George Carlin was my favorite comedian. The first time I heard this routine I was lying in bed late at night, listening to the radio very quietly because I was supposed to be asleep. I thought it was the funniest thing ever--particularly because of the different voices he used when discussing baseball and football.
What a very smart guy and what a very cool guy.
"Baseball is a nineteenth-century pastoral game.Football is a twentieth-century technological struggle.
Baseball is played on a diamond, in a park.The baseball park! Football is played on a gridiron, in a stadium, sometimes called Soldier Field or War Memorial Stadium.
Baseball begins in the spring, the season of new life.Football begins in the fall, when everything's dying.
In football you wear a helmet.
In baseball you wear a cap.
Football is concerned with downs--what down is it?
Baseball is concerned with ups--"Who's up? Are you up? I'm not up! He's up!"
In football you receive a penalty.
In baseball you make an error.
In football the specialist comes in to kick.
In baseball the specialist comes in to relieve somebody.
Football has hitting, clipping, spearing, piling on, personal fouls, late hitting and unnecessary roughness.
Baseball has the sacrifice.
Football is played in any kind of weather. Rain, snow, sleet, hail, fog...can't see the game, don't know if there is a game going on; mud on the field...can't read the uniforms, can't read the yard markers, the struggle will continue!
In baseball, if it rains, we don't go out to play. "I can't go out! It's raining out!"
Baseball has the seventh inning stretch.
Football has the two minute warning.
Baseball has no time limit: we don't know when it's gonna end--might have extra innings. Football is rigidly timed, and it will end even if we've got to go to sudden death.
In baseball, during the game, in the stands, there's kind of a picnic feeling; emotions may run high or low, but there's not too much unpleasantness.
In football, during the game in the stands, you can be sure that at least twenty-seven times you're capable of taking the life of a fellow human being.
And finally, the objectives of the two games are completely different:
In football the object is for the quarterback, also known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy's defensive line.
In baseball the object is to go home! And to be safe! - I hope I'll be safe at home!"
Expressions and Signs
EXPRESSIONS
Occasionally, I see old photos of myself and I realize that I have had the exact same set of expressions for a very, very, very long time. Let me translate this one for you: (1) Are you putting me on and/or pulling my leg? (2) I am going to make a screwed-up face because I know that someone is taking my picture. (3) I see the man behind the curtain and I am paying attention to him. (4) The emperor wears no clothes. I don't do it on purpose; my face does this on its own. It is a wonder it has not frozen like this. Or, maybe it has frozen like this and my eyes are slewed across my face and my mouth is squinched up and I can't even tell.
SIGNS
Back in November, I did a post about hobos because they fascinate me. What I'm thinking today, 'though, is that hobo signs would be very useful off-road, as well as on-road.
Wouldn't it be great if n'eer do well nogoodniks sported a "Get Out Fast" or "Keep Away" symbol? It would save time, money, agita, social diseases! Or, maybe you go for a job interview and the place seems okay until, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a "Don't Go This Way" symbol on the wall next to a gigantic conference room. At that point, you still have time to flee when you find out they have daily staff retreats with trust exercises and sharing circles.
What extreme awesomeness would be wrought if a "Hold Your Tongue" symbol flashed in mid-air during some conversations? And, I really like the thought of an "At Crossroads Go This Way" sign popping up when I'm wrestling with life's most gristly and grisly decisions.
My favorite symbol is the "Don't Give Up" sign. I would like to see one on a magazine rack in an endless line at the supermarket. Or, sitting in your car, you look up and one appears on a 2-second green, 10-minute red stop light when traffic is backed up and you have an appointment.
Seriously, I wish I could put this sign in a spot where each person who needs it would see it. One problem--who the heck would know what it meant without this handy hobo sign cheat sheet? Clearly, the sensible thing to do* is to get my sorta niece's tagger boyfriend to make me a stencil with the symbol and the words Don't Give Up. I'm way too old to be a graffiti artist (how much are the fines, does anyone know--can I do time?), but I must say that I'm taken with this thought. Planting seeds of hope. Like Johnny Appleseed, but more like Jeannie Felonspray. That is all. Have a severely awesome day filled with profound awesomeness.**
*Okay. Maybe not clearly sensible.
**I have no idea why I'm talking like this, and I'm sure that it will pass. Hopefully, my written expression won't freeze this way.
Occasionally, I see old photos of myself and I realize that I have had the exact same set of expressions for a very, very, very long time. Let me translate this one for you: (1) Are you putting me on and/or pulling my leg? (2) I am going to make a screwed-up face because I know that someone is taking my picture. (3) I see the man behind the curtain and I am paying attention to him. (4) The emperor wears no clothes. I don't do it on purpose; my face does this on its own. It is a wonder it has not frozen like this. Or, maybe it has frozen like this and my eyes are slewed across my face and my mouth is squinched up and I can't even tell.
