The triumphant return of Consumer Action Report Thursday returns!

Tuesday was the biggest single entertainment day in history, with the new Xbox 360 game “Halo 3″ taking in over 170 million dollars. That beat any movie or off-off-broadway play you could think of.

So today, my new thing was to head over to my friend Jeff Short’s house, pick up a controller, and spend a little time playing Halo 3. It may not be fun to read about, but it was fun to do.

Today’s new thing was to move our show into a new office. Yeah, thrilling, I know. But let me spice up that boring New Thing entree for you. What if I told you that our new office was once occupied by none other than Red Foxx? Yeah, that makes it cooler.

A while back, I did a facial mask as one of my new things. I found the experience not un-ooky, like peeling a layer of my skin off, if that layer were green and smelled like cucumber-limes.

A friend of mine recently saw that post and said, no, no, opus. You used the wrong kind of mask. You really need a mud mask. And as the All New Year goes on, I find myself doing variations on the same themes, so I figured I’d try the mud mask thing.

I ended up looking like one of the extras from Apocolypto.

It tingled and sorta hurt a bit. I didn’t enjoy the experience. Although it did all wash off - thankfully - and my face look and felt pretty good.

Do I look better? Heck. You can’t improve on perfection.

After visiting a pirate supply store, wearing an eyepatch for a day and National Talk Like A Pirate Day, I found myself on the cusp of another pirate-themed all new thing. This one came from Jennie CC’s lovely friend Trish, who hipped us to a Pirate Festival in Ojai. What is a Pirate Festival, you ask in my head? Well, head-voice, I’ll tell you - it’s like renassaince fair, but for people who like to dress as pirates.

Heading up, JennieCC and Zabeth and I still had inner voices, asking us what we were getting into and why. But when we got there, it was all answered - and all so much more confusing.

We found hundreds upon hundreds of pirates. These were not half-assed, post-ironic hipster pirates wearing eye patches and stripey shirts. These were full-assed (in every possible way) pirates, from head to toe and with salty tongue ablaze, with elaborate pirate encampments and pirate names and pirate games.

We, of course, came dressed like normal people. It is amazing how quickly your definition of “normal” can shift when you are surrounded by several hundred pirates. One pirate began pelting me with pieces of fruit. “You’re no pirate!” he bellowed, as his mates around him cackled. “Am too!” I feebly protested, dodging peach pits, “I downloaded music just this morning!”

It was easily a mix of 98% pirate, 2% non-pirate. We were on the non-pirate side. Although many stalls and shops attempted to sell us pirate wares. We stopped at one and were waylaid for a good half-hour as a friendly pirate tried to sell us feathers, tiaras, and long plush jackets. “Kind sir,” he said to me, “it seems to me your clothing could be more seaworthy.” He put a tiara on my hat.

It was later pointed out to me by Jennie and Zabeth that the good pirate sir was, shall we say, interested in my booty.

Nevermind, though! We went forth and mingled with the pirate masses. As attractive young women both, more pirate lads were interested in JennieCC and Zabeth than I. Two jostled and joked their way for their attention, offering ale and company in what can only be described as a series of escalating pirate cock-blocks.

In hopes of getting information from these pirate romeos, I asked for directions to where I might “procure” a “tankard” of “ale”, quotes ringing hollowly in my voice. They gave me vague directions. I headed over to a lush camp, with pillows and fainting chairs and ottomans of the finest pirate style. I headed to the gate.

“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Are you a guest?” asked the pirate at the gate.
“Um… I don’t know.” I said honestly, “I’m not sure what the rules are.”
“Ah,” the pirate said, voice of pity, “I’m sorry. This is for pirates only.”

I don’t want to veer into hyperbole, but I think at that point my plight was greater than, or possibly equal to, Rosa Park’s.

I finally found the bar for normals, and got some mead, which is apparently cheap white wine that has been mixed with some sort of rubbing alcohol. We wandered the fair, watching as pirates exchange pleasantries with friends and strangers alike. I suppose when you’re dressed as a pirate, and you see another person dressed as a pirate, there isn’t very many social boundries. You just have a cup of Rubbing Alchohol with them and you’re on your merry way to friendship.

Which is when JennieCC, Zabeth and I all realized something about these pirates. There were all, well… horny. Horny, dirty, and mostly unattractive. You had to picture it: these were people who probably waited all year for this weekend. They were probably not too socially adept in their normal lives, and considering the amazing commitment to piratey facial hair, they probably didn’t fit in too well with polite society. It was clear when the sun went down, the camp was probably abuzz with nasty pirate sex. For once, when thinking about sex, I did not feel a ping of jealousy. They could have it.

And so it went. I bought a Turkey Leg:

Zabeth bought a bodice:

We met up with Trish and her family, and wandered the fair. We saw at least three black pirates, and at least seven “Jack Sparrow”s. And after a while, we had our fill of shantys and jolly rodgers, of beards and women squished into far-too-revealing-clothes-than-a-women-of-that-attractiveness-level-should-even-contemplate-wearing. We headed back to the car.

And something about sitting in that car, driving home, felt a little weird. Like we were cheating a bit to have gas and electricity again. Like somewhere, a pirate was waiting, ready to huck peach pits at us for our non-piratey ways.

So, my boss is a really great fella. He is a guy who has worked very hard and very long to get where he is, and as a result he’s got a good amount of money. Today, he invited me to come along with him to Fry’s in order to help pick out stuff for his new home theater. So I did, and in doing so, did my new thing for the day: Spend a lot of money that wasn’t, really, mine.

Okay, fine, I may not have actually bought anything. But my influence was amazing as we wandered through the big screen TVs, stereo surround sound systems, game systems and remote controls. It was like I was in entourage - I’d point out something I thought was a good deal, and he’s say, Okay. Even if that good deal was, say, several thousand dollars. This isn’t something he does all the time, mind you, but still, it was pretty amazing. I had the power to spend thousands of bucks of somebody else’s money! The only drawback was the fact that I wouldn’t actually be getting anything. But for a technology geek like me, the vicarious thrill was enough.

A while back, a lovely person named Sarah asked if I had ever had a sock monkey made for me. I think, like most people, I can say that I had honestly not. It was a nice offer, but I didn’t expect anything of it. Which is why it was a lovely surprise when today in the mail came this:

My new thing today, with great thanks to Sarah, is to get my own sock monkey. It’s the most adorable argyle-clad monkey since, well, since I last wore my sweater-vest. Cuddly, soft, and color-coordinated, it’s the simian world’s loss and my gain. If you’d like to see Sarah’s great monkeys and monsters, check her Etsy store out, and buy a monkey for your own self. It will surely make your life explode with happiness.

Today was National Talk Like A Pirate Day. So I did my best to shiver some timbers and avast some hearties. Granted, I was working, so I couldn’t be salty all day long. But particularly with friends and online, I Yarr’d my heart out.

If only I wore my eyepatch today, too…