Hertzaphobia - a fear of rental cars

I have a fear of rental cars. Anybody who travels for business probably has had this at one time or another but my fear has persisted and gotten worse. You are probably wondering, what is there to fear? The cars are generally new or mostly new, they smell nice, the radio works (maybe even satellite), no smelly baby seats or diet soda cans littering the floor, what gives?

The first thing you do at the rental counter is sign and initial and declare and accept/refuse six pages of paperwork at fourteen different spots: "Initial here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, go to the next page, initial here, here, here, here, here, and sign and initial here." I signed less papers when I settled on my first house. I heard a saying one time that went something like you know, every time you sign something there was a lawsuit years ago that created the reason to sign that paper.

So right away, I feel like I'm signing my life away. One wrong move and bam!

It seems the strategy is to take someone who is fairly confident and comfortable renting a car and scaring the crud out of them. So then I'm like, "Give me the insurance!"

"Which one would you like?"
"The insurance that will keep me from paying anything if I get into an accident."
"Which kind? Collision Damage Waiver? Extended Protection? Accidental injury?"
"The kind where if I hit somebody, I'm good and if they hit me, I'm good."

So I'm told that as long as you have Collision Damage Waiver and somebody hits you, you are good. Somebody hits me. I'm not good. "You got the wrong kind."

"But the guy told me..."
"He told you wrong."

See what I mean. Now when I rent a car, I park it like a sixteen year old kid at the WalMart, taking up three spaces and parking a mile from everybody else. I don't want a scratch or nibble. I try to hide it everywhere I go. But it is no use, I am a rental car ding magnet.

One time, I get a little ding at the hotel parking lot. Crud! I don't want to pay anymore money, I did nothing! So I get clever. I'll try to slide it by the guy when I take it back. When the guy is coming around to inspect the car at the return line, I put my suitcase right next to the ding to cover it. No dice. Caught. Wrong insurance again.

It's to the point where I do my own 47 point inspection when I pick up the car, I turn in a written report, and expect initials and confirmations before I leave the lot.

Then I pray like a fiend I won't get dinged again.

Jeff and his steady travel companion Jack Purcell

Jeff & his Jack Purcell's begin the long journey home. I was able to do a little conniving and snagged a car for the same rate as the taxi. Jeff 1 - The Road 0.

Flight delay! I've got a connecting flight, so this may mean trouble. Bought a diet soda and kicked up my Jack Purcell's for a long afternoon in Hartford. Jeff 1 - The Road 1.

Decided to put the delay to some good use and snagged a shoe shine. One of the small pleasures of life if you haven't had the opportunity get a shoe shine. Makes you feel like a private eye or something. My Jack Purcell's sure appreciated the touch-up. Jeff 2 - The Road 1.

Coach seat from Hartford to Atlanta. All the whining and complaining and explaining fell on deaf ears as I tried to sweet talk my way into first class. Circulation low, knee damage high. Jeff 2 - The Road 2.

I thought I was getting one over when the "kind" person at the counter got me an exit row seat. Much to my horror, I discovered that there was no place for my left knee as the kind folks at Boeing had decided that the life raft would fit perfectly right where my leg was supposed to go. Uh-oh, Jeff 2 - The Road 3.

Ahhhhhhh. Arriving at LAX and all troubles are forgotten as me and my Jack Purcell's are greeted kindly by my youngest son Nicholas. Great to be home. Jeff 3 - The Road 3. It was a tie this time...

But at least me and my Jack Purcell's were back home amongst friends and family. See you back out on the road!

My Records - Zebra "Zebra"

Today, I hit the record collection and pull out the record for the band Zebra and their self-titled debut album "Zebra".

I was trying and trying and trying to remember why I decided to buy this album. I always had a two song rule when buying an album.  Before I would pull the $5.98 trigger and buy the whole album, I had to be familiar with at least two songs.  That way, I was less likely to be wasting my money.  I was a cheap teenager.  

But after listening to "Zebra",  I can only find one song on here that I remember, "Tell Me What You Want".  I must have been enamored by those flowing locks of hair or that dangerous use of black and white on the photography.

