Tag Archives: humor

Food fight

Posted on by

So here we have it, in one corner southern-belle-I’m-every-woman, Paula Deen. In the other corner the too-cool-for-school-formerly-known-as-Tony, Anthony Bourdain. And welcome to a Titan food fight.

Bourdain lobs the first fistful, “Paula” … “is dangerous for her artery clogging cooking.” Deen fires back, lambasting him for a high falutin’ attitude and a penchant for chronic irritability.

Bourdain fancies himself a gourmand, Deen relishes being a cook.

Here come the food critics out of the bushes. In smart prose, they skewer the two and find way greater meaning in their discourse than ever was supposed. Access and finances prevent people from eating right. Convenience and ease trump healthy choices. It’s a holy war for the supper tables of America.

With all due respect to the Food Network, I really don’t believe I can put my food choices, healthy or not, at your feet. I have long ago understood that I am what I eat. Sometimes I want a creamy home-made mac and cheese and sometimes I want a sautéed sliver of tenderloin with a wine reduction.

What I need is someone to make this stuff and actually put it on my table cause I’m busy doing something else very important. When you’re ready to step up, let me know.

If I’m lying, I’m dying

Posted on by

Image from Neon Bar Signs

A neighborhood bar is where men make bar friends.

A man will stand at the bar along side of a stranger and make small talk as they wait to order. The next time one of them comes in when the other is there — they nod in recognition and say, “Howyadoin?” If they start dropping in for happy hour on the same evenings, they may become bar friends.

When Sig discovers a place with a prime rib sandwich special and reasonable drinks, he finds a new bar friend. His name is Harry. For a couple of weeks, they run into each other, stand around and talk about the day’s headlines.

One night, Harry’s wife comes in.  That’s when Sig finds out that Harry thinks his name is Serge, since that’s how he introduces him.  Sig decides on the spot not to correct the mistake because he doesn’t think it matters.

Harry and Serge/Sig both like Kansas road trips and one night get excited talking about going to a rodeo, one of the oldest in the state.

Sig is in a quandary, he thinks he should let Harry know his real name but he can’t quite figure out how to do it after so much time has passed. I suggest that he just come right out with it, “Harry, I’ve got something to tell you. My name is Sig, not Serge.”

Then I imagine Harry’s reply, “Whaaat? Not Serge? What kind of name is Cig? Short for cigarette? ”

Sig does not take my advice. Shortly after, I finally go with Serge/Sig to meet his newly minted friends. We spend a good couple of hours together talking and joking like you do.  As we leave, they yell, “Let’s plan that rodeo trip, Serge. Nice meeting you, Phoebe.”

Are you serious? We barely get out of the bar before we collapse against the building laughing too hard to walk. But that’s the true story of how Serge and Phoebe spent an entire weekend in Strong City, Kansas with a couple of bar friends.

Isn’t Life Really a Detour?

Posted on by

I have a GPS that plugs into my car for that little bit of travel help when navigating unfamiliar territory. So an hour and a half after motoring on down the highway on the way to the east coast from Iowa, I program it and fire it up.

The woman inside the device is quick and precise, “Re-cal-cu-late. Re-cal-cu-late. Exit next ramp, turn left at the stop sign and right at first opportunity to proceed east on I 80.”

I stare at the new road route that illustrates her directions and damn if she isn’t right. Omaha is not the way to Washington DC. On the up side, we are traveling through country that deserves a second look.

Shortly after that I turned on the foreign travel guide just for grins. In an hour and a half, I learn how to order, “Two beers, please. And do french fries come with that?” I think it  might come in handy in case we end up in Munich for happy hour.

It’s Interesting

Posted on by

Here’s the deal, this watch-like thing gives the date, time and — a coach and  monitor that records the intensity of your physical activity. Unlike a pedometer, the S2H Replay (could they think of a Better name?) calculates activities such as running, dancing and sports.

There is an unusual tie-in that makes this whole thing much more interesting than you’d think at the outset.

The S2H Replay costs $19.95  plus shipping and handling. But once you’ve bought one and started using it, you can accumulate points from doing your favorite activities for an hour and cash them in for rewards from merchandisers including Target and K-Mart.  Every 60 minutes, reset the device and earn some more.

Pretty painless. Ignore the blatant external rewards hook for a minute, and buy a bunch for your sedentary friends and family. (Though if I were you, I’d be ready for a backlash or two.)

Incompatible

Posted on by

Woodland Creek Furniture makes this table. I can see myself giving the dried flower arrangement away and then sitting around it with a bunch of friends having dinner that is laid out on a groaning sideboard.