SIGNSBack in November, I did a post about hobos because they fascinate me. What I'm thinking today, 'though, is that hobo signs would be very useful off-road, as well as on-road.
Wouldn't it be great if n'eer do well nogoodniks sported a "Get Out Fast" or "Keep Away" symbol? It would save time, money, agita, social diseases! Or, maybe you go for a job interview and the place seems okay until, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a "Don't Go This Way" symbol on the wall next to a gigantic conference room. At that point, you still have time to flee when you find out they have daily staff retreats with trust exercises and sharing circles.What extreme awesomeness would be wrought if a "Hold Your Tongue" symbol flashed in mid-air during some conversations? And, I really like the thought of an "At Crossroads Go This Way" sign popping up when I'm wrestling with life's most gristly and grisly decisions.
My favorite symbol is the "Don't Give Up" sign. I would like to see one on a magazine rack in an endless line at the supermarket. Or, sitting in your car, you look up and one appears on a 2-second green, 10-minute red stop light when traffic is backed up and you have an appointment.
Seriously, I wish I could put this sign in a spot where each person who needs it would see it. One problem--who the heck would know what it meant without this handy hobo sign cheat sheet? Clearly, the sensible thing to do* is to get my sorta niece's tagger boyfriend to make me a stencil with the symbol and the words Don't Give Up. I'm way too old to be a graffiti artist (how much are the fines, does anyone know--can I do time?), but I must say that I'm taken with this thought. Planting seeds of hope. Like Johnny Appleseed, but more like Jeannie Felonspray. That is all. Have a severely awesome day filled with profound awesomeness.**
*Okay. Maybe not clearly sensible.
**I have no idea why I'm talking like this, and I'm sure that it will pass. Hopefully, my written expression won't freeze this way.
Call The Uh-Oh Squad
Uh-Oh #1
Last night, Lily saw a UNICORN in the back yard. Okay. It was not a unicorn. It was a deer. Yet, it might as well have been a UNICORN because she has never seen a deer before. And it was in her back yard. Let me clarify: The UNIDEER was in LILY'S BACK YARD.
Perhaps you will understand when I tell you that Lily became emotional. She has a complex thing that she does when confronted with foreign wildlife. She growls a little, throwing in a bit of barking, and wags her tail enthusiastically. Now, that makes me want to say to her, "Lily? Girl? You're sending mixed messages." Don't you think? But, I leave it to her good judgment.
Usually, she needs to drink quite a bit of water after being emotional. Tank up. Wet her whistle. Then she lies down and takes a nap. If she has recently seen a, for example, UNIDEER, she tends to have flashbacks in which her little legs pump along dream-running, the smell of dream-unideer fills her nostrils, and she lurches her upper body up off the floor mid-snore (Lily snores), looks around wildly, and lets out a half-choked sob. "Well, good morning, sunshine," I say, meeting her startled eyes, "Good girl, Lily." And, she slumps back down on the floor in a "meant to do that" kind of way, heaves a deep sigh, and is off to snore land again.
I am pretty sure Lily's head will blow off her small, silky body if she ever sees an elephant. I'm hoping one won't turn up in the back yard.
Uh-Oh #2
This will shock you, but Sparkle Plenty is not my real name. Yet, I've grown rather fond of it, and I am sometimes tempted to make it permanent. Mostly, I dig the jolly nicknames. "Yo, Sparks!" "Party over at Sparklah's house!" Very pleasing, I must say. Of course, "Sparky" is also a possibility--a bit too much like a plucky little puppy to be much fun as a nickname, but a possibility that must be considered. Here's what's holding me back, in addition to the actual hard work of changing credit cards and bank accounts and god knows what:
1) Won't people expect me to be eternally sparkly? I'm reasonably sparkly on a day to day basis, but it would be a real pain in the tuchus to have people call me on not being sparkly. "Uh, that wasn't such a sparkly thing to say, Sparkle." "Well, you can have plenty of THIS, mister!"
Follow-Up Thought: On the other hand, if I'm having a bad day and someone says "You're not being so sparkly" I could always reply in a gravelly voice: "It's Sparky, doll. I'm an electrician" or "It's Spark, doll, I'm a pyromaniac."
2) My senior citizen aunt: Does she really need to deal with more nonsense in her lifetime? I think not.
Follow-Up Thought: On the other hand, I personally have never created any nonsense for her and, given that she's an outlaw, she might really enjoy it.
3) My sister and my friend M: Would both laugh their asses off. Now, that's not such a bad thing, that's a good thing--I live to make them laugh. But, I imagine they would be "slow adopters" of the new name, if at all. No. I wrong them. First they'd laugh--or, first they'd cry, then they'd laugh...however that works--but then I think they'd adapt.
Follow-Up Thought: Does a follow-up thought count if it's the same as the first thought?
