PERV Called Out

Jack J. McClellan, 45, enjoys photographing young girls and posting their pictures on websites he maintains for the pleasure of pedophiles according to local news reports here in Southern California. The Santa Monica Police Department took an unusual chance this week by releasing an information bulletin to the public featuring this filthy man's photo, address, vehicle description, license plate and method of operation. Outstanding! The document clearly states he has not yet been convicted of a sexual offense and is not currently wanted. It simply issues a warning to parents to call in any questionable behavior by McClellan to police.

McClellan was recently seen in the children's section of the Santa Monica library and stated on TV he, 'just likes to be around the kids'. Pardon me while I shiver. I really applaud Santa Monica PD for supporting parents' rights to be informed of this deviant's behavior in their own backyards. The backlash of civil rights violations is brewing. This man, straight from the creep-o-torium, has already claimed his privacy is violated and blames police for putting his life in danger when he "and most others like him just like to look at the kids, but haven't crossed the line of doing anything sexual". YET.

When, not if but when, the fine attorney who has no doubt already negotiated a deal with this man crawls out, alleging discrimination, right to privacy and the necessary compensation for severe mental distress caused by this outing, I shall vomit right here all over my keyboard. Please, society, can we just once let the police warn us without worrying about whether the deviant is okay with it? If you'd like to express support of this bulletin to Santa Monica PD, you can email them here.

While the media, police, courts and this particular yanker sort it all out, please be aware that you can look up sex registrants in your area by visiting a Megan's Law website directory, searchable by name, address and zip code. You'll get a photo and offense information for any registrant matching your search. Keep in mind many registrants don't keep current with their obligation to report their addresses to law enforcement, so the lists are not comprehensive. But it's something, nonetheless. If you'd like a nicely packaged report with updates emailed to you when a new perv moves into your area, other sites will do so for a small activation fee and monthly charge, usually about $5.00. For the price of a Starbucks coffee, you can arm yourself with some information vital to your child's safety.

Protect Your Checks

Here's another way to jam the crooks and make their trade just a little less easy street. Uniball offers a new pen to thwart check washing, which is soaking your signed check in a solution that removes all the fields you've filled in after the thief has traced your signature.

The Uniball 207 claims to infuse your check with permanent ink resistant to these shenanigans. I for one am dishing out the $2.29 plus tax to prevent some clown from erasing my documents and taking me for whatever they can get. It's true, most of us don't write checks anymore with the omnipresent debit card and bill pay, but I still have a few instances where checks are necessary.

You'd be surprised how many cases of this kind of fraud are filed by detectives at my law enforcement agency, so I know it is indeed a real crime. Tell your world about the Uniball 207! Someone over at that company sure had their thinking cap on.

Pull Your Pants Up

Another jurisdiction is playing with fire by banning low slung pants that expose underwear or private parts. This ordinance actually has a hammer: up to $500 in fines and six months in jail. Hooooweeee! Go on with your common sense self, Delcambre, LA! This is old news now, having passed last month, but I hadn't heard about it. Yesterday it was a call-in topic on a hip hop radio station I flipped across.

Boy were those callers mad! "Freedom of expression!", "Illegal!", they cried. And inevitably, "Discrimination!" Let's unclutter the issue. Underwear, if anyone is uncertain about its intended use, gives us a great clue in its name: Underwear. It's to be worn under our clothes. I don't want to see anyone's boxers, briefs, whale tails or coin slots when I'm walking down the street, thanks. What yahoo got everyone thinking these sights were sexy, cool or worse yet, no big deal? Man up, society! Let's not be afraid to say, 'that's disgusting and stupid', when something's disgusting and stupid.

There were almost 100 comments posted to the Washington Post article I linked to. Most were outraged at the government telling us what we can wear or astonished at the steep penalties. Well, when parents or we ourselves can't recognize inappropriate public apparel, maybe we need a little help. As for the fines, yes, they're stiff alright. A juvenile can steal about 10 cars before they see any formal probation or camp time in my jurisdiction in California. So someone going to jail for flashing their butt is great cause for celebration to me.