So I start going through the record sleeve (for you sub-35 humans, the "sleeve" is that piece of paper inside of the record cover that holds the record.  Bands generally printed lyrics and credits on the "sleve").  I notice the lead singer/guitars/mellotron (what?)/synthesizers is none other than Randy Jackson.  That's right, THE Randy Jackson. No, not the Randy Jackson American Idol judge. No, not the Journey bass player Randy Jackson. No, not the Jackson Five Randy Jackson. The Zebra Randy Jackson. The Zebra Randy Jackson. The ZEBRA Randy Jackson.

So, I'm bumming for Randy because now twenty five years out from his hey-day, he's like third in line (at least) on the Randy Jackson pecking order. He can't even play the Randy Jackson card outside of his home town.

None-the-less, back in the day, I bought the album, and I must have played it on occasion.  

On this fine Sunday, I'm going with three white man overbites on the jam scale.  All hail ZEBRA!

Accidental Actor - LUCKY ep. 3

As I've said before, I never really wanted to play the part of the evil producer. I'm not really evil and I'm not really a producer so I didn't feel I brought much to the part. But by this point, I had done the part a couple of times and it was cheaper to just keep me in the role. The problem was, I kept getting more and more lines. Since I wrote it, I have no one else to blame but myself. But still, sheez...

Jeff's Creaky Knees

Creaky knees are Uncool and I blame airplane seats.

I think I'm going to get that thing where you sit in airplane seats for too long and a clot forms and you go into a coma or die. I fear I'm going to get it having to seat in these inhuman seats for so long. There just is no way that all of the fat Americans in the US, the plane companies think it is okay to destroy my circulation, my cartiledge, and my self-esteem by forcing me into that clown-car known as coach.

I know I've complained about coach before and everybody else on the planet Earth complains about coach, but with no more free food and more and more fat business men, traveling by air on business is tantamount to a war crime. I want my trial!

The reason it gets me crazy (amongst other things) is that my knees are all creaky. There's nothing worse than trying to slide into a cool-guy Hollywood meeting and your knees are snapping and popping like two pieces of wood. Remember, this is a young man's game and it's never cool to let on that your joints hurt, you are cold, and you remember back 'before the war'. It's bad enough when you hang out on a set all day and have to ice down your knees when you get the heck home.

Learning Bible verses

I know this picture must look like something out of a serial killer movie, but I just seem to have the worst mental block for memorizing things. Being a grown-up, you are probably wondering 'what the heck if there to memorize anymore'?

Well, in an effort to better myself and my place in the universe and the fulfillment of helping humanity, I go Bible class about once a month. I've already mentioned my problems with memorizing Bible stuff but it still persists. Now, the theory states that by memorizing certain Bible verses, it helps one to reflect on the meaning behind the verse, it helps one to learn concepts behind the entire Gospel, etc, etc... But like I said, I can't memorize very well. If for some reason I was forced to be an actor in a stage play, I wouldn't be able to do it.

To get around this issue, I've taken to writing the verses down in a notebook. I figure if I write it out by hand ten or twenty or thirty times, it's bound to stick in my brain. However, my teflon brain just won't commit it to memory. Now, it certainly helps me to reflect on the verse by writing it so many times, it just gets garbled and twisted when it's my turn at the pastor's house to quote the verse. I've taken to writing it on my arm or on little slips of paper that I keep hidden in the folds of my shirt.

Then it occurred to me that I'm taking crib notes and cheat sheets to Bible class. Something is just not right with all that!

Minivan Valet

Nothing like rolling up to the valet in your minivan. Due to the space restrictions and the cool-guy factor, L.A. has more than its share of valets. I cease to be amazed at the places that trot out the valet umbrella and dare to park your car. Whether I'm hitting the town in my Volvo station wagon, or creepin' in the Toyota minivan, good times are to be had when you hit the valet stand.