4) My clients. How to explain the new name to my clients, with whom I already occasionally use a business name as an identifier? For a one-person operation, this would mean a significant amount of re-rebranding.
Follow-Up Thought: Given the fact that I come up with names for their businesses and projects, they really shouldn't give a whiz. If I feel like I need to be more professional, I could always call myself "Sparkle Plenty, Inc."
5) The paper towel company--would they sue?
Follow-Up Thought: What the heck kind of a name is "Sparkle" for a paper towel, anyway? Wouldn't "Absorby" be a better name?
6) The Dick Tracy people--would they sue?
Follow-Up Thought: Oh, bring it, Prune Face. Briiiiiiiing iiiiiiiiit.
7) Isn't there a rapper named Sparkle--wouldn't she sue?
Follow-Up Thought: Yes, there is a musical artist named Sparkle who--based upon a YouTube comment--should "bump the haters and keep it moving." I've decided to pop the band Tina Sparkle up in my YouTube video spot, 'though. This is a catchy little song.
Okay. I think I'm safe. I talked myself out of it. But, now I think I'm subtly trying to change the dog's name as a way of getting the name-change thing out of my system. I've noticed that I've been calling her "Yily" from time to time...At least she doesn't have any credit cards to change and the unideer won't give a hoof.
Last night, Lily saw a UNICORN in the back yard. Okay. It was not a unicorn. It was a deer. Yet, it might as well have been a UNICORN because she has never seen a deer before. And it was in her back yard. Let me clarify: The UNIDEER was in LILY'S BACK YARD.
Perhaps you will understand when I tell you that Lily became emotional. She has a complex thing that she does when confronted with foreign wildlife. She growls a little, throwing in a bit of barking, and wags her tail enthusiastically. Now, that makes me want to say to her, "Lily? Girl? You're sending mixed messages." Don't you think? But, I leave it to her good judgment.
Usually, she needs to drink quite a bit of water after being emotional. Tank up. Wet her whistle. Then she lies down and takes a nap. If she has recently seen a, for example, UNIDEER, she tends to have flashbacks in which her little legs pump along dream-running, the smell of dream-unideer fills her nostrils, and she lurches her upper body up off the floor mid-snore (Lily snores), looks around wildly, and lets out a half-choked sob. "Well, good morning, sunshine," I say, meeting her startled eyes, "Good girl, Lily." And, she slumps back down on the floor in a "meant to do that" kind of way, heaves a deep sigh, and is off to snore land again.
I am pretty sure Lily's head will blow off her small, silky body if she ever sees an elephant. I'm hoping one won't turn up in the back yard.
Uh-Oh #2
This will shock you, but Sparkle Plenty is not my real name. Yet, I've grown rather fond of it, and I am sometimes tempted to make it permanent. Mostly, I dig the jolly nicknames. "Yo, Sparks!" "Party over at Sparklah's house!" Very pleasing, I must say. Of course, "Sparky" is also a possibility--a bit too much like a plucky little puppy to be much fun as a nickname, but a possibility that must be considered. Here's what's holding me back, in addition to the actual hard work of changing credit cards and bank accounts and god knows what:
1) Won't people expect me to be eternally sparkly? I'm reasonably sparkly on a day to day basis, but it would be a real pain in the tuchus to have people call me on not being sparkly. "Uh, that wasn't such a sparkly thing to say, Sparkle." "Well, you can have plenty of THIS, mister!"
Follow-Up Thought: On the other hand, if I'm having a bad day and someone says "You're not being so sparkly" I could always reply in a gravelly voice: "It's Sparky, doll. I'm an electrician" or "It's Spark, doll, I'm a pyromaniac."
2) My senior citizen aunt: Does she really need to deal with more nonsense in her lifetime? I think not.
Follow-Up Thought: On the other hand, I personally have never created any nonsense for her and, given that she's an outlaw, she might really enjoy it.
3) My sister and my friend M: Would both laugh their asses off. Now, that's not such a bad thing, that's a good thing--I live to make them laugh. But, I imagine they would be "slow adopters" of the new name, if at all. No. I wrong them. First they'd laugh--or, first they'd cry, then they'd laugh...however that works--but then I think they'd adapt.
Follow-Up Thought: Does a follow-up thought count if it's the same as the first thought?
4) My clients. How to explain the new name to my clients, with whom I already occasionally use a business name as an identifier? For a one-person operation, this would mean a significant amount of re-rebranding.
Follow-Up Thought: Given the fact that I come up with names for their businesses and projects, they really shouldn't give a whiz. If I feel like I need to be more professional, I could always call myself "Sparkle Plenty, Inc."
5) The paper towel company--would they sue?
Follow-Up Thought: What the heck kind of a name is "Sparkle" for a paper towel, anyway? Wouldn't "Absorby" be a better name?
6) The Dick Tracy people--would they sue?
Follow-Up Thought: Oh, bring it, Prune Face. Briiiiiiiing iiiiiiiiit.