Somewhere along the line, we've forgotten the difference between sensuality and sexuality. Being sensual is far more enticing than raw sexuality to me. By the way they're dressing, many young people must think the more skin shown the better, the sexier. Sensuality is the great intoxicator, though. It gives us hints to what may lay beneath. We don't see the blasted boxers or thong hanging out, but we imagine what it might be like under there after someone's sensuality blips on our radar.

So please, America, pull up your pants. No matter what you see on MTV or what your friends say, you look ridiculous.

Death of a Snailsman

I feel absolutely horrible when I step on a snail. I hear the cracking of that little shell. My foot slides forward a bit, lubricated by snail goo and I'm just wrecked for the day. It's strange, I can review police reports all day about people beaten up, robbed and generally mistreated and it doesn't affect me as much as accidentally smashing a snail.

The snail's murder occurred last night near my condo. I'm usually quite careful because it's somewhat damp here by the bay at dusk and snails are known to frequent. I guess it really wasn't murder because I had no intent. It was, like I said, purely accidental. So I suppose this makes it manslaughter. Snailslaughter. Crunch. Agony...

It is like the train wreck cliche; after I've smashed it, I just cannot look away. I cringe, but kneel down and look at it. And there he was, poor thing, writhing naked, shell-less, on the sidewalk, seconds to live. It was purely horrific.

I don't know why I'm so empathetic toward the snail. It defies logic, common sense, which is what I examine here on UltraJam. It's just so easy for me to imagine him gathering up his gusto for an evening stroll..."Okay! Here I go. I just know I can make it to the other edge of the sidewalk before dark if I start out now. Ready, set, AHHHHHHH!" Silence.

I know, let it go, you say. It's only a silly snail. But alas, is there a creature more docile? More defenseless against the human foot than a snail? I know his remains are out there, by my door, and I will need to muster strength to pass by him this morning. His family is no doubt assuming the worst by now. Tomorrow is truly promised to no one.

Starbucksopoly Alternative

I'm a coffee lover. My Dutch heritage and my Dad's birthplace of Java genetically predisposed me to coffee-loving. I do not love Starbucks coffee. Their specialty drinks either taste like warm milk or scalding hot sugar syrup to me. Thankfully, I've discovered a fantastic alternative to the Starbucks on every corner: Peet's Coffee and Tea.

Peet's serves robust coffee straight up or in delightful mixtures of the latte and cappuccino varieties. When I take a sip, I no longer scowl at the absence of coffee flavor in my coffee; I smile in pure bliss (after I swallow).

The earthy brown beans roasted on site at Peet's greet you at the door and the staff even make attempts to memorize your first name. Kind of a nice neighborhood feel. There aren't too many Peet's around on the west coast, I guess because Starbucks really is on every corner. But if you come across one, don't pass it by! This is coffee for grown-ups.

Dry Sausages

Occasionally, after an especially draining or tedious day at the office, I reminisce about my waitressing job of high school and college. Those days under the tray were exciting, indeed. I never knew what characters would sit at my tables and the money wasn't bad, either. I regularly pulled $300 in tips a night on the weekends at an Italian fine dining house with very over-priced wines. In fact, it was a much fairer compensation system than my current civil service pay structure. Your tips directly reflect your customers' satisfaction and motivate you to provide your very best service. In civil service, everybody gets the same salary and automatic (albeit tiny) pay increases once a year whether you're a hard charger or a slug. Unless you have designs on management positions, which are almost always inside jobs, there's really no monetary incentive to do your best. Thus all those civil service worker jokes..."how many civil servants does it take to...". Naturally, there are always exceptions. I count myself among those. There are employees who have a strong work ethic among the sloths. It's just a broken system, all the same.