First, as hard as they try, they can never hide their disdain at having to park a minivan. They act like the Lamborghini's and Porsche's they park are theirs. I know for a fact that that minivan is a heck of lot nicer than the bicycle the valet dude uses to get to work but it doesn't stop them from turning their nose up.

Second, I always forget to clean out the car before pulling up to the valet. I jump out and they valet dude has to move a mountain of diet soda cans and In 'N Out bags just to get his butt behind the wheel. And usually the 'check engine' light is flashing or the tire is making a funny noise or the brake pads are worn to a nub and you can practically hear the sigh as valet dude drives off to the back parking lot/demolition derby where they dump the cars. I just know that my car is the one they park with the nose sticking out so that the Lambo's are kept out of harms way.

My one consolation is that I'm reasonably sure there is no joyriding of the minivan while I run into the restaurant...

Airport shuttle

There really is no Uncooler way to get to the airport than taking the airport shuttle. I'm not talking airport taxi (which is less cool) or airport limo (which is way cool) but the airport shuttle. The shuttle is a big 15 passenger van that hauls as many humans as is possible (usually cramming upwards of two dozen people. Why do the shuttle? Short of having someone take you to the airport (not always possible) it is the cheapest way to go. But there are some disadvantages:

1. Getting picked up at home: they come 9 hours prior to take-off. You get to the airport and wait forever for no good reason.

2. They cram you into the van. They have it down to a science. So many stops...

3. Unsafe drivers. I've never been in a vehicle that moved faster and with more ins-and-outs than a shuttle van (all while he is filling out receipts and talking on his cellphone)

4. Getting picked up at the airport: the circle of hell. If you ever take the shuttle home from the airport, you get picked up, then the fun begins. They ride around and around and around non-stop until they have enough people crammed in the van to justify the drive to the valley. I've been in a shuttle that took three hours to make the 25 minute trip to my driveway.

Cheap is good but cheap isn't always better, practical or sane.

Jack Purcell Shoe Repair TIPS

Being the cheapest guy in Hollywood, yet cognizant of the fact that I need to look sharp in context of my M.O., it is always necessary to have nice shiny sneakers. Even your 'every day' sneaks should have a little shine to them so I've gotten pretty good at cleaning them up and bringing back some of that 'right of the box' shine. For example, take a look at my basic, leather white Jack Purcell's. Still in good shape but sorely lacking in that cool-guy newness.

Step 1.  Remove the shoe strings and wipe down the shoes with a damp cloth.  You need to get all loose dirt and mud off of the shoes.

Step 2.  Pour a small bowl of bleach and stir in your shoe strings.  One secret of the shiny shoe are shiny laces.  Note:  If you aren't so cheap, buy some new shoe strings.  However, note that real Jack Purcell's (not knock-offs) have a distinctive design in the shoe string aglet.  Let the strings soak for 2-3 days, then clean with soap & water then press with an iron on super-hot.

Step 3.  Believe it or not, one of the dirtiest parts of the shoe is the tongue.  Use all-purpose cleaner and a scrubbing pad to wipe out the grime.

Step 4.  Use your all-purpose cleaner and go to town on the rubber toe and sides.  You want that Jack Purcell smiley face looking its brightest.  After a good scrubbing, your sneaker is 80% there (see below).
Step 5. Grab a bottle of shoe cleaner and scrub on the scuffed areas.  This treatment should blot out those unsightly scuffs.  (White sneaker polish would go on here if necessary).
Step 6.  Touch up the medallion (below).  Use a sharpie or marker (color appropriate) and reapply color to the Jack Purcell signature medallion.  It usually wears off on the bottom half.
Step 7.  Relace.
(Below)  Fresh as a daisy!

My Records - Journey "Departure"

It had been an eventful day. First, I taught two of my sons how to sneak into Universal Studios Theme Park so we could ride the Simpsons ride for free (another post, another time). Then we went to a hip-hop concert (another post, another time) but left early so we could see the 'Get Smart' movie (another post, another time). So we're running down Universal City Walk to hit the 8:30 showing, when I hear this cover band playing "Any Way You Want It" from Journey.

