The Jazzy Bahsoun

Life's our oyster and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.

Behavioral Therapist
MA Developmental Psychology, Columbia
BS Psychobiology/ French, UCLA

Shelfari: Book reviews on your book blog

Movies to See:
Mission Impossible
Haywire
Shame
A Dangerous Method
Underworld:Awakening

TV Shows to Watch:
Portlandia
The Life & Times of Tim

Book to Read:
Game of Thrones
by George R.R. Martin

Album to Listen to:
The Black Keys
El Camino

Person to Hate:
Newt Gingrich

Group of People to Despise:
Fox & Friends

Bitchin Links

Blogs and Writers of Note

Mary's Website

Mary's Blog

Ravi's Blog

Lauren's Blog

Cheryl's LiveJournal

TV Squad

The Soup

Cracked

Best Week Ever

The Chive

On Location Vacations

Cute Overload

Michael Moore's Blog

Joel Stein Columns

Maureen Dowd Columns

Secular Coalition of America

Richard Dawkins

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Machatz Self-Defense

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Ain't It Cool News

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Japander: See Actors Embarrass Themselves Abroad

Landover Baptist Church: Jesus Loves You Sometimes

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The Daily Bruin

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UCLA Bruin Marching Band: The Solid Gold Sound

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Sunday, September 30, 2007
A Sign of the L.A. Times
I've always tried to keep myself up-to-date with the news and current events whether it be through the masterful anchoring of the local news, the hapless attempts at journalism over at CNN, the always reliable Jon Stewart, or the old long-winded favorite, the newspaper. As a working man, you might picture me early in the morning with a cup o' java, reading the front page of the L.A. Times, with a pipe hanging out of the corner of my mouth, before heading off to work. Your image would be accurate except for the part of me being awake in the morning and everything that came after that. The truth is, I pick apart the newspaper Thursday through Sunday, selecting articles from my favorite sections, the front page, California section, Calendar, Sports and the comics of course, and save them for later. Every other day, I get it in my email in which case the sorting is slightly different, i.e. opening up 30 tabs in Firefox. Sometimes I save the articles for so long that they become dated and irrelevant, so they get thrown out. However, it's the gathering of these select articles that has become my ritual and when that is disrupted, I am none too pleased.

In the apartment building I call my place of residence, otherwise known as the den of thieves and scoundrels, my L.A. Times frequently goes missing. If I don't get to it by a certain time, it's gone for good. The delivery guy tends to leave it by the elevator instead of in front of my door where he's supposed to, hence any vagrant moseying around the putrid halls of Hamilton Park can snatch up my paper. I've recently found a solution, albeit a lame and passive one, to this issue on the L.A. Times website. You can report a missing paper and either request a replacement or a credit on your account. I typically request a credit because I don't really want a replacement...I'll just read it online. Last weekend, after a 3 day string of missing papers, I reported each one of them missing on the website, hoping to reconcile my lost newspapers. Unbeknownst to me, apparently reporting a missing paper is filed as a complaint against the delivery boy for some reason. It is with that fact that leads to what was found on the Sunday morning edition of the L.A. Times the following day. Written in black marker on the plastic wrapping around my paper was the following:

"#108

NOT COOL

Everyday there are complaints why if I give you paper!

OK!!!!!"

My intention with this whole ordeal was not to penalize this delivery boy, but to be credited for my rightfully earned newspapers, defiled by my demonic, thieving neighbors. I was tempted to write a rebuttal on a plastic bag, but I wasn't sure what I would say. "It's not your fault, buddy. My neighbors are douchebags and steal my paper. NOT COOL!" I think the last time I was called "not cool" was some time in highschool (or was it last week...) so it kind of hurts me, to tell you the truth Mr. Delivery Boy. It was not my intention to endanger your job over at the Times. I feel your plight and I sympathize. But maybe put my paper in front of my door next time instead of in front of the elevator where the nefarious pricks who pervade my apartment building will be less prone to steal my Times and therefore will prevent any further defamation against your reputation, Mr. Delivery Boy.

Where have the days gone when an 11 year old boy would chuck newspapers from a bike at 4am? I suppose that would be a little more difficult to accomplish in an apartment building, but still, protesting against the subscriber via black marker and plastic bag is a huge leap from child on bike throwing papers. Perhaps I will put a note one of these days for the delivery boy, describing my dilemma and defending my stance, proclaiming my innocence, and professing the guilt of the transgressors living around me. Perhaps we will join forces, me and the delivery boy, to fight back against the sinners of Hamilton Park. Thou shalt not steal, you fleet of douche nozzles. Thou shalt not be NOT COOL!

OK!!!!!

4:45 AM
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