Hey... How's it warm after two hours?

"Olympic fever! Catch it!"

I'm not sure that's the catchphrase for this year's games, but it seems familiar enough. Isn't that pretty much what they always say? "Catch it!" Like it's your bus to work or something. Usually when talking about a fever, the goal is to not catch it, but to rather remain healthy so you can get through your day.

Here's what I don't understand. Why do people care so fucking much? Granted, I'm the last person you should talk to about sports. And it's one of those questions whose answer has always eluded me, and continues to do so even in my years of "adulthood."

The reason I bring this up is because of what my friend Ross said to me today. Here is our IM conversation:

me: what's going on

Ross: i was watching the olympics

me: hahahaha
me: wait
me: women's volleyball?

Ross: no
Ross: PHELPS
Ross: otherwise known as Namor

me: who?

Ross: Michael Phelps
Ross: the fricking human dolphin
Ross: just won his 8th gold

me: ...
me: ohhhh.. kayyyyy.....
me: so he's a good athlete i take it
me: (otherwise i guess he wouldn't be in the olympics, huh?)

Ross: www.drudgereport.com   [Note: An entire column of page layout is dedicated to the Olympics]

me: U - S - A! U - S - A!
me: sorry heh
me: can't get into it

Ross: lol
Ross: its kinda hard to not know who he is tho

me: well, i did it. what do i win?
me: sounds like not knowing who he is, is more of an achievement than a really great athlete being really great at being athletic.

Ross: you win "Mormon/Shutin/Amish award of totally not caring about anything going on in the world"

me: hahaha
me: anything "not important" you mean

As you can see, I have a somewhat "don't care" attitude towards these games; but it's not just the Olympics, oh no. It's all sports. Hockey, tennis, baseball, even football - which is considered blasphemy here in San Diego, where every car on the street has a Chargers window decal. This year's Super Bowl saw my life being threatened as soon as people found out I was from New York - apparently some Giants guy said "no" when offered a position on the Chargers, and so now he is the antichrist.

My hatred of all things althetic stems from high school, where I first got the bitter taste of sports-related favoritism in my mouth. Apparently anyone wearing a letter on their jacket was able to fall asleep in math class without consequence. Not only that, but they could hand in homework late / not at all, cheat on tests, and in general achieve a D but get marked with a C if it meant their going on to represent our school in some stupid, chest-beating ritual that involved running around on a field. Meanwhile, the people who worked hard had their efforts rewarded with some jock copying from over his shoulder. Oh, and we didn't get to date or associate with the popular, pretty girls - that was jock territory, natch.

But wait, there's more. Work was constantly being done to improve the grounds on which the athletes played; back in the actual classes where things were taught, our books were so old that Alaska wasn't a state yet and there were only 5 elements on the periodic table. (I'm exaggerating a bit.)

In college, I learned that this wacky, backwards-seeming trend was not, in fact, a fad brought on by delirium brought on by a tainted water supply. No, in fact it was, quite possibly, even stronger! I had gone to high school in a small town (one whose greatest achievement was being the turning point of the Revolutionary War - small potatoes, really) and the college town wasn't very huge either. Well, it was a community college, and like the high school town, being in a small, rural part of Upstate NY meant that you had to flaunt your minor scholastic achievements. As long as they were sports-related.

Now, to be fair, smart kids got recognition in the area papers too - on page 4D, right underneath the local church's pancake breakfast announcement. On the front page? You guessed it - fucking sports. "Local Varsity Champ Wins 3rd Place," "New Coach Has Winning Strategy - and Smile," and other headlines that were basically prettied-up versions of primitve grunts.

I hope I'm painting a clear picture of where I'm headed with this. The Olympics (or "the time every few years when we care what country we come from") has only solidified my opinion that people give more than they should about sports. We're doing chemical analysis on Mars. Florida is under a state of ermegency. Moon rocks might provide power in the future. But what do we have on the front of every paper and news website in the country? Michael Phucking Phelps.

Another reason why sports makes us stupid, at least in this country? Back in NY, I used to work in a town called Fort Edward - another historical spot and a stop on the path of the Revolutionary War. I think it's even mentioned in Last of the Mohicans. Well, do you know what the Fort Edward high school's sports team is called?

The Forts.

Yeah... let that sink in for a bit.

Went to a "Comedy Club" last night, if you can call it that. It was called the Comedy Palace, and a palace it was not. It was originally called The Greek Palace, for reasons we found out soon enough - they served some Greek beers, among the usual American piss-water fare. And I think some of the food had a twist of Mediterranean in it. But it seems like they just retrofitted the restaurant with a stage, and changed one word to make it seem like a place to go see comedy.

It turns out the comedians are all local - which explains why they don't list any performers on their website. See so yourself: www.thecomedypalace.com. So we didn't know who we'd be seeing, until we got there. Myself and the roommate, Casey, planned on meeting a coworker and two of her friends there.

The main reason for our going there is that it was free. Someone had gotten tickets at the office (Two tickets - a $50 value! Gag.) and so we said, what the hell? Of course the trip was preceded by us telling our metalhead neighbors where we were going, and the impending disappointment that awaited:

"Never again," Shawn said.

"Why not?" I replied.

"There's a two-drink minimum, which is why it's free. There were four of us there one time, and we each had 2 or 3 drinks, and the tab came out to $100. They also add the gratuity to the bill without you knowing it."

