With Lots of Love,

-Your Little Brother

A few months ago, while waiting at a bus stop, an entertaining person waited along with us. Judging by his style of dress (not bum-like) and physical movements, the stream of conscious dialogue he ran most likely came from a very solid drug induced high.

Or he may have simply been the most entertaining person I have ever listened to at a bus stop.

He talked fast enough that I had trouble writing everything he said down, but I did manage to capture a few gems:

• “I have no idea what is going on. Paint me in chocolate.” – (He sounds like Tracy Jordan from 30 Rock. And this is probably a sentence I should work in to every day life.)

• “I don’t need a job. I need to be on a giant massive platform rotating in some sort of energy bubble powered by steam with an antenna.” – (He might be brain storming for Wayne Coyen.)

• “Mexican soccer players. If they could run faster and drink more beer than us, we would shoot them in the Home Depot parking lot. Home Depot is French for IKEA.” – (One of us is not fluent in French.)

Those were not even separate thoughts. They all came in the same long, breathless babbel.

That story sits in the top of our Bus Stop Stories along with the time a couple called us “HE-HAWS” and made a donkey sound us. Next, they snickered at us and ran away. Then, the wife tried to awkwardly walk in to me head first. And last of all, hoping we would chase after the food, they threw pieces of bread in to the crosswalk while staring at us and giggling.

And more than once someone has walked up and said “You are an angel,” to Laura, and “You are evil,” to me. The first time you laugh. The second time you laugh nervously. And after that, from personal experience I can tell you, it makes you start to to feel a little paranoid.

“…Maybe it is my shirt. Does the tag say evil? Is this what happens when you wear brown shoes with a black belt? Does Groupon have deals on exorcisms? Perhaps one is needed, just to be on the safe side? Is evil transferable, like that Denzel Washington movie, Fallen?”

Cities are the most bizarre places to live.

I am pleased to announce that I have not just solved the problem, but I have done so with an elegant solution; a bold vision that combines the efficiency of two worlds: The Moving Sidewalk + The Urinal Trough.

1. The stall walls move along with you to provide privacy.
2. The sidewalk is wide enough for you to easily pass by people who have not yet finished.
3. This is a shortened illustration of the apparatus. I envision a minimum length of 50 feet.
4. A trip from end-to-end needs to be be slightly longer than the average time it takes the 90th percentile to urinate.
5. Not pictured correctly here is that the trough extends an extra 7 feet past where the stall walls return. This allows one to avoid the unfortunate circumstance of not finishing in time.
6. People who have problems with on-demand performance can choose to use a normal stall.
7. A digital clock (not pictured here), aka “shot clock”, on the back of each stall space indicates how much time you have left.

Me: “I really need to build this.”
Laura, after a very very long silence: “I am not sure about that.”

Dear Wonderful Laura,

I have never contemplated the lyrics of Bruno Mars before, but today I suffered from Pandorape, which is when Pandora plays a terrible song and you suffer through it because you’ve used up your allotted number of “skip this song” clicks. This scenario forced me to hear Bruno’s song with the chorus:

    “I’d catch a grenade for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah)
    Throw my hand on a blade for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah)
    I’d jump in front of a train for ya (yeah, yeah , yeah)”

Let me immediately one-up the chivalry as I offer to jump on, not just catch, a grenade to save you. Since a grenade is no problem, then a blade is also of no challenge. Now I am not sure why we’re hanging around in precarious situations where people seem to be casually tossing grenades or blades about, but if it happens, fear not. (Besides, in my imagination blades are most likely to be encountered in an Indian Jones type adventure where only the penitent man can pass, and soon we’d both achieve immortality anyways or at least have any mortal wounds healed).

I am all for romantic gestures, bold heroics, and courageous acts, but I regret to inform you that I won’t jump in front of a train for you. I am a realist when it comes to matters of momentum, and in this scenario a train would simply take us both out. Superman, if forced to stop a 440-ton train traveling at 105mph in 525 feet, would need to apply around 627,216.951lbs of force. And I neither own a cape nor work out quite enough to purposefully generate that much force.

I pray you admire my honesty in this matter and hope it will not make for awkward conversation after you read this. And based on this, I suggest we no longer loiter around switch yards.

