Team stein!

Yesterday morning at the doctor’s office I, Bob Glickstein, signed in at the reception desk. I was followed by a man named Milstein. He was followed by a man named Epstein!

Suppose fully 5% of this office’s patients have names ending in “stein” (surely a very generous assumption). The odds of three of those patients showing up in a row at random are slimmer than 8,000 to 1 — and they only get slimmer if the proportion of “stein” patients is less than 5%, as seems likely. (At 2%, the odds shoot up to 125,000 to 1 against.)

The likelier explanation is that it was “stein” day at this particular office. Gratifyingly both Mr. Milstein and Mr. Epstein pronounced it STEEN like I do, not STINE like Drs. Franken- or Ein-. What are the odds of that!

Science limerick

Posted moments ago on Facebook in response to a challenge from They Might Be Giants for “science limericks”:

Is space made of strings or of foam?
Is it flat? Does it curve like a dome?
  Does time go both ways?
  Is the cosmos a phase?
I don’t know, but I still call it home

Lyrics showdown!

Chris Cornell, “You Know My Name” (the theme from Casino Royale) vs. Maggi, Pierce, and E.J., “Yipee-I-A.”

[audio:http://www.geebobg.com.s3.amazonaws.com/my_name.mp3]

Ask any tuna you happen to see…

The other day I tweeted this on Twitter:

Experiment: reply to this tweet with a single word. I will take the next 24 hours’ responses and work all the words into a new blog post.

I got two responses: “Mythological” from atrelaun and “mayonnaise” from GregBulmash. So, as promised…

In the morning, Mike’s mom made the usual menu for Mythological Mondays: opening a can of mermaid meat, she mixed it with some mayonnaise and spread it between two slices of multi-grain.

Meh.

ZONNOZOON

Today is the birthday of my high school friend Steve, who is among the foremost of the class of smarter-than-me, funnier-than-me friends that I tended to cultivate. One of the many memorable ways in which he made me laugh was a throwaway gag that has stuck with me all these years: he doodled the word ZONNOZOON on a piece of paper, read it aloud to me in a dramatic announcer voice, and then rotated the paper ninety degrees so that it now read NOZZONOOZ, which he read in the same hearty voice. Another ninety degrees turned it into ZOONOZZON, and then NOOZONNOZ.

I was helpless with laughter. Strangely, most of the people to whom I demonstrated ZONNOZOON in the days and months and years that followed failed to be quite as amused as I’d been that first time (and remain to this day). I guess there’s still something about Steve that’s funnier-than-me.

Happy birthday, Steve! Here’s a present I made for you.

Dark Knighty-night

Many nights at lights-out, my kids will ask me to tell them a story. Sometimes I relate a bit of science or history; sometimes it’s something autobiographical; and sometimes I just make up a story they’ll like.

Last night I was too sleepy to do any of those, but they asked, so I started giving my usual cop-out spiel:

“Once upon a time, there were two boys, Jonah and Archer, who were so sleepy that they snuggled under their blankets…”

but Archer said, “No! Not about us!”

so I said, “Once upon a time, there was a dad who was so sleepy…”

but Archer said, “No!”

so I said, “Once upon a time, there was a grandpa who lived far away…”

but Archer said, “No! No Glicksteins! Tell a superhero story!”

So I thought a moment and said, “Once upon a time, Batman wanted some ice cream.”

Archer, knowing my pacifist tendencies in storytelling, said, “No, with fighting!”

So I said, “Hold your horses. How do you know there’s not going to be fighting in this story?” I continued, “Batman went to the ice cream store and said” — and here I put on my best iron-willed, tortured, costumed-vigilante voice — “‘One scoop of chocolate, please.’ The man behind the counter said, ‘I’m sorry, Batman, but we’re out of chocolate.’ So… Batman fought with the man behind the counter!

Archer said, “No! Batman wouldn’t fight with the ice cream man!”

I said, “You’re right. OK: once upon a time, Batman wanted some ice cream. So he went to the ice cream store and said, ‘One scoop of chocolate, please.’ But the man behind the counter said, ‘I’m sorry, Batman, but I just sold the last scoop of chocolate to Spider-Man over there.’ So… Batman fought with Spider-Man!

At this point, Jonah, who’d been listening in quiet amusement, chimed in, “But Batman is DC and Spider-Man is Marvel!” Which impressed the hell out of me.