Of course, waitressing has its pitfalls. Strange birds who might crack off a dollar on a $100 tab, or those curious people who must round the charge total to an even amount, even if it short-changes the waitress. Grrrr. Waitressing is hard work, folks. My restaurant was a former house, with the kitchen upstairs. The owner was a bit Cruella DeVille-esque (crazy white hair, loooong red nails, black and white outfits) and insisted us girls wear those black parade shoes with 2 inch heels with our Italian maiden dress uniforms. Every one of us took a tumble down the stairs and if you'd been holding food or dishes, she'd take the cost of what you dropped out of your check! Beyotch, eh? No matter, the tips were so good we came out ahead anyway.

I had my little share of regulars and one guy, in particular, was beyond odd. But I was always happy to see him. He dined alone and was crabby. No small talk whatsoever. Always insisted on the same table and ordered the same thing: spaghetti with Italian sausage and peppers, with a twist: the sausages MUST be dry. We marinated our sausages in sauce all day. Mr. Dry, however, wanted no sauce anywhere near his plate. So I obliged, washing off the two sausages, drying them and placing them in their naked glory on the plain white noodles. He was happy at last! He left me a $50 tip that first night and every night there after until I left the job four years later. See? He appreciated my service! And that just made me want to dry those sausages extra nicely time after time.

So I propose all civil servants complete one year of waiter/waitressing prior to permanent appointment. It will be readily apparent who wants to work and who's there for the free ride about five tables into the first night. And remember, support your food servers. Please tip accordingly!

Los Angeles ExPat

I've become an expatriate under the definition of someone residing in a culture other than that of their upbringing. Bingo. The latest act in the center ring of immorality circus, Mayor Villaraigosa cheating on his wife for the second (known) time with a Telemundo news anchor assigned to cover the Mayor's post (honestly, no pun intended). Did I mention his wife's battling cancer? Nice.

City Attorney Rocky DelGadillo and wife step up to the ring with their exciting trick, driving for more than a year without auto insurance! His wife has a little more experience under her belt, having been busted twice for driving under a suspended license, once in her husband's city car. Bravo, DelGadillos! It seems a little DelGaHypocritical to jam Paris Hilton for doing something so similar to your own M.O.

Young Hollywood leaving their vajayjay prints on leather seats all over the city and certainly a few major airline carriers. Ghastly. Alcohol wipes are a must have accessory for every Angelino now. All of Hollywood assuming the rest of us are interested in their political views. I'll pass, thanks. Please stars, just stick to making great movies and getting spray tans.

Let's see, Los Angeles is cheating, lying, being reckless behind the wheel, exposing private parts and running at the mouth. L.A. is going through puberty! This is just not my gig. Although I love the beach, eclectic culture and a little bit of edge in my day, I hope the winds of change blow through here soon and bring a little decency to town. Might take a category 4 hurricane at this rate.

Reverend Frank Floats my Boat

I saw "License to Wed" today and it was hil-frickin-larious (rolls off the tongue better with 2 l's). The critics, however, hated it! I think the critics need to have their humorology examined. I am telling you, I can rewind a few scenes in my head and still laugh out loud. Robin Williams' character, Reverend Frank, is a lovably annoying and wise man. And his mini me, an odd little boy in his 'ministers of tomorrow' program, is the perfect wing man.

I live within walking distance of theaters, so I skip right over quite a lot, with or without friends. Today I went solo, which I've convinced myself I'm totally comfortable with. Perhaps I still have kernels of lone movie-goer shame left in me. After sitting down and getting the once over from nearby couples and quartets, I busted myself for pretending to look for my 'friend' coming in either of the entry points until the blessed darkness fell. Wuss. I should embrace my by myselfness and proudly take that end seat with reckless abandon.

