My Dinner With Stan Lee

I should correct myself. When I say "My dinner with Stan Lee" what I really mean is "The other day at work, I saw an old man from a distance of about 30 yards who had the side profile of famous comic book genius Stan Lee." That title wouldn't have drawn you in as much, so I went with the other.

Since the museum where I work is "in transition," there are no customers and it is therefore EXTREMELY BORING. We were looking for entertainment in any form, and in walks Stan Lee's body double (from the side). I don't know who his body double from the front is, but this guy definitely had the right side profile down. I then spent the next half hour pointing this out to all fellow employees that would listen. My excitement was often met with "Wait, who are you?"

I know what you're thinking too. You don't believe me. This story seems far too good to actually have happened. Rene sort of almost saw Stan freakin' Lee! But here's the thing . . . I've got pictures to prove it!! Well . . . more like picture. I've got picture to prove it. I've got a single picture, leave me alone.

I took it with my camera phone to ensure the best possible quality. It's got 2 megapixels, which I'm told is more than 1. I was pretty proud of how I took the picture as well. After I lowered myself down from the ceiling Mission Impossible style, I popped up from behind the front desk and, get this, PRETENDED to be on my phone. What I was really doing was taking an incognito photograph of my "mark" (which is what we spies call our . . . marks, I guess). I tell you people, I'm crafty. Call the Academy and tell them to come watch me pretend to be on my phone. It was THAT convincing.

Anyway, without any further suspense, here is a side by side comparison of my picture and an actual photo of the man himself:



As you can tell by my photo (not that you need to ask, but the one on the left), there were a lot of other photographers in the museum that day. Compare it to the photo of the real Stan Lee (on the right) at the, um . . . we'll say at the Parthenon, and you can clearly see the similarities. I'll give you some time to bask.

And to be honest with you people, I lied. The pictures are both very real, but I'm actually responsible for the one on the right. Whatever jerks! It's still good and I might be able to sell it to the Enquirer or something. Anyway, I've included another picture with the photos subtly labeled with the real Stan Lee and the fake Stan Lee that just turned out to be an old man looking for his wife and grandchildren. Please see below.



Life never ceases to amaze, no? Oh, and I'm sorry for lying.

- The Bean

Tater Mitts

Before I begin, I'm gonna ask you to do yourself a favor and head over to www.tatermitts.com for a quick demo video. No no, go ahead. I'll wait . . .

. . . Did you watch it? Awesome right? Here's the thing. They don't look like anything groundbreaking, but I have to admit that I can totally get next to any product with "tater" in the name. Tater tots? Yes, please. Tater Mitts? Let's get to peeling some Idaho Russets. Tater-ade? Gotta love me some starchy electrolytes. Master-Tater? Where did Rene run off to so quickly and why does his room always smell like baked potatoes?

Okay, so I admit I don't even know what that last one was. I just thought it sounded funny.

You know, my only beef with any and every infomercial are the people that they have perform the most common, menial tasks. These people can never seem to figure out how to use basic tools. I swear, the woman in the Tater Mitts commercial must have had some mild form of palsy. It was as though she had never seen a potato or a knife and the producer was like "Here, take these and do whatever it is that you do." After a few takes where she first bashes the knife repeatedly with the potato and then goes after the camera man, she finally gets it right. It's terrible. But at least she's getting work.

Anyway, I don't have much more to say about them.

Tater Mitts. Buy 'em.

-The Bean

Give Me Dry Socks or Give Me Death

So about a month and a half ago, I was in Canada for a bachelor party. This was my first venture into the famed country that just seems to kind of be there. It was nice. Lovely city, the people seemed nice enough, and I was with a group of guys that just wanted to have a good time. However, there was one thing that managed to prevent it from being the perfect weekend. . . . wet socks. I repeat . . . . WET . . . SOCKS.

I fucking HATE wet socks. More than anything else in this world. For the Canada trip there was rain pretty much every day. Now see, rain I don't have a problem with. It rains in Portland all the time and I generally welcome it. I've been wet before. But having wet socks is an entirely different story. My shoes had holes near the toe area, so I'm partially to blame for the fiasco, but that's no excuse. My toes were still wet.

I would rather die than have wet socks. And when I say "wet socks" I'm referring to socks with even just a little bit of water on them. I could be walking down death row, staring into the face of the most painful death anyone could possibly imagine and I'd probably be all right. Now, add into that equation a pair of socks where just the little toe is has been dabbed with water and I would try to end my own life before I finished my walk.

What is it about moist foot coverings (another name for "wet socks." Lame, I know, but I got tired of using the phrase. Get over it) that makes me want to kill a puppy? And why oh why do they never seem to dry while still on your feet?! That's an anomaly to me. I could have stepped in a puddle a day ago and then spent the next twenty four hours with my foot directly in front of a fire and I'd still feel the moisture. If it wasn't man made, it would be like nature's own water retainer. Like a cactus, or a camel, or a pregnant woman. They're all pretty similar.

