Tag Archives: humor

Awkward

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This happens to me every once in a while. I’m in the grocery store or standing in the movie’s concession line and come face-to-face with someone I know and draw a complete and utter blank on his name.

I say something like,  Howyadoin? How long ‘sit been? Yeah, you haven’t changed one bit. Yeah, sure. Ha. Ha. Still up to the same thing?  I’m thinking, Whaaat? How do I know you? What in the hell do we have in common? C’mon, gimme me a clue!

We finally come to the end, “Nice seeing you again, take care.”

Awkward. But not anywhere near as awkward as this.

He’s standing in the foyer of a hotel in Manchester, when he spots a distinguished looking woman whom he knows that he has met, though he can’t remember her name. As she walks toward him, she says hello.

He returns the greeting and as he does he vaguely recalls that she has a brother. Hoping for a clue, he asks,

“Well — So how is your brother?”

“Oh, he’s just fine,” she replies.

“Good to hear,” he says. “And is he still in the same job?”

“Oh, yes,” she answers. “He’s still the King.”

(Sir Thomas Beecham, British conductor and wit, 1879 –1961)

Tag Lines

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A middle-age woman in jeans, a t-shirt and a short, white veil was sitting at the center stage table at Knucklehead’s last week when singer/story-teller Tom Russell was the headliner. Later, we chatted while waiting at the back counter for a couple of pre-show brisket specials.

“So,” I said. “The veil must mean something?” “My bachelorette party,” she quickly confided. “What happens at Knucklehead’s stays right here,” she said slamming the counter with the flat of her hand. “Yes, indeedy,” I said to her back as she grabbed her order and headed back to her table.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” is some tag line. It has slipped into the American vernacular and shows up in the most out of the way places. It sums up their city — what’s bright, special and why you’d want to drop by. Here are some other city tags that I like. (Source: Tagline Guru)

Always Turned On – Atlantic City, NJ
So Very Virginia – Charlottesville, VA
The Sweetest Place on Earth – Hershey, PA
Rare. Well Done –  Omaha, NE
The City Different – Santa Fe, NM
City with Sol – San Diego, CA

And my personal regional favorite:
Where the Odds Are With You – Peculiar, MO

Sweet Alsace

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We wheel in from a 3 day road trip: there’s too much junk to carry in – in one trip, the real draw-back of road trips. The porch cats are annoyingly wailing about being under-fed, a solitary bold-face lie. The door won’t stay open without help, for heaven sakes!

And we are hungry, not for the McDonald’s dollar menu or Subway’s tired 6” subs, or the Pick 2 at Panera’s; we want something good without leaving the house and without cooking.

So I find a pizza in the freezer from Trader Joe’s, part of a bounty of goods I scooped up when I made the mistake of going there hungry. It’s a Tarte J’ Alsace, a French style flat bread with ham, caramelized onions and Gruyère cheese made by Maitre Pierre.

I fire up the oven and in it goes. It’s cheesy, chewy,  flavorful and if I had slowed down enough to make a salad it would have been a dinner for company as long as I had two pizzas and my guests liked ham. Stock up.

Flushed

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Today Sig and I took delivery of a 24’ steel grey, Mercedes Sprinter van in Austin, Texas, a long way from home. We ordered it a couple of months ago after endless nights of fretting and more fretting and finally giving up saying, “Why the hellnot?”

We spot it on the lot right away. It is the only steel grey among a herd of white. And it really is something.

We climb around in it for a while, and then go in and get about the business of finalizing things, like the size of the refrigerator, the arrangement of the cabinets, the color of the carpet, the soul of the toilet.

Sprinter first look 002Sprinter first look 005

Paul, the absolute conversion coordinator, talks about toilets: the cassette and the porta-potty. The cassette toilet is a stable, predictable fixture that makes people feel at home while the porta-potty is flexible and encourages diversity and spontaneity. The two are the same size, style and general demeanor. But water is pumped to the cassette toilet and hauled to the other.

We finally choose the porta-potty! Imaginary confetti dumps from the ceiling, we all gaze up and smile at the positive consequence of our choice.

I don’t much remember anything after that.

Missed it

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I had such celebration aspirations. But then it crept up on me and it was over. I rolled over 10,000 hits a while ago without so much as a murmur. It deserved more. I imagesCAM8OT8Iam thrilled that readers are looking over my shoulder, checking once or twice to see what’s on.

The discipline of blogging regularly is formidable. Especially since discipline is not to be found listed in the strengths section of my up-dated resume. So I was particularly poised for this event. Not to say that I was going to issue invitations or serve up tapas, but  surely, make a note.

Here then, thanks for dropping by, it’s awful nice to be red  read.

