Raise and Win With A Pair of Jacks

There are a lot of things about people you can tell just by looking at them. You might look at my bushy, uncombed hair and tell that I am lazy. Indeed, after towel drying my hair, I don't give it a second thought.

On the other hand, there are certain things about people that can't be told from appearance alone. Who would have guessed that O.J. Simpson was insane? In a similar way, people find it hard to believe I am an identical twin.

"There are two of you walking around?" is a common response. Jokingly, I hope. But it is true, my brother and I have identical DNA. There might only be seven minutes between our births, but our personalities are worlds apart.

Providing that bit of information brings about a plethora of questions, so I figured I would address some of these misconceptions.

No, we don't finish each others' sentences, and we didn't go to each others' classes when we were in grade school. We simply strived to be different.

When my brother and I look back on our childhood photos, we sometimes can't tell the difference between the two of us, which provided a reason for why we decided to grow so far apart from each other.

Before my twin and I went to college, we made everything a contest. When we were younger, we would wrestle - more like beat the crap out of each other - just to see who wouldn't have to sit in the back seat of the van.

Because of this long-standing competition, we grew to dislike, maybe even hate each other. Our relationship was as healthy as a custody meeting with a divorced couple - awkward at best.

We intentionally didn't do the same things, for the sake of being different. My mother would blame herself, but it isn't her fault.

It is just natural for two people who are genetically similar to try and be as different as they can. It allows us to form our own identities, which we did.

I stayed in California for college, and he got the good-neighbor discount on his tuition from University of Nevada, Reno. He wanted to drive a big truck, while I am satisfied with almost scraping the ground in my sports car. He chose to major in business, while I chose to live a life of poverty with journalism.

He likes his waffles on the crispy side, while I enjoy them closer to fluffy. His favorite car at the moment is the astonishing Bugatti Veyron, while I think the best in the world is the 806-horsepower Koenigsegg CCX.

He bought a yuppie Mac, but I have a powerful PC.

He roots for the Wolf Pack, while I cheer for the Spartans.

We have our differences, and we always will. But when it comes down to it, trying to become different people made the both of us grow closer. And in the same way we ended up liking some of the same things, from trying to be different.

Our tastes in music are somewhat identical. We both have brunette girlfriends - and no, they are not twins. And even though we don't cheer for the same college football team, we managed to be in the same conference. He has the bragging rights this year.

Even though we probably wouldn't admit it, we don't mind the other being around, dare I say enjoying the other's company. So relax, Mom, we turned out all right.

As for the question of who is the evil twin, we haven't reached a conclusion. But he does have a T-shirt that I accept as his confession.

Column for December 9, 2008. It is my material. © 2008

Journey to the Center of a Woman's Purse

It is a week away from the beginning of finals and I can't think of a better time to stop complaining about the work I have to do. But I can't - I am the self-proclaimed king of procrastination.

The trouble is some people see the things that I do as a waste of time … like sitting on the toilet. I read somewhere (probably on the can) that over a lifetime, the average man "wastes" 394 days sitting on the throne. I think that most men would agree that those 56 weeks is a time to be cherished.

On the other hand, the eternity spent waiting for a lady to find something in her oversize handbag is not. While most women carry one, it confuses me beyond comprehension as to why.

The time spent looking for things that have fallen down below the amassed clutter is a true waste of time.

If I suspect that a friend of mine keeps her cell phone in a purse, I will just write an e-mail. I fear that 40 minutes of a Bon Jovi ringtone while she rummages around for her phone would end up with a few pissed-off people or a smoldering cowskin clutch - talk about a "Blaze of Glory."

I can't figure out why ladies need more than one purse and why most have 20. I was once told that it had something to do with the seasons, so I guess that means there are 16 more that I don't know about.

It is also said that a pocketbook can make or break an outfit. I happen to think that no piece of tanned cowhide will help the worst of fashion faux pas. But what do I know? I am just a man.

I am not familiar with the contents of these cumbersome carryalls, so over the weekend, while my sister wasn't looking, I took a peek inside her bag.

Floating on top of the ocean of hodgepodge was the mighty iPhone and some members of the makeup family. But as I dove under the epipelagic zone, I encountered a pair of large sunglasses and a school of used chewing gum wrappers. I was tempted to explore deeper into the abyss but retreated, fearful of losing a limb or being sprayed by an estranged pepper spray canister.