I stop in my tracks. Why the heck would a band play that song? My white man overbite kicked in ever so slightly but I was able to reign it in. Since when do cover bands, even 80's cover bands, play fairly obscure Journey songs? I pondered that notion for about four seconds and then me and the boys got into line to buy our 'Get Smart' tickets. As we wait to buy tickets (at Universal, you buy the tickets outside), the next song from the cover band, "Oh Sherrie" from Steve Perry. I'm like, wait a minute. Two semi-Journey songs back-to-back. I look closer. Steve Frickin' Perry, former lead singer of Journey, is singing with a cover band at Universal City Walk on a Friday night!

I'm like, this is crazy! I buy the movie tickets and walk over to join the other 27 people who are watching Steve Perry sing his greatest hits to a bunch of tourists. I watch for about three minutes (the boys are tugging at my arm), then go inside to watch the 'Get Smart' movie.

That's my Steve Perry of Journey story.

I bought this earlier album after I had already gotten into the band. This album cover is the first of their 'bug spaceship' series. It seems a lot of bands back in the 70's had some crazy spaceship thing working on their cover (Boston, Jefferson Starship).

Has not aged very well. Just ask my two oldest boys.

Accidental Actor - LUCKY ep. 2

As a review, I was never intended to be the actor to portray the role of evil producer. We just never had the money or time to get a real actor.

On this particular shoot day, as on every other Lucky shoot, we didn't have a permit or permission to shoot, so we were sneaking around and trying to get anything we could that would make sense as a story. We were on the Ne-Yo "Miss Independent" shoot and Ne-Yo's bodyguard kept threatening to throw us off the balcony. The owner of the location was explicit that no other shoot be happening at the same time. It was very, very tricky. In fact, we weren't even going to shoot the evil producer role that day, it just so happened that we were able to get a couple of other story points shot that necessitated my little pick-up line.

Which leads me to my dirty shirt. I wasn't supposed to be on camera. I didn't want to be on camera. I was eating a very yummy piece of mozzarella cheese when it rolled off my fork and dripped olive oil all down the front of my shirt. I looked like a twelve year old after an all-you-can-eat pizza lunch.

So we are shooting my line and I'm like, "Can you see the olive oil on my shirt?"
The response, "No. It looks fine."

I look at the footage. It looks horrible. I ask, "Is there anything we can do about that?"
The response, "Yes. We'll clean it up in post."

It is never cleaned up in post. So there I am, unkempt hair, olive oil laden shirt, trying to act while avoiding psychotic bodyguards and determined location hacks. That strained look on my face is not 'acting'.

Oh, and my car got towed that night by the Santa Monica Police because my license plate sticker had expired. Memorable shoot.

Puzzle Man

I like doing puzzles. Now, I have a rule that if my grandmother did it and really liked it, there is a definite possibility that it is Uncool. For example, making fudge is Uncool. Crocheting an afghan is Uncool. Rocking on a chair underneath a blanket on July 19th at high noon is Uncool.

Jigsaw puzzles are Uncool. What makes me an even bigger goober is that I like to do them very fast. I dull my mind (not hard to do), put something on some music or TV, and go all Rain Man on these things.

I find most of mine at yard sales. Particularly at yard sales of dead people (you know, somebody dies and their kids have a yard sale to get rid of the stuff they don't want). I hit the motherlode recently when some kids were unloading all of their mothers earthly possessions and I bought up all of her puzzles for 50 cents each. Now, they happen to be all 'cat' puzzles which I wouldn't have bought, all things being equal. But I hardly care what the picture is when I'm going Rain Man on a puzzle at the kitchen table. The lady even had little baggies inside the puzzle boxes so that the pieces wouldn't get lost.

Hollywood Power Lunch

(Above) Typical Jeff Hollywood power lunch:
Cheese-filled hotdog, carrots, and yogurt in a tube.

One of the fun things about Hollywood is the lunch. Deals are cut, careers are made, all over a plate of Lobster Risotto and some fancy schmancy place in Beverly Hills. Being the Uncoolest Dude in Hollywood, I just don't roll that way.