7) Isn't there a rapper named Sparkle--wouldn't she sue?
Follow-Up Thought: Yes, there is a musical artist named Sparkle who--based upon a YouTube comment--should "bump the haters and keep it moving." I've decided to pop the band Tina Sparkle up in my YouTube video spot, 'though. This is a catchy little song.
Okay. I think I'm safe. I talked myself out of it. But, now I think I'm subtly trying to change the dog's name as a way of getting the name-change thing out of my system. I've noticed that I've been calling her "Yily" from time to time...At least she doesn't have any credit cards to change and the unideer won't give a hoof.
Update and Who?
Update
It is with a clear, featherlight conscience that I tell you that yesterday I walked up the hill and reclaimed the errant bag of poo. Strangely, someone had kind of tucked it into a stone wall. As a decoration to enhance the multi-million dollar housing development known as "Rustic Acres"? As a practical joke? Some kind of Errant Bag of Poo-Worshipping Cult at work? I do not know. I do, however, know that I'm all evened up karma wise. As I walked up toward the poo bag stashing spot, a large plastic bag tucked under my arm to scoop the poop bag, I looked down and noticed that the lettering on the bag had bled blue all over my bugsprayed arm. Yes, I had a navy blue forearm. It was a darker blue than the faded, circa 1940s-looking tattoos you see on the forearms of elderly men. It. Was. Blue. Briefly, I wondered if I could translate this into some lucrative circus sideshow work. This dream later washed away with the aid of soap and a cloth.
Who?
So, who's going to be Obama's running mate?
1) Bill Richardson
2) Hillary Clinton
3) John Edwards (????)
4) Howard Dean (???)
5) Christopher Dodd (???)
6) Dal LaMagna...TWEEZERMANtm?! (oh, yes please and hey--REMEMBER SKETCHCAST?!)
7) Martin Sheen (I jest, but he does have president hair and he is a fine actor, so if he has to eat sheep eyeballs at a formal dinner or something I bet he can pretend he likes them)
8) Ed McMahon (possibly looking for low-key work, has proved himself as second banana)
So, who's going to be McCain's running mate?
1) Ron Paul (but, doesn't he say he's still in the race?)
2) Michael Jesus Archangel?
3) Haley Barbour?
4) Newt Gingrich?
5) John Sununu
6) Joseph Lieberman
7) Condi? (I like to say "Condi" like Aunt Bee said "Andy" on the "Andy Griffith Show"--try it, you'll like it)
8) Mitt "You Are No Jed Clampitt" Romney?
Well, that's the extent of my imagination in this area.
May your Wednesday be full of good surprises.
Bonus Question of Day: What is poultry seasoning and does anyone use it in anything?
It is with a clear, featherlight conscience that I tell you that yesterday I walked up the hill and reclaimed the errant bag of poo. Strangely, someone had kind of tucked it into a stone wall. As a decoration to enhance the multi-million dollar housing development known as "Rustic Acres"? As a practical joke? Some kind of Errant Bag of Poo-Worshipping Cult at work? I do not know. I do, however, know that I'm all evened up karma wise. As I walked up toward the poo bag stashing spot, a large plastic bag tucked under my arm to scoop the poop bag, I looked down and noticed that the lettering on the bag had bled blue all over my bugsprayed arm. Yes, I had a navy blue forearm. It was a darker blue than the faded, circa 1940s-looking tattoos you see on the forearms of elderly men. It. Was. Blue. Briefly, I wondered if I could translate this into some lucrative circus sideshow work. This dream later washed away with the aid of soap and a cloth.
Who?
So, who's going to be Obama's running mate?
1) Bill Richardson
2) Hillary Clinton
3) John Edwards (????)
4) Howard Dean (???)
5) Christopher Dodd (???)
6) Dal LaMagna...TWEEZERMANtm?! (oh, yes please and hey--REMEMBER SKETCHCAST?!)
7) Martin Sheen (I jest, but he does have president hair and he is a fine actor, so if he has to eat sheep eyeballs at a formal dinner or something I bet he can pretend he likes them)
8) Ed McMahon (possibly looking for low-key work, has proved himself as second banana)
So, who's going to be McCain's running mate?
1) Ron Paul (but, doesn't he say he's still in the race?)
2) Michael Jesus Archangel?
3) Haley Barbour?
4) Newt Gingrich?
5) John Sununu
6) Joseph Lieberman
7) Condi? (I like to say "Condi" like Aunt Bee said "Andy" on the "Andy Griffith Show"--try it, you'll like it)
8) Mitt "You Are No Jed Clampitt" Romney?
Well, that's the extent of my imagination in this area.
May your Wednesday be full of good surprises.
Bonus Question of Day: What is poultry seasoning and does anyone use it in anything?
RUMBLE!
