I Hate Hispanics (no offense mom)

I know my above statement invokes 1 of 2 reactions: 1) Hell yeah! or 2) Moore, aren’t you up to but not exceeding 50% Hispanic?

Though I don’t appreciate anyone (who isn’t me) supporting reaction 1, reaction 2 is both truthful and appropriate. Despite my ½ Latin ancestry, (the other ½ is AMAZING if you’re asking) as of Saturday, January 24th I dislike Hispanics.

My south of the Rio Grande (sans Brazil technically) prejudice stems from an incident that took place downtown during the Trek Adventure LA scavenger hunt. Before you shriek ‘geek’ in regards to how I spent my Saturday, allow me to explain: Trek Adventure is a citywide scavenger hunt aimed at promoting exercise through competitive urban navigation. Imagine The Amazing Race in one city utilizing only public transit or walking/running (in a related story promoting the downside to a wandering imagination, when I first overheard The Amazing Race being advertised I honestly thought it was a documentary about racism. I wish that were a joke).
As a man who never asks for directions, I figured Trek Adventure was a perfect way to showcase my 1) ability to solve city-related trivia 2) somewhat fading athleticism 3) belief that I could probably beat any of those ‘clowns’ from The Amazing Race.

My teammate for the event was my girlfriend Q. S. Cockerill who was more than eager to participate even after I requested we compete in period dress. Costumes were not required, but after viewing previous competition photos of ‘bums’ dressed in sneakers and pajamas I decided we should try to win this thing with some class. Therefore, Ms. Cockerill and I were dressed as 1930s era travelers as a means of reinvigorating romanticized whispers of the early 20th century. Initially the concept failed to grasp the old souls of our fellow competitors as my old clothes and young face did nothing but promote hush toned ‘Benjamin Button’ references. So it goes.

As we (team Royal Dutch) toed up to the starting line to begin, I couldn’t help but look toward the three teams of short-shorted running top-topped skinny men from the Santa Monica running club. I’m sure they thought they were ‘soo damned special’ with their matching shirts and thin calves. It was clear their strategy was to simply use their superior athleticism to flat outrun all the other teams. Clever bastards. I began to rethink my leather Chelsea boots as an appropriate choice of footwear but by then it was too late; Quinn and I had to simply make the best of our multiple layers of clothing/athletic opponents.

In a flash, the competition began and Royal Dutch was heading toward our first of many destinations in the Hollywood area. Within minutes my brain’s wealth of useless information began to dismantle slyly crafted riddles like Val Kilmer in a Batman sequel. Within an hour we had completed 6 questions and were speeding downtown on the redline train. As we rolled through K-town’s finest subway stations/unofficial fat gangsta check points, I couldn’t help but think about how badly I wanted to beat the runners. How badly did I want them to wonder how the redhead and the guy with pants managed to win. The day would be mine… or so I thought.

After a swift photo was taken to prove Quinn and I had located another of the Trek Points (objectives), I realized we had only 3 more Trek Points to photograph and we were on our way to the finish line. I also noticed that Quinn and I were somehow in front of the runners! With that, I sprang into action as we headed to Pershing Square to take a photo in front of the statue of Beethoven. As I tried to capture a photo of Quinn, myself, and a master of classical music I noticed a Hispanic woman (remember why you started reading this?) casually smiling as her child was playing (though now I can’t remember her ever really keeping an eye on him). She understood what we were doing and almost asked to help without ever saying so. I noticed her willingness to participate and asked if she wouldn’t mind taking a photo of us.

“50 dollars” she said in an accent I more than recognized from trips to grandma’s house, restaurant kitchens and LA public transit. I laughed at her joke and gave her my camera assuming she had been born within the last 100 years and understood how a camera works. She gracefully accepted it, stared blankly at the 3” LCD display and ‘snapped’ a series of ‘photos’ as Quinn and I panted next to the old master. I blurted out the common Spanish courtesies (yes, I speak Spanish), grabbed the camera and headed toward the next Trek Point with little hesitation.

