"DOCTOR, CAN YOU MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A MODEL?"

And he does...for the Ace Hardware catalog.

That's what I call a personal make-over in reverse. Where you think you're going to get one thing but the opposite happens. For example, you dream of being reincarnated as a "soaring bird." In the next life you're an ICBM missile. Or you go in for open heart surgery and come out with your gall bladder attached to your neck.

These things DO happen. Let me assure you. For our world is full of misinterpretations of desire...miscommunications. Missed signals. Misunderstandings...

I once asked my parents for a "hand-held video game." What did they buy me? A calculator.

It's been a constant in my life. When I worked at AT&T I was a creative consultant. But everytime I'd walk through a client's door, they'd send me immediately to the IT (info technology) department. There I would sit with some guy named Doug. He'd have on a shortsleeve buttondown shirt with a clip-on tie, a pocket protector and a nose hair peeping out like a worm.

You've never seen someone so excited about "frame relay" and "dedicated lines." All I wanted was to sell him a web site.

It's frustrating being pidgeonholed based on your appearance. I've got curly hair, glasses, an XL forehead. For whatever reason, that implies that I am a genius, I sleep with blow-up dolls and I've got a degree from MIT. Couldn't be further from the truth. Though I use computers (I'm a designer by trade), I don't know how to fix the damn things.

When someone starts talking to me about TCP/IP connections, they might as well be speaking to a dog. Because all I hear is "Bzzzzzz."

I was at Computer City...this pimply faced tech weenie started talking to me in Klingon. "This PC has got the 800Mhz dual-bus with capacitator and fluctuating bowel movement..."

All I wanted to know was, "Does it send email?"

Stop with the jabber, robot boy! If I want a spec sheet I'll open my Macintosh installation guide!

And then as I was trying to leave the store, some old woman came up..."Excuse me, sir. Do you carry WindowsXP?"

"Um, m'am. You want the guys with the blue polo shirts."

What if I'd said, "Yes we do. Locate the magical pig in aisle 10 and he'll get a copy for you."

Maybe that's what I need to do. Start messing with people. Go with the stereotype. Live up to the expectation.

I think I'll start wearing a Members Only jacket and some highwater pants.

Break my glasses so I can put some masking tape on the bridge.

Ask my plastic surgeon to add some permanent pimples to my chin.

Grow a peach fuzz moustache.

Hell, why not get braces while I'm at it?

And then headgear! I've always wanted to re-live those happy moments from my junior high school days. Walking down the halls with this football helmet skeletal structure wrapped around my head. "Did you guys watch Battlestar Galactica last night?"

YOU AND YOUR WORLD

In 7th grade I had a class with the title, 'You and Your World.' It wasn't about me and my world, it was about the world according to the ultra-feminist, Ms McGeachy. Um, let me emphasize something. It wasn't just "Ms.," it was "Mizzzz." She wanted us to know that because she had been divorced. Apparently that pronunciation was from the liberated New Testament: Gloria, 4:16.

In the class we learned such valuable things as "warm fuzzies" and "cold pricklies." The importance of falling in love with inanimate objects (such as a block of balsa wood) and I even got to listen to that classic song, "It's alright to cry."

"Because cryin' gets the sad out of you...

And it might make you feel better."

One day I made HER cry.

I brought in my ventriloquist dummy. It was this little black kid with curly hair. I called him 'EG.' Mizzzzz McGeachy thought he was so cute. Until I started mimicking her during class.

Everytime Ms. M opened her mouth, so would my dummy...

Mizzzz: "Everybody likes a warm fuzzy. They make you feel good inside."

Kids in the room started laughing. Over here...over there. One by one in little fits of cackling.

She'd say, "What's going on? Why are you laughing?" Nobody gave me up.

Before long what was a low rumbling turned into sheer outbursts and she busted me.

"Come up here NOW, and sit next to me."