So, I'm supposed to be working this morning and/or taking care of vital life-related errand stuff. To blow out all the cobwebs and prepare to focus, I got up bright and early, cleaned up the kitchen, weed-whacked the yard until the battery ran out (okay, maybe the weed whacker isn't perfect, but I STILL like it!), poured myself a nice, big cup of coffee, and sat down at the computer with several documents open, ready to go. I flexed my hands, preparing the muscles of my freakishly small fingers to fly across the keyboard and make me some much-needed moola.Then I got up, went out on the back deck, stuck a plastic dinosaur on the hummingbird feeder, and started taking photographs of it. As I have noted, I am VERY bad at catching the perfect picture. However, I did get a quick shot of a hummingbird (visible on the left side of the feeder, studiously bent to its task of sipping nectar) with the dinosaur.* It pleased me for no particularly good reason. And, somehow having done that will make it easier to do my work today.
Here are some other photographs I took this morning, with brief explanatory captions hither and yon.
Two of my four front windowboxes. I had a vision of the windowboxes packed with lots and lots of pretty plants and colored glass bottles. As you will see, I haven't quite realized my vision. But, it's a start!
Butterfly slumming in the dirt: It had really pretty blue markings on its wings which I, of course, was unable to capture.
Last week, I was walking Lily back from an exciting walk in which we viewed a smushed frog and a smushed snake in which she did not roll and I saw these baskets sitting outside the farm up the road from me. They were with the recycling stuff and some worn-out equipment. They were out with the trash! My eyes gleamed. "Maybe I'll just take one, I thought," and I ended up taking all eight. As you might imagine, it was tricky to hold on to Lily, the baskets, and Lily's bag of poop.I feel very guilty to admit that I left the bag of poop hidden behind a tree in front of an extremely multi-million dollar housing development called "Rustic Acres" or something. There used to be a farm there, as well as the one that is still across the street, and I must admit that somewhere not so deep inside I wish a farm was still there. I promised myself that I'd scoot right up the road and reclaim Lily's poop bag. I have yet to do so. I promise I will. I will do it today. I always scoop and never leave it behind. Just this once. In front of the multi-million dollar housing development known as "Rustic Acres."
Uh, yes. Anyway, here are the baskets. I scrubbed them out very well, and yesterday and today I applied Thompson's water seal so I can use them as plant podiums outside and/or whatnot. My particular favorite is the tiger stripey looking one towards the far right. (Look, I KNOW this is boring stuff, it's just either this or write about my work right now and trust me--nooooooobody wants that.)
*When I was working in the yard yesterday, I wrote a tight series of 4 dinosaur-related posts in my head. No, it does not really count that they are merely head-posts and not posted-posts. Yet, I must say that they flowed well and demonstrated a certain pleasing sinew of plot and character.
Monday is Stuff Day!
Yesterday, I gave Lily a nice bath with the green dog shampoo that smells like mountain meadows and piney forests and put some flea and tick stuff on her that smells like eucalyptus and orange peel. Thereafter, I took every possible opportunity of enthusiastically sniffing her fur and telling her how nice she smelled. Today, I brought her out front with me as I gardened and discovered her rolling around on top of a fully intact yet fully dead mouse. It was inconvenient (and icky, I might add). There has been no further sniffing, although I imagine she smells like dead mice shrouded in eucalyptus and orange peel buried in a mountain meadow outside a piney forest.
World's Most Fascinating Blog Post (I WIN! I WIN!)
I went shopping this weekend. I bought second-hand books and very non-glamorous items such as spices (cumin, dill seed, red pepper flakes), brightly-colored folders (in an attempt to be more organized), and microfiber cloths with which I shall rid the universe of all grime, pollen, and grime and pollen by-products. See? I just dusted you. Be clean! (Pay me.)
Let's just cut to the books, shall we?
Here we have, from left:
"Flowers of the World IN FULL COLOR"--I plan to use this to figure out what the flower is in Jayne's picture.
"The Shy Little Kitten"--a golden book, of which only the spine is faintly visible here
"The Complete Book of Garden Magic"--the magic involved is when I remember to water the plants...I think this is the third copy of this book that I've purchased...I always get swept away by the "Magic" part and the little fairy on the spine
Two volumes of "The Mother's Encyclopedia"--there are very old, very scary photos of Hitler Youth in here
"Happy the Land"--clearly, the land's gotten some of dat ol' garden magic
"Robinson Crusoe"--y'know, I don't think I've ever read this and I believe it's time
"The Mystery of The Fire Dragon"--I'd investigate the garden fairy
"Help! I'm A Prisoner in a Chinese Bakery"--now this one is just a classic
Pardon me. I must now go and cut more grass with my Lawn HogTM. It doesn't even really need cutting.
Let's just cut to the books, shall we?
Here we have, from left:"Flowers of the World IN FULL COLOR"--I plan to use this to figure out what the flower is in Jayne's picture.
