icky, but fitting, image

I saw someone today whose arms reminded me of all-beef hot dogs microwaved on high for about four minutes.
Now, for extra credit, guess this person's gender and age.
And enjoy your salad.

Meanwhile...

... other forces are preparing for a sugar high.

Who knew?

Madge's school teaches the coolest stuff. Now if she were only as serene as the pose implies...

Sumer is icumen in

Is there some sort of script I’m unaware of?
It’s the first day of summer vacation. The kids actually woke up at a fairly reasonable hour, 7:30 am. No problem. Coco needs to take his medicine at this time anyway. Of course he said he didn’t want to, but that’s just an act nowadays.
But then he said something he’s never said before. “I’n go school.”
Wh-?
Then he shot his whole summer wad at once. “I’n Icee. I’n water balloon. I’n bath.” And so on, increasingly whiny.
It’s like he’d been rehearsing overnight.

Then, at the playground, he started whining again. But, upon inspection, it turned out he had a glass sliver in his (bare – yes, I know, I’m a terrible dad; no children other than mine had their feet unclad) foot.
Luckily – and I don’t know why, I’m just happy he is that way – he held still while I pried it out. Madge never lets me touch any owie she has. Go figure.

T & A

On the way to school today (last day of school – wish me luck), we walked by a van. The writing on the van announced, “T & A Carpentry.”
I figured, hey, sign me up (though I feared they might just make nautical figureheads), when around the van stepped a dyke-ish looking woman in her twenties. A twist in the plot.
So (knowing that some of my dear readers seem to have a burning “need to know”) I asked, “What do the initials really stand for?”
And the answer I got was, “Yes,” accompanied by a confused look. The accent of the “yes” was eastern European. I’d say Polish, but it could have been any of the temporarily German, not-so-temporarily Soviet territories.
I asked again, but that only resulted in more confusion.
Too bad.
Of course Madge then asked what T & A stands for.
I told her and got a blank stare, since she doesn’t know the word “tits” (“bits?” she asked) and she doesn’t recognize the word “ass” as a body part, only as a pronoun for a political leader.
Then I translated and said, “Boobies and Butts,” and she laughed.
But, you know, “Boobies and Butts” sounds less like a carpentry company and more like a law firm I’d like to be represented by.

80th Birthdays

It appears that the irony of (almost) sharing an 80th birthday with Hugh Hefner has not escaped Her Majesty's attention.

stoop sale rejects

Yesterday we were walking along the street and saw a box of stoop sale leftovers. You know, the freebies that nobody wanted to buy, even for a nickel. Since the emotional farewell has already been made, the owner is reluctant to take the unwanted items back into the house, the items are left for anyone to take. Which usually means the sanitation workers when they come around.
In this box, I saw a box of Sudafed, or some such allergy sinus medicine thing.
Wh-?
How do you not just throw that away? Were these people really thinking that someone would a) either buy it or b) pick it out of the box and take the pills later?
Anyone interested in a partly used box of Sudafed? Send me your offers now or it'll go on eBay.

Look. If you suffered from sinus congestion or allergies before October 7, 2002, and are still perhaps visited by bad memories of said allergy or congestion, I have the product for you. It expired right around then.

Refereeing

ESPN Corporate Memo:
A brief overview of fan sites and blogs has led management to the following conclusions.
1) There are too many cards handed out in the games. (Whether the blame lies with the referees or the players isn't clear.)
2) There seems to be unhappiness with the amount of random and condescending chatter from our announcers.
This leads us to the following corporate directive:
All announcers are from now on to blame the referees for everything.
Low wages, bad fashion sense, overpriced food, traffic delays, global warming.
Everything.

HOL - POR

Yikes, what a crazy brawl! At one point I actually felt sorry for the ref.
I was watching the feed on the Chinese TV channel CCTV5, so I had to make up my own comments as the game progressed, which were mostly, "Dang!" and "What Babies!"
and "That's not gonna be good!"
But my favorite part of the game (I only saw the second half, so I missed Portugal's goal) was the shot of all the delinquents congregated on the penalty bench. They were actually getting quite chummy.
Nothing like a common enemy to unite people.

