Normally I love places like this, but my only other experience there was a bit... odd. I got a half-hour deep tissue massage with this nutty woman who walked around in bare feet and shorts and had calves the size of tree trunks. She was like no other masseuse I've ever had; she was both chatty and cruel. As she babbled on about some friend of hers with a broken ankle, she went right after the muscles in my neck and chest and pressed down so deeply that a few hours later, purple welts appeared.

Then, afterwards in the steam room, I was joined by one other woman who shortly began to maybe, possibly, unthinkably.... pleasure herself. Ack, I can barely even think about it. There were lots of sighs and other noises, that's all I'll say.

So why go back? Because that meanie of a masseuse loosened up my muscles like no one else ever has. Also, they're pretty inexpensive. So call me masochistic, gay and cheap, but I'm going to give it another go.

Orvell would be proud

My whole family has a love a popcorn that teeters so precariously on the verge of obsession that I rarely feel comfortable talking about it. Let's just say that when I spoke to my sister yesterday, she mentioned in passing that she had eaten popcorn for lunch and I didn't think twice about it.

But until very recently, Dan had been a holdout. In seven years of dating, he never showed anything but a nostril-flared disregard for my popped predilections.

Maybe it was the marriage vows that made all the difference, I don't know. But suddenly, a few weeks ago, I was making a big batch of popcorn and Dan came sniffing around, asking for a bowl of his own. Before I knew it, he was whipping up huge bowls of the popped stuff unasked, even popping a second batch when the first hadn't satiated.

So as he rustles about in the kitchen sweeping up some stray kernels from our latest popcorn grubfest, my heart swells with love.

I love 2004! (said in Tommy Heinsohn's "I love Walter!" voice)

Technically, of course, we're a few weeks into 2005. But tonight we're talking about the Patriots being on the verge of the 2004 NFL championship, their third championship in four years. Even outside of that, we're currently talking about a calendar year in which (in chronological order) 1. the Pats won the Super Bowl; 2. the Red Sox won the World Series; and 3. I got married.

Pretty damn great year. Just don't ask me to rank these events in order of importance.

I can't get enough of "Odds & Ends"-type news stories

This is the greatest news item I've read in a while. In particular, I admire the writer's delicate dodging of such words as "crap" and "poop." I also happen to be a contributor to the dog charity mentioned, so I feel a special kinship with all involved.

P.S. If anyone can produce a photo of Rasheed staring at the dog poop "in disbelief," I will give you 20 dollars.

***

Dog relieves itself on court, delays game

ORLANDO, Fla. -- Who didn't let the dog out? A stink was raised during halftime of the Detroit Pistons-Orlando Magic NBA game on Tuesday night when the start of the second half was delayed by three minutes after a guide dog relieved itself on the court.

The dog was with a charity organization, Canine Companions for Independence, that was receiving a $10,000 donation from the Orlando Magic Youth Foundation.

When the Pistons came out for warmups, Rasheed Wallace walked up to the lane where the excrement had fallen, stopped and stared in disbelief. His teammates were just as confused before wide smiles broke out.

A custodian was enlisted to scoop up the mess and wipe up the remains with cleaner, a mop and towels. 

Most random thought I've had in a while

On my way into work this morning, I saw a wall mural I hadn't noticed before. Which very eventually got me to thinking: Who was the real artist behind the work of one J.J. Evans on "Good Times"? And did he or she ever get their proper due?

Diary of a mental hermaphrodite

10am - 5:30pm: Watched playoff football; in particular, marveled over the wonderful overall team effort of the Patriots (my hometown and lifetime faves). Could they go all the way again this season?

6pm on: Watched Golden Globes red-carpet coverage; in particular, marveled over how sway-backed Jennifer Garner looked in her ugly red dress. Could she be pregnant?

Donuts make my brown eyes blue

Flipping around the radio the other day, I heard the theme song from Flashdance, which contains the line "take your passion/and make it happen." When I was younger, I thought the line was "take your pants down/and make it happen." I was very excited to have "discovered" such a lurid lyric and ran to tell my mom about it. She hadn't heard the song but explained to me that the line made perfect sense. "It's about a dancer, so she's probably wearing a leotard underneath her clothes, and she takes her pants off to rehearse."

