Tucker Blogs

Now It Begins.

Tue, 29 May 2012 13:01:00 -0700

We’ve had the last pool party. We’ve dropped off the last check. The only thing left to do in preparation for our move is to actually start moving.

Okay, that’s actually not true. What we need to do now is start packing. My morning involved a box hunt, and now the afternoon will involve wrapping fragiles, boxing books, and regretting buying any of the kitschy crap we have on our shelves. We bought this bamboo candle thing on our honeymoon in Mexico, and it burned for about 8 minutes total. I decided then that we shall always keep it as a reminder of the junk folks buy when on vacation. Googly eyed walnuts and shells with “Welcome to Marco Island” stenciled on them are all fine and good until you realize the materials used to wrap and box such items may be worth more than the items themselves. I’d throw them all away except for realizing the pattern will never die. My new place will need stupid shells and old cell phones to decorate shelves with, and who wants to buy more of those? Best keep them. I’ve got a garage now, so I can just toss them in there. Let cleaning out an already growing mess in the new garage be a problem for Future Tucker when he moves out. Present Tucker is moving in, and he wants this to go as quickly as possible. Speed is preferable to organization.

This is not going to be a fun two weeks.

One Space, Two Space; Old Face, New Phase

Mon, 28 May 2012 13:58:00 -0700

A friend of mine just started a blog, and I just got off the phone with him after saying that I would not attack the subject matter of his first post. This, of course, was a lie. First of all, I already kind of responded to it preemptively 4 months ago. Secondly, I have a major issue with his first post:

This is a typewriter, kids. Long ago, people used it to convey important messages and information, or to just record their thoughts. Those thoughts were then turned into “books” or “news-papers.” It was kind of like Twitter, but with content. Anyway, in spite of this being the leading technology for personal writing for decades, it had its flaws. Mainly, it used a ribbon or cartridge of ink to print on to paper (“paper” was a mixture of moist fibers, typically cellulose pulp derived from wood, rags or grasses, dried into flexible sheets). Sometimes that ribbon would be running low, and part of a character wouldn’t be printed. For the most part, content of the sentence or usage could provide an explanation for what the partially printed character was, but in the case of punctuation, a clever little system was devised: simply make two spaces after a period, so nobody thought it was a comma.

Well, guess what, kids? It’s the 21st Century now. Our shit’s all evolved and shit, yo. Computers typically don’t miss part of a character, and the standard became one space for all, and for all one space about 15 years ago. Don’t believe me? Read ANY article on ANY webpage anywhere. The two space era is dead. We’re slick and efficient now.

Welcome to the Internet, Max.

"Now wipe your tears and say, 'I'm a wittle baby!'"

Sat, 26 May 2012 10:36:00 -0700

This is kind of awesome: a 12 year old girl posted a picture of herself on Facebook with a vodka bottle. Her mother then made her post this picture:

The lesson the mother is trying to instill is that things on Facebook can come back to haunt you in the eyes of future employers. Some people are outraged, saying this is more damaging to her future than a picture of her drinking underage would be, cuz’ it’s mortifying. They’re calling it bad parenting. That’s stupid.

The girl is 12 years old. Technically, she’s not even allowed by Facebook itself to have a page until she’s 13. The daughter apparently begged for corporal punishment rather than have the picture posted, which I think shows that this mom is on to something. Even 20 years ago, I knew to bite my tongue when my parents sent me to my room. That joint had a TV, stereo, records and tapes, a Nintendo, and access to the attic: a.k.a. Toy Headquarters. I had NO problem accepting that punishment, and would have offered it as an alternative had something I actually cared about been threatened.

Wow. Did I just paraphrase a Jay Leno Doritos Commercial? Good Lord, I did. Welp, I’m off the artistic roll call.

I say, “nice job, parent.” Sure, she’ll be mocked incessantly at school for it, but kids make fun of all sorts of things nowadays. Better she learn to thicken her skin a bit now than how to explain going to Juvie hall at 15 to future McDonald’s night shift managers. Or better yet, maybe she’ll learn to not post pictures that will obviously get her in trouble. Use your head, kid.

Lesson learned.

It's really an Oscar Caliber Performance...

Fri, 25 May 2012 12:24:06 -0700

Fyona is wailing, but not really. She’s verbally upset, but all other signs point to her being content. She smiles often, and doesn’t seem to really want to wail, but then she does. It’s really, really akin to Harvey Keitel crying.

She’s making this pushing sound like she’s constipated, or exhausted, or really frustrated by the Spanish Banking System dragging their feet on the bailout for Bankia.

We are taking this struggle to the car. Perhaps a cruise on Mulholland will sooth her frustration. It won’t do a thing for ours, but maybe it’ll calm her down for 20 minutes. Maybe she’ll sleep.

Yeah, right.