GER - SWE

Just called my family in Germany during the halftime (2:0 Germany). Klose, though he has no goals, is playing very well. All over the place, in a take-charge, confident way.
So when someone picked up the phone, I just said, "Klo-se! Klo-se!" in that stadium chant kind of way.
I had misdialed one of the digits and had a random stranger on the phone.
But it totally didn't matter.

NYTimes metaphor

Every week, I check in with the NYTimes podcasts for news on music and books.
The music one is great because they give fairly detailed analyses of new albums (and they obviously have an experienced staff) and because they play fairly large chunks of songs, and the book one is fun because, believe it or not, they don’t take themselves too seriously. (One week, for example, they said something to the effect that they were giving their brief reviews so that we wouldn't have to go read the books.)
This week, during the brief glimpse at the best-seller list, the reviewer talked about Gore’s new book and how it would probably do well because it is “red meat for Bush haters” or some such term.
Shouldn’t it be “wheatgrass for Bush haters”?

CZE - ITA

I don't know how describe how exciting this is. I just switched over and might not switch back.
There was a Czech corner, and Nedved set it up, and (I'm getting all choked up)
-
the announcers shut up. Beautiful.
They were just watching the game and waiting for something to happen. They weren't frantically searching for cue cards with statistical tidbits. No. They waited. I love them.
If I were a person with any sort of drive, I'd look up their names and send ESPN a thank-you note.
Nah.
Back to the game.

Times Square

ESPN just flashed a shot of Times Square, where, apparently, the game is being shown on a big screen on the ESPN store (?) building (?) whatever, on a screen.
Here's what I'd like to see:
All Ghanaian cabbies circling Times Square, blocking traffic, watching the game, holding passengers hostage until the game is over. That would make a great sea of yellow, no?

USA - Ghana

After the ghost of World Cups past reared its boring head in the Holland-Argentina game (neither team had anything to lose, so they didn't), it's about time to watch the free-for-all of USA-Ghana. USA might squeak in if they win by enough of a differential. Ghana will get in if (when!) they win.
Let's watch.
Has anybody else noticed how the commentators love to say that teams are scoreless in the World Cup when they've actually scored? No room for subtlety in their imaginations, I guess. All or nothing, all the time.

Another Father Story/Report

If this story were made up, it would sound too good to be true. But I guess it's the reverse, too true to be good.
Luckily, I wasn't directly involved.
On Saturday (it would only have been better if it had been on Father's Day) we were at a party, a kid-heavy party. There was a TV involved, but that was for the World Cup Addicts. Believe it or not, I didn't watch because I was with Coco, who stayed away from it. He was mostly in the wading pool, naked, the main attraction for the kids (not the naked Coco, the pool).
Anyway, I hear a lot of fuss upstairs and it turns out that a kid, in a room full of males glued to the TV, managed to poop on the floor, undetected.
It was noticed by a mom who was passing through.
The culprit never stepped forward.
Maybe the mom did it.

World Cup Frolics

Let me be the first to predict the headlines after the USA-Ghana game, regardless of the game’s outcome:
Here Today, Ghana Tomorrow
Ghana With The Wind
Ghana-believable
For-Ghana Conclusion
But, if the US commentators are to be believed, the US team still has a chance. If Italy wins and the US beat Ghana with enough goals and the moons of Jupiter are ascendant in the British House of Lords, then the Supreme Court might be able to sneak them into the next round.

And yesterday, jeesh. I didn’t even want to watch the Spain-Tunisia game. I did the math, after all: Spain-Ukraine 4:0; Ukraine-Saudi Arabia 4:0; Saudi Arabia-Tunisia 1:1. By all accounts it was slotted to be a sparring match for Spain.
But,
when we were getting some ices at the Pizza place I looked at the screen and saw Tunisia 1, Spain 0!
What a game! Of course we hurried home and watched it.

follow-up

For those of you with the need to know, when I arrived to her class (which went fairly flawlessly because the ladies in the office are less grumpy than their exterior implies) Madeleine seemed to have forgotten all about not wearing underwear. I was ready for a major-league berating, but no. During the secret hand-off, all I got was a confused look followed by one of recognition.
Phew.
Now I just dread what she'll do in ten years when some ruthless person shows her these blog entries.

worst dad award

Goes to me today.
It wasn't until I tried to remember what to blog today that I remembered what happened this morning.
On the way to school today, Madeleine looked at me with the cutest, most sheepish grin I've ever seen on her darling little face and said, "Uh-oh. I forgot to put on underwear today."
So guess where I'm going now.
I promised to bring it along with the cupcakes (for all the summer birthdays celebrated en masse today), but one thing led to another and for some reason they slipped my mind.
I don't really know how to get them to her, though, since I had to drop off the cupcakes in the office.
I guess you'll read about it later.
I'm off.