Yours Truly,
-Pope

If you fly to Israel, fly El Al because you might as well add an El Al security interview on to your list of travel experiences.

First, you stand in line. And I don’t mean a normal line. A real line. A long line. A life changing line. A line where you actually feel the aging process as you move through it. You enter the line, perhaps with an apple to eat later, and by the end of the line the apple has rotted. Now that you’re at the front of the line, the second event starts–the most thorough interview you have ever had.

The interview is intimidating and is much more intimate than several months of dating. The only two questions the interviewer will fail to ask are “Do you want children,” and “Would you like to meet my mother?” At the end of the interview, you will feel used as the interviewer brushes you off and continues to the next person in line; throwing your bond in to the trash. As though your hard earned first date has ended by the girl leaving, before the meal you ordered has arrived, for a second date with the man at the table behind you.

In every conversation you’ve had, the other person responds with tiny nods, gestures, moments of recognition that say “Yes, please continue. You’re doing well.” But with El Al security, you receive none of those clues that are part of the social contract between two people talking. It is eerie. It means you have no idea how long the interview will last or whether you’re going to be allowed on the flight. As you’re asked more questions, it becomes apparent that no matter the actual length of the interview, it is going to feel endless. They grill you about every aspect of your visit.

Once an interviewer asked “Why are you visiting Israel?” I answered “To visit friends.” To which he sternly replied “No one has friends in Israel.”

Why are you visiting Israel? Are you traveling with anyone else? Have you been there before? Why were you there? How long were you there? Do you speak Hebrew? Why not? Why didn’t you get to Hebrew school? What did you do for Passover? Why don’t you go to synagogue? But you have been to a synagogue before? Who did you stay with on your last visit? Do you speak Arabic (Heaven have mercy if you answer this one yes)? Do you have friends in Israel? What are their names? How do you know them? What do they do? Where do the live? What board games do you like to play? Is Catan better with or without the expansion packs? How often do you communicate with your Israeli friends? Did you pack your own bag? Has the bag been with you every moment since? No? You left it in your apartment? Does anyone else have a key to your apartment? Could someone sneak in and place things in your bag? Could someone have knocked you out, planted evil things in your bag, then planted false memories in your brain so that you’re unaware of the vast conspiracy? Why do you only have one bag? You don’t have a suitcase? Why don’t you have a suitcase? Where did you go on your previous visit? How long is this visit? Where are you going on this visit? If you had a suitcase, what kind would you get? Did you eat Playdough as a child? Do you prefer Snickers or 3-Musketeers? Do you eat Bamba with or without Bisli? Why with Bisli? You don’t you like peanut butter? Do you have peanut allergies? When did you last check your nasal cavities for illegal items? Did you bring your nose on your last trip? Has anyone else been in your nasal cavity? Has anyone given you tiny packages of explosives to snort in to your nose? Have you ever drank a Coca-Cola and then consumed Poprocks? How do you feel? Why are you tired? Have you looked in your bag since you packed it? Is the statement “I think therefore I am” valid? Do you like marmalade? Has anyone given you packages or Poprocks to take with you? Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?

Then the interviewer walks away to consult with the head of security for a few minutes. They whisper quietly while staring at you. Maybe you’re not standing properly? What if they’re now judging your poise and posture? You strike a pose that Nigel Barker, noted fashion photographer, would be proud of. You start to believe that maybe you are a cylon. Then they both return, and the head of security asks you twenty more questions. Then they step to the side and whisper more. Then they motion you to the counter.

At the counter you finally get your boarding pass.

Today I learned that scotch tape does not stick well to almonds.

While eating some almonds, I deemed one my favorite and did not eat him. Later I found an almond with a shape that allows Mr. Almond to wear it as a toupée, thus enhancing his sex appeal with the lady almonds. I needed to take some photographs to document this achievement, but the scotch tape wouldn’t hold the toupée on. Eventually I had to use rubber cement.

It makes him look Italian, but he seems okay with that.

Eat your hearts out, ladies.

