Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Month: November 2006 (Page 4 of 4)

I Love You

November 7, 2006 / / 49 Comments

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This afternoon, Sophia and I watched some reality/food TV show called “Take Home Chef” on TLC. In the show, hunky Australian-British chef, Curtis Stone, accosts clueless women shopping in a Los Angeles supermarket and invites himself over to their home to cook an elegant meal. In the episode we saw, Curtis finds a pretty brunette in the cereal aisle, a stay-at-home mommyblogger in the making, who finds it impossible to say no to Curtis’s offer of a “surprise” dinner for her vegetarian husband (or be on TV).

As Angelenos, Sophia and I recognized the supermarket as the upscale “Gelson’s Market” which must have assured the producers that the “victim” would be in the right upscale demographic. As Curtis and the wife drive home (from now on I will refer to her as FM — future mommyblogger), Curtis asks FM to call her husband to make sure he won’t be home until five o’clock, plenty of time to prepare the surprise meal.

FM calls her husband on the phone. They blab a bit. Before FM hangs up, the husband says, “I love you,” and FM answers, “I love you, too.” How cute!

Later, in the show, as Curtis prepares his eggplant and risotto, FM calls her husband again, to double check his arrival time. Just like before, the conversation ends with mutual “I love you”‘s.

As Sophia and I sat on the couch, watching this nonsense:

Neil: “Did you see how they always said “I love you” to each other? Every single time. Maybe that was our problem. Maybe we didn’t say “I love you” enough.”

Sophia: “We always said, “I love you.”

Neil: “But not after every phone call.”

Sophia: “That was not our problem.”

Neil: “Maybe we should try their technique. Always saying “I love you” at the end of every phone call.”

Sophia: “Now?”

Neil: “Why not?”

Sophia: “We’re separated. Just because you’re here doesn’t change our status.”

Neil: “We still love each other, right?”

Sophia: “Sure… but…”

Neil: “Maybe this will just help us to relate better…”

Sophia: “It’s cute, but…”

Neil: “But don’t you love me, regardless of…”

Eventually, I wore Sophia down and she agreed to try my experiment.

The rest of the TV show sucked. The dopey husband came home to his big surprise, tried to look happy while really looking pissed, and the couple ate their vegetarian meal while Curtis said goodbye and left their lives forever.

Later, I went to Starbucks for a cup of coffee. As I tried to do the crossword puzzle, Sophia called me up and asked me to pick up some groceries at the supermarket (not Gelson’s).

Neil: “Sure.”

Sophia: “Thanks.”

Neil: “I love you, Sophia.”

Sophia: “Oh, right. I love you, too.”

As I drove to the supermarket, Sophia called me again.

Sophia: “You know, I’m actually pretty hungry now. Rather than going to the supermarket, could you go to the Thai restaurant and bring back some soup and a noodle dish?”

Neil: “OK.”

Sophia: “I’ll see you soon.”

Neil: “Wait… wait…”

Sophia: “Yes… yes, I love you.”

Neil: “I love you, too.”

I made it to our favorite Thai restaurant, which we think is run by three Thai teenagers, who take turns cooking, serving, and singing Thai karaoke.

I ordered some spicy noodles.

“What type of meat?” asked Thai Teenager #1.

I called Sophia on the phone and asked her the same question. She wanted “beef.”

“Beef,” I told the Thai Teenager, then sat down to wait for my order. As I listened to Thai Teenager #2 singing some Thai disco song, I realized that something was wrong with the world. I quickly dialed up Sophia on the phone.

Neil: “You forgot to say “I love you.” at the end of the last conversation.”

Sophia: “No, I did say it. But you hung up too quickly to hear it.”

Neil: “No, you didn’t. I said “I love you,” and then I was waiting for your response.”

Sophia: “You never said ‘I love you!” You asked me “What type of meat?” I said “Beef.” And then you hung up.”

Neil: “No, you said, “Beef.” I said, “I love you.” And then nothing.”

Sophia: “You’re crazy. You didn’t say anything after I said “Beef.””

Neil: “Maybe you didn’t hear me. Maybe it was the reception. Or you thought I said “Beef” when I said “I love you.””

Sophia: “I’m not going to mistake “Beef” for “I love you.””

Despite wanting to continue with my experiment, I knew this was not for us.

Neil: “You know what? I think if we continue saying ‘I love you” after every phone call, we’re not only going to get divorced, we won’t even want to talk to each other.”

Sophia: “Thank God you realize that!”

Neil: “Do you want white rice or brown rice?”

Sophia: “Brown rice.”

Neil: “OK, see you soon.”

Sophia: “Bye.”