"The Shy Little Kitten"--a golden book, of which only the spine is faintly visible here
"The Complete Book of Garden Magic"--the magic involved is when I remember to water the plants...I think this is the third copy of this book that I've purchased...I always get swept away by the "Magic" part and the little fairy on the spine
Two volumes of "The Mother's Encyclopedia"--there are very old, very scary photos of Hitler Youth in here
"Happy the Land"--clearly, the land's gotten some of dat ol' garden magic
"Robinson Crusoe"--y'know, I don't think I've ever read this and I believe it's time
"The Mystery of The Fire Dragon"--I'd investigate the garden fairy
"Help! I'm A Prisoner in a Chinese Bakery"--now this one is just a classic
Pardon me. I must now go and cut more grass with my Lawn HogTM. It doesn't even really need cutting.
Born to be Wild
Me: "I need a weed whacker."
Friend: "It's called a string trimmer."
Me: "I don't wish to trim strings. I wish to whack weeds. Very much."
Friend: "String trimmer."
Me: "WHY?
Friend: "Dunno."
Me: "Huh."
Me: "Hi, I was wondering if you have the Black & Decker 18V cordless GelMax String Trimmer in stock?"
Home Depot Clerk: "A WHAT?"
Me: "A Black & Decker 18V weed whacker."
Home Depot Clerk: "Oh sure."
Me: "What's a string trimmer?"
Home Depot Clerk: "No idea.
Me: "Huh."
Whoever you are, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship...
Friend: "It's called a string trimmer."
Me: "I don't wish to trim strings. I wish to whack weeds. Very much."
Friend: "String trimmer."
Me: "WHY?
Friend: "Dunno."
Me: "Huh."
Me: "Hi, I was wondering if you have the Black & Decker 18V cordless GelMax String Trimmer in stock?"
Home Depot Clerk: "A WHAT?"
Me: "A Black & Decker 18V weed whacker."
Home Depot Clerk: "Oh sure."
Me: "What's a string trimmer?"
Home Depot Clerk: "No idea.
Me: "Huh."
Whoever you are, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship...
Three Conversations
Conversation #1:Me: "Th-th-there's an ORIOLE on the hummingbird feeder!"
Friend: "Yeah, they've been doing that at my house, too."
Me: "No! You don't understand. There's more. It's like a Disney movie. There's a black and white woodpecker climbing up and down the tree next to the oriole. And then there are two bright green hummingbirds dive-bombing the oriole."
Friend: "Why don't you take a picture?"
Me: "It'll never work."
Friend: "Well, why don't you--"
Me: Click.
Moral: When you think a picture will never work it will, in fact, never work.
Conversation #2:Me: "Big news from the doctor."
Friend: "What?"
Me: "REALLY big news. You'll never guess!"
Friend: "WHAT?"
Me: "I am TWO INCHES TALLER than you always say I am. TWO INCHES!"
Friend: "Huh? I never say that. You always just say you're my height."
Me: "I say that when I'm joking, but you have always refused to give me those inches. I am that tall! I have those inches!"
Friend: "Huh. Okay."
Me: "You don't REMEMBER this?!"
Friend: "So, what else did the doctor say?"
Me: "AUUUUUUUUUGGGGGH! I have those inches!"
Friend: "Sure you do."
Moral: Victory is hollow when the opposition is wily.
Alternative Moral: In the words of a nurse who once measured my height, "Never you mind how tall you are. You just gonna SHRINK anyway."
Conversation #3:
Friend: "G'night, sport."
Me: "G'night, cochise."
Friend: "G'night, boss."
Me: "G'night, uh, gipper."
Friend: "G'night, chief."
Me: "DAMN! I'm stuck."
Friend: Click.
Ring ring.
Friend: "Hello?"
Me: "G'night, slim."
Friend: "Huh?"
Me: "Remember we were doing that a second ago and I ran dry? Well, I thought about it, and I'm coming back at you with 'Slim.'"
Friend: "Eh."
Me: "No good?"
Friend: "Eh."
Me: "Crap."
Pause.
Friend: "Gotta go."
Me: "G'night, CAP'N!"
Friend: "G'night, commodore."
Me: "No! Stop!"
Friend: Click.
Moral: I'm not even sure what that contest is, but I always lose it.
Bonus Conversation (I had lunch with my sister today, which made it a very, very good day indeed)
Sister: "I read the poison ivy one. Who's this Sparkle Plenty supposed to be?"
Me: "It's just a silly name, it's from the funnies*, remember?"
Sister: "But, why is it you? And, who are these Redbeard people? Who are all of these witty pirates?"
Me: "It's all silliness."
Sister: "I'm all shy of this Sparkle Plenty."
Me: "WHAT?"
Sister: "I'm all shy of this Sparkle Plenty. Who is she? Hang on. THERE I AM!"
Me: "Yeah. People really liked the Easter picture."
Sister: "AUGH!"