Wise punishment. Now I was facing the audience with the dummy on my lap and McGeachy sitting to my left...out of visual range from EG.

We sat there for about 45 seconds, innocent as lambs. But this itch started in me...like Darth Vader was in the back of the room using his Jedi mind trick to move my hand. As hard as I tried to resist, I couldn't stop myself.

It was my finest moment as a ventriloquist: I didn't move my lips once. And I made EG, a little black dummy made in S. Korea, sound like a 39 year old white woman from Wisconsin.

Hey, I couldn't stop him. It was like the devil took over and I was a dummy...holding a dummy.

The class erupted into laughter. McGeachy, finally realizing what was occurring, looked over at me and screamed, "I DON'T LIKE YOU ANY MORE!"

I said, "Hey, that's a cold prickly!"

She sent me to the backroom where EG spent the next 30 minutes eating her overhead projector crayons.

The following year, Ms. McGeachy got promoted to school counselor. How in the hell do you get to be a counselor when you're yelling at a 14 year old, "I don't like you anymore!"?

For Christmas, I'm going to send her a true 'cold prickly': a frozen French tickler.

I WANT TO BE BRAD PITT'S BRAIN

Can I help it if I am genetically engineered to look intelligent?

Don't you think I would have preferred to be Brad Pitt?

Now, that's a man who could use that sale at LensCrafters!

"Buy one pair, get a second brain FREE!"

That would be kinda hard though, wouldn't it? I mean, walking around with another brain.

You'd have to carry a tiny refrigerated box connected to a firewire port in your ass.

I guess that wouldn't be pleasant...but then again, you'd be a genius!

Imagine the power of two brains at work. The one in your head could be watching the Sci-Fi channel while the external unit would be doing the taxes. Ahhh...two brains.

In the case of Mr. Pitt, his primary (original) gray matter would manage things like regulating heart rate, doing the bills, scratching his balls and so forth. The second, for much higher and critical functionality: boning Jennifer Aniston.

In which case I nominate my brain for transplant.

THE LITTLE THINGS IN MY LIFE

Isn't it weird when something big (and bad) happens to you and you go, "Oh, well." But a little thing makes you explode?

I was driving into Chevron and smacked the front end of my car on a metal post. "Crunch!" The guy in the car next to me goes, "Oooh!" (it's never a good sign when someone else is making noises of pain about your vehicle). I stepped out of my car and checked the damage: huge scrape, there was paint all over the bumper and I cracked the turn signal reflector. I know this is going to cost me $300 or more to fix (it's one of those German cars).

I should have been shitting my pants, yelling, screaming..."I"m such a goddamn idiot!"

What did I do? Blew it off.

30 minutes later I'm driving with a McDonald's cheeseburger and I take the first bite and BOTH pickles come out in the FIRST BITE! And I'm pissed...because those pickles should NOT be overlapping.

I'm driving down Santa Monica boulevard, screaming..."This is bullshit!" This guy next to me thinks I'm yelling at my agent.

Do you have any idea how much money was invested in the research and development of proper pickle placement?

Ray Kroc (the founder of McD's) took this stuff very seriously. Through intense scientific research (a fat guy sitting in a LazyBoy recliner whose hypothalamus has been snipped to prevent him from feeling full), Mr. Kroc discovered that a human being could get a pickle wedge in each consecutive bite if placed side by side. Please...don't tell me that's a "Kroc of shit." It's true.

I know because I used to work at McDonald's. I cared. I took the time to arrange the pickles according to the Tao of Kroc.

But damn the lazy ass employee who stacks the cuke cakes incorrectly. These are not conjoined twins. These pickles are not supposed to be having sex. I've watched the McDonald's training video...it doesn't say, "Now, place the pickles in the missionary position."

The pickles should not be humping, they should be spooning!

People think, "But Augi...these kids are only making minimum wage. What can you expect?"

I can expect a lot! When I was working at McDonald's minimum wage was $3.35/hr.

