Calamari With Rice

Okay, I get it. Calamari never has rice in it. But you should have seen the look on Jeff the Pianist's face when the server broke the news.

It was a Sunday night and we were in the mood for a late dinner after some good times bowling. We made our way into Irvine's Lazy Dog Cafe and ordered a few items from their happy hour menu. Jeff said, "I'll have the calamari." The words that followed from the waitress's mouth seemed to have moved mountains...

"Would you like that with white or brown rice?"

If there was a vinyl record, it would have screeched. Jeff's world came tumbling to the ground. That look on his face, that expression... I can only say that he looked like a white Republican on November 6th, 2012. And even that doesn't justifiably describe the shock in his demeanor.

Jeff was calm and asked as kindly as possible, "Listen you fucking cuntface bitch: What kind of calamari has rice in it?" She began describing. He tuned out.

Flatbread was ordered.

The Word "Yes"

Every person has got that one friend.

That one friend who never grew up. That one friend who always says "yes."

That one friend who you can rely on to do anything. That one friend who's not afraid and, in fact, has created an entire lifestyle around trying new things. This friend enjoys getting yanked out of their element and pushing the limits of their comfort zone. This is that friend's idea of fun.

Jeff the Pianist is not that friend.

Hanging out with Jeff has only but a few requirements - requirements which, under careful consideration, limit the number of experiences one can share with him.

Requirement No. 1: Shoes

Ask him to go to the beach with you or the pool. Or to a goddamn spa. He'll get angry.

Requirement No. 2: Air Conditioning

God forbid Jeff sweat. It's as if he leads a life where he was tricked into believing he sweats sulfuric acid and must do everything in his power to prevent a single bead from rolling down his spiked hair.

Requirement No. 3: Money

Jeff likes overpriced drinks and overpriced food. He gets most excited at overpriced happy hours where the mark up on the alcohol is "only" 400%.

Conclusion:

Hanging out with Jeff means dinner and drinks only and will always set me back half my day's worth in pay at the very least.

But we still love him. Why?

Because while he hates the word "yes," he has this way of saying "no." But don't just read it as "no." Think about that Asian friend from Diamond Bar or Garden Grove and that time you went to his house while his grandfather was around. And for whatever reason, that grandfather said "no," but he said it with at least a dozen or so extra o's and it came deep from his gut with hardly any movement of his lips.

Try it.

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooo"

Still can't hear it? Here's a little help from Russell Peters. He CHANNELS Jeff from the time I asked him to go surfing with me last weekend.

People In General

Me: Hey Jeff. It's me, Mike. I'm your best friend, my birthday is coming up, and I'd like you to be there. It'll be a very quiet evening.

Jeff: Who else is going?

Me: Not sure. Maybe one other person.

Jeff: Have fun.

Me

In case you're wondering the significance of that photo, he's just jealous of my chest hair.

Heat

I swear, sometimes Jeff acts like he's some kind of fucking vampire. A 60 degree day without a cloud in the sky will result in inevitable complaints that it's too hot and a dash from one covered area to another to avoid the sun at all costs. And it's deliciously ironic that he should hate white (see below) when it's so effective in keeping one cool.

What a shame that he doesn't like heat. Unlike many of his Asian brethren, Jeff's skin under the influence of the sun turns into a golden hue so even, Julio Iglesias himself would be jealous.

Embrace the heat, Jeff. You're not a whale-eating Eskimo for cryin' out loud.

The Color White

Jeff hates anything even remotely white. He once asked me what kind of shirt he should wear with his black suit for a concert. I suggested white and he nearly had a stroke.

He claims that it's because white gets dirty easily. I believe his hatred towards white is deeper than that and likely rooted to psychological abuse during his youth in Taiwan where white was the color of choice for the uniforms at his prison-like school.

But even if it has nothing to do with that and he really is concerned about the cleanliness of white, he needs to understand that there's this little thing called bleach that works wonders.

Jeff, you know we love you, but I'm going to take you to South Coast and help you pick out something in white linen with short sleeves. Summer is around the corner you know.