America is a Gum Chucking Nation (AKA The Saga of the Gum)

It is true I love to chew gum. Something about that wonderful explosion of flavor -- and the fact I've been trying to beat my addiction to nicotine gum for years. But, my issue is not with those who enjoy chewing gum -- it is what happens to the wads when people are done with them.

Fact is: America is a Gum Chucking Nation. People throw their gum, spit their gum, and most disgustingly, put their gum under tables or chairs. I mean, there is nothing more disgusting to me than going to pull your chair in only to place your hands on someones freshly pressed, still soft chewed gum. Parking lots and roads are spotted with smashed pieces of spit out gum - now black little discs made up of someones saliva. Gross.

One big joke in America is how strict Singapore is. We tend to make fun of their silly little laws and excessive fines. But one law I love is NO GUM! There, you can be fined or worse for just chewing gum because this activity, and product, is banned in Singapore under the "Regulation of Imports and Exports (Chewing Gum) Regulations." Except for chewing gum of therapeutic value, the "importing" of chewing gum into Singapore was absolutely banned.

In 2003, there were closed door meetings between George W. and the leaders of Singapore. The issues on the table were the War in Iraq and, you guessed it, chewing gum. Of course, Wrigleys sent their lobbyists to the then-chairman of the U.S. House Ways and Means Subcommittee on Trade, to get chewing gum on the agenda of the United States-Singapore Free Trade Agreement (because of course the gum consumption of some extremely tiny Asian island nation is so important to them). Ridiculous.

But, back to America and my personal gum rules. Many years ago when someone asked for a piece of my gum I usually have a brief moment of apprehension. This wasn't because I was being sellfish --well, allow me to explain.

The gum I chew is either Eclipse or Dentyne Ice. The reason I choose to chew these brands of gum is because they are packaged in blister packs and it is very easy to put my already been chewed (ABC) gum pack into the pack. Although I keep the streets cleaner, I'm viewed as strange for disposing of my gum in this nature. And, even more strange when I refuse to just hand over my pack of gum to someone. I simply don't want the individual to begin to dig into one of my ABC blister pack sections -- because that would be awful -- and I don't want to have to explain my gum disposal methods.

My solution? I just carry a lot of gum. An example: While still seated at lunch, I tend to slam a 'clean' pack down on the table and while people reach for it I steal a piece from MY pack. Quite sneaky I know -- but no worries about people touching my pack. And, the streets remain just a little cleaner and my mind remains a little clearer.

And, I think this whole blister pack gum disposal method should be law in America -- but that won't happen because America is a Gum Chucking Nation.

The Saga of the Dust Bowl

Yes. The venue for Rock the Bells was changed to one of my least favorite places in the world. The Hyundai Pavillion at Glen Helen. The name sounds friendly enough. I mean, I have nothing against Hyundais or Pavillions.

We call the Hyundai Pavillion the Dust Bowl. We vowed a few years back, after spending the day in the Dust Bowl... without shade or easy access to viable food or water... that we would never go again. Well, we went again. Now, not even Rage Against the Machine will draw us back!

Upon our arrival, I remained optimistic about our excursion. We had VIP tickets. We were going to have a glorious air conditioned, shaded tent that we could hang out in. We would be showered with VIP ammenities, like a cool Rock the Bells back pack. Once we checked in, all those things came true. We were chilling out in the tent on leather sofas, drinking pretty decent 'concert' Margaritas, listening to the artists talking to the fans. We went out to the 'upgraded' food stands and got a couple burritos. They were delicious. After a little while, we decided we'd go walk around the performance area with our 'ALL ACCESS PASS'. This is where the night took the first turn for the worse.

We went to the Orchestra Pit access. At the Dust Bowl, this is the closest you can get. Only VIPs are supposed to be in there but the area had been closed by the fire marshal because there were too many people in there. A quick look down into the area revealed that the people there were not VIP ticket holders, as they had no wrist bands on. We were told we can access the area through another entrance and were told to go there. We found space to cram ourselves into a small walkway that provided us a view that was completely obstructed by a huge pillar speaker / monitor stand. We waited in the area for Wu-Tang Clan to finish up, and then the crowd loosened up a bit and we got closer... but we were still restricted from accessing the lower loge area, and more importantly, were not permitted access to the Orchestra Pit section. In other words, the promoters of this concert basically committed FRAUD! We were simply not permitted to enter areas we had every right to be.

Then, the night took an even worse turn!! (Yes, this is a saga series blog entry!!)