I got top notch smog.

Thu, 24 May 2012 15:17:00 -0700

I am proud to announce that my vehicle has once again been given the go ahead sign when it comes to California Emission Standards.

(I’m just so happy.)

The whole experience was awe inspiring. The mechanic even donned a blue lab coat for the occasion, setting the bar high for what was now a semi-formal occasion. Having no labcoat myself, in fact wearing open toed shoes and a collarless shirt, I was forced to wait outside and not witness the procedure first hand. From what I hear though, the car did great. No screeches, no waterworks. I was so proud I treated her to some Silver level gasoline.

There’s another reason to be tearfully joyous: I have paid my car registration before the due date for the first time in 10 years. It’s not that I’m lazy… well actually, it’s exactly that. For some reason I open the letter, which they send you like 4 months in advance, and I toss it somewhere, never to think of again. I do this with lots of stuff. For instance: my kid is 5 months old now. We should probably think about getting a birth certificate… The form is around here somewhere. Probably next to the hospital bill, under all of those unopened letters from the IRS and the Sheriff’s Department. No worries, I’ll find it later.

Kept my car legal today!

A picture of me with my nieces. #swimsuitsforbagel This is what...

Wed, 23 May 2012 14:41:00 -0700

A picture of me with my nieces. #swimsuitsforbagel

This is what we’re talking about.

Fyona and I have now both achieved, and proud we are of each...

Wed, 23 May 2012 11:39:22 -0700

Fyona and I have now both achieved, and proud we are of each other.

Facebook? More like Evilbook, amirightfolks?! Seriously though, it's pretty F'ed up.

Tue, 22 May 2012 15:50:00 -0700

For a long time I held a stance against joining Facebook. I wrote about it almost 2 and a half years ago (even though my blog format claims one year). What’s funny is that I complain about people putting up pictures of their kids, when that’s all I ever do on Facebook. Yep, I’m on there. And what a delight it was to be reunited with this picture:

(It’s like George could SEE ME behind him!)

Like most infatuations, it lost some steam after the honeymoon period. I rarely go on Facebook other than when the Redhead tells me there’s something I need to see, like a wedding announcement or a picture of a monkey wearing a monocle. I even put a picture of the kid up for the first time after a 5 week drought.

So imagine my surprise today when I went on Facebook to see that I have been posting all sorts of activity!

For instance, did you know that I read an article about Robin Ventura on Yahoo! Sports? If we’re Facebook friends, you heard all about it! Did you also know that I watched a video about Barack Obama on Socialcam? Me neither, but Facebook did! It put a big ol’ link up to the video and everything! What a delight!

Not really. This is partially maddening, and mostly frightening. I’m not saying that I treat the internet like a toilet, but there are some… curious things that I will sometimes Google, and I don’t need that being published to what is more or less a phone tree for aunts and cousins. Sure, sure; there are settings and a whole bunch of stuff that I have to do ON Facebook to stop this, if only I would go ON Facebook and turn them off. So, I have to actively decide that I don’t want web searches published? It’s not a given that I wouldn’t want that? Fair enough. While we’re keeping score, I also DON’T want syphillis, chronic neck pain, or the phonebook. I never asked for these things and yet, they keep showing up at my door.

It’s bad enough that the majority of alerts I get on Facebook are about people wanting me to look at their cauliflower or whatever the hell Zinga is. See, these are not important things. Facebook didn’t give me an alert when my own wife put up a picture of me. Or maybe it did, but as far as I could see it was deemed “unimportant” and pushed down the timeline to make room for a friend’s picture of Darth Vader in the shower or something. I’ve been on Facebook for a little while now, and I still don’t see any value. I do, however, see Facebook’s function.

(A-Ha!)

It’s a justification machine. It steers us to like what the group is liking, and teaches us to ignore the unpopular. The more something is “liked,” the more it’s seen, and the more it gets “liked,” creating an ever climbing pyramid where those on the early level only look better for being there early. This makes people want to check it more often, because they want to feel the soothing blanket of being “in the know.” Misanthropes like me though, will immediately feel the need to drop out as soon as a ranking system is introduced, provided we’re not in the top 3, of course. I say all of this knowing full well that I am using Tumblr, and that I delight in likes as much as the next person. But what goes on Tumblr are things I choose. You know, the truth.

So here I am: caught in the crosshairs between deleting Facebook and forcibly having to take an active role in it. Look, I already have a baby. I have something that can get into trouble without me looking. I don’t need the fucking webernet Scrap Book putting up links to searches for custom made bikinis, which I ASSURE you, was work-related. (Why doesn’t anybody believe me?!)

God, Facebook is so evil. I hope the stock drops below Borders Books levels. I mean, what are they selling? Soon, people will realize the “value” in Facebook’s demographic consumer data collection: people like everything for a little while before eventually hating it. The numbers aren’t fixed. I stop liking things because more people start to. The data is expired the minute it’s acknowledged, because people are fickle bastards.