*This is what we called the comics section of the paper when we were growing up.
The Rise and Fall of the Herb of the Year
In 2007, the Herb Society of America declared that lemon balm was the Herb of the Year!*
Caption: Lemon Balm Receives the Happy News and Rejoices, Yet Feels Guilty and Undeserving Because It Figures It Is Really Just Lemony Mint With A Different Name (see how some of the leaves are kind of sadly looking off into the distance, as other leaves shrug?)
I know, I know. I don't need to recap this for you. You were there, eyes glued to your television sets, when Walter Cronkite announced the 2007 Herb of the Year. In fact, where were you when it happened? Many of us found ourselves pausing while ironing our ironing board covers and gathering our little ones around us to hear the news. If we didn't have little ones, we went next door and kidnapped our neighbor's children, and boy, block parties are awkward now, huh? But, it was a moment in our country's history that needed to be shared: LEMON BALM! HERB OF THE YEAR! GET OUTTA HERE! I mean, we were all happy for it, but LEMON BALM? It's a WEED! Who even knew that it had a name?
Unfortunately, Lemon Balm, also known as Melissa Officinalis in the courts, felt much the same way. The pressure! Oh, the pressure! And, the harsh, glaring beam of the spotlight of public adoration! All of a sudden, Lemon Balm was thrust into high-end Garden Center showcases--the kind of Garden Centers that look shabby but have million dollar irrigation systems concealed beneath the adorably rusted $500 tricycles (the seats of which have been removed and where orchids now grow) and the $750 Radio Flyer wagons brimming with pedigreed roses that won't even let you sniff them on the first date. The kind of Garden Centers that give away DOUGHNUTS and let you drive away without making a purchase because they're so well-off (not that I, personally, have ever done that...okay, yes, yes I have done that).
Every day, Lemon Balm sat there, flanked by two giant, pitying Buddha garden statues ($950 each), while its leaves were pinched and sniffed, and customers asked, "But, what can I DO with this stuff? Isn't it just mint?" and the Garden Center staff would cry, "SMELL it! It's so relaxing and balmy and lemony and soothing!" "But, isn't it a WEED?" the customers would say, and "It's Herb of the YEAR!" the Garden Center staff would croon. So, customers felt guilty about eating the free doughnuts and bought a lot of Lemon Balm because, while expensive, it was the cheapest thing in the Garden Center. Nobody was fooled. Lemon Balm felt like a fraud.
As the year wore on, Lemon Balm began to run with a rough crowd. In sketchy public parks everywhere, when the hoarse cry of "Weeeeed! Weeeeed!" came out of the shadows, Lemon Balm found itself stuffed in little plastic baggies and rapidly pocketed by people who were really, genuinely happy to get it. Even though Lemon Balm was a weed, the people seemed thrilled with this. Finally, to be accepted as is! Yet, the joy was short-lived and Lemon Balm soon became known as neither Herb or Weed, but: "This vile crap, he screwed us, man."
It was with a great sense of relief that Lemon Balm greeted 2008 and the coronation of a new Herb of the Year. Before Lemon Balm slunk off to grow wild and fragrant along the banks of country creeks, as was its preference, it hung around to see what poor sucker would be next.
"CALENDULA! Calendula is Herb of the Year for 2008!" the Herb Society of America declared, while reporters dutifully scribbled the news down, muttering among themselves, "What the hell is calendula?" One bold, pugnacious scoop pushed his pork-pie hat back at a jaunty angle, cigar waggling in the corner of his mouth and bellowed the question out loud, "Now see here, ya mugs, what the hell is calendula?" Nervously, the Herb Society of America representatives consulted with each other, and held the party line: "Calendula is calendula."
As Calendula preened before the flashbulbs, nudging a few puny pots of spindly Lemon Balm out of the way, there was a very soft noise. Was it the wind? We'll never know for sure. What we do know is that as Calendula spread its leaves and strutted beneath the klieg lights, it and only it heard a soft whisper as Lemon Balm prepared to crawl off silently and spread across the land.
"Psst...Calendula? You're really Pot Marigold or Poor Man's Saffron." And although Calendula swiftly whipped its heads around, it could only see a sea of adoring--if slightly confused--new fans.
*Actually, it really was Herb of the Year and it is a pretty cool herb described as "This refreshingly humble member of the Mint family, often considered to be a weed, plods along as a hardy faithful, and yet it is a surprisingly hip and helpful herb." Humble, hardy, hip, and helpful. Yo, what could be better. Plus, I understand that you can use it for pesto and tabbouleh. You can also use it to make something called "Carmelite Miracle Water," and here is the recipe for "Carmelite Miracle Water." Lemme tell ya, I'm pretty sure the "miracle" part is the vodka and not the Lemon Balm, but whatevah. (Oh, wait. I see. You're not supposed to DRINK the Miracle Water, you're supposed to dab it daintily upon yourself. Huh. Still and all, perhaps more miracles would be found through the internal application of the vodka sans herbs.)