As you might have assumed, it wasn’t until 40 minutes, 3 Trek Points, and 6 subway stations later did Quinn and I notice the Hispanic woman failed to correctly take a single picture! As the train deposited us within blocks of the finish line Quinn and I realized we would have to backtrack to a make-up Trek Point in order to receive credit for finishing.

Of course we did the make-up Trek Point, sprinted to the finish and fumed as we finished in 5th place. To make matters worse, we only finished 3 minutes behind 1st place! In other words, had Latin America gotten its act together and joined the rest of the developing world so this Hispanic lady would have had even a faint grasp on modern technology we wouldn’t have backtracked! We would have won by over 10 minutes! We would have been HEROES. Instead, because some Hispanic woman doesn’t know how to push a button or make fire, we were nothing.

I understand the whole incident could have been avoided had I just reviewed the photo on the spot. I get that, but I shouldn’t have had to. There is no reason everyone in this country shouldn’t know how to use a digital camera. In fact, it should be required training for citizenship. In any event, I don’t forgive that Hispanic woman and I’m starting to think she did it on purpose. Perhaps it was her way of enforcing her $50 standard rate she requires for her photography services. If that is the case, for 50 bucks we should have been given western wear and an 8x10 sepia toned glossy of us with Beethoven.

Whatever her motive or lack of motive might have been, it will be a long time before I like Hispanics again, eat nachos, or look at myself in the mirror.

More photos (but not the one I needed) are here.

Today, I stole a car.

I didn’t intentionally try to steal a car as my actions bordered on accidental, but I did find myself driving an automobile that I did not own or have permission to be driving. That does not change the fact, nor do I want the record to show that I didn’t steal the car. Yes, today I did steal a car but I’m afraid my situation leans more toward “unsuspecting felon” rather than “car-thief/badass.”

The ‘crime’ occurred earlier today at my place of employment; a well-to-do office situated in a downtown LA skyscraper. My job description encompasses many different fields of civilized labor, with today’s adventure falling under the ‘errand runner’ category. On a typical day, I will receive a request to run an errand, which I will undertake through the use of a company vehicle. I have driven the two company vehicles many times, and I find a great deal of pleasure in utilizing them throughout the city. Today, however, both vehicles were absent and I received a pressing request that required an immediate fulfillment.

Upon asking my superior for a solution to my problem, she saw no harm in me utilizing the boss’s BMW. Of course, I was thrilled to have the opportunity to drive such a machine, so I snatched the boss’s valet ticket and headed toward the garage. On my way down the elevator as I persuaded myself not to “wreck it,” I realized I had never even seen the boss’s car. That problem should have been easily forgone if the valet company were incapable of mistakes.

As I presented the valet ticket to the lot attendant, there was a little confusion as to what car I was taking. I figured they must have been talking about someone else and I focused on my task rather than mentally translate Spanish. After an unusually long time, the valet pulled up in a beautiful black BMW only to get out and jeer at another attendant that he was “full of shit.” He laughed at the others ignorance and watched me approach him with a puzzled expression across his face.

“This you?” he asked as he gestured to the open car door.

“I guess,” I said as I stepped into the vehicle and awkwardly waited for him to slowly close the door behind me. With that, I pulled out of the garage and onto the street where I nervously slipped through the intersections of the city. After several blocks I began to ease into the machine remarking at the car’s ability to really ‘get-up and go.’ It was at that point when I saw a name on a white card, the kind typically reserved for picking up a stranger at the airport. The card was lying on the floor with the name belonging to a woman I didn’t entirely recognize. Initially, I thought nothing of it but after several blocks my imagination began to wander… why would my boss pick this woman up from the airport? If anything I would be asked to do such a thing, and why were there a pair of woman’s sunglasses on the dashboard? Though my boss is married, why is this strange woman’s name and glasses in the car?

It was at that moment when I pulled up to a stoplight and began frantically digging through the glove compartment. Under various CDs I found the car’s registration card. Listed on the card was not by boss’s name nor the business in which I work for… but rather a man’s name with a last name that matched the white card. I began to panic.

