How was your day, Dan?

REMEMBER THIS

Dan--

It's Dan. You.

You have a lot to remember for the next few days, so I'm writing all of it here.

Saturday you're opening the office. And don't forget you have to close it again. So in the interim, call D and you'll go down to Knaus Berry Farm and get cinnamon rolls.  Perhaps you can stop by Robert Is Here and buy some sapodillas.  They're your favorite!  Yum.

Sunday you have a meeting at Broward County Humane Society.  Maybe you should go early to see if those kittens you brought in have been adopted yet.  Hopefully they are already all gone.

Wednesday you're meeting with the Red Cross for disaster response training. It's at 10 a.m.

You need to finish that article. Ugh.

DON'T FORGET.

LUNCHES

Read this: http://grist.org/list/nine-year-olds-lunch-blog-shames-school-into-making-changes/

...then read her blog. It's genius. http://neverseconds.blogspot.com.es/

I actually got a lump in my throat when I read the post about how excited she was for radishes, but didn't get any.  Can someone please send her some radishes?

For the first 8 years of my schooled existence, I ate peanut butter, usually with strawberry jelly; then in high school I bought my lunch, and every day I had one slice of cheese pizza.  It tasted nothing like actual "pizza," but I liked it anyway.

Perhaps her lunch torture is part of her local food culture.  I haven't been to Scotland, but I worked in the "Midlands" of Britain which is in England close to the Scottish border, and I left with two impressions: 1, it was a lovely place with rolling countryside, and 2, the food was borderline-inedible.  The beer was thick and tasty, but the food in the restaurants was like bad cafeteria food.  We finally found a Chinese restaurant and ate there every night, because Orange Chicken is Orange Chicken no matter where you are on Earth (except China, where no one Chinese would know how to cook it).

 

 

 

FLAUNT IT

He who dines at a South Beach restaurant at midnight (I use the term "restaurant" loosely here, since establishments that serve food can questioably but theoretically all be lumped together under the term) risks life, health, and general happiness.  Sometimes, he loses that gamble, and he picks up unidentifiable bugs that wreak havoc upon his digestive system.  Lesson learned: life is precious, so skip the midnight enchiladas.

I learned this lesson recently, escaping the clutches of death and emerging into the light appx. 10 pounds lighter.  Seriously, 10 pounds.  That's after I gained a few back from drinking lots of water.  The absence of eating for a week will do wonders for your waistline.  This followed a bout of walking pneumonia the month before--it sounds horrible, but it's really not a big deal--which provided lots and lots of coughing, and the flexflexflex of my belly was a better workout than one of those electrode machines.  Bacterial gastroenteritis and pneumonia: it's a great workout regimen, one which I highly recommend.  Just kidding. I totally don't.

While cleaning up all the ginger ale bottles and putting away my DVDs of 90's chick flicks, I reorganized my drawers and stumbled across my collection of skinny jeans, which I've kept for no reason other than sentimentality of years gone by.  They are so out of style, one pair has flaps over the back pockets.  It's been years since I've worn them, and even then it was an uncomfortable experience. 

Pop pop pop, the buttons went together and I didn't have to suck in any part of my body that was getting in the way.  There was room to breathe! Amazing.  I immediately put on shoes and ran out the door.  I had no plans, I just left.

I am bothered by fashion stylists who give people "makeovers," filled with suggestions on how to hide "problem" parts of your body.  Long shirts or jackets will hide your hips or unaccentuate your belly, blah blah blah.  It's great to accentuate parts of yourself that you like; but that belly is just as much a part of you as is your smile. 

I have something to admit: I think ears that stick out are sexy.  I think it's because people who have the guts to show them off, and not grow their hair to cover them up, are confident and fun.  That's hot.  It's a lot sexier than looking like everyone else.  It's best we all work with whatever we've got.

I'll be back to my original weight again in a few weeks.  I don't care.  It's just fun revisiting my old body for a little while.

CLOSE CALL

The left rear wheel on my car broke off while I was driving down the highway.

Note the white groove towards the top.  That was carved into the asphalt by the frame of my car.  Also notice the wheel isn't just the rim--it's the entire wheel, including the part that fits into the brake pads.

Let's not get stuck on the WTF-worthiness of this event happening in itself, although I am horrified to know that car wheels are known to randomly fall off cars while driving.  Allow me to set this particular scene: I was driving south on the Palmetto, one of the crazy-busiest expressways in Florida.  I heard an odd crunching noise, so I pulled over...looked under the car, looked at all the wheels and checked to see if something punctured the tires.  Nothing.