"... damn."

So with that in mind we still went, just making sure to check our drinks and stick as close as we can to the minimum. Before the show started we ordered a $6 plate of "Chicken Strips" - and their word play is simply hilarious. They were strips, alright - 7 strips made from 2 small fillets. Literally, someone had taken $3 worth of chicken, sliced it up lengthwise, and served it on a bed of lettuce. Now we understand how this place doesn't go out of business. And of course the drinks on the menu didn't list any prices, so we didn't really know what the final cost would be.

Eventually our other friends arrived, after the first comedian had already finished. The show itself was quite good - despite being local comedians, they were all very funny. The last comedian, Tyrel something, got the biggest laugh out of me when he described beating up a retarded kid and stealing his bus pass. (After the kid had told Tyrel not to "nigger lip" his weed pipe.)

At the end of the show, one of the comedians got onstage one last time to plead for our monies. He told us that the reason why this "exclusive" deal they have with the club is so "great," is because they don't charge the club. (Read: the club doesn't pay them.) So, they were asking for tips. Tips! Comedians, asking the audience for tips! I felt bad but kind of abused at the same time... not by the comedians, exactly - they deserve to be rewarded, because when asked to provide a funny night for a bunch of over-privileged yuppies, they completely delivered. But to have the club put them in that position should be criminal. All of this, on top of - you guessed it - adding the gratuity into the bill, for a minimum of $12 in cheap beer, without mentioning this fact, and still including a place for "Tip" on the receipt*. Amazing.

And so that's where my headline comes from. I, like our friend Shawn before me, will probably never go there ever again. The place should change its name to The Scamopolis - that way it still comes across as a funny, theatrical venue, and without sacrificing that Greek charm.

* Our bill ended up being $20 per person, includng their mandatory "gratuity."

So, I'm dog tired. "But Erik," you say, "We've already heard this. We know that Comic-Con kicked your flabby ass." Fair enough. But what I didn't tell you was that last night, I attended my second screening for Legend Films, and my first screening in Hollywood.

"But Erik," you're thinking, "Isn't Hollywood the epitome of delusion and seediness?" Right you are! However I had a blast, seeing as how I got to attend a screening of the cult classic Forbidden Zone, which has been colorized by Legend Films (and looks amazing), after eating some calamari and drinking Hefeweissen all on the Legend tab. Who can pass up free seafood and beer? Not I, good sir!

The trip up to LA was long, 2 and a half hours or so, which believe it or not is good timing considering we were there for part of Rush Hour (the hour, not the Chris Rock vehicle). It was myself, 2 coworkers, and one of my coworkers current squeezes, if squeeze is implying here that he is on the receiving end of a divorcee's rebound.

Myself and Christy, a designer, drove up to her house and then we took the third coworker (Sandra)'s car, and made the trek up. Traffic was pretty much fine until we got to Santa Ana and the outskirts of LA. Stop-and-go traffic in LA makes the "bad" traffic in LA look like a lazy stroll on the Garden State Parkway (that's in New Jersey for you non-New-Jersey-ites). Yeah, it sucks that much. But again we made it in record time so all was well.

My friend from Long Beach showed up a short time later, to the British pub known as the Pig 'n' Whistle. Yeah, don't ask, because I don't know. So with us in one booth and the Legend crew (along with The Man himself, Richard Elfman - of Oingo Boingo fame... oh and he directed some movie called Forbidden Zone) we ate 3 plates of calamari (!!!!) and drank wines and beers and waters.

Later we walked next door to the Egyptian Theatre, which happens to be literally on Hollywood Blvd. The only Walk of Fame star that I remember was Bob Eubanks's. There were others but, I had just drank beer. Also in the very close horizon, the next mountain over, was the Hollywood hill. (The one with the sign on it.) For some reason the only thing I could think of was the scene where "Hollywoodland" gets shortened due to a Zeppelin malfunction in The Rocketeer. Yeah, I'm a dork, so sue me.

The show itself was a lot of fun, the house was mostly packed with FZ fans and newcomers alike. We were in the balcony (which seem to be the best seats in the house) and were seated behind Mr. Elfman himself. I hope my obnoxious laughing didn't come across as fake. I really did enjoy the flick and it was the first time I'd gotten to see it in its entirety, in one sitting.

After the movie ended there was a Q&A with Richard, the woman who played the Queen, John Muto who did the animation, and one other key production guy whose name escapes me. Also via phone was Matthew Bright who played "Chicken Boy" in the movie.

Some cool details leaked about the sequel they are apparently writing now, called Forbidden Zone II: The Forbidden Galaxy. Kind of reminds me of The Forbidden Kingdom, but I'm sure the Elfmans have been working on theirs for a while now.

The Q&A concluded (with many, many repetitions of "Just one ore two more questions" from the moderator... oy) and we hung around for a bit, trying our damndest to be Famous By Association, before we took off. We stopped at a 24 hour Mexican place (maybe God does exist), got myself a carnitas burrito, and then headed home, finally crashing in my bed at 2:30 in the morning.

All in all the experience was great fun.

Waking up at 7am for work right after such a night? Not so much.

***

Some random observations about LA and Hollywood.

• Graffiti is really a fungus: you paint over it and it just reappears.
• I almost tripped over a bum. Who was asleep. At 9pm.
• The drivers are Kings of the Fuckheads.
• Avoid being there at all costs.