"Will You Like This Site?" I Asked Rhetorically

Dr. Gradgrind answers rhetorical questions. (Or, his alter ego, Dr. Brians of WSU, does.) See here.

This one is for my friend, Aitch Em in the Ewe Kay, who I know will get a kick out of this! Enjoy HM.

FUNNY!

Well, okay, only sort of funny.

There are times when D.C. can laugh at itself. Check this out:

Seriously Funny: 10 Bureaucrats, 1 Comedy Contest. And, No, We're Not Joking

My vote went to Freddi Vernell, by the way.

Oh, Nuts!

A couple of weekends ago (seems like months ago, really), as I was heading out of Rehoboth and home to D.C., I stopped at Five Guys Famous Burgers & Fries for a burger and Rigby, Idaho, potato fries. I'm sitting at my table, dipping my fries in malt vinegar, watching a cute, older couple enjoy their burgers and fries, when an opportunity for humor presented itself.

For those who haven't been to Five Guys, there's always a box of unshelled peanuts sitting in a box near the cashier. As you stand in line waiting to order or as you're waiting for your burger to grill, you can shell and nosh on goobers.

As with so many before her, in came a woman who proceeded to the line. Looking into a bucket sitting on top of a trash can and completely overlooking the box of unshelled peanuts sitting next to the aforementioned trash can, she turns to the cashier and says, "Do you have nuts?"

If I'd been that cashier, I would have said, "No, but I have a nice rack."

Or, "No, I can't afford the operation, but I'm saving up for it."

Or, "No. Do you?"

How would you reply?

And Happy Memorial Day everyone!

Beta

I’ve decided that the female of the species is still in beta version.

When I get a migraine, all I want to do, in the initial stages, is pop my left eye ball out of its eye socket and soak it in a glass of cool water. The resultant hole in my head from the absent obicularus oculi would also serve to relieve the pressure that comes with said seismic migraine and all would be well.

If the migraine were too far advanced, however, I’d like hinges on my neck, so I could take my aching head off and set it on a shelf. Let it do its migrainy thing, then come back to it in 24 hours and put it back on my neck. In the interim, I could flick a switch on my hip or wherever and my back-up generator brain would kick in, allowing me to maintain my other necessary bodily systems like my heart and lungs until my main system is back online.

And how about that cycle every 28 days? Since I can’t seem to convince either my gynecologist or my internist to let me have a hysterectomy for my birthday—something I’ve been begging for for several years now—then I say, let my uterus be detachable. At the start of my monthly cycle, I’ll just take it out, stick it in a bucket in a dark corner, and let it do its thing for 3 – 5 days. At the end of its menstrual moment, I’ll take it out of the bucket, toss in the dishwasher, give it a good cleansing, and stick it back in it’s pelvic pocket—brand-spanking new and ready for another month of lining itself and flipping eggs out of my ovaries and into its cushy recesses.

One of these days, God and I are gonna have a talk. And I’m not talkin’ some rinky-dink little, “Gee, golly, God, I love that You created Gerbera daisies. They’re just so friendly and all.” Unh-uh. No sirree. I’m talkin’ the serious talk. The talk about how God made the beta version of females and then suspended all funding for further R&D, clinical trials, and whatnot. I'm tellin' ya, He quit too soon in the research and trials. And men were obviously the control group, because if God ever had had a period, believe you me, He would tossed the research protocol and started over again.

So there!

Tapas, Topless... Eh, What's the Difference?

Had a conversation today with a former colleague (FC) of mine from my days at the Big Industry Trade Association. We're meeting tomorrow for lunch. As I'm working in a new part of downtown, I've been asked to recommend a place we can go to eat. The conversation went like this:

Me: Well, there are several options. We could go to the Verizon Center. Or, there's Jaleo. We could have tapas for lunch.

Pregnant pause...

FC: Topless?

Me: What?!? No! Tapas. You know? T-A-P-A-S. Tiny Spanish food.

FC: Oh! Tapas. Well, thank God for that! (Hearty laughter going on.)

Me: Yeah, that would bring us to a whole new low in our relationship, wouldn't it? Not topless. Just tapas.


Egads. Some days, language defies me.

Picky, Picky, Picky

I want one of these.



Let's face it--the people who signed my high school yearbooks in the mid-80s were right: I'm weird.

Melts in Your Mouth

If I was an M&M, this is what I'd look like.



To figure out what you'd look like, go here to build your own.