So I drove on.  Everything was fine. 

The car started to swerve a bit.  I looked at the palm trees along the shoulder, to see if the wind was blowing strong; they were still. 

This had be concerned, so I drove off to a right exit, and as I approached the ramp, BOOM the car hit the ground and I saw my tire roll off to the left. And I SCRAAAAAAAPED along the asphalt.

I didn't freak out; I just pressed the brakes gently and kept the car straight as I slowly moved over to the right shoulder, the frame of the car grinding a groove into the asphalt.  The ramp curved to the right, so my tire rolled along the left guard rail until it slowed enough to fall over and stop. Nothing hit, no one hurt, all done.

The rest isn't exciting: (1) called AAA, (2) tow truck transported car (and self) to mechanic in South Beach, (3) mechanic explained the bearings had been completely destroyed and the whole apparatus fell apart.  I didn't realize this could happen, but he said it happend often (WHAT THE HELL?!?).  Repairs: only $300+, totally no big deal.  Although he scolded me in Spanglish for not stopping the car after that first crunching sound that I heard.  I love my mechanic guy.  Anyway--

What concerns me is this:

Imagine a highway filled with cars zooming along at 70 MPH.  The wheel broke off just as I passed the entrance to the ramp, which meant when the wheel broke off and rolled away to the left, it was stopped by the guard rail.  Had this transpired 50 feet earlier, the tire would have rolled into those lanes of traffic and turned the Palmetto into a high-speed pinball game.

To say this would've been a disaster is an understatement. 

The tow truck operator stood with me for a quiet moment as we stared at the groove in the asphalt created by my car's frame, contemplating just how close I came to ruining someone else's day, presuming everyone involved survived.  I don't know what angel was looking down on me, magically holding that wheel onto my car until the exact moment I was on the ramp.  It's possible the force of curving to the right is what broke it off; but I had already pulled to the right several times before, while driving 70 MPH with everyone else, just to get into that lane.  It could've happened at any time, when there were cars to my right and cars zooming up behind me.  Egad.

 

 

 

HUFFINGTON POST, AND OTHER STUFF

If you didn't see it in the previous blog entry, I am writing for the Huffington Post now! So exciting. Here is my first story: Dan Renzi

Want to see something cute? But you have to watch it all the way through. Listen

Life's lessons after college: 10 Things Your Commencement Speaker Won't Tell You

More lessons for life, but this time about business school: Wealth or Waste? Rethinking the Value of a Business Major .

Straight guys will turn anything into a competition. Butt of Course (it's 4 years old and you shouldn't watch it at work)

 

MAKE YOUR DAUGHTERS PLAY SPORTS

A few friends of mine were locked in a "men vs. women" type of conversation, discussing the differences amongst the genders, specifically, how each handles competition, and a theory was postulated: men are prone to fight things out and get it all over with, but women let their battles linger and drag out their grievances, and are constantly in competition with each other--without acknowledging there is a contest going on.  This is totally a generalization, but

I suggested this happens because, in childhood, boys are expected to play sports, and they learn how to compete with each other, but girls aren't encouraged to learn how to face off against their adversaries.  Kids learn from playing on a team and working together to move a ball down a court. Win or lose, teams must shake each others' hands and leave the game on the playing field; there is a valuable lesson in learning what it feels like to lose and realize the world is not going to end, or to win and not be an ass about it in front of everyone.  

This is evident in Disney movies, where the best villains are women.  They are conniving, vindictive, and intelligent in the ways they try to conquer their foes; even male villains, like Jafar in "Alladin" or Scar in "The Lion King" are somewhat...what's the best way to describe them?...they're bitchy.  Too thin and limp-wristed to win with physical strength, they learned how to manipulate their way into power.

So I wrote an article for Huffington Post (click here: Dan Renzi) about this idea, but I kept it simple. (Click "full screen" and the text on the side of the video player will be easier to read.)   I asked the opinions of various pop culture junkies I know around the country to name the nastiest villains in TV competition shows, and compiled their votes; surprise surprise, the worst people have been either women, or gay men.  We included they guy from "The Amazing Race" who shoved his wife, just because that was a total bitch thing to do and he sucks. 

Men will play the game nasty, especially when that is part of what's expected--you can't go on "Survivor" or "Big Brother" and expect to win by making friends--and guys like Jonny Fairplay and Russell Hantz were shocking, but in those games forming "alliances" and double-crossing people is necessary if you want to be the last person standing.  They were there to win.  That's different from screaming at someone and trying to keep them out of the competition, by saying s/he doesn't have the right to be there at all.