Would I go to those places more if I could? Of course, I'm not fool. I'm just cheap and I don't get asked to that many meetings at this point. If I'm hosting a power lunch, it's usually at Denny's or In 'N Out Burger. But when I'm just on my own, I keep my Hollywood power lunch simple:

Turkey sandwich on toast. A bag of chips. Diet soda. Brown bag.

If I'm in the buying mood, Baja Fresh. Two tacos. Diet soda.

Left overs in tupperware. Diet soda.

Pile of crackers. Diet soda.

Nothing like negotiating a deal over a bowl of leftover macaroni and cheese!

Self-Help Tapes

In a bid to help things along and get a leg up on the competition, I have become a connoisseur of self-help tapes. I have a theory that if you listen to a bunch of different series, you'll start to see some commonalities between the different dudes (it always seems to be dudes) and perhaps the wisdom will cream to the top.

Being not only the Uncoolest Dude in Hollywood, but also one of the cheapest, I refuse to pay full-price for these things. Most of these tapes have come from the one of two places a cheapskate loves: eBay (the other place is of course craigslist).

Hint: always look at the shipping costs, these sellers can be sharks!

I've gotten a bunch of tapes from Anthony Robbins, from Suze Orman, from Stephen Covey, from Jack Canfield, from Jeffrey Gitomer, from every other cat with a system and a tape recorder. But it has not been in vain because I now know the two secrets to life:

1. Set goals and stick to them.

2. Don't spend more money than you have.

0-2 ... Drats. I need more tapes.

Neighbors

Jeff's neighbor (above). The best neighbors ignore each
other unless there is a disaster of some kind. I don't
know his name and that is the way I want it to stay.

Not sure if this a cool or Uncool attitude to have but I am very dubious of neighbors. Growing up, it always seemed that my parents got really close to a neighbor, then they'd have a blow-out of some type and then they'd be enemies for years. It always started over a missing garden hose or a forgotten pack of hot dog buns then before you know it there is a full blown beef brewing.

When I got old enough to have my own place, I would make friends with the neighbors, then they would screw me over somehow. So one day I decided, 'to heck with neighbors'. There should be limited interaction between neighbors. When you first move in, you shake hands with the neighbor, make sure the boundary between the two properties is clear, then say no more than two words to the dude for the next twenty years. Bliss.

I make a point to get to know my neighbors 'just enough'. What is just enough?

a) If a maniac were to invade my home and take us all hostage, the neighbor would recognize that it wasn't me using the car.

b) If civilization were to break down, we could combine forces and barracade the houses together and keep the roving gangs out of our cul-de-sac.

c) When I have a party (or they have a party), we could use each others driveways for overflow parking.

d) Vacation patrol. One of us goes on vacation, the other makes sure that squatters don't show up and use the pool.

Everything else is out of bounds. No barbeques together. No Christmas cards. No Friday night card games. Nothing. That's whats so cool about those Hollywood Hills cliff houses is that your neighbor is either three hundred feet above you or three hundred feet below you.

St. Patricks Day - Green Woes

From Jeffrey Rhodes is the Uncoolest Dude in Hollywood

Jeffrey Rhodes (above) wearing his typical
St. Patricks Day outfit: blue jeans, white
Jack Purcell sneakers, and a tan shirt.

I don't wear green on St. Patrick's Day. It's certainly not out of spite or anti-Irish sentiment or anti-alcohol protest or anti-social behavior, I just have awful memory for such things.

Every year at work for years, I would always forget to wear any green. People come in with green ties, or green shirts, or green 'I'm Irish' buttons and I'd totally forget. One guy even hit me in the arm once (the apparent penalty for forgetting to wear green in Baltimore) but I threw a tape at him and that soon stopped.

After about year twenty of forgetting to wear green, it occurred to me that I had a pretty good streak going. So now I purposely don't wear green. The problem is that my reverse psychology now dictates that I accidently wear green on St. Patrick's Day and I have to stop myself when I'm getting dressed in the morning. So what is the final verdict? Not sure what color I'll actually wear on St. Patrick's Day but I'm firmly convinced that when I wake up on the morning of 3/17, I'll have no idea what day it is until I get dressed and get out and about and some Irish dude yells at me.

