Tag: humor

A rose by another name?

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What’s in your vocabulary? What words or phrases do you think sound beautiful? And what words are simply gross? The wordsmiths at Dictionary posed those questions on their blog, The Hot Word.  (Yeah, I think it’s kind of cute, too.)

The whole thing started when they announced what is commonly considered the most beautiful word or phrase in the English language: cellar door.

People said, “Whaat?”  

Yup, according to those who make it their business to study the pleasantness (euphony) or the unpleasantness (cacophony) of sound, cellar door has just the right combo of sounds that make it most pleasing to the ear. 

Edgar Allen Poe seems to agree with the combo as he gets pretty close with nevermore, forgotten lore, and chamber door. But their blog readers have different ideas, choosing words whose both meanings and sounds are beautiful to them.

Serendipity is most often submitted for the most beautiful (along with scissors, fudge, epiphany, languorous, voluptuous, ambrosia, and melancholy). Many believe moist is among the grossest (along with flaccid, juice, wasps, nugget, morsel, pork, vomit, acrylic, gooey, oyster, egg, and sludge).

The moral of this story is name your 2011 baby Celadora. I’d stay away from Moist.

Thanks 4 Sharing

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 OMG, OMG, OMG. Who are these people? 

Awkward Family Photos is where people send in photographs that are, for the most part, laugh out-loud hilarious. The site was born when two guys just hanging out started laughing at a dorky family vacation photo. After they stopped laughing, they thought to themselves — photos like this are rampant across the land!

Bravo to people who can laugh at themselves; I think they should inherit the earth.     

Hallelujah

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Sig insists on putting peanut butter in the refrigerator. And I really hate that. It is some kind of germ-phobe thing as if peanuts are salmonella carriers. (If they are, fine — just don’t share it with me. Please.) 

My point, thank you very much, is that peanut butter is born to be spreadable. Yes, spreadability is an intrinsic positive attribute of even the least expensive brand.   

Lower the knife to the jar and with one deft motion dip-and-swipe into the peanut butter. There is no resistance, no struggle, no hefty lifting. The loaded knife comes up triumphantly headed toward the bread. 

Once there it hovers as long as you like until a singular swoop-and-swipe motion completes the exchange.  In quick order, lunch is made and I am out the door.

I bought two jars of peanut butter today, only one went in the refrigerator. Free at last.

My best side

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I googled “ideal bathroom lighting” this morning.  A leaky pipe is leading to new fixtures, which means repairing the ceramic tile, which means repainting the walls, which means re-doing the trim, which means the 1917 light fixtures need to go.

The ideal is to have lights on either side of the mirror preferably centered around eye height and between 32 – 36 inches apart. Even, shadowless light means you are less likely to look as if you are off your feed, so to speak. (It’s okay if you have a fixture across the top, just so it lights up the entire area and has translucent glass.)

Whew. Dodged that bullet. I would have always thought it was the wrong color of paint.

Been Gone?

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My sister’s dog, Pablo, pretty much goes nuts when ever she comes into the house even from short trips like say to the garage.  But he is after all, a dog. I’m no Cesar Milan, but I think the average dog really doesn’t get into game-playing other than fetch.  

Cats on the other hand are another story.

After being gone for longer than a month, are they at the front door when we wrestle it open with armloads of luggage? Oh, noooo.  We have just about emptied the car before they show up.  They sit on the top landing looking down, casually grooming themselves. 

When we spy them we excitedly call their names; they just stare at us and remain where they sit.  It is as if the biggest among them is saying, “Wha— you two have been gone?! OMG, you’re kiddin’ us. Who ‘da guessed?”

They stay strong for a good hour or so; I don’t know which one says it’s time to cave.  But all of a sudden, the attitudes are gone and with plaintive meows, they clamor to make sure we have not forgotten them.  That’s when we know we’re home.