Later, I went home and we enjoyed our Thai food lovingly prepared by Thai Teenager #3. The rest of the night was very nice and we didn’t say “I love you” even once.

Sometimes, love is never having to say “I love you.”

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Dating for Liberals

Three Trivial Things I Learned From Emailing With Bloggers this Weekend

November 6, 2006 / / 38 Comments

 1)  The origin of the word “meh.”

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Frequently, I will be IM-ing with someone and I will ask them politely, “How are you?” which is something I was taught by my mother to ask rather than talk about myself all the time, and the other person will answer me back by writing, “Meh.” 

I see bloggers saying “Meh” all the time.  I don’t remember seeing the term “meh” before I started blogging.  I always wondered if it was an internet term like LOL.  The mystery is now solved, thanks to a blogger from the East Coast.  Apparently, the use of “meh” instead of the old school “blah”  was popularized in “The Simpsons,” specifically in an episode titled “Hungry Hungry Homer” in 2001.

Homer: (after watching blockoland commercial) Alright kids… who wants to go… to… Blockoland?
Bart and Lisa: Meh.
Homer: But the commercial gave me the impression that…
Bart: We said meh.
Lisa: M-E-H. Meh.

(Update:  Sophia finds evidence that meh is from Yiddish.)

2)  The truth about tailgate parties.

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Until yesterday, my impression of a tailgate party was this:

A group of people would drive to a football game an hour or two before for the game.  They would open the back of their van or truck and make some sandwiches (or grill some burgers) and drink beer until it was time to go to the game.

After speaking to a blogger who lives in one of the Big-10 towns, I learned that I was totally off the mark.  Tailgate parties are BIG EVENTS. 

People come to the tailgate parties with NO intention of going to the game.   College football fans have even made tailgating a business.  They set up big screen TVs outside and charge for food and entertainment.  Sometimes, there are membership fees and you have to to apply for admission to a certain tailgating group, as if it were an exclusive club.  In some towns, the tailgate parties on the days of a big game are THE social event of the month!

Meh.

3)  What the hell is a hoodia? 

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In between all my spam for Viagra and porn, I get messages with the words hoodi, hoodia, hoodie, and hood written in the title.

At first, I assumed it was typical porn spam, and had something to do with the “hood” of the clitoris, although it didn’t make a whole lot of sense.  What type of clinical pornography was being sold here and why was “Citizen of the Month” attracting so much clitoral spam?  The irony was not lost on me, considering it took me many years to figure out where the clitoris actually was located, and still frequently lose my way without the GPS on my handheld device.

Then, one day I read an article in the Style section of the LA Times about how “hoodies” with logos are popular with the surfing and skateboarding crowd.  A-ha! — the spam was less about the clitoris, and more about sweatshirts!

Now I’ve owned a pullover sweatshirt with a hood for most of my life (sans logo).  I just didn’t know that they were now called “hoodies.”  Apparently, spammers are trying to sell “hoodies” to all the hipsters who read my blog. 

Wrong again!    Thanks to a friendly blogger in Texas, I now know the truth.  Hoodia is… what else…  an ineffective and dangerous weight loss pill  (Trimspa).

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Proposition This!

November 5, 2006 / / 30 Comments

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It’s election time in California again, which means a last minute barrage of commercials and telephone calls, all aimed at confusing the voter. So far, my favorite TV ads are for Tony “The Tiger” Strickland, who is running for California State Controller.  I don’t know much about him except that he always runs around looking active and has the nickname of “the Tiger,” which he wants to hammer into your brain by actually putting in a ROAR at the end of his commerical (as if he was selling some sugary Kellogg’s cereal). 

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Look at this guy.  Does he look like a tiger to you?  Or is this what his son calls him on the miniature golf course?

Frankly, I want a State Controller who is sitting at his desk working on the budget problems of the state.  Did I really want a state controller who spends most of his time rushing through hallways, passing off notes to his multi-ethnic assistants?

From now on, I will be Neil “the Leopard” Kramer:

“Neil “the Leopard” Kramer. He is a blogger! But you will never see him actually blogging. Watch as he passes by his Russian-born separated wife as he goes downstairs to the kitchen to make her breakfast!  See him as he smiles and chats it up with the African-American check-out girl at Ralph’s Supermarket.  Look how fast he walks. Watch as a multi-ethnic group of coffee drinkers nod and smile as “the Leopard” zips into Starbucks to buy a “fully-caffeinated” cup of coffee.  Admire “the Leopard’s” virility as he checks out the lovely female Chinese-American’s ass as she pours the coffee.”

Aw, who am I kidding? Tony “the Tiger” Strickland’s political ad was effective, because he is the only candidate I now remember!  I don’t even know what party he belongs to, but I am voting for him.

