Category Archives: Humor

Sharing is Caring, Right?

The other day I was having brunch with my friend Jaclyn. We had started to peruse the menu when she suggests, “Perhaps you’d like to share something, we could both get different entrées and then split them.”

“Hmmmm…I’m not a good ‘sharer,’ ” I say. I was just being honest.


“Sorry. It’s just that I order what I like to eat.”

I then have to continue into the full length version of why I don’t like to share plates at restaurants. This always makes me feel bad. But, over the last few years I’ve had to learn to just be honest about what I want. Jaclyn, as expected, was completely understanding, while others have not been. I guess that some people just find it weird that you wouldn’t want to split your food with them. But, I don’t.

There is a history to this. I’ve been burned…many times…and not by delicious sizzling fajita meat. Rather, burned by people who order twice as much as I do and then want to just split the bill. Or, burned by people who want to split dessert and then proceed to eat basically the whole thing. OK, so I know that I’m really stepping on people’s toes here. But, I’ll admit it. I have food issues. Especially when it comes to money and food. It’s expensive.

All of this has me thinking…am I just being selfish? Am I just a selfish person in general? Are the people who want to share just mooching? Why does this bother me so much? If I just keep on asking questions will I have to answer all of them eventually? Why am I asking so many questions in the first place? Don’t you just hate it when people ask too many questions? Are you getting tired of reading all my questions?

Wow. What just happened there? Damn. I did it again. Sorry. I really am trying to stop asking questions but I just can’t stop. Why is that? Argh.

Sometimes I have to seriously question my sanity. I mean really. I just never know where this blog is going. Food. Moochers. There, I’m back on track. Alrighty then. I don’t think it’s selfish of me to want to pay for only my portion of food, nor do I think that I should be guilted into eating “family style.” I have no problems with sharing my food when I’m done eating. That’s not it all. But, don’t make me eat part of your fish dish that I didn’t want to begin with just so that you can have part of my chicken dish that I was really hungry for.

Wow. I finally got that out. It’s amazing the journey I have to take you on sometimes just to get to my point. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. I’m sure it was tempting to click off my page and curse my name. I feel better now and slightly hungry. Anyone want to go out for lunch? My treat.

The Dangers of Cafés

There is a growing phenomenon that I find slightly disturbing. People who literally use their neighborhood café–think Starbucks or, my personal favorite, H Café–as their personal office space.

(dramatic pause to gather myself)

Alright. Fine. Whatever. So I refer to H Café as “my office.” So what? It is. I’ve totally taken ownership over my neighborhood café. It’s just nice to know that Hasam (the real owner) knows my name and my order, without me having to speak. He knows if I have my laptop with me that he should put my order on a plate. He also knows if I have that sleepy/”don’t fuck with me” look in my eye that I won’t be staying very long and I will not be talking. Hasam’s very understanding and he’s OK with me just grunting and pointing at pastries. This is for the safety of me as well as the safety of those around me, really.

So I am contributing to this café phenomenon. I can accept that. But, there’s a huge difference between me and the others who use “my office.” I just sit quietly in the corner and blog or read or get high on coffee or all three. The others, and it’s never the regulars, come in and completely pull me out of my happy place. Damn them. I know from the moment they come in the front door carrying those snappy shoulder bags, frantically talking on their geeky bluetooth, all while focusing on the blur of thumbs holding their ever-so-cool blackberry, I know that they’re gonna be trouble. They’re gonna force me to do something that I don’t wanna do and that’s eavesdrop on their conversations, just to see what is so important.

OK, fine. I can’t hide it. I’m jealous. Secretly I want to have something to do that is so important that I have to ignore all those around me. I can’t help myself. I think I have a disorder or something. Let’s call it NLS: Nosy Little Shit disorder. Jeff tells me I’m like Gladys Kravitz from Bewitched. “Gladys get away from that window,” he’ll bellow.

“But, I’ve got to see what they’re fighting about.”

“You even can’t hear them, how do you know that they’re fighting?”