My Records - Styx - "The Grand Illusion"

(Above) Styx - "The Grand Illusion".
Three white man overbites on the jam scale.

Styx - "The Grand Illusion" was one of my favorite high school records. As with a lot of what I listened to back in those dark, dark early 80's days, I put it away and didn't listen to it for many years. As history now shows us, Styx was one of the first 'corporate rock' acts. They were big, they were pushed and they made lots 'o scratch. Styx was the first 'real' concert I saw down at the Baltimore Civic Center during their 'Paradise Theater' so they always have a special place in my Uncool heart.

I listened it once again. Boy, am I creeped out. Sure, the overbite kicked in almost immediately as I started jamming but I think I finally listened to the lyrics for the first time.

From 'Grand Illusion': "Get yourself a brand new motor car". What's a 'motor' car? Adding words to get the syllables to match is a little weak.

From 'Superstars': "Superstars, yes, yes, Superstars". That's deep, brotha.

And then 'Come Sail Away', the late 70's rock super anthem... Is it really a song about aliens from outer space? I must have just bought in, I'm listening now and wondering what I was thinking or drinking or both.

'Miss America' still rocks but who cares if Miss America is under a microscope. I thought that's what she signed up for?

Still, it's good to hear an album with a bunch of songs about how hard it is to be rich and famous and the trials & tribulations of being a rock god. Sheez...

Accidental Actor - LUCKY ep. 1

Due to a series of circumstances (no money, no time) I was pressed into service to add my significant acting talents to the Robot Films production of the webisode series "Lucky". Here is the episode where I initiate my now infamous role as the evil producer.

Jeff's Cooking Tip #2 - Stand Mixer

My trusty Kitchenaid (above), ready to roll!

This is part 2 in my occasional series of cooking tips for those here in Hollywood. As you may recall, nobody in Hollywood cooks... anything... ever... so here goes once again:

I don't want to give you the impression that you really need more than the basic stove/oven/frig/pots&pans to cook well, but there is one gadget I got for Christmas (yes, I'm a geek and I asked for it) about ten years ago: Kitchenaid stand mixer.

These things are great! Everything from cakes to pudding to bread to egg whites are ten times easier to make when you have a stand mixer. One is more likely to whip up a good batter when you don't have to untangle the cord of a hand mixer, hunt down beaters, then clean it all up. The stand mixer is a bigger bowl, it is less messy, and a thorough mix. Plus, it sits there ready-to-go and all you have to do is dump your ingredients and turn it on.

What I like about the Kitchenaid:

1) Tough - A super industrial sized motor is powerful enough to pull a boat out of the water.

2) Heavy duty - Takes a lot to jam one of these babies-up. If it clogs, it is most likely inedible.

3) Convenient - Table top means ready to go! Always staring at you ready to work.

A touch expensive, but one of the best investments I ever made. Don't cheap out and get an off-brand, get the Kitchenaid!

Bike Riding Outfit

Jeff (left) and his new bike riding friends showing
off their new bike riding outfits.

Why in the world do bikers wear those skin tight suits with the logos all over them? I would understand if you were in a race or something but I see dudes riding around every weekend sporting this outrageous outfit. Is it one of those things where one guy does it so everybody copies it and nobody has the nerve to undo the damage? What are the possible reasons for this lunacy:

1) Because that is what Lance Armstrong wears?

I play football in the front yard with my kids but I don't wear shoulder pads and a helmet.

2) Wind resistance?

When you weigh 275 pounds, the least of your problems is wind resistance.

3) Sexy?

Man, I don't think so.

Then I thought, maybe I shouldn't knock it until I've try it. What do you know? I do have less resistance. I'm also less likely to chafe. And my package looks stupendous. Plus, I've met a bunch of new friends who seem very nice even though I can't understand a word they are saying (I think they're Italian). Yet, we all speak the same language. The language of tight outfits with logos all over them.

