One time back in the day, my girlfriend and I were out spending time together. On a whim we decided to stop in at a Korean Restaurant. Neither of us had ever been to a Korean spot before. The fact that it was also outfitted with a Japanese Sushi bar should have been a hint but, nevertheless, we were feeling adventurous and happy to be there.

As each of us read our menus I recall her saying something to the effect of “Mmmmmm.. This crab dish sounds good,” along with mentioning “I like pickles”. I gave a nod, not really giving any thought to what she said. I was too immersed in the menu, reading and re-reading everything. I don’t eat pork and it seemed like every time an entree caught my eye when I checked it out again there was some form of pork hiding out in the dish. Feeling more hungry than adventurous, I finally just settled on ordering a Korean version of Shrimp-Fried Rice. She ordered one of the most expensive things on the menu, a dish that I couldn’t even begin to pronounce. After repeating the orders with a thick accent, the waitress looked at my girlfriend curious respect and said “Most ‘merican don oda dot.”

When our meals arrived, she received a platter with what looked like three huge bright red crabs garnished with some kind of deep green leafy vegetable. Along with that there were a few other salad plates, each with an unfamiliar type of vegetable. My order was just a big plate of Shrimp Fried Rice. I picked up my chopsticks and started eating. She made a wisecrack about my whimping out, hoping that I enjoyed my “boring little plate of rice”. About a minute after we started eating she managed to get my attention by mumbling something with her hands holding half of one of the crabs in her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Huuhkuuhisruuh” she tried to whisper, never taking the crab out of her mouth.

“Huh what?”

“Huuhkuuhisruuhhhhh…” her eyes got wider as she repeated herself several times.

“What the… take the crab out of your mouth.”

“Ikann.” she replied. I understood that she meant “I can’t”.

“Why not?”

Her eyes darted between me, her platter and looking around to see if anyone else was watching. “HUUHKUUH-ISSS-RUUHHHH!”

I picked up the other half of the broken crab; it was cold and slimey to the touch. Upon closer inspection I understood what she was saying. “Oh Damn, The Crab is RAW!”

She nodded wildly, too embarrassed to spit it out in front of me. The waitress appeared out of nowhere as if she had been watching the whole time. “Iz evting okay?”

“Ma’am, what’s up with this? Why are they raw?”

She pointed at the menu beneath the entree name. “It seh Pickled Crab. Zhe oda Pickled Crab.”

I nodded, trying not to laugh. The waitress handed my girlfriend a stack of napkins so big she could have spit out a whole Whopper without it being seen.

Slightly embarrassed and annoyed, my girlfriend grumbled about the experience as I sat happily eating my boring little plate of rice. Finally I said something that seemed to put it all into perspective. “Yeah, you like crabs, and you like pickles, but sometimes Pickled Crab means PICKLED CRAB.”

And the moral of the story: Don’t make more out of something than it really is. Sometimes pickled crab really means Pickled Crab.

– Max Nomad

[#####]

When did e-mail/internet become “gospel” for some? And why do people love to forward Internet hoaxes?

My first experiences with interacting in online environments started when I was 13; as of this writing I’m 40 now. I’ve seen many changes when it comes to email and I think I’ve got a theory on why some people forward stuff as gospel. It can be attributed to an odd combination of technology advancements and a natural tendency for people to substitute “trust in the person that sent this” whenever a definite credible source isn’t available to validate some information.

Technology Advancements — from Digital Pony Express to Webmail:

My first access to “email” (as in the ability to send electronic mail to someone outside of my immediate area without making a long distance call with my computer to another computer) was through something called Bitnet back in the early to mid 80s. Bitnet was what “everyone else” had to use if they weren’t at a university/military/gov’t/research institution. The best way to picture how Bitnet worked is to think in terms of a digital version of the Pony Express. For me in Virginia Beach to send an email to someone in California it would take 1 or 2 days for the message to actually get to their inbox and 1 or 2 days to get back if they responded immediately. Unless you were on some mailing lists, it was rare to get more than 3-4 emails a week. If there were forwards, typically they were jokes, facts or usable information. Very rarely did people forward news articles because none of the major news sources were online like that and the few services that picked up news feeds cost at least $10 or $20 dollars an hour. Since “free” news wasn’t online, generally if someone wanted to forward you an article they had to type the whole thing up to send it. Even still, there was no real point because it would’ve been quicker just to call that person and say “Go read such-n-such newspaper/magazine and look for ______” or just make a photocopy and drop it in the snail mail. On top of that, there were still plenty of home computers that didn’t have the ability to cut-n-paste text between programs and email attachments as we know them today weren’t possible until the 90s. Bottom line, what few people were online at the time avoided sending junk. It was too much hassle.