“Well, if they’re going to keep their windows shut like that I’m just going to have to assume certain things. And, I think they’re fighting. Look at the way he’s closed off from his boyfriend. They never really talk anymore.”

“You need help.”

Keep in mind that I live in the city and if people leave their blinds open I can see all their business. Or, perhaps even watch their TV. But, most of all, I like to create stories about their lives. I have an extremely attractive neighbor who I’ve created an entire story around. Keep in mind, everything that I know about him I’ve overheard while at “my office” or simply made up. Realize that I’ve had to take certain liberties, fill in the gaps of knowledge.

He’s a straight married man named Matt who doesn’t get along with his demanding and selfish wife. She constantly nags and berates him. His only joys in life are getting his morning coffee at my office and then taking his two loving dogs for an abnormally long walk. He also enjoys skateboarding to work. It allows him to feel the freedom that he doesn’t feel at home. But, he’s stuck in this unhappy marriage because the wife’s father bought the house for them. He feels trapped.

It’s kind of fun. And, annoying. Every time Jeff and I see him on the street, I add another detail to his story. Oh yeah, and since he’s so cute, I call him my boyfriend. Don’t worry, Jeff knows all about this delusion relationship. He’s supportive. Jeff has nothing to worry about, since I refuse to actually ever talk to Matt. I prefer to just imagine things about him.

The other day my friend Jaclyn and I were walking down the street and Matt was talking to someone in front of his place. All I heard his friend say to him was “see you later, Dan.” I was crushed. Everything that I’ve actually known about Matt wasn’t true. His whole made-up world came crashing down in an instant. His name is Dan. Hmmmm… This changes everything. I think that “Dan” probably had a rough childhood. I bet he ran away from home at age 13, ending up in San Francisco after hitchhiking across the country… Or, maybe I’ll just continue to call him “Matt.” After all, I’ve really enjoyed not liking that wife of his anyway.

275 Smiles

Lately, I have been attempting to “green-up” my life by reading my newspapers online instead of buying them. I realized that I usually only skim through most of the paper anyway, so why buy it? And, I like to read different things from different papers. For instance, I like to read the Money section from USA Today. But, I like to get the world and national news from The New York Times. I get my local news from The San Francisco Chronicle. It just seemed ridiculous to buy three newspapers and read only part of each one, especially when I can get the exact same articles online. Plus, the newspaper sites update the news throughout the day and often have video to go along with the articles. So, there you have it.

Anyway, so I was reading the Times last week and came across an interesting article about Tyra Banks entitled Banksable. I’ve included the link to the video portion because I can’t get a copy of the video that is with it any other way. And, that’s the whole purpose of this post. Tyra says she has extensively studied and rehearsed the smile. And, better yet, her list of “perfected” smiles has evolved into a complete set of just 275. 275 smiles! OK, you all know by now that Tyra Banks has provided me with countless hours of enjoyment. I should send her a “thank you” JibJab (remember, I’m keeping it green.) Which reminds me, check out Jib-Jab. It’s much better than sending regular ecards. You can even put you and your friends faces in videos. Love it. Here’s the Christmas Video I sent out to some of my friends last Christmas:

Anyway, I’ve totally gone off-topic. Crap. Where was I? Oh yes, Tyra’s 275 smiles! 🙂 When you watch the video from The New York Times Magazine article, you’ll be happy to see that she has narrowed it down to just a few important smiles for us. And, I say “why?” Why not give us all 275 smiles, Tyra. Or, are you waiting to put them all in a book? This all got me thinking, “I, too, have several key smiles.” This is what led me to do another fabulous photo shoot for you. I doubt any of these are a part of Tyra’s 275. And, it brings me great pleasure to introduce you to Tyler’s 5 Key Smiles ®:

1) The “Mary Murphy” Smile (from So You Think You Can Dance)

2) The “3rd grade” Smile (This is what my school picture from 3rd grade looked like)

3) The “Oh You…” Smile (Oh you…stop it, you always say the funniest things. Also known as the “Renee Zellweger” Smile)

4) The “I Need a Bathroom” Smile (This look really says it all)

5) The “Old Geezer” Smile (This one really hurts to do–use with caution)


The white guy.