Had I ventured deeper, I may have come across currency from a country that doesn't exist anymore or a prescription for a medical ailment that cleared up years ago.

I know things tend to get lost in bags of females, so I keep waiting to read interesting headlines in junk-news tabloids.

"Paris Hilton finds bones of past pet Chihuahua in Prada purse." Or "Secret al-Qaida hideout found in Laura Bush's handbag."

I can hear the ladies screaming right now, "We just want to be prepared!"

Well, that is all fine and good, but do you need cough medicine for kids you haven't had yet, or eyeglasses for astigmatism you haven't been diagnosed with? Just ask a man.

I don't leave my house without my phone, wallet or key ring, all of which can fit inside the pockets of my jeans. The great part is that I still have an open pocket to hold a rolled up copy of a newspaper. That comes in handy when I am spending quality time on the commode.

Column for December 2, 2008. It is my material. © 2008

Defeating the "Green" Purpose

I read somewhere that the average speed of passenger vehicles driving during times with no congestion is around 75 mph in California. And residents of the "Golden State" are still complaining about fuel prices?

If drivers started driving 55 mph, they could reduce fuel consumption and the impact it has on their bank accounts. As much as this information is pertinent - Sammy Hagar predicted it - they can't drive 55.

I found myself behind a fuel tanker on Interstate 680 last week, and I admit I was moving too slow. But I tailgated tanker trucks the entire way to my folks' house and found my gas tank happy and more full than usual.

While gliding along in the slow lane, I noticed a strange phenomenon. Toyota Prius drivers were having trouble staying out of the fast lane. It wasn't because some had the diamond-lane OK, by way of clean-air vehicle passes, but instead their drivers couldn't keep the accelerator pedals off of the floor.

Hybrid owners beware: Just because you have one, doesn't mean you are saving the environment. So, you folks who drive 90 mph on the freeway in your "green" vehicles, you're not helping the environment at all. In fact, you might as well be flipping the bird to the leader of global warming awareness, Al Gore.

By driving your hybrid car that fast, you are defeating the purpose of having one in the first place. The fuel efficiency of a hybrid comes from using the electric motor, which only is used in times of limited power demand. Since the Prius has the aerodynamic qualities of a wedge of cheese, on the freeway it is always in demand for power that is supplied by the gas engine. So driving above the speed limit makes hybrid users just as guilty of polluting the atmosphere as Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger and his Hummer.

It might be trendy for people to appear environmentally friendly, but if you bought a Prius for its looks, you might want to lay off the greenhouse gases. But automakers are starting to change the way consumers think about "green" vehicles.

The electric car company Tesla Motors produces an electric sports car capable of reaching 60 mph from 0 in 3.9 seconds, with thoughts of making a faster model. Dodge has dropped the production and development of future Dodge Vipers and has replaced it with the EV, a two-passenger, rear-wheel-drive sports car. The only problem with these zero-emissions vehicles is that you would have to spend around $100,000 to "do your part" in saving the environment.

The upshot to dropping the down payment on a house is that you won't have to buy gas for your car again. With that money, you could send your kid to engineering school and have her become the genius who invents the saltwater-powered car.

Electric and hybrid cars are not the solution to global warming, and maybe that is why I see most of these hybrids exceeding the speed limit.

But if there is any hope for solving the problems with the world's dependence on oil and fulfilling Al Gore's prophecies, then we should start looking at our driving habits.

If things keep going the way they are with global warming, I am going to start saving up for a solar-powered houseboat.

Column for November 25, 2008. It is my material. © 2008

Five Digits of Freedom: Finally Getting A ZIP Code

Column for November 18, 2008. I know this is a lazy excuse for a blog post, but it is my material. © 2008

Those yuppie hipsters in Beverly Hills just revitalized the hit teen drama "90210" and I couldn't be less interested. Bringing back the historic ZIP code proves that people often don't think about the five-digit region they live in, unless it is famous.

Tommy Tutone immortalized the unforgettable phone number in the song "Jenny." I apologize if you start belting out 867-5309 at your dinner table this evening. But unless your city is famous, most people across the country don't know where you are. You could argue that California, from Oakland to Sactown, the Bay Area and back down, became famous in Tupac Shakur's "California Love."