 

THREE OF THESE THINGS BELONG TOGETHER...

My friend Davi posted a mini-rant on Facebook:

"I get really annoyed every time the PBS Kids lady asks "which of the four animals is different" from the other three and the choices are snake, whale, wolf, and elephant. She says snake because the rest are mammals, but the answer could just as easily be whale since the other three live on land."

Davi is correct--"whale" is the correct answer--although whales' inability to live on terra firma is not the only reason.  Allow me to prove why this is so.

 

Take the numerical values for each animal's name based on their order in the English alphabet, and add the numbers of each name.

S:    19                         W:  23                            E:      5                          W:  23

N:    14                        H:      8                           L:     12                         O:   15                  

A:      1                        A:      1                           E:      5                          L:    12

K:    11                        L:     12                           P:    16                           F:     6

E:      5                         E:      5                           H:      8

                                                                           A:      1

                                                                           N:   14

                                                                           T:    20

+_____                         +____                            +____                            +____

      50                                49                                   81                                  56

Then take the factors for each sum, and add them.

 

1,2,5,10,25,50                 1,7,49                1,2,9,27,81             1,2,4,7,8,14,28,56

 

Sum: 93                      Sum: 57                 Sum: 120                        Sum: 120

Then take the square root of each factor's sum:

Sq. Rt.: 9.64365076       Sq. Rt.: 7.6      Sq. Rt.: 10.95445115      Sq. Rt.: 10.95445115

...and you are presented with the startling evidence that three of the animals have square roots that end with values in the hundred millionth digit, although "whale" has a value of only 7.6, which ends in the tenths. CLEARLY this means the whale is, in fact, the different choice--not the snake.

I should also point out the fact that "elephant" and "wolf" both have the same factor-sum (120), and therefore the same sum square root value, which is numerical proof that they are basically the same animal.

So, PBS, as the Dowager Countess would say, "Put that in your pipe and smoke it."

CREEP

Instructions:

1) Turn the volume on your computer all the way up.

2) Play this video:

 

3)  Watch it all the way through. 

JUMPY HOUSE

It was a lovely party, a large gala affair outdoors on a beautiful Spring day, and I was simply walking along enjoying the sun.  Places to go?  None.  Things to do later?  Nada.  It was just me walking with my friends, my iced tea, and the breeze tickling the back of my neck.  I wasn't thinking about much.

Hello, what's that sound?  People laughing! I'll wander over there.

I walked around the corner, and there it was: a collection of inflatable slides, romper rooms, and a jumpy house, all of them infested with little kids scampering about, as their parents watched and cheered them on. 

We stood outside of the jumpy house, watching through the netting as various bodies flung themselves across the inflated floor, which bounced each other into the air.  And they laughed.  Ha ha ha, what fun.  I asked the woman next to me if her children were inside, and she pointed to to two of them as she explained they were her daughters.

Why don't adults ever get into these things?, I wondered, as I looked around the entry for size regulations.  There wasn't anything posted about how many people could be inside, or the maximum size or weight...hmm.

I mentioned casually it looked like fun, and I "wanted" to try it.  I didn't actually have visions of myself joining a group of elementary school-age children in jumping around an inflatable house; it was just something I put out there.  It looked like fun.  My friend, equally casual in tone said, "Why not?"

For what transpired next, I blame him.

Perhaps I wasn't prepared for the vague challenge, or maybe I just wasn't interested in acting my age that day.  Whatever the case, I asked the mother next to me if she thought it would be alright, since her daughters were inside, and she shrugged and smiled, making a gesture with her hands towards the entry.  So I looked around for a Jumpy House Technician of some sort, a person who was in charge of the area who I could ask...there was no one.  So I kicked off my shoes, and I climbed up.

I don't know what came over me. Maybe the sunny day gave me energy; maybe there was too much sugar in my tea. Before stepping through the door, I was a calm, rational adult who was merely enjoying the sunny day; but upon entering, like a small inflatable Thunderdome, I became consumed by the jumpy house, and  I took one step inside the entry, took a deep breath, and screamed "EVERYBODY LOOK OOOOOOOOOOUT!!!"...as I took a flying leap to the middle of the floor.

BOOM.

Gather 'round, dear readers, for now is a good time for a lesson in physics.  The sheer mass of my 6'3" frame hitting the surface of the apparatus instigated what is known as a "displacement vector," as the force of my body moved the gas beneath the plastic down and to the side, causing an equal-yet-opposite reaction of gas traveling up at an angle.  This traveling gas encountered the other people inside the house with me, standing in a random arrangement. As the instantaneous displacement of that force encountered them, the kinetic energy of that displacement overcame the pull of gravity on their mass.  And the kids LAUNCHED into the air.

