Mysterious symbol decoded

I figured out what that icon on my new phone means -- it's for missed calls. I can sort of see how an arrow pointing to a phone would indicate that, but not really. I would prefer a symbol showing a tiny phone ringing while a tiny person is in the shower or something, but I guess you can't always get what you want.

A terrible mistake

I made a significant blunder this morning regarding my attire. It's 92 degrees today in Washington, with 44 percent humidity -- not exactly denim-friendly weather. So, naturally, I went with a pair of jeans. Not because I didn't have anything else to wear, or even that these are an especially favored pair of jeans. But because I have too much stuff.

The one pair of shorts I brought with me for this trip has shallow pockets, and I've lost things out of them without noticing. With the amount of crap I carry around -- wallet, keys, sunglasses, cell phone, iPod -- I needed the storage space. So if I wind up in the morgue tonight because of dehydration or heat stroke, that's why. Not exactly a noble or heroic way to go, but it is what it is.

About that cell phone: I recently got a new one (It has a full color screen ! It flips open and shut! It has a camera! I'm so ready to go out and tackle 2002!), and aside from the fact it vibrates much more vigorously than my former one did, to the point I let out a "whoa!" yesterday when it went off in my pocket, it has been stumping me with an icon I noticed for the first time last night.

So if anyone has an LG phone and knows what the icon with the arrow pointing to the left side of a tiny phone means, I'd appreciate it ever so much if you could let me in on the secret.

Yes, I'm a dork

While I was working on this post for TV Goddess, I came across The Stephen Colbert "On Notice Board" Generator.

So you can see why it was impossible for me to not go into total geek mode over this.

Post 26, in which I turn the joy of an upcoming nuptials into a miserable observation on my own life

I'll be attending a wedding over Labor Day weekend, and it strikes me that there's a fairly good chance I won't know anybody at this thing other than the bride and groom. I figure this leaves me with a couple of options:

1. Be prepared to make plenty of idle chatter with people I will never see again.

2. Be prepared to empty the mini-bar in my hotel room by myself.

Option #1 seems like the more social, far-cheaper idea. But Option #2 has a certain appeal.

As far as weddings go, it's actually been some time since I've been to one. But I continue to run out of single friends at an alarming rate. I had considered skewing my friends demographic slightly younger to get a new crop of unhitched, but I'm afraid I'm getting too curmudgeonly for that crowd.

(And, frankly, even on my best nights, the appeal of Connecticut nightlife doesn't hold the same attraction it seems to have for some younger people I know. Which in itself is quite curious, considering where some of these folks come from. But I guess when you're that age, it doesn't take much.)

And before I totally depress myself, I'll stop right here.

AP buries the lede again

So Haley Joel Osment was charged with drunken driving and marijuana possession in California, but The Associated Press put the key part of the story well down in the story, as it has a tendency to do.

From the last paragraph of the story: "Authorities said Osment was driving home alone about 1 a.m. on July 20 when his 1995 Saturn hit a mailbox in the La Canada Flintridge area and flipped over."

So either Haley, who is 18, is a thrifty lad or all of his money is still locked up in trust for him somewhere. And the shame is, in Hollywood, the fact he drives a '95 Saturn will be the most embarrassing part of the story.

(By the way, this reminds us of the greatest New York Knicks story of all time, in which we learned that in 2000, then-coach Jeff Van Gundy drove a Honda Civic that got tossed into the air and flipped when the team's jet taxied too close.)

Sundae School

It seems there's a battle brewing between my hometown of Ithaca, N.Y., and Two Rivers, Wis., over where the ice cream sundae was invented. Ithaca's schoolchildren have long been taught that their forefathers created this dessert, and along with the city's history of being Hollywood before Hollywood existed, it's a matter of some civic pride.

(Although, come to think of it, I don't know of any local monuments to either the sundae or the film industry, so maybe we're not that proud of either. Or maybe it's just that no one's thought of that, in which case I'll ask for my consulting fee now, thankyouverymuch.)

In fact, it would be lovely to see a giant sundae somewhere in the middle of town, but knowing Ithaca, some vegan/animal rights group would immediately set up an adjacent protest, assuming we could drag them away from the fistulated cow.

(UPDATE: CBS News, apparently predicting a slow news day, is hopping on the bandwagon.)