When Rage Against the Machine was about to take the stage, we encountered exceptionally rude assholes. First, a guy was digging his nails into my arm trying to move me to squeeze his way past. (For those of you who have been in a mosh pit, you can understand how hard it is to move forward). I told the guy, quite forcibly, to stop grabbing me. He of course acted really tough. Seconds later, someone tried to push pass Princess. Quite forcibly. The man kept saying, "My Father is right there!" There was no room for him to move through, his Father reached past Princess and started to try to pull him through. (The 'son' was about a 300 pounder!) This was followed by Princess' # 1 self defense mechanism... her BLOOD CURDLING SCREAM! The man then proceeded to verbally assault her and squared off like he wanted to physically assault her!! (Princess is a tiny 100 pounder)

Here we go... it takes another WORSE turn!

When the lights went down, and everyone behind us yelling the traditional 'pit' chant "RUSH THE STAGE, RUSH THE STAGE" -- Then, the expected crown surge came, where the people in the back begin to push everyone, with hopes of loosening up the crowd and forcible moving any security barricades that are up. Then, the event staff sprayed MACE on the entire area we were in. The people in the front were basically maced right in the face. This loosened up the crowd even more and just made the surge more successful.

Now, let's go over that again. The event staff, at a concert, making most likely close to minimum wage, are now empowered to spray MACE on people? Although we weren't close, we definitely felt it, and we were not doing anything but trying to survive in the crowd surge.

The event staff, provided by a company called Contemporary Services Corporation, have absolutely no right to use any type of weapons against people who paid to be at an event. The fact they feel empowered to do so is an example of the type of bullshit that our society has learned to put up with.

I wonder what Damon Zumwalt, the President and CEO of Contemporary Services Corporation, would have to say about it? Give him a call at 818-885-5150 and ask him how he would like to pay $160 to be maced in the face.

(No, neither Princess or I wasn't maced in the face, but other people with wrist bands were.)

To be continued...

The Saga of the Sweater

My Father gave me many gifts. In addition to those many tangible things, he also left me with some good genes. My Father was pretty smart and so am I. My Father enjoyed movies a lot, and so do I. But, some gifts I never would have asked for.

It was no secret in our family that my Father was a hairy beast and when I was young I knew that I too would grow into a hairy beast just like him. And, it was true. (Hairy beast is an understatement)

Yes. I've got a lot of body hair. In the old single days, some women freaked out when they saw how hairy I was. To them I used to say: "Come on Baby! Once you go Furry you'll be back in a Hurry!" Sure, I got a lot of laughs with that line but it never did change the fact that I was a hairy beast.

Most of the hair I can deal with. Certain areas I take care of myself, doing man-scaping every month or so to take care of any out of control growth. But, I enjoy having a hairy chest, and Princess appreciates it. It makes me feel manly when she runs her fingers through my chest hair. But, the hair on my back makes me look more like a buffalo than a manly man. So, today, in true Beverly Hills style, I did something about it.

It is the service that everyone is talking about. Appropriately named "Sweater Removal" on the menu at The Shave Beverly Hills, the service addresses the need for men to purge unwanted body hair. And, purging is an understatement.

One proprietor of The Shave (Adam Dishell) and I have been exchanging e-mails for a couple weeks until my courage level, and the prodding by Esby, was ample enough to finally pull the trigger and schedule the appointment for today at 11 AM.

When Princess and I arrived, we were greeted by Adam. Princess, who was wearing her "I'm Blogging This" T-shirt and anxious to blog the event, was offered a glass of wine and was told to have a seat in the lobby. The service area and services at The Shave, for what I can tell, are for "Gentlemen Only".

I was asked to have a seat inside the services area and I was offered a drink. I turned down the drink offer and about 10 seconds into my browsing of a Robb Report, I was greeted by my esthetician. She took me into the Icon Room, hung a do not disturb sign on the outside, closed the door, and told me to take off my shirt. Answering with a prompt "Yes, Mam", I complied.

I got down on my stomach and she proceeded to use the clippers to shear me down like a sheep. After a brief paper change and some major hair cleanup, I got back down and she began to spread wax on my lower back. I felt warm from the wax and it was pretty pleasant. I then felt a brief rubbing, and then, RIP! Just like separating some Velcro, my first section of hair was pulled off. This was followed by another 10 - 15 RIPS! Then, area one was completed. OK... one down, three to go! It was about this time that I blacked out from the pain. (Just kidding!)

Now, I'm a really tough guy and I've been through some terrible pain in my life (For one that comes to mind, see my blog entry "Ouch! Damn Door Jams!"). I found the hair being ripped out of my back to be extremely painful, for about a half of a second. So, all in all, it was really no big deal. After a quick lunch at Hugo's, we came home and Princess pulled out a few (OK 40 -50) hairs that were missed with tweezers.