(Image from www.free-extras.com)

Snarky

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So I wake up this morning and learn Paul McCartney is married again. Since I really didn’t have a dog in that race, I didn’t think much beyond, hmmm.  But I couldn’t resist clicking to the Huffpost pop culture cache for the details.

r-PAUL-MCCARTNEY-NANCY-SHEVELL-MARRIED-large570Along with a requisite photo of the beaming couple in a shower of confetti, the article introduces the bride, an American heiress of 51, and chatters about the wedding details. Here’s the part that kills me.

The former mop-top wore his tinted hair longish for the occasion, bringing back memories of the days when girls swooned as he sang “All My Loving” and other boy-meets-girl hits.

Tinted hair?  Did this follow with … and the bride attached a flower in her artificially darkened for the occasion coiffure to remind herself that 50 is the new 40? Nope, not a single word.

I felt the same way when I first read that Mama Cass died when she choked on a ham sandwich; it was in 1974. (A giant myth, as it turns out. She died of heart failure but it was too tempting to leave out the leftover ham sandwich on her night stand.)

I think of things like this when I remember I’m not a celebrity. Have a  Happy Monday, Monday.

Only 24 Days Away

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So lucky you. An invitation to a Halloween party, costumes and all. But you’d  better get started now, or you’ll end up running all over town picking over costume dregs. Or worse, you’ll start rifling through your closet to dress up as a gypsy, a hippie or a biker chick. And let’s face it – those ideas are pretty lame no matter who’s throwing the party.

Save money by doing something clever and witty with just a few props. You could dress as a famous character or make a common saying come to life. Act out Think outside the box with a body-size box and a thinking cap. Make a sandwich board from foam core and let them read the Handwriting on the wall. If you are really desperate, trace your palm on paper and tape it on your cheek, for a Slap in the face.elephant family

Now here is a group that put in an all-out family effort for the holiday. All they used were grey and white felt, batting and a glue gun. If you duplicate this great look for say, a fun political fund-raiser, be sure to take care to line up the eye holes to prevent any injury.

(Image from Awkward Family Photos)

Location, Location

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Put your name on a waiting list and you never know what will  happen. But that’s  how I ended up in a box seat on opening night for Turandot, the Lyric Opera’s first performance, at the new Kauffman performing arts center in Kansas City

I was greeted by a server holding a tray of champagne — and guided into a door that opened to a spacious area with 4 chairs angled toward an enclosed balcony overlooking the orchestra.

I settled in close to the railing so that I could put my champagne glass on the ledge. I looked to the left. Close enough to talk to were theatre-goers in rows just outside my box seat.  I caught people looking over to where I sat and  imagined them wondering how much my seat had cost.

Here Turandot (Lise Lindstrom) gazes up to check out my box seat.

I casually sipped my champagne as if I did not know that ushers had insisted that the others  leave their unfinished drinks in the lobby bar.  The server brought in a menu announcing an order of seasoned nuts, fresh fruit and a modest cheese tray for two could be delivered immediately for 45.00. I waved her away, saying that I had already had dinner.

The lights dimmed. I took off my shoes and pulled back in the chair. The opera? Oh, it was amazing. But not nearly as good as my box seat.

Walter and the Oven Season

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Walter, a friendly clerk at the Sear’s Scratch and Dent Appliance Store down in the East Bottoms, announced that it is the beginning of Oven Season.  document_recipe_2659_SFS_SlowCookerStew_CC_article

“From here on out,” he says, “people start dreaming of what they can bake, roast, broil, saute, boil and lightly sear. They’ll squint at their old stoves and mentally switch them out for sleeker, bigger, more robust models. I’ll see ‘em coming in,  all the way through December.”

He nods toward a bunch refrigerators.

“Those sales slump after summer. Nobody’s thinkin’ about guh spah choh,” he drawls,
“ it’s all about beef stew.”

Sometimes you just have to listen to learn.

Half a Head

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I didn’t have one thing to do with this joke. It’s all over the place, but I can’t find the person who wrote it.  So, laugh anonymously. I did. Or maybe it was enormously?

A man walked into the produce section of his local supermarket and asked to buy a half head of lettuce. The boy working in that department told him that they only sold whole heads of lettuce.

The man was insistent that the boy ask his manager about the matter.

Walking into the back room, the boy said to the manager, “Some ass-hole wants to buy a half head of lettuce.” As he finished his sentence, he turned to find the man standing right behind him, so he added,  “And this gentleman kindly offered to buy the other half.”

The manager approved the deal and the man went on his way. Later the manager said to the boy, “I was impressed with the way you got yourself out of that situation earlier. We like people who think on their feet here. Where are you from, son?”

“Texas , sir.” the boy replied.

“Well, why did you leave Texas ?” the manager asked.

The boy said, “Sir, there’s nothing but whores and football players there.

“Really?” said the manager “My wife is from Texas ..”

“Get outta here!” the boy said. “Who’d she play for?”