The one cool thing about voting in Redondo Beach is that voters in my area actually vote in someone’s LIVING ROOM! That’s right. I have no idea why we don’t vote in a school or someplace normal, but no — we wait in line outside someone’s apartment. You can even look into the resident’s kitchen as you are voting!

California usually has dozens of confusing propositions on the ballot about all sorts of issues, from taxing cigarettes to building roads. Being the liberal sort, I usually vote for DOING things with little regard to how California is actually going to pay for it, but there is one issue that I am changing my view on spending, and that is Education. Every year, I vote on allocating MORE money for MORE schools, MORE textbooks, SMALLER classes. Every year, I am told how important education is the success of California.

But are all these propositions I vote in actually working?

After years of more money for education — may I present to you the address of my voting place, as listed on every single one of my CA VOTING GUIDES, including the official one:

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A Year Ago in Citizen of the Month: Modern Politics

The Amadeus of Redondo Beach

November 4, 2006 / / 50 Comments

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A new barista has been working at the coffee house a block from my house during the afternoon shift.   He is a music student, maybe twenty years old, and an extremely talented violinist.  The coffee house is usually empty during the late afternoon.  Today, I went in for a cup of coffee.  As I drank my coffee, the barista played his violin behind the counter.  He stood in front of a music stand, playing from a book titled “Music by Bach.” 

The barista’s playing was amazing.  He had a masterful control of his instrument and  produced rich, romantic tones.  He also had that “X-factor” they talk about on shows like “American Idol.”  He was young, intense, good-looking, with long brown hair. 

After he finished his piece, I complimented him on his talent.  I walked over, eager to relate to him as an “informed” classical music lover.  After all, you don’t meet too many “sophisticated” people in Redondo Beach, which is mostly well-known for having good fish tacos.

“Excellent,” I said.  “That’s Bach, right?”  I asked innocently, faking that I didn’t already know the answer since he was playing from a book titled “Bach Concertos.” 

“Huh?  Who?”  he asked in return.

“Bach.  You were playing Bach, right?”

“Uh, I dunno.  They gave us this book in school.” 

He looked at the front of his music book, apparently for the first time.

“Hey, you’re right.” he announced.  ” Bach.  Cool.  I’m bringing the sexy Bach!”

I suddenly occurred to me that this talented violinist who just blew me away with his soulful and melancholy music was a complete imbecile.

I sat down and finished my coffee, feeling much like Salieri. 

Later that day, I saw him skateboarding in the street with these two surfer dudes WHILE carrying his violin case under his arm.

Stuff Dudes Don’t Want to Know About Women

November 3, 2006 / / 60 Comments

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For the second day in a row, women complained to me via email about how I objectified Sophia in her photo when she is sick with the flu. The truth is that no man wants to see a girl looking bad, even when she has a 101 temperature.

Women, take note: If you want to attract men and keep them, you need to learn the dos and don’ts of acceptable gender behavior. One of the main reasons we are with you is because you are hot-looking. Why should we have to suffer looking at you without lipstick just because YOU feel shitty?

Hey, hey, hey, hold on there! Before you call me a misogynist ass, let me tell you that I didn’t learn about these “rules” in the male locker room. No, I learned about them today while standing in line at the supermarket leafing through the November issue of a women’s magazine — Cosmopolitan. On Page 58 of the “Cosmo Men” insert, there is a compelling article titled “Things Guys Just Don’t Want to Know About You.”

“There are certain topics that weird out dudes or bore them silly or simply annoy them…. Here’s a list of what to avoid bringing up if you want to keep your dude around…”

First of all, I don’t like being called “dude,” but that just might be my own personal rule.

Here’s the Cosmo list:

Your Weaknesses

“Spilling your guts to a guy you barely know is a surefire way to turn him off or, worse, make him think you’re a head case. Bottom line? Keep your eBay addiction, midnight binges, and obsession with bad reality TV on the down low.”

However, your addiction to oral sex is acceptable to discuss on a first date.

How Tired You Are

“In this fast-paced, snooze-you-lose world we live in, complaining about how beat you are just makes you sound whiny.”

Just like we don’t want to see you sick, we don’t want to see you tired. Erica Kane can be trapped in a mine shaft for a month on “All My Children” and still walk out looking fabulous. If you want to keep a man you must always be bubbly, vivacious, and eager for sex — even if you worked a sixteen hour day at your job. Leave your work problems at the office so you can focus on us listening to us talk about our jobs!

That Your Hair Is Different

“If the guy you’re with doesn’t notice your new do on his own, forget it! When you have to point out that you switched up your look, here’s what goes off in his brain: “Alert! She’s fishing for compliments.””

