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I am not personally fond of bumper stickers. I prefer a one on one exchange rather than a drive-by introduction. But admittedly I may be in the minority since on some days it’s possible to read my way through every … Continue reading
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I see a poster in the elevator going to my doctor’s office encouraging everyone to wear blue for Colon Awareness Day. I ask the doctor whether she is planning to wear blue on Friday. She glances up from my chart … Continue reading
There is nothing like Taco Bell for a fast car food. Two crunchy tacos with a 1/2 dozen packets of mild taco sauce and good to go. When I think about it, I have liked Taco Bell for nearly 4 decades. That is one long affair with a taco.
What kinda sauce do you have?
When I started out with them, the bean burrito was long and skinny. I think the beans were rolled up in a deep-fried tortilla instead of steamed. The old ones were flaky like pie crust and much less likely to drip all over.
Another thing on the original menu was a Bell Burger. It was really a Maid-Rite, crumbled hamburger on a bun. I always did think that was strange even though the Bell was never what I’d call the real deal Mexican cuisine. Back then, they also served up frijoles and tostadas. (You can ask for a tostada now but you may have to tell them how to make it since it isn’t on the menu.)
The baby in the photo showed up on all sorts of blogs around Cinco de Mayo without a tag. Bravo, unknown photographer, thanks.
I Wonder
If Kate’s sister was not Pippa,
would she be just a little less hipper?
Say, if her name was Pat, Jo or Jane,
would the crazy press be a lot more sane?
Pics of Pippa flood the air,
wherever she goes, it’s like I’m there.
I — for one, will be glad to see,
the day she marries a handsome marquis.
This is simply annoying: Martha Stewart’s advice to copy a hotel technique to remember to flip mattresses 4 times a year to preserve their lives (the mattresses, not the employees).
So you make two tags, one says January and April (which is upside down) which you pin carefully to the top end of the mattress; the other says October and July (which like April is upside down) and yes, pin that to the foot end of the mattress.
Are you still with me? I know, there is NOTHING WORSE than Martha Stewart’s extraordinary anal instructions: January is printed upside, April down, October is printed upside, July is down. I feel I am a marsh-mellow head.
And then the cheery finish. Every January, April, October and July, just make sure that it’s That month that is on Top of the Foot of the bed. (As if this action alone ranks close to finding a Cure for Cancer.)
Despite my disdain, if my mother was still alive, I’d report this tip to her and she would say, “What a great idea, would you do that for me the next time you visit?” And I would hear myself saying, “Sure, no problem.”
One thing about those Boy Scouts, they really know how to use flags, here’s one now sending a message to his brother who is evidently on a nearby mountaintop. It was this little guy’s job to find out what they get for Mother’s Day.
Here was his brother’s reply.
In case you’re a little rusty on semaphore code, here are the messages along with a translation. The first boy says … SHE WANTS DIAMOND STUDS. His brother flags back, “R YOU KIDDIN’ ME? WE R GETTIN’ CELL PHONES, 4 GOD’S SAKE. Want to do this fun thing at home? Here ya go.
I scan the spam crop that had collected over-night and see, “Attend high school at your own pace” in a subject line. As I clear everything, I think, Oh sure, right. I shoulda’ remembered to graduate.
That night, I dream that I am at my old high school. I walk into a familiar classroom, slump down at a desk and look down at an exam booklet. The sum total of my knowledge and preparation for this test adds up to Zero.
I feel sick as wave after wave of anxiety rolls through me. I flip through the booklet in hopes of a couple of essay questions, the kind I can usually punt. I don’t see any. My mouth is dry and my hands begin to sweat.
I hear a voice drone, “Reminder, people, your performance on this test is worth over half of your final grade.” I have a C going into this, if I fail the test — I may come out with a D at the end. But if it’s a low C, an F might give me an F in the class. And if I get an F, I may not graduate. I hear my heart rate speed up.
“You may begin now.”
Aargh! I CAN’T DO THIS, I shout to myself. And then I wake up. I stay perfectly still and breathe deeply a few times until my mind grabs onto reality. And that is just one of the ways that spam has shortened my life.
Actress Cloris Leachman is 85. I know this because my morning paper has a column called Birthdays. The format never changes. There are always five people featured. First there is a descriptor, then the name followed by age. Actor Willie Nelson is 78. They are in descending order by age. Director Jane Campion is 57. One lucky duck is featured in a thumbnail photo. This time it is Cloris. Actress Kirsten Dunst is 29. I seldom know the last person on the list, today is no exception. Actress Dianna Agron is 25
It would seem any self-respecting editor would have nixed this column idea a long time ago. It’s not like readers all of a sudden jump up and run out to buy birthday cards. But I guess someone thinks it’s pretty important to know Cloris Leachman is 85 today.
Every so often it makes sense to whip up a list of things that fill me with a sense of gratitude. These are on the top of today’s list.
1) I am glad my dentist is not Dr. Orly Taitz, the queen of the birthers who lives in a meaningless and irrational world totally of her own making.
2) I am grateful that it wasn’t at all hip to get a tattoo when I was in my teens.
Oh. William and Kate. Nearly life-size. That's something.
3) I am happy that no one I know is selling Tupperware at home parties any more.
4) I am very grateful that someone else dug up the garden and all I need to do is figure out what to plant.
5) I’m so pleased that my wallet was on the floor of my car rather than left on the counter at Starbucks.
6) And – I’m thankful that I will never have to call Goodwill to haul away a commemorative refrigerator.
A friend e-mailed me on the fly to let me know, if I didn’t already, that a mutual acquaintance had died.
That’s awful, I thought. The three of us had worked on a number of projects over the years and we had a healthy friendship. The last time I had seen her, she was as enthusiastic and energetic as ever.
Goes to show you, I thought glumly as I pulled up the obituary online.
I read through the first paragraph and stopped and started again. The name was right. And yes, our friend’s husband had already died but I was pretty sure his name was George, not Henry. And she did have children but not Jack and Harry; she had 2 daughters, Lucille and Darlene.
Wellll – it wasn’t who we thought it was. I scrolled down and saw a very nice note; it was from the friend who had e-mailed.
She offered sympathy to the family and then reminisced about the deceased. She mentioned her generosity, her kindness and how flat-out hilarious she was when she entertained troops dressed as Chucky Chipmunk. She went on to say something about her never being forgotten by all the hundreds she had dazzled over the years.
I couldn’t help but think the deceased was laughing her head off, I sure was.