I’m a white guy. More specifically, I’m of Scotch Irish descent, with just a scoop of German and Dutch. But, basically I’m a white guy. I know that even using the term ‘white guy’ will conjure up images of bad dancing and poor social skills–perhaps pocket protectors and thick eyeglasses. The term ‘vanilla’ may come to mind, too. Several dictionaries have described ‘vanilla’ as meaning regular, ordinary, with no special features. But, no matter what stereotype you throw at me, one fact remains: I am a white guy. My skin is so white, in fact, that I have occasionally been labeled ‘albino,’ or even called ‘powder’ (from the movie Powder; about an albino, of course). I’m not sure why people have found it necessary to point out my whiteness to me, as if I’ve never owned a mirror. But, today I am here to clear the air. I’m white, and I know it.

I burn really fast, too. It’s a problem, always having to avoid the sun. But, I’ve been this way all my life. As a child, I had white blond hair to go with my abnormally pale hue. My best friend growing up was a dark-haired Italian kid named Danny. He was as dark as I was light. More than one person made note of our ebony and ivory-like pairing. Many summer days we would spend an afternoon at the pool, only to come out darker (Danny) and redder (Moi), sort of like a strawberry and chocolate concoction.

In high school, I decided to take the universal advice I had received (and still do) from so many people: you just need more sun. Right, as if spending hours and hours in the sun without sunscreen would make me look like Danny–never mind the risk of skin cancer. But, nonetheless, I decided that’s exactly what I needed. So one very hot and very sunny day, Danny and I, with no sunscreen, went to a water park. This is when I discovered a very hard and necessary truth…

Sun + Tyler = >:-(

I had second-degree burns all over my back, shoulders, and chest. Despite having to sleep sitting up for a week, and blistering several times, when all was said and done, I was just as white as before. And, that was almost the last time I would try to tan.

I did have several other minor run-ins with a tanning bed and self-tanning lotion. But, for the most part, I realized I was going to have to be happy with the way I was. This didn’t mean, however, that people would leave me alone about my skin color. Just recently, I was sitting on the jump-seat with a co-worker who happened to be Mexican and very tan. He looked at me and then at himself and started laughing. Then he said, “Dude, you are so white.” Followed by, “Seriously, you need to get some sun.” Then, “Are you an albino?” He used just about every line I had ever heard in my life in the space of about two minutes.

Now, I’ve learned that the best way for me to deal this was just to ignore it and redirect the conversation. But, it wasn’t working. For two days he picked apart every part of my whiteness. And when he was done with my skin color, he decided to start dissecting why white people have no personality, no flavor… It was all way too much. This type of joking would have torn me apart in high school. I would have ended up in a corner rocking myself back and forth.* Luckily, it was just a two day trip. It would all end soon enough.

Later, I was talking to my friend Donna, who I was also working with, and decided to pull up my pant leg to show her just how white I was. And here is how Donna made my day: “Oh my God, boy, you have some serious calves. Can I touch them? I’ve wanted calves like that my whole life!” Of course, I immediately forgot how white my calves were and focused on their nice muscular shape. Then, I just simply hiked my pant leg up further to give her a better view. I replied, “…you like?”

*On a side note, there was one topic that did distract him for a short while–gay sex–I’m not sure why, since he is a straight man, but that seemed to captivate his attention. Actually, I have found that many ‘straight’ guys are rather interested in various matters of gay life.

Oh yeah, and here’s a little treat (or proof) for of all you who think white guys can’t dance…

Me on a delay.

I just love delays. I’m at the airport with my friend Donna and we’re just kickin’ back waiting for our flight. I thought I’d just share our happy delay faces! Donna has the best one liners, including my favorite: I’ve got a scoop of class, a scoop of sass, and a double scoop of ass! (cue the ass smacking) And then there’s: I have one of these so that I can get one of those! (point to crotch, then point to whatever it is that you want, i.e.-a man, a car, a hamburger…)