Jump, jump, jump, I bounded around the little house, as little bodies wailed in terror, cowering in corners and scrambling for the exit. One brave little girl giggled and tried to bounce me, but due to those aforementioned laws of physics, her efforts were futile.  I'll show her.  BOING.  I bounced one little boy--a gangly collection of knees and elbows and freckles--so high into the air, he latched onto my chest like a marmoset holding onto a tree limb.  Except I don't think marmosets don't scream like that.

Alas, I don't need to get into too many of the details about next few minutes.  Each series of jumps corresponded to a significant reduction in the amount of kids in the jumpy house.   Watch the movie "Aliens," and note the scenes in which the little girl Newt cowers beneath the floor grates, hiding from the giant alien queen.

It was at this point I noticed my jumping was becoming more labored.  Was I tired already?  And why is the side of the house not fully-inflated anymore?...oh, we're losing air pressure.

I stopped jumping.  Wait, is this thing deflating? OH.

Quick, everybody out!

My friends, shaking their heads collectively, handed me my shoes without saying a word.  That mother from before, who so happily invited me in to jump around with her daughters, merely gave me an icy glare as she led away her brood, the mood somber.  And that jumpy house, once filled with energy and laughter, simply sagged to the side, listlessly giving up the the will to live from the fans that had once kept it strong.

What does one say in a moment like this?  My friend tried to change the subject.  "Do you want to go get a funnel cake?" he asked.

I rubbed the roundness of my belly. "I don't think I need to eat anything for a while."

 

 

HAPPY EASTER

Lots of love,

Easter 1978

PS: My hair really was that red.

HONEYMOON

Where shall we go on our honeymoon?

We're not married yet, of course. We're not even engaged.  Why am I using the term "we"?  There is no "we," there's just "me," but I like to plan ahead.

So about that honeymoon: I live in Florida, 8 blocks from the beach...a Caribbean adventure is absolutely the wrong choice.  I need some adventure.  Hmm.

Choices:

1) Drive the perimeter of Iceland, stopping in the little villages along the way.  Iceland is basically one big volcano that has been covered by a glacier, so everyone lives on the coast.  Driving the perimeter should take about 4 or 5 days, and there are hot springs and towns and all sorts of bizarre volcano-esque sights to see along the way.

2) Wander the streets of Singapore and eat everything in sight.  Singapore is renowned for having the best street-food vendors in the world, possibly better than actual restaurants.  Noodles and street-meat!  Delicious.

3) See the baobab trees of Madagascar.  Yes, this is a beach-centric trip, but it's worlds apart from getting wasted in a Caribbean resort.  Madagascar is a fascinating island-country that separated from Africa and took its own evolutionary path through life; most of the plants and animals are gone thanks to people wanting "tropical hardwood" floors in their houses, but what's left is still beautiful.

4) Hang out in Edinburgh. I have no idea what there is to do there. I just think it would be cool.  Although if we were to go to the UK, my future-spouse would have to agree to making a stop in southern England to see Highclere Castle from "Downton Abbey."  Hey, marriage isn't always easy. You have to do things to make each other happy.

MADONNA + KAZAKY

The new Madonna song, "Girls Gone Wild," is hitting the airwaves with the usual fanfare.  It's alright.  However, I am especially excited to see the video features my favorite Ukranian pop group, Kazaky!

Here is Madonna's video.  See the dancers with the skinny legs, wearing high-heels?

This is one of their original videos that I like:

Watch to the end to see the shoes. Here's another video and it is beautiful, although the song is a little Euro-pop techno rough:

I'm surprised people haven't mentioned these guys are in the video with her.  I saw them perform here in Miami last year, and they were spectacular.  Cirque du Soleil acrobats don't have the balance that these guys have to dance like that in platform heels.

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HARVEY

Everyone, say hello to Harvey, my pet catepillar.

Harvey sends his best.  I say "his" only because I named him Harvey. I know not his gender.

Harvey's having a nice time at Chez Renz.  We are getting to know each other.  His hobbies include eating leaves, walking around, and taking naps.  He is not a fan of being in the sun; when I put his box in the window to get some light, he runs under the leave and hangs upside-down until I put him in the shadows again.  I guess he's worried about his complexion? I don't know. Other catepillars don't seem to mind being in the sun, so I don't know what Harvey's issue is.  Maybe he's just picky.