“Trust in the person that sent this”:

When people hear about something and it’s not from a news source like CNN, MSNBC or Associate Press and it sounds credible they tend to believe it IF they trust the person they’re hearing it from. Humans have been doing it since the dawn of civilization. It’s the reason why everything from folklore to superstitions to legends get handed down from generation to generation. Now, take that and add on the fact that you can forward a 100-page long email to 100 people in less than a second without any effort or thought, that’s where you get problems, particularly if you receive the email from someone you know and trust.

If a complete stranger forwards you an email telling you about how to make a converter for a car with a diesel engine so it can run on used cooking oil (which is being done, btw), you’d probably be very skeptical, if not prone to just delete the email as junk. Now, if that email came from your best friend or a relative, you’d be prone to either be curious or just believe it at face value. Why? Because subconsciously you think this person has no reason to lie or mislead you. And when that person received it, they probably felt the same way about whoever sent it to them and so on.

So will there ever be an end to Email hoaxes?

Probably not. They are the folklore and legends of our times. There’s always going to be someone who believes that by forwarding an email that Microsoft’s email tracker will send them a check. There’s always going to be someone who is afraid that you’ll have a kidney stolen while traveling abroad if you’re not careful. Maybe it’s a good thing. It’ll keep us on our toes.

– Max Nomad

Relationships are a lot like Poker — you’ll have to fold many hands before finding one worth playing, and even then there’s still a little gamble involved if you’re lucky enough to win.

Nah, it’s not really that bleak.

Seriously though, it all depends on what you really want. Do you want to live out your porn star fantasies? Be whisked away by Prince Charming? Seduced by America’s Next Top Model? Or are you seeking a real relationship? A solid relationship is a lot like being on a plot of land covered with trees:

• If you’re in a rush for some temporary shelter, you can make a lean-to just about anywhere — cold, quick-n-dirty, and temporary, it’ll serve its purpose. If you’re thinking a little ahead you might even have a tent and some basic camping gear and forgo the lean-to.
• If you want a hut you can chop down a few trees and make one. If you want it to be fancy you might even be able to fashion a door and have a window. Won’t be much for keeping the bugs out, though.
• If you want a real house, first you’ll have to clear out some space — cut down trees, pull up stumps, maybe even burn away some of the underbrush and level the land. Then you’ll need a blueprint of the house you want to build. All of this time and effort required JUST to lay down the foundation.

No matter how ingenious we think we are or how many shortcuts we think we have in life, every house has to have its foundation in place first before everything else can come together. We can try to build a house from the top down and, in theory, make it work, but all of the pieces are pretty much useless without that foundation. And if the foundation can’t happen, everything else is a waste of time.

– Max

So I’m hangin’ out at a bar with my friend Roger, an old school player from way back. We’re catchin’ up on times when this sistah comes in. Tall, dark, lovely and built with curves I saw way before I actually saw her face, let’s call her ‘Dee’. Anyway, she sat down and we all begin talking, had a few drinks together, then it became apparent that she and I were really connecting. Feeling a bit like the odd man in the conversation, Roger decided to check out then noticed something on his tab. Before paying he spoke briefly with John, the bartender, then as he left he leaned over to me and whispered “Max, watch out — this chick is trying to get someone to pay for her dinner.”

I glanced at Roger and chuckled. “Cool… thanks for the heads up. I got this.”

Dee was quick to scoot over next to me. Smart, charming and beautiful, she had a phenomenal “Forever Young” essence about her although she was almost 40 and a mother of two young adults. Thoroughly enjoying the conversation, I bought her another drink and we continued chatting for a couple of hours. Finally the end of the night arrived and John presented a tab to me and a tab to her. Immediately she said “Oh, there must be some mistake — they’re all on his tab.”

“Ahh there’s the rub”, I thought. John looked at me and I said “No, I never agreed to that. I bought her a drink and that’s it.”

As if he expected my response, John nodded and let out one of those Dammit-not-again sighs as Dee claimed that she didn’t have any money.  She then went on a rant, explaining that she wouldn’t have spent all that time with me if she had known that I didn’t have her tab covered. Her con game then went into high gear, trying every conceivable twist and turn all the way down to the “When I asked you if it was okay if I got something to eat you said go ahead!”

“No, you didn’t ask me,” I replied then quietly said to her “We were having such a great time. Please don’t play this game.”