The top is hand hammered copper in a very dense pattern with a very nice red and black molten patina.

According to the catalog this densely patterned technique causes the hilltops but not the valleys to wear down enhancing the overall design. Inferior copper tops end up with indelible scars. What this all means is anyone’s guess.

The description leaves significant gaps: How heavy is a hand hammered copper table?  What its price?  Well, the groaning sideboard just weighed in, “Betcha way too much.”

I just don’t think they are going to get along.

Yuck it Up

Posted on by

My criterion for passing along you tube videos that are supposed to be funny is I have to laugh out-loud while watching it by myself. This made the cut.

I sure hope Clark’s dog dish will have some meat in it this weekend.

Han-dee

Posted on by

I am a little behind in picking up leaves hiding out under and behind bushes in my yard. I was hoping that they’d break down a little and turn into mulch all by themselves but last time I checked, they are as sturdy as ever.

Action photo of Jumbo Hands.

On the up side, it is a good excuse to spend ten bucks on a pair of jumbo garden hands from the Walter Drake catalog.

They are big (14″ x 11″) forked plastic lids that let you scoop up a lot of leaves at one time. They come in an attractive shade of garden green in case you care about that.

Could be a Father’s Day gift as long as you stick something really good in the package with it.

‘Cause, let’s face it, getting garden hands for Father’s Day (even if they are jumbo) would be about as much fun as getting a double boiler for your birthday.

Put Yr Lips Together

Posted on by

I doubt that I will ever grow up and out of the irrational notion that if I blow out all of the candles on my birthday cake, I’ll get my wish. (As long as I don’t blab about it.)

The custom is rooted with the ancients, when people believed a herd of gods lived in the sky. Smoke wafting from blown-out candles evidently had a fighting chance of reaching a wish granting spirit.

Since birthday wishes are such a time-honored tradition, there’s job security in  cake baking.  But some bakers are probably more secure than others.

Cake Wrecks is only interested in cakes gone wrong. For instance, it was just as well that little Trudi Smith didn’t know how to read when it was time for her to blow out the candles on her purple cake.

Overheard.

“Well, I guess Nuts is Peter Allergy’s brother or maybe sister? Good lookin’ bushes, doncha think?”

“Yeah, nice. Let’s move on. We have to finish one more for a 5:00 pick-up, we gots to hurry.”

“Okay, here’s the gab – it goes on the white frosted swirl two decker round.”

“H 85th (Grand.Mom)?”

“Yeah, that’s what it says. I think it is some kinda computer code or somethin?”

“Alrighty. We’re done.”

(Thanks Meghan for passing this along.)

Big O Count-Down

Posted on by

If you want, with a few clicks of your mouse, you can sign your name to a big farewell card being assembled by AOL to mark the end of Oprah Winfrey’s 25 year talk show run.

Image from Media Outrage.

Well, gee. What’s going on?

Is it the threat of a random debilitating disease? Is it an emerging cause that demands 100 per cent of her passion and energy? Is it simply fatigue and a reckless “I need to start over!” plea? Boredom? Hunger? Ennui?

Her curiously bewildered fans turn to each other and screw up their faces in deep  concentration. They start to describe their Oprah moments; one by one they recount their favorite guests, topics, clothes and the stupendous giveaways that dazzled audiences through the years.

“To OWN,” one of elders among them finally says. “Right,” another chimes in, “To OWN.”

“O. W. N?”

“Oprah Winfrey Network.” The chorus murmurs in reply.

“AAARG! You have GOT to be effing kiddin’ me!”

Public Service Announcement

Posted on by

Since the rapture was re-scheduled, you may be a cook facing a big dilemma for your Sunday dinner. You certainly would not have hauled out a big rump roast from the freezer yesterday. Who knows, did you already donate your best pans to charity? Hmmm. What to do?

Here’s a suggestion guaranteed to make you glad you are still of this earth.  Ease on down the road to your nearest Sonic and wheel into a parking spot. For a measly $1.99 each, buy Chicago Dogs for the whole family.

Image from Grub Trade

It’s an all beef hot dog topped with pickle, relish, tomato, peppers, celery salt and mustard served in a soft, warm poppy-seed bun.

There are other dogs on the menu but I think the Chicago Dog beats up the others.

The celery seed and the poppy seed combination gives it a nearly-there gourmet impact.

I have to tell you the first time I tried one I was enraptured. ‘Course, I am also really partial to Sonic’s diet cherry limeades. So maybe it was the combination that brought me close to the edge.