Nerd Bike

I really like my new bicycle which is probably a very big clue to me that I purchased the Uncoolest bike possible. I started riding the thing and the compliments started flying:

"Hey Dad, where's your paper route?"
"Hey Honey, do you need a little basket for the handle bars?"
"Hey Uncle Jeff, do you need me to pick you up a bell?"

Edna Gulch (left) kidnapping Toto. Jeffrey Rhodes (right)
looking cool on his new bike. Yikes.

Yeah, yeah, keep it up. Then I saw a picture of me riding the bike and I began to worry. Have I crossed a line of Uncoolness? I'm riding this thing around the neighborhood ('For exercise, I swear!') and I'm getting even more cross-eyed stares. Then I realized I'm looking a little bit too much like 'The Wizard of Oz's very own Edna Gulch.

Sheez...

Bike Construction

I got a bicycle for my birthday and I couldn't be more pleased. I asked and received exactly what I wanted: city cruiser.

No gears, old school, hard to pedal. Big wide handle bars. Even managed to talk the guy at the sporting goods store down about $50 buckaroos (I'm cheap, you know).

Then came the fun part. It was like Christmas in March (not in a good way). I had to put the thing together...

The bike (above) in the box fresh from the store.

You would think that putting a bicycle together would be pretty straight forward. You would be mistaken. First off, the directions were written in fourteen different languages so despite the fact that in essence there was only 1/2 a page of directions, the entire booklet (including a whole legal section on safety) was about 80 pages.

Jeff (above) attempting to decipher the indecipherable.

Secondly, the book gave me instructions on things to put together that were already together and didn't provide directions on things that were apart. For example, it told me how to put the handle bars together (already together), but didn't bother to instruct me on how to hook it to the bike (I guessed). It showed me how to put a rear fender on the bike that was totally different than the fender in the box. It showed me how to hook the kick-stand to the bike (already hooked on) but nothing about the pedals (which were off). There was also a bag of screws with no directions as to where they went or how they fit into the big scheme of things.

As far as I got putting the bike together (above) before I was hopelessly confused.

I'm hoping to have this put together by the summertime but my hope is fading. Correction, I hope to have it put together properly by summertime. I'm already riding it, it is already rattling & wobbling and I'm pedaling it as fast as I can get it to go. Happy birthday to me!

Blago vs Jeffo

Rod Blagojevich (left) and Jeffrey Rhodes (right).
Separated at birth.

You are probably thinking to yourself how Jeff reminds you of someone but you aren't quite sure why. That's because I look like most everybody. I've got this medium quality to my face and features that if you squinted hard enough, I could be most anybody.

Case in point: disgraced governor Rod Blagojevich. That cheesy smile. That helmet of prep school hair. That salty language. Jeff is the spitting image of Blago.

When I walk the streets of Chicago, I'm either spit upon or handed mysterious envelopes full of cash. Its amazing.

My Records - Night Ranger "Midnight Madness"

Night Ranger 'Midnight Madness' - 2 1/2 White Man Overbites
on the jam scale. I still want to rock in America!

I have two Night Ranger records. I'm not sure why. My rule when I was young and buying 'records' was that I need to know two songs before I will invest my $5.98 for an entire album. I was looking for the two songs and I'm reasonably sure they were "(You Can Still) Rock in America" and the infamous "Sister Christian".

What's not to like here. They have a track name worthy of Spinal Tap leading off the record, with those parenthesis (You Can Still) followed by that insightful declaration 'Rock in America'. Whew. I was worried they weren't going to let us rock anymore.

The cover is a classic. Mullets. Parachute pants. A keyboard player who wears doctor scrubs. And a photo with about four minutes of thought put into it: 'Let's go to the backlot at Universal, grab some props, dress some extras up in different disconnected outfits and see what happens. It is MIDNIGHT MADNESS for heavens sake'.

I know what you are thinking, 'Hey Jeff, if they were so bad, why did you buy two Night Ranger records?' Touche.