See, what Dee didn’t know was that Roger and I were regulars there and John had been a friend of ours for some years. If I’m paying for someone else’s drink or meal I make it clear — none of that “slip it in there” bullshit works on me. I could’ve easily paid her tab along with mine and, honestly, after a couple of hours of her charm and beauty part of me was willing to cover it — IF she was going to stop running her con and just ask me straight up. Also, with John and I being avid Poker players, we were the last two guys she needed to be trying to bluff.

The manager arrived, already apprised of the situation. Dee went round and round with him pleading her case until he finally said “Ma’am, if you can’t pay your tab I’ll have to call the police.”

“Call them!” she barked. The manager casually walked back into the kitchen.

“Please don’t do this,” I whispered to her. “These kinds of games never end well.”

“I don’t know you right now.” she replied with an expected chill in her voice. I took a long last look at her, a little saddened as I admired her beauty. It was apparent that she was going to ride her con game to the end like the Captain of the Titanic.

The game went to another level once the police officer arrived. The cop walked over to her, let out a Dammit-not-again sigh, then began to ask her about why she couldn’t pay and if she knew someone that could cover her. Her rants continued although her game got a case of speed wobbles. Suddenly she wasn’t from around here yet her ID was a current Virginia driver’s license. She had no one she could call because she was all alone in the cosmos (but she’d just finished telling me about her kids graduating from a local high school). She even claimed food poisoning and threatened a law suit and then once the cop actually read her tab she magically went from having one drink to having four, including the one I paid for. She even tried her best to rope me in as the bad guy, but the cop wasn’t buying it. By then, what sympathy I felt had faded away. The whole situation had evolved into a running joke with no punchline.

Tired of all the talk, the cop finally said “Ma’am, if you cannot pay this bill, you are going to jail.”

And without much ado, she went into her purse, pulled out a credit card and presented it to John who ran it through the card reader — and it WORKED.

Having paid her tab, she was free to go. Instead of quietly leaving, Dee continued with the snide remarks until the cop told her that she couldn’t leave until he said she could. She walked over to a nearby gas station, the cop followed her, and that was the last I saw of both of them. John and I had a good laugh after that.

“I gotta admit,” I said to John as he cleaned behind the bar, “if she had come clean and stopped tryin’ to run game I might have done the chivalrous thing and paid her tab.”

Without looking up, he simply chuckled. “Chivalry — What the fuck is that?”

####

Dear Friend,

Good day to you. I am sure This mail will definitely be coming to you as a surprise, but I do really need your attention with this urgent matter.

I am Lance Corporal Alan Tyler, an american soldier, currently serving in the third infantry division in Iraq. The reason why I am contacting you via this media is because it is anonymous. I can’t contact my friends and family back home as they are listed as acquitances in my military file and to contact them may compromise the confidentiality of this transaction.

I am currently in Kuwait on duty break. I and my partner, secretly moved some abandoned cash in a mansion belonging to the former president, Saddam Husein and the total cash is $25 Million USD.

As I write this letter to you, this box is here with me in cash as I secretly moved it out of Iraq to Kuwait. You do not have to be afraid of anything as no one else knows about this and everything is safe.

I would be pleased and grateful to you if you could assist us in receiving this box for us on your behalf as I will be heading back soon to camp in Iraq to join my collegues. Of course, I will give you some money for your efforts.

Moving the funds out of here is not going to be much of a problem as arrangements are being made towards that. All I want from you is your trust and assurance that if the box gets to you, you can keep it in a safe place until our arrival. I have to stop here for now. We have limited time now, kindly get back to me immediately via email address (blahblahblah)

In God we trust,

Lance Corporal Alan Tyler

Now, if we want to have a little useless super nerd fun with this, here’s the rub:

According to the Treasury department, the approximate weight of a currency note, regardless of denomination is (1) one gram. There are 454 grams in one (1) U.S. pound, thus 454 bills in a pound.

For $1 million dollars:

• In $1 dollar bills = 2,202.6 pounds (55,065 lbs for $25 million)
• In $20 dollar bills = 110 pounds (2,750 lbs for $25 million)
• In $100 dollar bills = 22 pounds (550.65 lbs for $25 million)

$1 million dollars in $100 dollar bills, when stacked neatly, makes a block that’s little under a foot wide, just under half a foot long and a little over a foot high — basically about the size of a typical car battery for a 6-cylinder vehicle. For $25 million, picture a minimum of 25 car batteries. Imagine hauling that across the desert from Iraq to Kuwait…