Or maybe just I am. Who cares? Facebook is evil, and there’s no stopping it, even when it’s peaking around your shoulder. Because even if you ain’t looking, it’s watching you.

And liking it.

BREAKING NEWS, care of @Somekindaweirdo. We should have seen...

Tue, 22 May 2012 13:54:00 -0700

BREAKING NEWS, care of @Somekindaweirdo.

We should have seen this coming, people. Don’t act surprised when the new Titanic sinks, either.

New hat. (No new bib.)

Mon, 21 May 2012 20:39:42 -0700

New hat. (No new bib.)

This is incredibly rewarding, if you’re in to this sort of...

Mon, 21 May 2012 12:39:31 -0700

This is incredibly rewarding, if you’re in to this sort of thing.

It's a Blur... ...And it's coming right AT me.

Mon, 21 May 2012 12:09:00 -0700

The past month has congealed into a sticky glob of reality that I can’t quite clear from my throat. It’s all okay, and it’s all stuff that needs attention, but man, if there isn’t a lot of it.

We’ve got a baby, so that takes some time. Recently she’s been making this weird sort of grumble that sounds like Marion when she was gagged in Raiders. That usually happens at night for hours on end. Then we’ve got this whole, “I’m the only worker in the family now” thing. That eats up a good chunk of the schedule. The Redhead lost her father last month, so there’s that thought constantly looming in the background. To top it all off, we’re moving in a matter of weeks.

So, yeah: things are in a bit of a flux ‘round here. When the dust settles, things will seem better, but damn, if they don’t seem a little stifling now. While escape may seem difficult at the moment, there is one thought I need to hang on to:

My favorite batting cages in Los Angeles are going to be 5 blocks from my new house.

Cooling off in the Valley.

Sun, 20 May 2012 10:48:00 -0700

Cooling off in the Valley.

Lights. Camera. Konerko.

Sat, 19 May 2012 15:58:15 -0700

Lights. Camera. Konerko.

Reason #37 I'm looking forward to moving: The phonecall on the balcony happening RIGHT NOW.

Sat, 19 May 2012 13:20:00 -0700

Living in a concrete stack is inconducive to a great many things, like recording voice overs and getting babies to sleep (in no particular order). Right now, I have a few things I need to record, and right now, there is some highly emotional chicky fighting with her boyfriend on the phone roughly 10 feet from my window.

(Usually it’s a pretty fun crowd out on the balconies, but not today.)

I don’t know what the fight is about, but the way she spits the name “Ashley” makes me think a third party named Ashley may have overstepped his or her boundaries. Now, here’s where it gets interesting: before I got the chance to ask her to move inside, somebody else started yelling at her. She yelled back. This is a common occurrence here. Now there are two people yelling, and a third will only exacerbate the noisy balcony.

So long story short, I’m looking forward to a house with a garage and no nearby neighbors, 125 degree Valley weather be damned.

Kerry Wood plans to pull a Palin...

Fri, 18 May 2012 10:08:00 -0700

Kerry Wood has decided to retire today. The pitcher signed a 1.5 million dollar contract over the winter to return to the Chicago Cubs for the season, but going against common knowledge, has declared, “It’s a short season.”

(It’s assumed that there are Cub fans camera left.)

Kerry and I share the same birthday, but that’s where the similarities end. For example: he’s walking out on the chance to play baseball for a living, while I have never even been offered that chance.

Today will be his last appearance. The last team he’ll face are the Chicago White Sox. He will not remember his last day in the Majors fondly, my friend. Neither will any of us, but that’s because Fox is probably blacking it out to 90% of the viewing audience.

EDIT: Okay, now that it’s happened, I can’t help but respect him a bit. Goodbye, KW. Maybe we’ll see you in the broadcaster’s booth soon.

"I did, and with a full head of hair, too."

Thu, 17 May 2012 18:08:00 -0700

That’s what I should have said. It would have been so sweet. I could have leveled that smarmy little troll and left him shaking in his shiny Crocs. I’d never seen glossy finished Crocs before, but clearly this was a dressy occasion.

You see, I have cool jobs and I have shitty jobs. Today while at a shitty job, a slimy little bald assistant in male capris and Crocs with a sweated through v-neck cashmere sweater said to me, “I bet you didn’t picture yourself serving ice cream back in high school.” He said it with a smile, too, and his tone was light but patronizing, like he just read my fortune and I should be impressed with his accuracy. I replied politely, as I am supposed to while working, and said something about how I made the ice cream I was serving. However, after consulting with the rest of the staff, we feel any of these could have worked as well:

“Bet you didn’t picture yourself making a plate of blueberries for a Junior Executive at a shitty cable network.”
“I wrote 9 episodes of Dawson’s Creek.”
“See this food? I pissed on it. All of it.”
“I dropped out after middle school, mainly to do smack.”
“This is an episode of Undercover Boss, and I’m Goldwyn Warner Disney III, heir to ALL Entertainment. You’re fired.”
“Fuck YOU, Asshole!”
“Sir, you are wearing ladies’ pants.”
“No hablo inglés, señor.”