Going to the Movies - "Watchmen"

As a member in good standing of the Hollywood community, it is fully expected that you go to movies as a matter of life. Of course, being the Uncoolest Dude in Hollywood, I hardly ever go because I have four kids (babysitters are expensive and the word appears to be out in the babysitter community that my kids are maniacs) and tickets are very expensive (I'm cheap). I love DVD's so I buy a lot of those and get my movie fix through my big TV and all the DVD's.

But occasionally, the stars align and I go to the movies. However, the rarity of the event creates a problem. I really, really, really want the movie to be good so there's always pressure to make a good pick. Because of my recent birthday, my young nephew decided to take me to see "Watchmen". So we did.

Went to the fabulous Arclight cinemas in fabulous Sherman Oaks.

"Watchmen" - The Jeff Review - I read the graphic novel a few weeks ago. So I'll quote my nephews opinion of the movie because it is the same as mine: 'After reading the graphic novel, and watching the movie, even though it is the first time I saw the movie, I feel like it was the second time.' I liked it but there were absolutely no surprises. The words were the same. The visuals were the same. The plot was the same (98% the same). I feel like I already saw it.

When I read the graphic novel, I would read a chapter each night before bed. Thus, as I watched the movie, I found myself wanting to go to sleep. I don't think it was boredom, I think it was my body remembering the Watchmen/go-to-sleep trigger. So my head bobbed twelve times. It was almost 3 hours long. If you haven't read the graphic novel, you might not like it. If you've read the graphic novel, you'll like it but it won't necessarily blow you away.

Not sure if that helps... Next review: I'm planning on seeing the new Star Trek movie but there's no guarantee we'll get a babysitter.

Jeff's Tattoo

I don't have a tattoo. I don't want to have a tattoo.

When it was not cool to have a tattoo, I didn't want one. Now that it is cool to have a tattoo, I still don't want one. It has nothing to do with religion or society or friends and family, I just don't have the foggiest idea what I would get. There is absolutely nothing on the planet Earth that I can think of that I would want on my body forever. Maybe I'm not thinking this through enough.

If I commit a crime and go on the lam, I would want no distinguishing marks on me. I don't want any gang trouble.

My wife really wants me to get one so I threaten her that if she insists, I'll get a Star Trek tattoo (that is my clever way of nullifying the cool-guy factor [tattoo] by getting an Uncool tattoo [Star Trek emblem], thus canceling each other out). If I really, really, really had to get a tattoo, I narrowed it down to two possibilities:

a) Anchor - I'd get the classic Popeye anchor drawn cartoon style.

b) "Moth" - In honor of one of my favorite Simpsons episodes, I'd get the same tattoo Bart got at the mall.

But since both are TV references and kind of meant to be a joke, I don't think that is a good enough reason. Plus, they're too expensive.

Cords and Cables

If you are going to be cool in Hollywood, it's important that you embrace change and be willing to try new things. One of my problems with that is I'm a pack-rat. As things change, because of some mental illness and my cheapness, I'm afraid to throw away anything that may be of use in the future. Going through the garage I found boxes and boxes of wires and cables.

(Above) A box of phone cables.

First off, if you ever need to run telephone cables through your house I have you covered. I'm not quite sure how many phones I've owned over the years, but certainly not as many to justify the entire CASE of phone cords I found. There must be at least 30 cords of various length and sizes. I truly believe I have enough cable to network an entire corporation.

(Above) Cable-tv cords and dozens of plugs.

I also found a box full of plugs and cable-TV wires. I can understand the tv cable stuff, but I have nearly a dozen plugs for like computers and monitors, etc. I never had that much gear! I wouldn't have bought them at a yardsale. Where did they come from?

(Above) All of my component connectors.

Finally, I found a whole box of RCA cables. CD player, anyone? DVD player? Satellite system? A super-computer? If you have anything that needs to get plugged-in, I have dozens of the ol' red/white/yellow (and other colors) cables. I even have a router!

Does anybody need all these cables? I still won't throw them away...