Birdbrain

Some time ago, I stumbled across a dog IQ test. (Or maybe it was the TV Goddess who found it. I can't remember, which is a fairly good sign of the direction in which this post is headed.)

Anyhow, I decided that I could pass Test 2 in at least 29 seconds, so I'm ahead of the curve there. But recent events have led me to wonder if I should be comparing my intelligence to something more appropriate, such as a bird.

You see, when I was in San Francisco, I went to dim sum with a friend at a well-known place near the Financial District, so it was packed at lunchtime. They gave us one of those pager things that restaurants give out, so we left to wander around while we waited. Or at least that was the plan. Having somehow forgotten that we opened a door to get into the restaurant, I tried to leave without using said door.

Maybe it was the pretty lights and water display out in the courtyard, but I honestly didn't see the door and managed to plant my face, slapstick-comedy style, into the glass. I mumbled "I'm OK" to my friend, opened the door, and scooted as far from the restaurant as I could, as quickly as possible. After determining I was clear of anyone who might be pointing and laughing -- and that I was uninjured -- we wound up going back to the restaurant to wait.

So as we waited for our table, I got the pleasure of seeing a perfect replica of the right side of my face smudged into the glass, with wide spots spreading where my cheek and upper lip were smooshed into the door. It actually was a striking portrait, what with the capturing of the exact moment the bridge of my nose hit the glass and I began to let out a stiffled "ow."

Art is pain, right?

Trip leftover

It turns out I do have an amusing story from my trip: After landing in Portland last Monday, I turned on my cell phone to discover a series of increasingly urgent messages from the TV Goddess, who had agreed to pick me up at the airport. The final one indicated she was leaving me to fend for myself.

As it turned out, she apparently thought my arrival from Chicago was via fighter jet, as she showed up at PDX a mere 90 minutes after my plane (a mere passenger jet) left O'Hare.

In light of the day's news about a plot to blow up planes, however, it seems that fighter jet may be the safest way to fly. Maybe the TV Goddess knows what she's doing.

In-N-Out, tourist attraction

So, after years of hearing from Californians how great In-N-Out was, I finally made it to one in San Jose today. I hear that those of you from SoCal will protest that the ones up here are not the same, so I won't go into my review of the place until I get to eat at one of the joints down there.

But today's experience does give me an excuse to link to this.

I hope it came with a free angioplasty.

Just in case you weren't clear...

Snak King, a snack food manufacturer I had not heard of until two minutes ago, seems to feel that its name does not properly clarify its place in the world of salty, crunchy foods. So, the company feels the need to add the motto "King of Snacks." Maybe it's just a result of too much time in the sun today, but I find that extremely amusing.

In any event, tonight's post is coming to you from San Jose, the city with the chip on its shoulder. (Motto: "Look at us! Look at us! We're bigger than San Francisco, dammit!)

We took in the Giants-Rockies game this afternoon (verdict: I like Safeco Field in Seattle better than Pac Bell/SBC/AT&T), then spent the rest of the afternoon at a top-notch dive bar, which also serves some fairly decent barbecue. (Though I wonder: Does a dive bar lose points for serving barbecue?) And with a tummy full of ribs and beer, we made a quick stop at the Golden Gate Bridge. Really, one of the most spectacular things I've seen.

As for an update on the past few days in Portland, I wussed out and did not crash the former boss' department party. But I did make a quick trip to the ol' office Friday with the TV Goddess. No awkward situations arose, so I'm afraid there's no amusing story here, either.

In fact, this trip has been much too enjoyable for any sort of compelling blog entry, so you'll just have to wait until I get back to Connecticut and sunk sink back into my funk.

My expensive habit

I think I've crossed the line into the world of official blogger -- that is, I have no other life -- since I'm paying 30 cents a minute to type this at a Kinko's. But since there is no Internet access where I'm staying (but no, I am not without running water, electricity or even cable), I am doing it this way.

I gather that I'm missing the Northeast's transformation into a blast furnace, and I'm glad for that. For those of you sweating away, I'll report that it's sunny and a pleasant 80 degrees in Portland. Now, I moved away from here because ... ?

Because my former employer here in Portland hasn't bothered to turn off my e-mail access -- and for some reason, I feel compelled to check every few weeks and see if I can still get in -- I know that there's a department party Saturday. So, I'm debating whether I should crash. I don't know if this will be too awkward, and I'm already seeing most of the people I care to see in other settings.

So, what should I do?