Harvey was one of the numerous Monarch catepillars crawling around on my milkweed plants, so I grabbed him and brough him inside to raise him, in the hopes that at least one of them will make it to become a butterfly and not get destroyed by the "gardner" or one of the numerous evil bugs that lurk amongst the flowers.  He's not growing very fast, but maybe it's just because he's petite.  I get him a fresh leaf every day to eat.

Hopefully Harvey is enjoying his stay, and he'll form a cocoon soon in the safety of his box.

DEAR CHILI'S,

I gave one of your employees, a bartender, a tip of a dollar and I would like it back.

Let me explain why, please.  I was very busy at work today, so I ordered food via your web site and dashed out of my office to pick it up. I ordered a sandwich and some soup.  The sandwich came with French fries.  I paid with a credit card on the web site, so I could just run in-and-out.  So busy.

As there was no host/hostess at the door, I asked the bartender if I could pick up food.  She went into the kitchen, and then returned with a check for me to sign; she handed it to me, and walked away.  I signed it, and added a $1.00 tip, because there was a line there to add a tip...so I added one.

I was handed my food by a food-runner, who gave it to me and walked away.  So I left; but then I looked in the bag, and saw there was no spoon. 

Spoons are helpful when eating soup.  I dare say they are a necessity. When you don't give me a spoon with soup, it's like not giving me the soup at all.  I can't eat it.  You would have not made any less of a failed meal if you had just given me an empty Styrofoam bowl with a note inside that said "Gotcha!" and a smiley face. 

I walked back and asked the bartender for a spoon; she sighed.  She didn't say anything, she was just soooooo exhausted by my question, she had to sigh.  She asked around, and then produced one from the back somewhere.  I turned to leave again, but looked in the bag out of curiosity...no ketchup either.  Ketchup isn't as big of a deal; but since no one asked me if I needed anything, I took it upon myself to ask the food-runner as he passed if there were ketchup packets.  He went on the hunt.

It seems no one has ever asked for ketchup before at Chili's.  No one knew where it was.  They looked everywhere! They shouted out of the kitchen door!  Alas, there weren't any to be found...ketchup, WHERE IS THE KETCHUP? Is it here? Is it under this?  What do we do?  I find this odd, as you are a restaurant that specializes in the sale of hamburgers, a common vehicle for ketchup.

The entire point of ordering something "to-go" is to eat food somewhere at a time I do not have the resources to cook for myself.  Some people order take-out food because they simply don't feel like cooking.  However, when you have a Chili's in the middle of an office park, and I come in during the lunch hour and I am wearing a tie, chances are I'm not sitting at home on my couch watching reruns of "The Real Housewives," within walking distance of a supply of spoons in my kitchen.  I'm at work, at my desk, trying to quickly eat something because I'm rushing through my day today and I don't have any extra time for dealing with nonsense created by your bored, disgruntled food-runner.

My question seemed to frustrate your staff, which they made evident with their dirty looks obviously directed at me, while making huffing noises.  Whatever,  I didn't have time.  I gave up and left.  But this is not just about a spoon and ketchup packets.  I'm tired of trying to engage in a simple transaction like buying a sandwich, and encountering a complicated process because employees don't feel like they are paid enough to care about their day-to-day existence.  I know writing this letter will change nothing.  At most, one of you in your offices at Chili's, Inc. will call a manager at this restaurant, that manager will give a stern lecture to the staff about "Blah blah blah customer service blah," and then the staff will say nasty things to each other in the kitchen about the manager's bad attitude.  Nothing will change.  No one will take any initiative to simply put a box of plastic forks/knives/spoons by the door and say "Attention employees: these are often important when eating food!"  No one is accountable, no one cares.  And tomorrow, someone will order soup from you, and they will receive soup without a spoon. 

So I would like that dollar back.  That bartender didn't do anything other than print out a receipt that had a space that said "Tip: ____.____", to which I wrote something for no reason other than feeling like I was obligated to do so.  Tips are for services provided, and they gave me bad service, so they don't deserve them, right?  I don't think so.

Please contact me if you would like my address for delivery of that dollar.

CATERPILLARS

Monarch butterfly caterpillars are crawling around on the milkweed plants in front of my building. I don't want them to die by the hands of our barbaric "gardeners" (translation: guys who drive in a van with 'lawn service' spray-painted on the side, and hack at everything in sight).  Can I bring them inside somehow? Or how do I find their cocoons?  I've never seen one on any of the plants...I wonder if the caterpillars ever make it that far.