Just so everyone understands, Princess never forced or pressured me to get my back waxed. I'm pretty sure this is because she wouldn't want me to force her to get any sensitive parts of her body waxed. But, now that it is done, I'm pretty certain she is happy with the end result.

I was told to keep up my smooth, hairless back, the service would need to be repeated every six weeks. I've only got three of my commonly used words for that: Bring it on!

Peace out... :D
JH

The Shave of Beverly Hills

230 S. Beverly Dr.

Beverly Hills CA 90212

(310) 888-2898

The Saga of the Hutch

Well, for about three years now Princess has been looking for the perfect place to store her china. Like so many of the young girls keeping hope chests in anticipation of finally finding the right man to marry, Princess has had her collection of china for quite some time. So, the hunt for a Hutch ensued.

About two weeks ago, in one of our countless trips to different furniture stores, we finally found a Hutch and a Server that match (both each other, and the demands of the Princess!). Once I knew she liked the pair, we pulled the trigger on the purchase.

The store charged us $65 for a 2nd floor delivery and scheduled the delivery for Friday the 13th. When the delivery guys got to the house, they immediately started saying how the Hutch would not fit up the stairs. Now, we've had this problem before because our staircase is very narrow and not that tall. So, after a only a few minutes of trying, they left the Hutch downstairs.

That night we went back to the furniture store and complained. Because we paid for special delivery for the 2nd floor, we thought that meant they would actually do what other delivery guys have done... bring the Hutch in through our upstairs balcony. So, the snippity chick at the furniture store told us that that would require another charge of $145 for "special handling". I just paid the money and re-scheduled the delivery for today.

I got two delivery confirmation calls this time. First, the store called with the typical "guys are coming to your house between 1 PM and 5 PM" thing. Second, the actual driver called me and asked me how I think the Hutch should be brought in the house. I explained the 250+ pound monster must be lifted about 14 feet and go through an upstairs doorwall that is over the garage. He said he was looking forward to hoisting it up there. (Hey, furniture delivery is his thing!)

When the delivery guys arrived, they immediately went to work. First they completely blocked traffic off to our street with their truck pulled up to the house, right under the balcony. They tied up the hutch and with two guys on the balcony, one guy working the lift gate on the truck, and one (very brave) guy lifting the Hutch up above his head (found out later this is the guy from the phone call). Although I really wanted to capture the whole event with my camera, it was about here in the process when I was urgently asked to assist:
So, I sprinted up the stairs and took control of the Hutch, helping them pull it up onto the rail of the balcony. PHEW! OK, back to shooting. The hutch is safe:


With the Saga of the Hutch finally over and it safely placed in the dining room, we'll have to move on to the next adventure with wide-eyed child-like enthusiasm! :)

Peace... JH

The Saga of the Fridge

As many of you know, I'm a loyal Marriott person. I belong to their rewards program, earning Platinum status (75+ nights per year) for a while now. Even though my loyalty with Marriott is still there, I decided to take advantage of a deal with Starwood (a competing program) and stay at the Sheraton Phoenix Airport.

Now, I need a fridge due to my special diet, and I requested one upon my "week one" check in. I was promised the fridge and never got it. No big deal. On "week two" I called ahead and requested a fridge, and was told one would be in my room when I arrived. There was no fridge, so I called the front desk. I was told my fridge would be brought up. It never arrived. I called again, and was told they had no more fridges. So, I complained to the Sheraton site, sending an e-mail.

I heard from the front desk manager the last night of my week two stay. I was told that a fridge would be reserved for me and that I would definitely have one for my upcoming stays. He also left a voice mail asking if everything was OK with the fridge in my room. (There was no fridge in my room)

"Week three" I was certain I'd get my fridge. I walked into my room. No fridge. I called the front desk, and delivery was promised. Never heard anything else. I e-mailed the Front Desk manager again, cc'ing the General Manager (who was cc'd on an e-mail that was sent to me). I then got a voice mail from a front desk person telling me that there were no fridges available. So, I e-mailed again and then canceled my upcoming 14 weeks of reservations with the Sheraton. Then, I went to eat and work out.

When I arrived back to my room, there was a fridge there. Also, my voice mail light was blinking and a voice mail from the front desk manager explained how, even though he told his staff to provide the reserved fridge to me, they were somehow confused.

My only question is: What's wrong with these people? If they had never promised the fridge in the first place there would never had been an issue.