Public Service Health Warning

Don't let your children clean hardwood floors with Pledge.

Madeleine did it a week ago and I just fell on my a** again because I walked a bit too fast in stockinged feet. (I mean "in socks." That other way of saying it just sounds too weird for 2006.)

pros and cons

There’s a joke that goes like this, “If pro and con are opposites, does that mean that congress is the opposite of progress?”
And everyone has a little, superior, yes-doesn’t-government-mess-everything-up chuckle about the state of things.
But there are more words, aren’t there, that alter the supposed antonymity (cool word, huh? I think I just made it up – at least spell-check doesn’t recognize it) of the two when used as prefixes.
What, exactly, is the relation between
constitution, the Constitution and prostitution?

Confound it, that’s profound.

Another New York Observation

Where Shall I Stick Your Food?

“To Stay or To Go”
Is NewYorkese
But I will take mine
“For Here,” if you please.
Because you immediately know what I propose,
By the sound of the word I prepose.

Although I do see that “For Here” is ungainly,
I’ll stick with that beast.
Out of habit, mainly.

New York Observation

People say many odd things here, as they do anywhere, but some still jar the ear that comes from elsewhere. One of them is:

Standing on line

Do I stand
On line or in line?

On the one hand
Either one’s fine.
There’s no article
So what do I care.
Who gives a particle
If “on” or “in” there.

On the other hand
It can be seen
That people stand
And I stand IN-between.

On the third hand
It might matter, but
While they all just stand
I move up and cut.

You do the math

Germany - Poland 1:0
Ecuador - Poland 2:0
Germany - Costa Rica 4:2
Ecuador - Costa Rica 3:0

Does that mean
Ecuador - Germany 1:0 or 2:0?
Show your work.

Silly people. It was a trick question.
Ecuador - Germany 2:2
And I might have to apply for a pacemaker.

Reality Check

Eeeek.

Omigod

The chicken entrails worked.
But I think an organic chicken may have worked sooner, I don't know.
Finally, in the 92nd minute, Germany scored for a well-deserved win. (Well-deserved in the sense of having a lot of scoring opportunities - not historically or anything like that.)
Around the 8oth minute, btw., Madge came over and rubbed my back.
I guess she thought I was tense or something.

World Cup Jitters

Here's a dilemma. Teams tend to score when I'm not watching.
It's halftime in the Germany-Poland game (which is tied at 0:0, for those of you with no grasp on reality or whatever that is called - oh, yes, those of you with a life).
Anyway, should I give myself busywork so Germany can score - see kt's superstition advice comment on a previous entry - while I'm not paying attention or should I get back to the game.
I guess I'll watch again and take my chances with these chicken entrails I'm about to offer to my loa.

Need to Know

I was walking with Coco in the stroller, on out way to pick up Madge. We walked by a group of African-American schoolgirls (maybe age 12?). As I passed them, I heard them say, “White people all want their kids to be like that.”
This was after I had passed several other parents (white) and nannies (not so white) picking up various kids (mostly white).
What had these girls seen? Was it me and Coco? He wasn’t doing anything special. Is it because he wasn’t walking?
It’s still killing me.
Especially because, whatever the “like that” is, I’m just sure these girls are right.

L Fable

The Lions

A father lion pulled his son aside and said, “It is time you learned the ways of the lion. We are called ‘King of the Jungle.’ Why, I do not know. We neither live in the jungle nor do we have a monarchic system of government. But what I think people are getting at is this: They are showing us respect because we are secure enough in our manhood to lay around all day and let the women do all the work.”