Hear! Hear! We don’t care about your hair, your nails, or your new shoes. Just look slutty. That’s all we ask.

Your Choice of Feminine Hygiene Product

“I’ll keep this one short and sweet: Most guys use the words tampon and pad interchangeably — and trust me, we’re completely happy not knowing the difference between them. If it stops the flow (or has anything to do with below-the-belt issues), we don’t want to know!”

Unfortunately, marriage has ruined me. I do know the difference between a tampon and pad. I just wish I was able to turn back the clock to those days when I was innocent and pure.

That You Read the Latest Mind-Blowing Sex Tips in This Magazine

“We don’t want to hear about them — we want you to do them.”

And if you do read this magazine, read it in the supermarket. I can use that $4.95 to buy Stuff Magazine.

The Fact That You Think Another Guy Is Good-Looking

“It’s not an insecurity thing. It’s a we-don’t-care thing. For example, calling another man handsome is a conversation stopper.”

Except George Clooney. He is sort of handsome.

Your Diet Strategy

“The goal of every diet is to get to a certain body weight. And just like vacations, nobody cares how you got there. We just care that you’re there.”

Do you know there is now negative zero sizes coming out by Nicole Miller? Don’t talk about it. Do it!

How Smart You Are

“Guys are looking to avoid that overeager girl who goes out of her way to show everyone exactly how intelligent she is. If you find yourself using the names Hemingway, Dostoevsky, or Nietzsche more than once per conversation, you may be guilty of academic name-dropping, which reeks of insecurity.”

This is probably the most important rule to follow. There’s a reason the librarian always TAKES OFF the glasses. We like the woman to be stupider than us. Of course, a woman should read, but preferably material like Cosmopolitan, chick-lit, or maybe a few mommyblogger blogs. Nothing too heady. Men are known to be better in math and science, so please don’t try to show off any of your math skills. It is a real turn-off. The only mathematical term you should be using in conversation with a man you are dating is “big,” as in “My Gawd, you are so big!”

Now, are these simple steps THAT complicated to follow? Believe me, we’re worth it.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Stars of David (or my Mother will Find this Funny)

Sophia Sick: Day Two

November 2, 2006 / / 29 Comments

I’m really tired of all the “feminists” out there who sent me emails complaining about the way I propped Sophia up in bed and made her pose on her sickbed.   Do you put down Picasso because of the way he used his muses for his artistic work? 

Frankly, I was disappointed in the photographs I took of Sophia yesterday.  Despite her being sick and shivering with fever, my intention was a “sexy” glamour shot, and although her hair looked good, I thought that her ragged old t-shirt was undermining my “vision.”   I believe it is a woman’s role to look good no matter how sick she feels.   Luckily, today I dressed her in more appropriate attire and directed her to give a more “sultry” look.   I am very proud of my work and fully expect this to be one of Flickr’s top photos of the day.

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Isn’t she a good Samaritan for a separated sick wife?

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  My Mother is a Giving Person

Male Nurse

November 1, 2006 / / 47 Comments

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Thank you for your nice comments yesterday. You would be a perfect bunch of readers if there weren’t a few of you, an unnamed minority, who frequently accuse me of pandering to my female readers in hope of hearing you go “ooh,” “awww,” “how sweet,” or “You are so hot, I really want to **** you on my kitchen table!” As if that is why I started blogging —

I deeply resent this accusation. As an artist, I use my writing to communicate my inner feelings and creativity, not to manipulate the emotions of fragile women eager to find a man who has the sensitivity of the poet, the wisdom of a philosopher, and the animalistic prowess of a love machine (and is Jewish to boot!).

I repeat. I have no interest in sucking up to a bunch of dames. Just because you might have some curves in the right places and smell like flowers does not make you any more special than my dull, sweaty male readers.

Today’s post will be short because I am caring for Sophia, who is sick. Even though we are separated and she still calls my moving back into the house, while she was away on location, an “illegal squatting,” I feel it is my duty to care for her while she recovers from this debilitating flu. Look how miserable she looks in this photo.

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Luckily, she has me to bring her hot tea and medicine.

Oh, I have to go. I think I hear her calling for some DayQuil! But don’t feel bad for me. She’s the one who is sick. I love catering to a cranky woman’s every demand when she isn’t feeling well, especially after not seeing her for two months and hopelessly hoping for some very very needed T&A (see magic orbs)! I don’t need any special “oohs” and “aahs” just because she is the worst patient ever and is sneezing all over the place. Doing a job well is all the thanks I need.

P.S. I bought a chicken to make her chicken soup, but there is no way in hell I’m going to wash this thing. Am I wrong to wake her up to tell her to cook it herself?

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: A Man Who Loves His Friends

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