Example:
Man: What's wrong honey?
Woman: I'm retaining water and I feel really shitty.
Man: Are you sure it's not just the pair of wet socks that you're wearing?
Woman: Sweet Jesus, you're brilliant. Do me now.
Man: Take off the socks first, then we'll talk.

You see?

But why not just take off the horrid foot covers of death you say? To you I reply "shut up asshole. And what the hell is a 'horrid foot cover of death?' Are you trying to say 'wet sock' creatively? Well, you're an idiot."

We have the technology in this country to make a set of gloves that will peel a potato in just 8 seconds, but we can't keep my toes dry? I call shenanigans.

- The Bean

Judge Booty

Okay, so while were on the subject of the brown starfish, I may as well dig us deeper into the hole (no pun intended) of vulgarity. Now, Im sure that at some point, the vast majority of us have worked in some type of customer service position. In my case, I still am. Now, during the tenure of your work experience, I am also sure that everyone has judged a customer in one way or another. What I mean by this is that, as soon as the unsuspecting jackass steps away from your register or till or counter or wherever it is that you work, you and your coworkers just go to town on this person. Well, I would think that working the cash register in a grocery store would be the most difficult not to question/judge the people that come through there on a daily basis, since all you have to base your judgment on are the items they buy.

For example, the other day I found myself to be a little hungry. The specific item I required was an entire bag of Salsa Verde Doritos (which I should add are beyond delicious). I hadnt had chips for a while, and the only way to possibly quell that desire was for me to eat the entire bag. But I'm getting off track.

As I was at the store grabbing the bag of scrumptiousness (which, if you havent gone out to buy yet, you should have at least jotted it down on like a cocktail napkin next to you or some shit), I remembered that my apartment was almost completely out of toilet paper. Being that this is somewhat of an important commodity, I figured I should get a huge bag of that as well.

Since I could not think of anything else that I may have needed at that current moment, I decided to begin my exit with said items. Now, I dont know if youve ever only bought just two things before, but I guarantee you that no matter what it is, it ALWAYS looks weird. Unless, of course, were talking about like peanut butter and jelly. However, I felt for some reason that on this particular excursion, the combination that I had selected, must have looked especially weird. I say this because of the odd look I received from the cashier. As I allowed my wit to quietly work its magic, I found that all I could come up with was an awkward silence and the sentence "Umm . . . looks like I'm set for the night, huh?" Yeah I know, brilliant, right?

On a completely separate occasion, I had an even more embarrassing adventure to the supermarket, and not a single word was said. The item in question? A box of Imodium AD. For those of you who dont know exactly what that is, I suggest you find out. The stuff is seriously a miracle cure. Not to get too terribly graphic on you, but suffice it to say the box uses the words "loose stools." Enough said. When youre purchasing an item of that nature, and only that item, there is absolutely NOTHING you can say to save yourself. You can try to be like "Umm . . . my girlfriend . . . err she doesnt feel . . . stomach..hurts." Yeah, uh, bullshit. You have diarrhea and both you and the store clerk know it.

I mean, you can try to throw other things in your basket to make it seem less embarrassing. Such as some garbage bags, paper towels, a gallon of milk, some highlighters, toenail clippers, or some cheez-its, but I guarantee that's gonna make matters ten times worse. Because now, not only does the cashier think you have "the rear" as I call it, but now he thinks that you've already made such a mess that at this point you need paper towels and garbage bags to clean it up. Then, while youre battling your next bout of what my step dad likes to call "the trots," youre gonna be drinking some milk while highlighting some light homework reading, while snacking on cheez-its and clipping your toenails. Now youre just next-level disgusting.

The only thing you can honestly do is just completely fess up. As you slide the box over to him, as proudly as you possibly can, exclaim "I have diarrhea, and I am purchasing this box of pharmaceuticals to combat its symptoms!" Because otherwise, you're a fucking liar.

My thought on the matter is this: If you're gonna purchase an embarrassing item, you may as well just go the whole way and buy every possible embarrassing thing you can think of. This way, the check out person wont know what to react to. It'll be a sensory overload and they'll just have to shut up. It doesnt even matter what you grab. Some suppositories, maxi pads, a copy of Dr. Phils latest book, tampons (they work wonders for nose bleeds), rubbers, a copy of the movie Cool Runnings (which you kinda liked but dont want to admit to your friends), and really whatever else you can think of. At least this way, if you ever need to buy any of that stuff in the future, youll already have it stockpiled. And then youre set for life.

Don't say I never taught you anything. Now go out with your new found knowledge and abuse the hell out of it.

- The Bean