Because funny never gets old.

One day in high school art class, many moons ago, I decided to answer everything my friend Heidi said with the phrase "That's what she said."

Not like I woke up in the morning and decided, but after the third time I did it and it was still making me giggle, I just stuck with it.

That's what she said.

Oh snap, I just did it to myself.

That's what she said.

Here for your annoyance/enjoyment, here's a compilation of Michael Scott's best joke on The Office. It's hard not to laugh.

That's what she said.

People are people, too

When I was about 5 years old, while riding in the car with my family, I had an epiphany of sorts as I gazed at all the cars on the freeway.

Everyone in all of those cars had entire lives separate from mine. All the stuff I'd experienced in my 5 long years on Earth -- they'd gone through that much stuff a few times over.

It's kind of obvious, I suppose, but as a little kid, trying to wrap my head around all the intrapersonal connection those number dictated, well it was weird.

Other people had other jobs and went to other schools, and lived in different places. I guess it was the first time I saw the world as a micro- and macrocosm, though I wouldn't learn those words for a while.

I think that's part of why I write. Once I realized that all the people were doing all sorts of things, I wondered exactly what it is they were doing. Even now, sometimes when I'm daydreaming--mostly on BART to or from work--I wonder what it is that brought these specific people on this specific car at this time. Where they're going; where they've been; why they seem oblivious to the concept of personal space.

Before too long, I'm writing a story in my head. Sometimes, it will give me an idea for something I want to write, but often it's just a mental exercise, I guess. Like doing crossword puzzles or Sudoku.

Sometimes I see people while walking around San Francisco that sets that process in motion. Yesterday, for example.

While my pal Karyne and I were walking down the street from work to get some lunch and fresh air, respectively, a woman walking the opposite way caught my eye.

Now for those of you reading this who are married to me, when I say she caught my eye, it wasn't in the "homina homina homina" kind of way where your eyes bug out of your head and your tongue unfurls to the ground before rolling back up like a classroom map of the world.

She was wearing casual business attire, for the most part; dark colors, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the -- and I'm not exaggerating -- 4 inches of cleavage that bounded with each step.

Yes, I realize you're probably thinking that I walk around all day in a daze mumbling "boooooooobies" everywhere I go, but I assure you this is not the case. It wasn't titillating (sorry); I just wondered about the practicality. You know, like "Can that be comfortable with them all squooshed up like that?" or "What would happen if she took a deep breath?"

I'm not the gawking type, honest, but sincerely, it looked like she'd bolted someone's butt on her chest.

I thought to myself, hmm, I wonder what the story is behind that outfit?

Am I just being the stereotypical breast-obsessed straight guy? Is there an accepted cutoff point after which cleavage is considered excessive?

I mean, if it were me, I wouldn't get anything done all day because I'd be checking myself every few seconds to make sure I wasn't busting out (sorry again; can't help it). Maybe I'm just overly self-conscious; I try not to bound down stairs too energetically, lest my heaving manboobs display any untoward jiggling.

Help me out here, ladies. Is there a way she was oblivious to her appearance? I'm trying to keep abreast of things like this.

The Ballad of Double Boy

I get home from work, and my wife shows me my 4-year-old son's writing from earlier in the day: many pages of various words. Generally speaking, anytime he writes, chief among the words are variations of "Pixar," "THX" and "Lucasfilm Ltd."

Yes, he's obsessed with Pixar movies. Can you tell?

Now this part is totally my fault. He was sitting next to me, and I didn't notice that he was being quiet, partially because I was tired, and partially because I was watching Battle of the Network Stars. I love my video collection sometimes.

I turned to say something to him when I saw that he had a pen in his hand.

"Brody Alexander!"

"No, I'm Double Boy."

"Huh?"

"Double Boy." He held out his arm. "See? W-W-W..."

Sure enough, for some reason, my son decided he'd be a walking billboard for THX by writing www.thx.com on his left arm.



"Oh boy," I said. "Go show your mom why you're Double Boy."

As he hopped off the chair, I noticed he gave himself stylized kneecap tattoos as well.


Moral of the story: Beware of quiet kids. They're up to something.

I still hate being sick.

Dumb Things I've Done (11 in an unnumbered series)

As a budding 6-year-old comedian, I was always studying what people thought was funny. While over at my parents' friends' house, we caught Every Which Way But Loose on HBO. While not an out-and-out comedy, I noticed there were a few laughs from the grown-ups very now and then.

The biggest laugh was after Clint Eastwood beats the crap out of the Black Widows, a biker gang. As our hero makes his getaway, Clyde the orangutan pops out of the back of the truck and flips them off.

I didn't know why it was funny, but I couldn't ignore the laughs it got. I made a mental note to try it out on my friends.

A few days later at lunch, I saw my friend Jimmy waiting in the hot-lunch line. Now was the time.

"Jimmy!" I yelled across the cafeteria. He whipped his head around, saw it was me, and waved.

I held down my ring and index fingers down with my thumb (as novice bird-flippers often do), and let the bird fly. Jimmy practically exploded with laughter, and I glowed, proud that I had performed the gag satisfactorily.

I saw a shadowy figure swoop in from my left; it was one of the other first-grade teachers, and did she look pissed.

"I don't ever want to see you do that again!" she yelled at me. "Do you understand me?"

I was so shocked--I had no idea I'd done something wrong--that I could only nod numbly. Jimmy came to the table a few minutes later, and I was still so shaken that my eyes were welling up with tears. Yes, I was a wuss.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

I held up the half-eaten sweet pickle from my lunch and explained that while eating it, I bit the inside of my cheek. Somehow it was OK to almost be in tears for that rather than being shrieked at by a teacher.

Now here's the clip that lead me down the path of unbridled evil. DO NOT copy what Clyde the orangutan does if grown-ups around. Learn from my mistakes, people.

Today's serving of WTF

Now, I watched the Donny and Marie show a lot as a kid. I had a little crush on Marie, despite her being a "little bit country." I'm a sucker for brunettes; what can I say?

However, this YouTube clip is just, I mean, I can't decide if this is better or worse than The Star Wars Holiday Special. I'm going to give this a few bonus points for convincing Kris Kristofferson to dress up as Han Solo.



Remember this the next time someone bitches that George Lucas ruined Star Wars with Jar-Jar Binks.

A thought before bed.

My children have turned into phlegm factories. This does not bode well for my wife and I this week.