Big Giant Balls and Paul McCartney

So, I'm trying to get some work done while I transfer all the files from my old pc to the new one. Sweet set up with two monitors. Only problem is that the tech "genius" who set the thing up on Saturday, did so with the PC sitting on my desk. This behemoth takes up a lot of space and now I'm cramped behind a wall of tech. I can't reach my little adding machine and half of my desk is now accessible by foot. That's right, I need to get up and walk around the desk to get shit.

Pointless.

But the pc is cool.

Anyway, I'm sitting here, working on shit, doing the file transfer thing (love those tiny hard drives) and the phone rings. UPS, it seems, must speak with me. So I pick up the phone and ask how I might help them.

The moron on the other end of the line says he's calling to confirm delivery of the camera, a Cannon of some sort, that was shipped on June 20th.

I tell the guy that I never ordered the camera, that his order, on my credit card, didn't arrive here and he should know that the feds are closing in on him. He asks me what I'm talking about and he says he's confirming my address. I tell him that, for starters, UPS doesn't know what's in the boxes they ship and I know this because people use their service to ship drugs all the time, unbeknown to them. Second, I tell the guy, since I never ordered the camera, my address and phone number wouldn't be in the system for the product and, lastly, UPS sucks more ass than the tranny on the corner and, as such, they never get all proactive on lost shipments. If I ordered something and it didn't arrive, I'd be calling them, not vice versa.

The guy says he doesn't know what I'm talking about, he's just confirming my address.

I tell him to keep talking, we're tracing the call and he says there's no need for my accusations. I agree, I'm not accusing, I'm confirming.

I call him a scumbag, tell him he better start running because we got his address and I hang up.

I wish I could watch him running out of his trailer or refrigerator box.

And now for the biggest random segue ever.

When I was in high school I spent a summer travelling around Japan with two friends. Everywhere we went, it was like the circus was in town. This was back in the 80's, travelling american teenagers wasn't a common sight and everyone wanted to meet us, talk to us etc. It was the most incredible experience, we did some amazing stuff, met great people (a-Ha! and Magic Johnson among them) and had a fucking blast. One of my friend was Japanese and spoke the language. So, the first time we heard unintelligible Japanese, ending with Paul McCartney-san, we were confused. He spoke to the woman saying it and he started laughing. He looked at me, looked at the women, back at me and said "they think you look like Paul McCartney from when he was a Beatle."

We heard this the first day in Tokyo. Then we heard it every day, sometimes several times a day, for the next month and a half.

Wherever we went, people wanted to talk to Americans, little kids wanted to be our pen pals and grown women, giggling behind their hands, wanted a picture with Paul McCartney-san.

I obliged. They knew I wasn't him. This wasn't like when I signed autographs as Kiefer Sutherland in college or when I hooked up with two girls during a Paul Young/Nik Kershaw concert because they both thought I was Billy Zabka.

This was simply women who had crushes on a beatle and now were delusional in thinking I looked like The Cute One.

That's right, I said it. You think I'd repeat any of this if they thought I looked like fucking Ringo?

Anyway, we're driving back from the beach last night and the kids are sleeping for the bulk of the 3 hour ride and then, as we approach the midtown tunnel, sitting in fucking traffic, I hear a stirring in the back seat. Then a gasp. Then little Floogin Jr says "Dad, guess what I just saw."

I look around, figuring there's a billboard for GI Joe or the Transformers or some other superhero but there's nothing there.

"What?" I ask.

"You Dada, on a building."

I turn to my wife and tell her it's been confirmed, he'd retarded.

She looks at my son, who is staring out his window, his mouth wide open with the biggest "amazed" look on his face. All smiles and awe. My wife follows his gaze and she laughs and says "Floogin, you look like that picture of Paul McCartney."

Sir Paul played Shea Stadium (fuck that citi field crap) on Friday and Saturday night and he is scheduled to appear there again tomorrow night so the advertisements are still hanging.

There's massive shots of him/me playing the bass, singing and looking all cute and happy.

Now, I'm thinking, this guy is in his 60's, no? Maybe close to 70. And I look like him.

I won't mention the sunburned scalp today. Looking like old Paul is bad enough.