That's not exactly incentive to send out each burger like you're working at the Intel microchip lab, but I did anyway.

I think that's the future of fast food...go into McDonald's...get greeted by a girl in a space suit. The golden arches embossed on the helmet.

The guys in the grill are dancing around like those dorks in those "Intel Inside" ads.

Grimace is now extra puffy in his purple foil suit.

That's how it's going to be. We're becoming so paranoid about bacteria and disease that...say by 2010, we'll only feel safe if we're ordering our chocolate shakes from a Stormtrooper.

What's more stupid is that I spent 69 cents on that cheeseburger. Cost of my car? $40,000.

THE SHRINK WHO THOUGHT I WAS A DORK

I'd always wanted to visit a therapist just for "fun," so I set up an appointment with Dr. Tucker. Let the fun begin...

When I walked in for the very first session, I recall thinking to myself, "I'm going to blow her away with how well adjusted I am." But as soon as I opened my mouth, I knew she was thinking, "Here's the down payment on my new Saab."

When I posed that question to her she simply said, "No, I wasn't thinking about a car. I was thinking about a split level condo in Bel Aire."

Then she said, "I apologize. You must think I'm crazy. It's just I feel so inadequate at times...you know, my mother...God, she never supported me. So I'm always over-compensating by going to Neiman Marcus and buying Gucci purses and then the pizzas...Jesus, I can't stop eating. I've gained 226 pounds in the last week. It's all my father's fault anyway. The bastard never would tell me he loved me so I started dating the chess club geeks to piss him off and then...I don't know...I think I might be a lesbian. The other night I was reading Esquire and I had this urge to rip out the pictures of Penelope Cruz and rub them against my private parts. I don't know...I think, subconsciously, that I hate men and that I really wish I was a man but I'm afraid to get a sex change. What do you think?"

"Um, I guess..."

There's a knock at the door.

Dr. Tucker says, "Oh. That's my next patient. Thanks for coming in. You can pay on your way out."

-auGi

MY DAD WAS A LITTLE BIG

He went through a phase where he was rotund, pudgy, slightly paunch, with baby. And he was sensitive about it, too. VERY sensitive. So my brother and I gave him a nickname...BUBBA.

Weren't we rotten little children? Can you believe we'd call him that?

"Hey, Bubba. How was work?"

"Goodmorning, Bubba. Are you making pancakes today?"

"Bubba! Where's my toothbrush!"

At first I think he was upset about it. I mean, how could you not be? But after awhile it became a term of endearment. He embraced his size (as did mom...though I don't think she could ever lock hands around him again) and things in the house were good.

Today, he's a small man. He lost the weight, lost his hair, and shrunk to the size of Mini Me. I swear, my dad was always towering over me. Now he's my size (what does that say about ME?). I think I could take him if I had to. Maybe wrestle him down in a double chicken wing or hit him on the head with a ball peen hammer.

Not that I would ever do that. I love him too much. But if he doesn't give me that raise on my allowance...

MY FIRST TELEVISION APPEARANCE

I made my first TV appearance. Thank you. I didn't realize I looked liked that much of a dork!

Right now, two guys in Encino are like, "Hey, dude. Come in here and check this out. It's the E! True Hollywood Story of Anthony Michael Hall!"

"No, dude. That isn't the dude from Weird Science. That's Andy Dick!"

There's no escaping who you are, is there?

Whatever what mask you try and hide behind, people are always going to see somebody else. That's just the truth. You can put on all the Maybelline lip gloss you want but it ain't gonna make your lips any bigger. It's not going to hide the chancre. You can drive around in a Mercedes Benz but once you step out, you're just who you are.

We are so obsessed with image in this country. Especially here in L.A. Home of the greed, land of the vain. I'm surprised there's not a mirror at every street corner. "Uh, Mayor. We'd like to propose that all cross signals be affixed with a reflective surface to satisfy the desires of our Beverly Hills community."