You gotta do this

It makes anagrams of anything you type.
Start with your name, as everyone, I assume, does, and go on from there.
Cool.

World Cup Fever, 2

Coco is diligently practicing his flops.
Not knowing his left from right, though, he prefers not to grab any shins or ankles yet.

library woes answered

Wow, who knew that people read my blog entries?
Great.
Kristin, a woman (I’m guessing) who works for the Brooklyn Public Library, has left a very kind, thoughtful, and considerate comment in response to my library woes.
I’m also guessing that she didn’t get alerted to my entry by the NSA, in spite of my mentioning al Qaeda and Infidels and Allah and whatnot (just named them again for a few more hits, and just in case she DID hear through them), but rather because she searched, via blogspot or technorati or some such thing for the keywords Brooklyn Public Library, or branches, or books, or Central, or some such thing. I just mention them again so she can find this response, since she didn’t leave an email and I’m not aware of any Kristins at the Park Slope branch. The Central Branch (not really a “branch,” though, if it’s “central.” The Central Trunk, then), as she mentioned, is too vast to keep track of easily, so she might work there and I haven’t run into her. I’ve only been to the branch at Pacific and 4th Ave once, so I don’t know it well. Anyway, this seems to be the only way for me to answer and I would like it if she could actually read it.

Thank you for your response. I understand that comparing Minneapolis to Brooklyn doesn’t really work, but I wouldn’t compare the number of citizens. I’m sure Brooklyn’s library system is more vast than that of Mpls, but I’d still compare number of branches to number of patrons. Maybe Mpls isn’t quite so far behind, then. They probably do have a bigger budget, though.
And that was partially my point (other than griping). I won’t lodge a formal complaint because I’ve seen the reshelvers at work at the Central Trunk. There’s no way they’re getting paid enough to care, and I don’t think most of them are in it for a library career.
The people behind the desks are quite friendly, even if they do have the common librarian attitude of, “You can’t possibly know what you’re doing. I don’t think you’re even asking the question correctly.” And most of them have even been quite helpful.
Well, holds again: I had a hold at the Central Trunk. The email said it had arrived. My record, as the librarian swiped the card, said the hold was on the shelf. But the hold was not on the shelf. The librarian’s response? “Did you look on the shelf?” “Yes.” “Under your last name?” “Yes. And under my first name and under the title of the book and under the author’s first and last names.” “It wouldn’t be under any of those.” “It’s not where it should be, so who’s to say which non-place it’s in?” “?” “I was just going through possible mis-shelvings, trying to see if I could find it.” “And you couldn’t find it?” “No.” “Did you check under you last name?” (that was my teeth) “Yes, I checked, it wasn’t there.” “Oh, well.” Nobody offered to look or check.
I guess I’m irked in general that I have to stand in line just to return books and that there are no after-hour book drops. I liked being able to get books with the kids and drop books off without them. And quickly.
And to my original point of requests not getting filled, I still maintain that the stack-lackeys (at the Central Library, that is) - the people with the carts and the headphones - don't seem to be the most motivated or alphabetically inclined folks around. And I do suspect that some of them take the request slip, wander off, wait the requisite time, and return with a shrug. I'm sorry I'm so suspicious, but there you have it.

But back to Kristin. I still continue to use the library. I take my kids there and am teaching them to use it and to respect the books and what they can do at the library. I think it’s a wonderful institution. I understand money is always short – where, after all, is the profit to come from? Customers tend to be cheap and grumpy (sorry – though I do save my grumpiness for later) and, from what I can tell, not respectful of the books or the property. And then there’s the after-school teenagers, surfing for nudie pictures on the web and chasing each other about. I don’t envy you your job, except that you get to hang around books a lot.
Thank you for your response. Really.

World Cup Fever

It's everywhere.

Unfortunately, Julie called the play off-sides.

A picture I found on the web

For some reason this doll does very well in the teen-age boy demographic.
(I don't even know what that means. And of course it wouldn't have been me.)