Caption: Lemon Balm Receives the Happy News and Rejoices, Yet Feels Guilty and Undeserving Because It Figures It Is Really Just Lemony Mint With A Different Name (see how some of the leaves are kind of sadly looking off into the distance, as other leaves shrug?)I know, I know. I don't need to recap this for you. You were there, eyes glued to your television sets, when Walter Cronkite announced the 2007 Herb of the Year. In fact, where were you when it happened? Many of us found ourselves pausing while ironing our ironing board covers and gathering our little ones around us to hear the news. If we didn't have little ones, we went next door and kidnapped our neighbor's children, and boy, block parties are awkward now, huh? But, it was a moment in our country's history that needed to be shared: LEMON BALM! HERB OF THE YEAR! GET OUTTA HERE! I mean, we were all happy for it, but LEMON BALM? It's a WEED! Who even knew that it had a name?
Unfortunately, Lemon Balm, also known as Melissa Officinalis in the courts, felt much the same way. The pressure! Oh, the pressure! And, the harsh, glaring beam of the spotlight of public adoration! All of a sudden, Lemon Balm was thrust into high-end Garden Center showcases--the kind of Garden Centers that look shabby but have million dollar irrigation systems concealed beneath the adorably rusted $500 tricycles (the seats of which have been removed and where orchids now grow) and the $750 Radio Flyer wagons brimming with pedigreed roses that won't even let you sniff them on the first date. The kind of Garden Centers that give away DOUGHNUTS and let you drive away without making a purchase because they're so well-off (not that I, personally, have ever done that...okay, yes, yes I have done that).
Every day, Lemon Balm sat there, flanked by two giant, pitying Buddha garden statues ($950 each), while its leaves were pinched and sniffed, and customers asked, "But, what can I DO with this stuff? Isn't it just mint?" and the Garden Center staff would cry, "SMELL it! It's so relaxing and balmy and lemony and soothing!" "But, isn't it a WEED?" the customers would say, and "It's Herb of the YEAR!" the Garden Center staff would croon. So, customers felt guilty about eating the free doughnuts and bought a lot of Lemon Balm because, while expensive, it was the cheapest thing in the Garden Center. Nobody was fooled. Lemon Balm felt like a fraud.
As the year wore on, Lemon Balm began to run with a rough crowd. In sketchy public parks everywhere, when the hoarse cry of "Weeeeed! Weeeeed!" came out of the shadows, Lemon Balm found itself stuffed in little plastic baggies and rapidly pocketed by people who were really, genuinely happy to get it. Even though Lemon Balm was a weed, the people seemed thrilled with this. Finally, to be accepted as is! Yet, the joy was short-lived and Lemon Balm soon became known as neither Herb or Weed, but: "This vile crap, he screwed us, man."
It was with a great sense of relief that Lemon Balm greeted 2008 and the coronation of a new Herb of the Year. Before Lemon Balm slunk off to grow wild and fragrant along the banks of country creeks, as was its preference, it hung around to see what poor sucker would be next.
"CALENDULA! Calendula is Herb of the Year for 2008!" the Herb Society of America declared, while reporters dutifully scribbled the news down, muttering among themselves, "What the hell is calendula?" One bold, pugnacious scoop pushed his pork-pie hat back at a jaunty angle, cigar waggling in the corner of his mouth and bellowed the question out loud, "Now see here, ya mugs, what the hell is calendula?" Nervously, the Herb Society of America representatives consulted with each other, and held the party line: "Calendula is calendula."
As Calendula preened before the flashbulbs, nudging a few puny pots of spindly Lemon Balm out of the way, there was a very soft noise. Was it the wind? We'll never know for sure. What we do know is that as Calendula spread its leaves and strutted beneath the klieg lights, it and only it heard a soft whisper as Lemon Balm prepared to crawl off silently and spread across the land.
"Psst...Calendula? You're really Pot Marigold or Poor Man's Saffron." And although Calendula swiftly whipped its heads around, it could only see a sea of adoring--if slightly confused--new fans.
*Actually, it really was Herb of the Year and it is a pretty cool herb described as "This refreshingly humble member of the Mint family, often considered to be a weed, plods along as a hardy faithful, and yet it is a surprisingly hip and helpful herb." Humble, hardy, hip, and helpful. Yo, what could be better. Plus, I understand that you can use it for pesto and tabbouleh. You can also use it to make something called "Carmelite Miracle Water," and here is the recipe for "Carmelite Miracle Water." Lemme tell ya, I'm pretty sure the "miracle" part is the vodka and not the Lemon Balm, but whatevah. (Oh, wait. I see. You're not supposed to DRINK the Miracle Water, you're supposed to dab it daintily upon yourself. Huh. Still and all, perhaps more miracles would be found through the internal application of the vodka sans herbs.)
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