Several weeks ago I served as an expert witness in a good-humored debate over the validity of the sentence “Only boys can draw rocket ships.” I submitted a rocket ship, as did my friend Emma. I’ll let you form your own opinion based on the following entries:

Pope’s Rocket Entry

“Important things… There should be a lot of fire. Tail fins are really important. At least one cool window. You don’t have to draw a dinosaur, because everyone implicitly knows there is a dinosaur in the cargo bay. Same goes for laser guns. But if you have time, it is okay to draw either as long as it doesn’t interfere with the mission at hand. Rockets always have the antenna thing. It collects all the information things. NO RAINBOWS or stupid things should be near the rocket, unless the rocket is destroying them in the fire or with the lasers or dinosaur or by landing on them. I give this one an 8 of 10 on the official Rocket Sketch Rating System.”

Emma’s Rocket Attempt

Note: This is her actual entry.

My Professional Analysis of Emma’s Attempt:

With all the talk about “3 to 5 times longer”, the “ultra thin coating”, the crazy diagram on the back, and the name Elixir, this is the most condom-like packaging I’ve ever seen for a non-condom product.

Someday there will be an interview in Rolling Stones along the lines of: “We had never thought about forming a band, let alone winning a Grammy. But then I accidentally brought home guitar strings instead of condoms. We went with it. After the unprotected sex, I said ‘Well, that is half of being a rockstar. Let’s try this’, and the next day we started practicing.”

I have never walked out of a movie in theater, but last night I seriously contemplated it while watching X-Men: First Class. I’d not originally planned to see the movie, but I changed my mind after reading a piece Wired ran on 8 things the movie did right and RottenTomatoes.com gave it 86%. I wanted to enjoy this movie, to like it, to walk away with a level of surprise and enjoyment. But Matthew Vaughn, the director, brutally raped and pillaged any chance of that.

The entire movie represented a complete void of originality, inspiration, focus, or craftsmanship. The 100% predictable plot had been thinned to the width of a micron, which got a further burial from the limp dialogue. The young mutants recruited harbored the least creative or evocative powers you can imagine (think along the lines of: “I know! How about a mutant named Car Hop who can rollerskate really fast”). Aside from Xavier and Eric, the only interesting mutant in the movie was Darwin. Of the good guys, he is the only one to die, which seemed extra cruel since he was essentially the only non-Caucasian in the movie.

Writer 1: “I have an idea for a black mutant named Darwin. His power is that he can rapidly evolve to adapt to any situation.”
Writer 2: “Too bad he couldn’t turn white.”

Oh, foolish me for thinking we’d steered away from the pattern of the 1980′s:

And on top of all that sat weak sound effects, an out of place soundtrack, and just lame film quality. Comic book movies are often a bit campy, but this stretched further and completely absorbed every corny element any member of the crew could conjure.

In a few spots the movie did have a glimpses of quality, most likely by complete accident. But overall, it was a giant turd of a movie. The only good part of this movie is that they’ll make 2 sequels and reboot the entire franchise again. And the only way they can possibly make a worse reboot is if they just refilm this one.

And for the sake of my friends, I’ll never mention this movie again.

I don’t think I’d ever lost a toothbrush until about 2 years ago, and now it is my endemic behavior. I either forget to pack my toothbrush or I simply lose it during my travels. In the last 2 years I’ve purchased around 10 new toothbrushes. On this trip I was quite proud of my keen toothbrush management skills until day 7, when I left my toothbrush in a hostel southern Israel. I bought a new brush the next day.

When I returned home and placed my new toothbrush in its holder next to his new neighbor, I imagined the following dialogue…

Left to Right: Oral-B, Colgate

Oral-B: Hi, Colgate. I’m Pope’s new toothbrush.
Colgate: ….
Oral-B: Have I caught you at a bad moment? You seem a bit reserved.
Colgate: It isn’t your fault. I just don’t think I have it in me anymore to pour time and energy in to making another friend who will eventually disappear.
Oral-B: WHAT? Why? How?
Colgate: I didn’t mean to startle you, and I don’t have all of the answers. All I can say is that the 9 before you disappeared — Steve, Herald, Rachel, Svin, Aeris, Ghenghis, Poe, Sham, Hector. And I doubt that your fate will be any different. Secretly I’m beginning to think Pope is some sort of toothbrush-stalking sociopath. The Dexter to our kind.

Now my toothbrush is paranoid, and I can’t really help but take the blame. However, in my defense one of the previous MIA cases was justified. I dropped the toothbrush on the floor of the men’s room in JFK airport. Even the CDC could not have decontaminated that.