Back on point. This movie has lots of funny scenes and cameos from most of "The Office" cast, as a nod to the lead actor. There's a fantastic series of blunders when the couple is dealing with fake twin baby dolls going ballistic in Macy's. The dolls are part of Reverend Frank's marriage course to help them know each other better. It was a scream. When I laugh like that I begin to laugh at myself laughing, which leads to stifling, which culminates in choking and gasping and a few looks of concern from my seat neighbors.

All well worth it! If you feel like laughing and learning love tips simultaneously - go see it. And please don't stare at the LMGs.

Blogholes

There are blogholes out there. I've discovered many blog directories with fun features and virtual friends to exchange tips with. But there, in between meaningful messages on the forums, lurks the bloghole.

They lay in wait on every directory I've visited, barking stuff at novices and vets alike. The blogholes call people names for asking questions, belittle honest suggestions, blast out arrogant comments and pollute the blogosphere with useless flaps from angry little fingers on keyboards. Tap, tap, tap!

But hark, there's always a voice of reason that exposes the bloghole for all the world to see with one rational reply. I love it! I've seen threads going nuclear until the bloghole gets shut down and blurp, they slink for a bit and then post a good thread for forgiveness, only to amp back up to their undeniable blogholeness a few replies later.

WTF blogholes? Stand down. There's enough page ranks to go around. Enough badges and votes and trackbacks and...wait a minute...a bloghole remedy! Please, some spectacular smart geek (and I do love geeks) out there write some code to slap a bloghole badge on someone's avatar that just cannot be removed. Blogholes, watch your backs. The code is coming...

The Dingleberry Chronicles

The hair is the villain in this story; not the cat. The hair is the keeper of the dingleberries. I have feisty cat. Never mind she's 14 years old; this crabby tabby thinks she's an absolute lion. She's the best in my book...except for all that long hair. Gobs and gobs of it everywhere. I constantly vacuum. I have lint rollers at the ready in my bag, my car, my desk at work, on the table in the foyer for guests to roll the hair off as they leave. I groom her. I trim her. But alas, the hair just grows back seeminlgy overnight.

Sorry to be graphic, but this story must be told. I trust there are others out there who wrestle with the dreaded dinglberry. It is, of course, a stubborn little ball (sometimes albeit not so little) of crap stuck to the long fur around the exit orifice. The mighty dingleberry wreaks some havoc in this household. My cat has two reactions: either she leaves it there and sits or spins on every imaginable surface in my home, or she does a butt drag maneuver across the carpet attempting to disengage it. As you can imagine, neither option is too effective, let alone sanitary. The sit and spin does provide a little entertainment as I 'follow my nose' to find all the defaced areas. The drag leaves a lone skid mark - much more mundane.

When I came home tonight and greeted my cat I saw by that very distinctive walk that a most unwelcome guest was here, the dingleberry. I have become quite good at swift dingleberry extraction, but any goings on down there agitates my poor cat tremendously. She's just not herself for the rest of the night.

Another thing that's just not itself is my new ergonomic desk chair with a double layer of extra special vented nylon 'comfort mesh' on the seat. Now, a golf ball sized area is smeared with dingleberry firmly packed into all those little holes in the material. I just can't deal with it. I wheeled the chair to the trash bin. It's gone. The dingleberry wins again. Drat.

Deliciously Unplugged

My satellite TV was killed for 24 hours thanks to an over zealous pelican who apparently pushed my dish out of alignment while prancing around on the roof. Gasp! No TV? Actually, I'm glad he stopped by.

I went exploring 'round the neighborhood instead of watching my early evening line-up. To my delight, I found a community of jelly fish floating peacefully in the alcoves of the bay that my condo nestles against. They are so beautiful in their translucent glory, gently rolling back and forth with the changing current.

One photo is natural and the other is electrified a little with Photoshop neon effect. I sat transfixed upon these jellies for about half an hour; quite contently at that! This encounter with nature makes me wonder what else I'm missing with my face pasted to the TV or computer monitor all day...Breathe in the outdoors. There's nothing like it on TV!