I got to reminiscing about a few more misheard lyrics from my youth:

"Voices Carry" by 'Til Tuesday
Lyric: "hush hush/keep it down now/voices carry"
Meaghan's interpretation: "oh church/we can dance now/it's so scary"

"Greased Lightning" from Grease
Lyric: "you know that ain't shit/when we're getting lots of tit"
Me: "you know you've got the shift/when you're getting lots of shift"
(Clearly I wasn't really ready for lyrical luridness)

And the one that makes Dan want to lock me up in the bedroom with a copy of The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music for a few hours...

"Louie Louie" by the Kingsmen
Lyric: "Louie Louie/oh baby/me gotta go"
My take: "now I know why/oh baby/I think I know"

Dan forever slaps his forehead over the fact that I mangled the ONE understandable lyric in an otherwise unintelligible song, never mind a lyric that contains the song's title. Me, I take it as a sign of my early heretical thinking.

No more A&E crime shows for me

There is an abandoned mattress on the side of the on-ramp that I take on my commute home every night. It's been there for months, and yet EVERY SINGLE NIGHT I conduct the same internal dialogue with myself:

"Hey, what's that thing up ahead on the side of the road? Is that a discarded body wrapped up in a rug? It totally looks like one! I should probably pull over and check it out. Wow, what if it's a high-profile murder case? What if it's a high-profile COLD murder case? Maybe I'm going to provide the big break in the case! Maybe they'll interview me for 'Cold Case Files'! Maybe -- oh, wait, it's just that mattress."

The thing I hate second-most in the world

...is when your boss comes to you at 4:15 in the afternoon with a host of work assignments that need to get done "immediately." Does that mean today? If so, does that mean you're expecting me to work late tonight when, had you given me these long-existing assignments earlier in the day, I could have finished them hours ago?

And does this mean I can't go to my gym's "Boot Camp" class tonight?? Nooooooo.... the greatest injustice of them all. I simply MUST co-op U.S. military exercise regimens for the sake of my abs, glutes and quads!

The thing I hate most in the world

...is when you're upset about something and someone tells you to "relax." This is probably the least relaxing comment imaginable, never mind the most condescending.

This, for me, is up there with someone telling you that "positive thinking" is the key to a quick physical recovery from whatever ails you.

I speak dead-end English, myself

One of my favorite signs on the Paris metro was partly in English. It was an advertisement for a language school of sorts and read:

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes, I speak English. I speak Wall Street English!"

Nice. They take them straight from French to asshole-speak.

My sides are hurting

For two reasons:

1. I can't stop laughing over Randy Moss and Moongate -- specifically, Joe Buck's repeated exclamations over Moss' "disgusting act." First of all, it's clear that Buck thought Moss was pantomiming a crap, not a mooning of the crowd. Someone must have explained it to him over the commercial break, because he was strangely silent after. Second, any announcer who conducts a live "interview" with a fictional Budweiser commercial character in the middle of a crucial baseball playoff game officially absolves himself of any moral superiority, sport-related or otherwise. Even Leon would agree with that.

2. I did yoga twice over the weekend, and today about 250 of my muscles are aching, side abs included.

Tom yum shrimp for sale

Every day and in every way, I choose the wrong foods. A week ago I ate a fatal oyster/boulangerie sandwich/airplane snack (the culprit is still undetermined) that left me barfing so constantly I had to sleep in the bathroom. Last night, I ordered from a proven-mediocre Chinese restaurant and then made bad dish choices, dishes like rubbery salt and pepper calamari and carrot-overrun kung pao chicken. Today I craved something warm and soothing and mild and yet ended up with an oily, overly spicy soup from the dubious B-rated Thai restaurant in our food court. It sits virtually uneaten on my desk. But I'm sure I'll knock it all over my keyboard before the day is done, so at least it will have provided a few laughs in the end.

Miss me?

I don't know if it's the dread of a new year filled with the same old crap, or the rainy weather or what, but I could not be grumpier. At the moment I'm especially annoyed by:

1. Oprah. So let's see, you gave away a bunch of cars to studio members who likely don't have to work, given that they're at a midday, weekday television taping, who likely drove themselves to the studio, given that the lot of them screamed suburbia. So essentially you helped a bunch of middle class white women upgrade from 2002 Corollas to 2005 Pontiacs. That's nice. I bet your down-home pals Tom Cruise and John Travolta really clapped you on the back for that one.

2. Jessica Simpson. I don't get it. She's merely the next generation's Pamela Anderson, a collection of exaggerated body parts – too-tan skin, too-blonde hair, too-big boobs – and zero allure.

3. My cats. Because they spend their days napping while sacked out in front of the heater. In sum, they're living the dream.