World Cup, Part Two

So, it happened again.
I go to pick up the kids from school (an early day for Madeleine. For some reason the NY school system thinks parents need to get a head start on having kids at home all the time by giving them days off, extra-curricular school events, and half-days) and come home at 12:15. So far, so good. I find the live stream of the soccer game and, boom, it's already 1:0 (for the Czech Republic, in case you don't keep up with these things. It's a country in central Europe).
But I'm watching it anyway.
For those of you keeping track of my parenting skills, I'll have you know that the kids are right here, safely watching a -
Wait, where are the kids?
Oh, the second half is starting.
I'll go find them later.

World Cup Opener

Well, I wasn't alive when Kennedy got shot, but I do know where I was during the Opening Game of this year's World Cup.
First, I was at my laptop, desperately trying to find a live stream that wasn't overloaded. No luck. Anyway, at noon I had to pick up Coco from school, so the effort was moot at best.
As it was, I picked him up, saw that the corner bar was open, and stopped by on our way home.
This was twelve minutes into the game and the SECOND goal had been scored, to equalize the game. That was a lot to be digested. Not only were there already more goals than I had anticipated, but they had happened about an hour before I thought they might occur.
Would Coco stay at the bar? you ask.
No.
Grr.
Home it was. Checked a live blog of the game. And, 2:1 Germany. I missed another goal. How does this happen when I can't watch?
I found a live stream. Yay. It took quite a while to download the player - by cable standards, forever, in real life, maybe 5 minutes. All the while Coco got jealous and antsy and he got it into his mind to have lunch at "Old MacDonald's" - he's three, give him a break.
So we go. We come back, and the score is 3:2 Germany. Eek. I'm about to explode. I try to watch, but the image is blurry and streaky and still buffering and Coco wants to go to the playground.
Okay, the playground was fun. It was a gorgeous day and the fountain was just right. Coco's class had an outing at the playground, too, so I got to watch him run around with his friends and show off for his teachers. It's always a treat to watch your kids interact with others without you being the focus of their energy (and whining). He even fell down and banged his knee and cried out of embarrassment. (His teacher is really cute and he very much wants to make a big boy impression on her, I think, so it was extra embarrassing for him.)
I decide to call my parents, who, I'm sure, are watching the game. And...4:2 Germany with nine minutes left.
I'm spent just reliving the match (and I didn't even get to watch it).
So. Where were you?

for the international crowd

I'll do one in German:

Das Aehneln ist die Verniedlichung der Ahnen.


Or, making oh, so much sense in English:
Resemblance is the diminutive of ancestry.

Wha-?

Goethe

Okay, humor me. (Isn’t it odd? When I ask you to humor me, you automatically know this is probably not going to be funny. Does that mean I normally try to humor you? Or humorize?)

Here’s something I ran across, from Goethe, in his poem Das Goettliche:

Heil den unbekannten
Hoehern Wesen,
Die wir ahnen!
Ihnen gleiche der Mensch;
Sein Beispiel lehr’ uns
Jene glauben.

Talk about the old switcheroo. (I’ll do my best here. But, as – I think – Frost said, poetry is that which is untranslatable.)

Hail to the unknown
Higher beings,
Whom we have a premonition of!
[ooh. Or “whom we divine” – nifty, huh?]
Let man resemble them;
His example shall teach us
To believe in them.
[This is the awkward translation part. The German is so much neater.]

Goethe goes on to point out that nature is unfeeling and indiscriminate. Humans, however, can evaluate.
I guess I admire that initial switcheroo. It’s one of the impulses underlying humor, after all. And, obviously, it allows us to rethink some things.

Go, Goethe!

Love,

Goedi

Busted

What do you mean, "What were you doing in the bushes?"

What do you think we were doing in the bushes?

A goody from the web

Here’s something. If you have someone close to you who feels he or she is due for an eyebrow waxing, don’t send them this link.

(Any ideas for things to get my wife to make up for the abovementioned faux pas?)