So I said, “You’re right! So there could never be a Batman/Spider-Man crossover, could there? OK… Once upon a time, Spider-Man wanted some ice cream. So he went to the ice cream store and said, ‘One scoop of chocolate, please. No, wait: vanilla. Oh hold on: strawberry. No, rocky road!’ The man behind the counter started to get impatient. ‘Please make your selection, sir,’ he said. So Spider-Man said, ‘I really want cookies and cream. Wait, I mean pralines and cream! Ooh, maybe I should get some sherbet instead. Lemon — no, orange! Wait, rainbow! Eh… maybe I should stick with chocolate…’ Now the man behind the counter wasn’t just impatient, he was angry. His skin turned green, and he got really big and burst out of his shirt — he was the Incredible Hulk! And he fought with Spider-Man.

Archer: “They wouldn’t fight. They’re both good guys! They’re on the same team!”

Me: “Maybe it wasn’t really Spider-Man. Maybe it was one of those bad guys who can make himself look like someone else.”

Jonah: “Like Clayface!”

Me: “But he’s DC!”

Jonah: “Oh yeah…”

Honestly, it’s a wonder those kids ever get to sleep.

Darnedest candor

Over dinner the other night, Andrea and I were gushing to our kids about how wonderful they are. “We’re so proud of you guys,” we told them. “You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re polite, you’re thoughtful. We’re very lucky to have two such wonderful boys.” They seemed indifferent to our praise, so, curious to know how and whether they valued their own attributes, I turned first to Archer and asked, “What’s your favorite thing about yourself?”

It took him just a beat to answer definitively, “My wiener.”

Hey, he’s only saying what the rest of us are thinking.

Be the envy of your peers

A few days ago, my friend and former colleague, the funny and talented Greg Bulmash, visited my blog after a prolonged absence. There he saw my latest What brings you here post and grew curious about vampire lesbian girl scouts.

If I say so myself, the phrase “vampire lesbian girl scouts” all but demands further exploration.

Anyway, he wrote about it on his own blog in what he claimed, in e-mail to me, was an innocent shout-out. But I know what was really going on: he wanted to muscle in on some of that “vampire lesbian girl scout” search traffic. Indeed, as of this moment his post has taken over the top spot from mine in a Google search for that phrase.

The war is on. And this post is my escalation. Presenting the geebobg Vampire Lesbian Girl Scouts t-shirt!

Available in men’s and women’s styles and a variety of colors in the geebobg CafePress store.

While you’re there, pick up a Mucoshave coffee mug for that special someone!

A holiday tradition

You didn’t think I was going to leave you hanging, did you? It’s a little late in the season but here’s my annual reimagining of a popular seasonal song.

You better not look
You better not leer
Your best bet is getting the
Hell out of here
Santa Claus is wearing a gown

He’s batting his eyes
And pursing his lips
Walking in heels
And swinging his hips
Santa Claus is wearing a gown

When Mrs. Claus is sleeping
He sneaks into her clothes
He calls some elves in a girlish voice
And they paint each other’s toes

When Christmas is done
The year is so long
He passes the time
In drag — that so wrong?
Santa Claus is wearing a gown

(Previously.)

Flux capacitor fluxing

So yesterday I’m on Facebook and I see a status update from my friend Amy from elementary school, who moved to Hollywood and was an actress for a while. Attached to her status update is a comment from one Claudia Wells, a name I recognize. Another elementary school classmate of mine and Amy’s? I send her a “friend” request with the note, “Are you the Claudia Wells from P.S. 196 in Forest Hills, NY?”

She writes back promptly to say she isn’t — she’s a classmate of Amy’s from high school. That’s when I Google her and discover she’s the actress who played Marty McFly’s girlfriend in Back to the Future, the film in which a short-circuit sends Michael J. Fox thirty years into the past. And then I remember that the Claudia who went to school with me and Amy had a different last name entirely. How did I get it wrong? I guess seeing the name “Claudia” juxtaposed with Amy’s caused a mental short-circuit — one that sent me into the past — by exactly thirty years! (To 1978, my last year of elementary school and the last time I saw Amy or Claudia.) I write back and tell her so.

I slay me. I’m quite sure Claudia Wells doesn’t get nearly enough Back to the Future references in her life.