Even I, as dorky as I look, like to look at myself! It's just that when I look in the mirror I see the truth. But when I'm looking through my eyes onto the world, I feel like I'm somebody else. Know what I mean? It's not like you can watch yourself (thank God...you'd scream, "Freak!").

Every time I go and see a movie with Pierce Brosnan or Brad Pitt, I leave the theater thinking I am Brad Pitt. I'm confident, secure, feeling like I can rule the planet. Then the guy at 7-eleven reminds me who I really am. "Excuse me. May I have your autograph, Mr. Dick?"

SUPERMAN

Clark Kent takes off his glasses and becomes Superman. I put my glasses on and become Superdork.

Wearing spectacles is like a makeover...in REVERSE. Like those before/after shots in Cosmo...with the girl who looks like Janet Reno. But after a haircut and a shave...transforms into Janet Jackson?

In the case of glasses, it's the other way around.

Before glasses your're Steve McQueen...after? Steve Erkel.

You ask your plastic surgeon..."Can you make me look Eric Stolz?" And he does...in MASK.

You go in for a sex change and when you wake up, you're a monkey.

How can some plastic, glass and tiny little screws metamorphose you into a nuclear physicist?

Did I miss that sale at the MIT Optical store?

"Buy one pair, get a free PhD!"

"LensCrafters...genius, in about an hour."

These are by Polo...not Calvin Kleinstein.

"Well, why don't you try contacts?"

I did. When I went into work I was expecting people to go, "Oh, you look so great without glasses."

Instead, I got demoted.

24 hours later, my body rejected them. Apparently they weren't compatible with my operating system.

And anyway, whose bright idea was it to defy a million years of evolution? "I think I'll just open up my blinkers and stick an alien probe in my eyeball!"

Yeah, my glasses have always wanted a relationship with a chunk of glass.

It's such a natural feeling.

FLIGHT OF THE MANNEQUIN

I was window shopping on Melrose and was amazed how conceited-looking the mannequins are. All puffed up in their perfect features...chiseled chins and noses. Hard biceps. That fake wisp of acrylic hair. It's such bullshit. Especially since they are better looking than I am.

The mannequins on Melrose are HOT. They even appear to have fake boobs. I was so convinced this one was real I asked her out on a date. You know what she said? She said NOTHING! Like most women do with me.

The only mannequins I feel comfortable with are those at K-Mart. Apparently, K-Mart didn't allocate a whole lotta budget to this side of the business because it looks like Vietnam in the men's department.

Have you been here? I don't think one mannequin has an entire set of limbs. They're all standing there lifeless, looking depressed, with a decapitated arm...a missing leg. That one over there's foot busted off.

If mannequins were made in God's image, then their god was decapitated.

It always amuses me to see mannequins with missing parts. Especially a missing head. Just how cheap are you to forego the purchase of the very body part that sets us apart from monkeys?

There's nothing sexier than seeing a torso modeling a bikini. Or just the legs and waist but no upper body whatsoever. Are they trying to save vertical space? Why not buy the ENTIRE being? Wouldn't you be able to advertise more product if you had the arms, the neck, the goddamn chest?

Maybe it's shoplifting. I think it would be pretty funny to catch someone walking out of the store with a third arm. "Hey, where you goin' with that arm, boy!"

If Winona Ryder had been smart, she would have stolen a Gucci hand while she was at it.

Is the K-Mart janitor a pervert sneaking a little in during his shift? "Gonna gets me some tonight with that mannequin over in the bra section." That would be a fun episode of in-store security camera. "Jesus. Look at Kenny. He's humpin' that mannequin!"

When I go to a place like the Sky Bar, I feel like I'm surrounded by a sea of mannequins. Just me walking through a crowd of stiff, plastic people. Their painted eyes staring blankly at me. Nobody acknowledges that I'm there. I feel so out of place.

Next time I'm going to break off one of their heads. Maybe that will get me the attention I deserve.