A day off - for the kids

Today was “Brooklyn Day,” which means I get the kids for the entire day without really knowing what I’m celebrating.
I’m catching on to the New York vibe, though, so we celebrated Brooklyn by going in to Manhattan, to the Children’s Museum.
It appears everyone had the same idea. The place was extremely crowded, but at least we didn’t have to wait in line – or “on” line, as they say here – to get in.
The price of admission is $8 for Children and $8 for Adults. I’m not complaining, but why not save some signage and just say Admission $8? Would that invite too many questions from potential patrons?
Once the trek has been made, they could really charge whatever they want - $20 per kid, $12.95 per (mandatory) accompanying adult – who’s going to resist the whining little ones after such a trip? I don’t think they have too much repeat business anyway other than Upper West Side families with yearly passes (Nannies get added for a small fee).
One floor was closed due to renovation and the outside water-play area was closed, too, because of the rain, of course.
We’re home again, watching Pippi Longstocking with terrible dubbing. Oh, well. We’ll figure out some rain-based activity later.

My Kid, the 6-yr-old Teenager

Overheard in Park Slope

On the way to school. Rainy day. Umbrellas are up. Sidewalk, crowded.

ME: Madge, watch how you hold your umbrella [please – I meant to say please]. That’s the second person you’ve whanged into [dammit - I wanted to say dammit, but I didn't. Does that make up for the missed "please"?].
MADELEINE: -
ME: Madge! Did you hear me? [More swallowed cussing.]
MADELEINE (annoyed): Yeeeeeeesss.
ME: How would I know? You’re not responding.
MADELEINE: That’s because I’m ignoring you.

Oh.

Fight to the Finish

I saw a poster for a boxing match yesterday which said the obvious thing in the title of this post.
The common joke is to say, "Where else would it end? What's so unusual about that?"
But here's the thing.
Boxing promoters should advertise matches that are a "Fight to a Randomly Determined Point in Time!"
There'd be less pussy-footing and testing the waters, wouldn't there?
If you didn't know when a game were to end, you wouldn't pace yourself, would you?
You could bet, not only on how the fight ends, but when, and everyone is happy.
Just a thought.

The Marx-Capote Fight, Drawn by Ejected DVD

More Netflix activity for me. I’m still catching up on my U.S. culture, after all.
Yes, there is such a thing.
Anyway, I’m working my way through the DVD set of the Dick Cavett show, and unfortunately “working” is the operative word. There are definitely good nuggets in there, but it sure takes a lot of getting used to.
Generally, the fame of the guests makes up for the slow pace and seeing them just hanging out, more or less, is a treat. Some of these shows took up 90 minutes of air time. One host, one guest. Imagine.
Other shows were an hour (I think) and involved multiple guests. I had to end one prematurely last night. The “meeting” of Groucho Marx and Truman Capote was just a bit too painful for me to watch. Capote appears pained anyway, but being interrupted by a septuagenarian boy-child with a drive to pun and suck on a cigar strained his taut nerves and face even more.
On the one hand it was incredibly funny to see Dick Cavett squirm in the middle, trying to let both talk. On the other, it was sad.
But what could Groucho do? He’s not one to sit on a couch and listen to someone talk. It’s counter to his programming. He thinks he’s there to entertain (which he is), and nodding politely is not entertaining. Capote thinks he’s there to elucidate and wax wise, or at least polish witty. But being interrupted constantly is not conducive to either.
And I had just gotten used to Cavett’s odd, pseudo-nervous patter, too. It seems that he tries to make his jokes so offhand that they come out hidden and mumbled. And then he “emphasizes” them by saying, “no, no.”
Maybe I find his delivery so painful because it’s the one that comes most natural to me. I think something is funny, but by the time it comes out of my mouth it already appears old and trite to me, so I swallow it again with some non-productive comment like, “Well that was a silly thing to say.”
Perhaps people who drink to loosen up are on to something.
Nah.

K Fable

The Kangaroo and Her Kid

There was a kangaroo mother who learned to roller skate because her kid complained of the incessant bouncing. Also, she was worried that her baby’s poor little neck couldn’t take all the jolting.
“He’ll never learn to bounce properly on his own,” some of her fellow kangaroo mothers said.
“Oh that’s all right, then he’ll stay with me longer,” she replied.
Her son grew up to renounce the kangaroos-are-bouncers-and-boxers business and started a roller-derby league in New South Wales, made himself absurdly rich, his mother insanely proud, and a fool of me, the fable-teller, who is now at a loss to draw a moral.