Befriended

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We watched the Cadillac come up to the public bathroom from where we were sitting in the park’s shelter. The driver got out and went around to help the passenger get out. He was unsteady and leaned on her. She slammed the car door shut and together they made their way to the Men’s. 

Sig said, “That’s probably us if we last another 10 to 15 years.” 

“Ten years? Well, I don’t think so. Maybe You but not me.” We bickered back and forth about our widely different outlooks on the future when the woman suddenly started yelling.   

“Damnit! Shit! Damnit! Oh, Damnit.” She was walking around the car waving her arms. “I locked my keys in there, I locked my keys in there. I’ve never done that ever!”

I took my cell phone and we went over to see what we could do. 

Well, you see, Edna and Ed were heading home from the hospital after Ed’s knee replacement. They had OnStar service on their car but the number routed them to an automated message center. So Sig and Edna take off to find a mechanic. Ed and I have a nice chat about the usual – surgery advancements, cell phones, retirement, Colorado in the summer.  

Sig and Edna return and help is on the way. Just before we leave — they tell us about their really good friends in Kansas City; they own a big funeral home. If we ever need anything, just mention their name.

Think about it, before Facebook this is how it happened.

Daveee, Daveee Crockett

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It is comforting to me to learn that the faux fur Davy Crockett’s coonskin hat is still the top souvenir sold at the Alamo. I picture them on 5 and 6 year olds with buzz haircuts and round faces.

I think that’s because my 2 brothers rocked those buzz haircuts growing up and loved their fake fur hats. Myself? I always preferred the long bladed plastic bowie-knife. Which is probably why they occasionally paid attention when I bossed them around.

A Fish Story

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Howie was headed to work daydreaming about fishing. He didn’t mind his clerk’s job at the Island Souvenir Warehouse; it was an easy walk from his house. All of a sudden he felt the ground beneath his feet shudder. He half turned expecting to see a semi trailer or a steam roller on its way to a construction site. 

But the only thing on the road was a dune buggie. He shrugged and turned back.

After two more steps, he felt it again. There was no mistaking this. It was a wide rolling movement that caused him to instinctively fling out his arms and half crouch as if he was on a surf board. 

A network of cracks exploded in the ground ahead of him radiating into the parking lot. The asphalt started to bulge as if someone was inflating a balloon underground. Within minutes it was as big as a car and widening into a triangle. 

Without taking his eyes off what was happening in front of him, Howie started edging backward. As the mass grew level with the roof, the asphalt started to split and fall away.  

Out emerged a fish the size of boxcar.  After poking his head through the parking lot, it took a deep breath, heaved up his body and flipped his tail free. His skin was mostly matte grey, his eyes were spaced a good distance apart, and he had a great mass of pearly white teeth and ruby red lips.

“Oh,”  Howie said, “you must be the new guy, I’ll tell ’em you’re here.”

 

Whoop! Ing!

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Today we did touristy things. On the way home, we notice several cars parked along a road bordering a fenced pasture close to the edge of the estuary in Fulton on the coast.  

We swing around and see that the object of fascination is the trio of birds slow stepping in the grass about a 100 feet or so from the road. At closer look, those assembled are as one equipped with cameras on tripods each with a lens the size of a pro-football player’s thigh. 

Well, laudy miz claudy, who knew we were looking at three whooping cranes!? Now these birds have been clawing their way back from the list of extinction for quite some time.  We know that a nearby reserve is a destination and through diligence their flock has increased. But this pasture is sorta a no birds’ land.   

One of the bird-people cum lens tells us that the bird pair has been coming here ever since the farm owner fed them in a dry spell. Evidently they are a territorial species and since the arrival of junior, return every year, settle in and prepare to defend their home land against intruders.

Well, I had not intended to take part in the Great Backyard Bird Count but destiny calls. I just completed my report.  Yeah, I know, I know — they are a little small, trust me they are not chickens. I thought it would be really bad form to climb the fence to get closer. 

Visit International Crane Organization for close-ups.