Unless you're constantly standing in lines at the post office, you may be unaware of your local ZIP code, let alone your neighboring town's, but that is not the case for folks in Larose, La. They have been traveling to their neighboring town's post offices to get their mail for four decades, according to an Associated Press article.

According to that same article, beginning Saturday, "the 7,000 or so who live in the town can start using 70373 and should soon receive letters and packages in their roadside mailboxes for the first time."

This bit of news really made me think about how I take the post office for granted. In the last two and a half years, I have lived in three different ZIP codes, but because of their design, I have received all the mail sent to me and rejoiced when I received my first articles of junk mail.

While there are certain things about the U.S. Postal Service that make people scream, like identity theft and countless amounts of coupon pages, these are things that the citizens of Larose have not had the experience of pulling out of their end-of-driveway boxes.

Now they have the joy of experiencing everything that comes with owning a mailbox. Like having it knocked over by a reversing truck or a disgruntled teenager with a baseball bat. As well as the occasional animal or insect that decides to make its home inside or the possible ridicule from neighbors that dislike your flamboyantly pink piglet mailbox housing.

The children of Larose will now get the chance to try and hide their report cards from their parents. Magazine subscriptions can be read on the day of delivery instead of on the day that you had enough time to go to the post office.

Members of the campus housing community may be sympathetic to Larose's plight because when I lived in Campus Village Building B, I often found myself saying, "But my mailbox is all the way in Joe West."

According to the AP article, "Residents petitioned for years to bring a rural route to the area, but the switch wasn't made until a recent survey showed widespread support, said Daisy Comeaux, spokeswoman for the U.S. Postal Service."

If only the survey would have been conducted 40 years beforehand …

So, congratulations, citizens of Larose, you no longer have to go to the neighboring town to get your mail. Now you have entered into a world of global identity that includes possible anthrax letters and Victoria's Secret catalogs.

I Just Don't Understand Tarantino

Like my previous blogs have mentioned, I have to catch up on my blogging, so I am going to catch up with number three on my list.

3. I watched "Reservoir Dogs" over the weekend and I will give you my review. Mainly how I don't fully understand Quentin Tarantino.

This excessively bloody, vulgar and violent movie is what Quentin Tarantino was looking for when he directed the film. It continues his successful line of movies that make audience laugh, cringe and scratch their heads.

The laughing is induced from the hilarity of some of the over-the-top gore and contrasting situations the characters are placed in. The cringing comes from an abundance of grotesque violence that is visually and audibly terrifying. The sheer amount of blood involved could make blood banks happy for years.

But the third point, the point I just don't get in Tarantino's masterful design is the cut-and-paste format that he uses for the majority of the film. To me it is a distraction from the forward progression of the plot. Some people love it, some people hate it.

I am split. I like the idea of doing the puzzle piece movie style because it makes the viewer try to put everything together, much like a jigsaw puzzle, but you try to put it together before the movie puts it all together for you.

On the other hand, I don't like it because the movie is going to solve it for us anyway. I have seen plenty of good movies that have forward progression and hit on the plot twisting tales in real time, or through flashbacks. You might know this as the "Oh factor." The point in the movie where you go, "Ohhhh, I get it now!"

As for the movie review, I liked it enough not to turn it off ... the second time. I began the movie and felt it took too long to get moving. Also I felt that poor Mr. Orange has the unfortunate roll of bleeding to death the entire film. Two hours of barely moving and profusely bleeding from the stomach must have been an awkward script to read and accept. "Yes, I want that role!"

The movie has an amazing cast, minus Tarantino casting himself like usual. The cast of Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, Chris Penn, Steve Buscemi and Harvey Keitel do a great job of filling Tarantino's expectations, but frankly, I think they were a little too low. This movie could have been a classic bank-robbery-gone-wrong movie, but instead is just another decent rental for a slow, lonely Friday night.

I can see a lot of people disagreeing with what I have written because, like I said, you either love him or you hate him. So, I guess I hate him. Drum roll please...

Verdict: (3 of 5 stars) - Pictures and stars to come, when I get to my desktop.