Wasted Weekend Movie

Fred Astaire. Did he ever look young?
We saw Easter Parade last night. Any movie with Fred Astaire seems to have this flaw: we are supposed to believe that women could easily fall in love with him.
I just don’t know. Don Knotts, sure, at least he works with the way he looks. Fred Astaire, though, looks the same, but talk about a man in denial. I feel like a lemming if I were to say he dances well. Sure, he has moves and he floats, sort of. But talk about superfluous.
Now I understand that I, as a viewer of a musical, complicitly agree that plot is not my number one concern. But, please, let the dance numbers do something.
And that bit about dancing up and down stairs? I’m sure it is difficult, but I have yet to see a dancer – other than happy tapping Elmo, of course – convey some sense of purpose to doing the stair thing. Maybe, just maybe, have a few dancers fall on their faces trying to do it. If everyone can do it, what’s the point? Like breakdancers doing the headspin thingie. Sure, I bet it’s hard. But others have done it, and, honestly, it doesn’t do much, aesthetically. Difficulty shouldn’t enter into it.
Otherwise, why not insert bench-pressing into a dance number? But hey, I was sitting on my oversized derriere rather than trying to come up with some spectacular event of my own.
We only fast forwarded twice through numbers despite groaning a lot.
And don’t tell me Gene Kelly, Aron. He doesn’t really do it, either.
I guess my standards are too high after Footloose.

J Fable

The Jaguar and the Juvenile

A Jaguar thought to itself, “What is it about non-utilitarian items, regardless of artistic merit, that invites petty theft?”
“I don’t know,” a passing juvenile said, and, counter to what you’re thinking, let the car’s hood ornament be. (This fable takes place at a time when the company was still brave enough to supply the buyer with a chrome feline replica.)
“Hey!” the stunned car shouted, “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

And, as a bonus,

If you pronounce it Jaguar,
You’re proving what a f** you are.
If you pronounce it Jaguwire,
No fancy car will drag you higher.

Married/Single/Other

Yesterday I took Madge to the dentist. She loves going (go figure) so it’s not a big deal. It was our first time here in NY, so I had to fill out a form.
On the form, I had the choice of (for myself, not for Madge): Married; Single; Other.
Of course I’m intrigued about this “other” business. It even had a line next to it, implying “please explain.” I merely filled in, “Polygamy?” “Celibacy?”
But, really, what are my choices?

Okay, you got me, I’ve been planning to murder my wife for half a year now, but the train schedule is just not cooperating.

Still waiting on the mail-order bride from the Philippines. So yes, technically, I’m married, but practically I’m continuing my single lifestyle.

Separated. She has my testicles and pocketbook, I get the lower back pain and sleep disorder.

I’m a nun, so I’m technically married to Christ, but practically I’m continuing my single lifestyle.

I’ve been going steady with a stack of magazines for about fifteen years, so it’s a common-law marriage of sorts.

I’m married, but my wife’s been “missing” for three years now, thanks for bringing that memory back.

My wife has been replaced by a robotic clone from the planet Nix, so perhaps the marriage contract is now null and void.

I’m a superhero and your paltry domestic laws don’t apply to me. The child you are about to examine? I molded her from clay and breathed life into her myself.

Broker's Martini

So, Wednesday night, limerick night, I usually go to my local coffee shop to get a mocha to get my little synapses firing and enable a light-night writing session. (I get a mocha because, having worked in a coffee shop myself, I know that regular coffee doesn’t get brewed too frequently after about 5 pm.)
My coffee shop is actually a café/bar/restaurant (the restaurant part is new), and as I was waiting for the mocha (there was some difficulty with the chocolate, which had just run out), there was an order for a Broker’s Martini, which seemed to have the bartender/barista stumped.

So I jumped over the bar and said, “One Broker’s Martini, coming up!” I proceeded to charge triple the usual price, up front, of course, after having seen a statement of employment and three recommendations and a letter from the bank and a blood sample. Then I gave them a dirty glass and told the customer to clean it himself if he wants it clean and make sure the glass gets returned as he found it. Then I mixed a regular martini, dropped in a pre-used olive and drank half.

In my mind.

In real life I said, to the barista, “Just make a regular martini and drink 35 per cent yourself.”
When I got home, I looked up Broker’s Martini on the web and realized that the customer was probably just asking for a certain kind of gin.

Too bad.