I opened the car’s center console and after fumbling through endless cases of cherry Chapstick, I found an insurance card listing the man and woman’s names together! As the light turned green and I peeled through the intersection I realized I had just inadvertently stolen an automobile!

I know I should have turned around, and I know I should have slowed down, but there is something exhilarating about breaking the law (knowing or unknowingly). In my brain I began to think of what I would say when ‘they’ found out, but as my foot pressed the accelerator, I really didn’t care. I was a criminal; free, dangerous, and running late.

I ran the errand, promptly returned the car (to more puzzled expressions), and quickly fled the scene as I approached my building’s elevator bank. As I did so, hands still trembling with fear/anxiety I reached for my mobile so I could do the one thing I knew was right:“Dad, I think I just stole a BMW! I’m serious! I’ll tell you all about it, call me when you get this. It was awesome!”

Door A Jar?

For reasons unknown, there is a driver’s side door outside my apartment. I initially found this situation humorous, but joy turned to irritation when I considered the possibility that this could feasibly be my car door. Though I didn’t remember loosing my car door, this door fit all the characteristics of my door; it was white, it was old enough that it fell off, and no one really seemed to care.

After a curious evaluation of my vehicle, it turned out this abandoned door was not mine, but that still doesn’t change the fact there is a driver’s side door outside my apartment. I almost wish the door was mine so I can stop wondering why there is a driver’s side door outside my apartment.

Leap Year

I’m afraid my annual efforts to make Halloween the most epic night of the fall came up a little short for the year 2008. This year, there are no epic tales of danger or mystery and there
probably won’t be Matt Moore-related fables that people speak about for future Halloweens to come. Sadly, it could be the tamest Moore-Halloween on record.

I’d have to say the most notable events of Halloween 2008 had nothing to do with me. The cream of the Halloween 2008 crop would have to go to Mrs. Moore’s annual shipment of frosted cookies (pictured above posing with a quarter). They came in the form of the usual cast of spooks including pumpkins, black cats, and skulls with the new addition of Frankenstein! Don’t worry; they were homemade, delicious, and gone roughly 24 hours after their arrival.

A close second to homemade sweets was a surprisingly raging party thrown by the mid-city Nebraskans. I have to admit I didn’t expect much from them, and the stop at their house was initially intended as the customary pleasantries before going off to a ‘better party.’ I must say, I was the goose as their party had the full makings of a rager complete with multiple rooms, multiple floors, multiple houses, multiple guests and multiple activities to make for a very lively atmosphere. The party also contained the ‘X’ factor no other LA party could boast which was Kuhns. As usual, he was in rare form speaking inside with outside voices while creating a spectacular party aura. Good work Kuhns (a better use of this photo).

Maybe like my record with New Year’s Eve festivities, Halloween 2008 was the universe’s way of evening me out. Let’s be honest, as far as Halloween is concerned I’ve had a good run. There are plenty of epic stories, costumes and mistakes, which have ‘haunted’ me for years. Maybe 2008 was the bad Halloween required to make way for another 8 years of fun… or maybe it is the end of an era. In any event, at least I got my cookies.

The Avant-Garde Football Association

Apparently, art history courses fail to recognize Picasso's obsession with American rules football. I pulled this label off a FedEx Package yesterday. It looks like a poster for a cubist football team!

Yes, I have some idle time.

I don't necessarily 'have cable'

I don’t exactly ‘have cable’ television, in that I don’t subscribe to cable service provider… which means I don’t ‘have cable.’ I guess I could have just said that. I don’t have cable.

Anyway, last evening’s episode of The Colbert Report was one of the best I can recall in recent memory. Full episodes of The Colbert Report are available the day after they air on Colbertnation.com which is terribly convenient for those of us 9-5 ‘keyless piano players.' Watch it.

Columbus Day

516 years ago today Christopher Columbus discovered not only the 'new world,' but an entirely new hemisphere. Today, over 5 centuries later, I not only had to go to work but I was assailed by a prostitute over my lunch break.

I suppose it is true that no one gets Columbus Day off anymore.

(If you can find a better joke in there somewhere, please feel free to share)