the sloppy copy

TRUE STORY ALERT: My brother’s friend lives in an apartment in rural-ish Minnesota. The friend’s landlord? Oh, this guy:

“Rubber Ball” / Bobby Vee (1960)

For years, servers and other service-industry personnel have generously benefitted from my fundamental lack of arithmetic skills.

Until very recently, I rarely-if-ever did actual math when calculating how much I should leave as a tip – at restaurants, at the salon,* at the bar… Instead, I just arbitrarily picked a number in my head that seemed “right” and, usually fearing I was undercutting the recipient, added a dollar or so.

But it was only when I began working in a “real” restaurant (and started seeing firsthand the importance of leaving a fair tip!) that I took the time to think about the amount I was leaving behind. I pulled out some old receipts and a calculator to see how I’d been doing, and was surprised at what I discovered.

First off, the pizza delivery folks must freaking love to come to my house. I mean: seriously. Holy hell. Because we’re generally not ordering fourteen pizzas and ninety orders of breadsticks, our total is usually pretty small: one pizza, and if we’re feeling especially wild, add on some breadsticks. Total: under 15 bucks, and generally less because I am a coupon addict / hoarder. Let’s just say that Delivery Person walks away happy. I about swallowed my tongue when I actually calculated out how much I tipped the last guy.

Second, I’ve not come across a receipt (where I used my “mental dartboard” method of calculating gratuity) that didn’t have a fair (at least 15%) tip. I guess this means that I’m doing something right, but still: the possibility for error exists, and I’d feel pretty terrible if it turns out I tipped a server 8% on accident. I give my parents endless grief about relying on the “tip calculator” function on their cell phones when it comes to settling a bill. I mean, they went for decades and decades without doing it; I don’t know why they think their mental faculties have spontaneously deteriorated to the point where they’re mathematically helpless without their cells. Decades and decades, I might add, of fair-to-generous tipping.

…okay, okay. I’ve since become a Tip Calculator Convert, tacky as it seems (to me, at least). I still refuse to leave change on a credit card tip (i.e. leaving $4.87 instead of $5.00). Don’t ask me why. The numbers just aren’t pleasing to me, I guess.

It all comes down to this: I just don’t have a brain for numbers. Somewhere along the way, those neurons just didn’t get connected up there and when it comes to rationalizing these sorts of things, I get tripped up every single time. I can only think of quantities of things in the abstract – ask me to estimate how many people are in a crowd, or how much something weighs, or how big a room is, and I am baffled. Because I never developed the mechanism to properly estimate these sorts of things, I’ve come up with other (read: arbitrary) methods of guesstimation. To articulate the mental process I go through is basically impossible, and I couldn’t really explain it without using phrases like “what feels right” anyway.

I’ll close with this, one of my favorite clips from Third Rock From The Sun:

* “at the salon” ! Ha! What I meant to say was “At the place in the Wal-Mart next to the payday loans kiosk.”

The only song I know that includes the word “peacoat” (“pea coat”?).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ic5vxw3eijY

“American Boy” / Estelle ft. Kanye West (2008)

For less than 50 dollars, you too can own this fashionable “Lariat Necklace” from Ann Taylor Loft.

Now if only I could fashion something similar at home… Oh wait, I can.

Because it’s rope. Tied in a fucking knot.

Movies that are currently playing in theatres that I’d probably actually pay money to see:

Tron: Legacy
Yogi Bear 3D
The…

wait. I think I copy-and-pasted the wrong list here. Ahem..

Blue Valentine
Rabbit Hole
Black Swan
The Fighter
How Do You Know

Eventually* I’ll see them all. Maybe I’ll even regale y’all with a review or two.

*Meaning, within the next 15 to 25 years.

I Netflix’d “Zodiac” a few years ago and I fell asleep watching it. I think it was good? I think I liked what I saw? I think it got good reviews?

Know what else I think? This zodiac-sign-changing biznass is an entertaining little blip on my brain’s radar.

Holy shit! This is the exact shirt I had! Thanks, Uncle Google! You never let me down!

I “am” “no longer” a “taurus.” Basically, this means… Eh. I don’t know what it means. I’ve only been interested enough to consult a new astrological chart to see how things have changed. I’ve not actually, you know, read why the chart has shifted. Perhaps the world is ending. Perhaps I should care more. Or not.

When I about – oh, eight or nine? – I owned a Garfield nightshirt – heathered pink, with the giant sleeping cartoon cat on the front. “A Taurus works hard…and sleeps harder,” it said. I thought it was funny (hilarious, even!).

I’ve only picked up bits-and-pieces of what my “sign” means. Tauruses are stubborn, I know. And some other things, I think, but I sort of latched onto the stubborn part, because I reeeeally am. Stubborn, that is. Not latched on. But am I stubborn because someone told me I’m a Taurus? Or is it just how things ended up? I’d consult my genetic history, but both of my parents are also Tauruses. And, because / in spite of it, stubborn as hell.

A few weeks ago, a Wal-Mark clerk checking my ID commented that I was a “Taurus, too.” I didn’t really know what to say to him, because about four seconds previously I realized that I’d unloaded an entire cart of groceries when his lane was, in fact, closed. When I realized what I’d done, I apologized with heartfeltness and desperate sincerity: “Uh, oops. Uh, sorry.” He’d been nice enough to stay open for me, but asked that I tell anyone who came behind me that his lane was closed. Except I turned my head, and when I looked back, another schmuck was piling a cartload’s worth of things on the belt behind me. Uh, oops. Uh, sorry. Then he made the Taurus comment, and I didn’t know how to respond. So I smiled and said something eloquent like, “Uh, cool.”

Aries Spears: Nice hat, dude.

But now I’m an Aries. I don’t know anything about this, other than Ares-no-i is a mythological god of war and that Aries-with-an-i Spears was part of the cast of MadTv for awhile. I don’t know. He was funny. Maybe being an Aries isn’t bad, after all.

Also, I hear there’s some “new” sign, and that some people now have two signs. Not that astrology previously made complete sense to me or anything, but I don’t get how this works. I also don’t know what this new sign is. It’s something like an ouagadougoupitchicus, I think. Maybe I want to be an ouagadougoupithicus. Not sure. Jury’s still out on that one. Stay tuned, I guess.

Or not. Entirely your call.

When I was in elementary school, I had a friend named Megan who owned a dog named… crap. I can’t remember. Anyway, Dog was a tiny fluffy thing that would wet itself from excitement whenever someone would come to the door. I think maybe if I were to ever see Radiohead perform live, I might pee down my leg, a la Dog.

“Creep” / Radiohead (1993)

Admittedly, I only first heard this song on the soundtrack of the film Garden State – which, for the record, is probably in my top ten favorites. Also, skip the vid.

“The Only Living Boy in New York” / Simon & Garfunkel (1970)

I’m not sure I can think of a better song for the intro of Rob & Big than this one. Also, skip the vid. Just give it a listen.

“Best friend” / Harry Nilsson (1998) <— that’s right! Mr. N never released the song as a single, even after it was used as the theme for “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father.” / trivial info

Chinese food makes me hungry, I don’t know about you…

“Summer Girls” / LFO (1999)