Alas, he was long gone by then, probably off to the cleaners to pick up his boss’s socks or out to Azusa to get the boss some hair dye where nobody will recognize him. I never got to tell him off. Even if I had walked around the event holding a tub of ice cream in hopes of recreating the moment, he wouldn’t have been there to make his quip a second time, having more than likely been sent to pick up hookers on Skid Row by his boss.

Would have been sweet, though.

How I Feel Today:

Tue, 15 May 2012 09:27:00 -0700

I am achieving, and everything I’ve done so far has succeeded. Let’s keep it up and roll our way into the Semis.

A Deli Counter Crab Cake: Not the Best Decision Of The Day

Mon, 14 May 2012 18:30:00 -0700

Today I was meandering through Ralph’s with the kid. Having no reasonable place to be, I decided to glance over the deli counter specials, also known as the old folk’s home in the Grocer’s World. An old man told me that while he browsed the same display.

(He enjoyed his joke a lot more than I did.)

The reasoning behind this is that only chicken breasts and tri-tips that are a few days old get heavily breaded and sauced for “pre-made” dinners. They’re chickens who’ved moved on to retirement, so to speak. He was a creepy fellow, this informative old guy. He better watch it. Loose lips sink ships, and if the butcher catches wind that this old man is hemorrhaging secrets, there may be a special pot roast next week that smells like brylcreem.

Knowing this knowledge, I still continued on, because I wasn’t actually shopping for anything. Fyona liked the lights, and since we’d just checked out the misty thunderstorm in produce, we needed something new. Then a 2 dollar crab cake caught my eye.

I don’t think crab cakes are usually cheap, so far as I know. They seem pricey in a restaurant, so anytime somebody serves them I think they really went all out. I mean, I’m impressed. Seeing a 2 dollar price tag blinded me to my brand new knowledge about deli counter specials, so I thought I had really made a score when I bought 2.

I have now eaten them. I miss my 4 dollars, and am going to miss Final Jeopardy! due to an eventual bathroom appointment. Thanks, Ralph.

I need a change of scenery...

Sat, 12 May 2012 13:43:00 -0700

Welp, I’ve started using the word, “welp.” It could be fallout from the drastic life changing decision we just made, or it could be the early effects of regional accent syndrome, the parlance of our new precinct permeating our parietal lobes, post haste. You see, we are leaving Los Angeles.

After 10 years in this fine city, mainly chilling in the Hollywood area, I am picking up stakes and moving to a far away land:

The San Fernando Valley.

Okay, so technically that’s still Los Angeles. If you look at a map, it’s all called LA, but those in the know will tell you “no,” yo. The Valley is a different place, plain and simple. They tried to secede a few years back, and I would not have stood in their way. Had the Valley left Los Angeles, Chicago would have returned to being the 2nd largest City in America, something I was for. Welp, it’s a whole new ballgame now.

(The Valley.)

Let’s get into the WHY, shall we? You may be aware of this. Yes, I’ve been expanding the standing army that is the Blog Family, so now we number 3. Unfortunately, the current Blog Army Headquarters holds but one bedroom that we all share. A casual search was quietly being conducted for the last few months, with the understanding that moving was still a few months ahead of us. Still, a diamond in the rough could trigger a sense of urgency. Just so.

We found a house. Like a real one. It’s got a backyard, a garage, an attic, walls, the whole getup. Basically, it’s a place for a family to live that doesn’t have weirdos living down the hall or smarmy musicians. It’s also not that expensive, being located in the region mocked by Nicolas Cage and Keanu Reeves movies galore. The Monkees sing about it, as do some other guys.

But man, the Valley…

The Valley is still in the same time zone as LA, right? I don’t have to adjust my clocks to call people in Los Feliz, do I? I will have to check weather reports when going “over the hill,” though. The Valley, on average, is 40 degrees hotter at all times than Los Angeles. It’s also a little less “trendy,” but that may be defined by the attitudes of the people in LA. Am I an LA snob? Most definitely. But I think that after the dust settles I’ll see it differently. I’m going to live in the Valley now, so I’d better get used to the idea. Someday soon, I’ll be sitting in my backyard, reading the paper with my feet in a kiddie pool and a cold beverage, thinking about how I used to live in a 40 unit concrete stack of D-bags and hipsters. And I’ll be glad I’m where I’m at.

At least it isn’t Orange County.