I Heart My MacBook

This is my new friend:



My new friend has software called Photo Booth. Photo Booth lets me do this:


See Janet's hair get big. Big hair, Janet, big hair.

And this:


No! Janet, no!

If my face was absolutely symmetrical, this is what I would look like:


Time to go to the gym, Janet! Run, Janet, run!

But, this is what I really look like. On a good day, anyway.

Cooking with Cannibals

Two jokes today. One I found over on Avert Your Eyes; the other, a friend told me.

Here's the first.

Two cannibals are eating a clown. One turns to the other and says, "Does this taste funny to you?"


Ba-da-boom!


Here's the second one.

Two cannibals are eating soup. The one turns to the other and says, "Your wife sure makes a fine soup." To which the other replies, "Yes; 'tis a shame, though, because I'm really going to miss her."


And with that, I'll keep looking for a day job.

Product Development

Remember that blog I wrote last year about Jesus being a stinker? Well, the laughs just keep on comin'. My sister called the other night and, it's safe to say, neither of us is getting into heaven any time soon! Somehow, until the other night, she'd missed the full extent of my previous blog. As a result, we had a brainstorm on products that would follow the release of the "Aroma of Jesus Christ" line.

In addition to perfumes and colognes, there would have to be an aromatherapy spa package, because what good is having an aroma if you can't go to the spa and enjoy it? The ad copy would probably read something like, "Feeling like Lazarus? Tired of all that fishing? Need to feel resurrected? You need a day at the Galilee Spa of Miracles...."

And speaking of fishing, if Jesus had a sandwich named after Him, it would be called the "Fishers of Men Hoagie" and would be a fish sandwich served on a loaf. No condiments or veggies or breading, just cod on a bun. You can get a salad with that, but don't order the Caeser.

Here are a few questions we're still teasing out: would Jesus drive a Hummer or a Prius? Would He shop at Balducci's or the Takoma Park/Silver Spring Co-op? Would He recycle? Would He wear organic cotton or Indian silk? (I'm starting to feel a Ray Steven's song coming on... "Would Jesus Wear a Rolex on His Television Show?")

These and other questions are keeping me up nights...

Washing Pots in Moab

I'm working through my piles of books and this morning finished reading Stephen Fry's autobiography, Moab is my Washpot. At 436 pages, the 'good bits' don't start until around page 357. Still, it's an interesting look into the life of one of Britian's funniest funny men. Fry speaks candidly and with rawness about the first 20 years of his life.

Behind the face that is Jeeves of Jeeves & Wooster lies the early years of a young boy and adolescent who struggled to find his voice and his place in English society. The middle child of three and son of an inventor, Fry spent his formative years, as do many of England's young people, attending boarding schools and pulling off pranks and pratfalls in the midst of learning. In between, he engages in petty theft and credit card fraud--crimes that eventually land him in court and prison charged as a felon. He sees the error of his ways and extracts himself from a future of dead-ends, applies himself, and goes on to succeed at Cambridge, becomes friends with the likes of Hugh Laurie and Emma Thompson, works as a headmaster teaching English, German, and History, and goes on to become not only one of England's hail and hearty comedians, but a spokesperson for mental illness.

Fry's autobiography also speaks of his struggles finding love and figuring himself out. He finally embraces his sexuality when he falls in love with a school chum called Matthew. While he makes no excuses for his petty thievery and wayward decision making, he does venture that society's inability to embrace homosexuality likely contributed to his misbehavior and petulance. In figuring out himself, Fry engages in some Byronesque writing that is some of the best reading in his autobiography.

All in all, an intriguing book. Written in a rambling, British conversational, stream - of - conscientiousness manner, Moab is My Washpot can be a bit of a slog, but if you're willing to read beyond page 357, you'll find a well-written story that highlights the complexities of human existence and evolution of character. Out of five stars, I'd give this a three. (And a thanks to my friend Hilary for gifting this to me.)

Pabst Beer

I think that just about says it all.

Day 29: Gutter Ball

Okay, my mind must be in the gutter this morning, but I'd like to think I'm not the only one who chuckled when I read this in today's Washington Post:

At a morning news briefing, [Adrian] Fenty (D) defended his decision to retain many agency directors and other high-ranking officials of the administration of Anthony A. Williams (D) when he takes over the D.C. government Jan. 2.

He cautioned against a throw-the-bums-out approach.... "If we just threw out everybody, then I wouldn't be able to come," said Fenty, who for six years was the Ward 4 council member.

He seriously didn't say that, did he? Please tell me that the reporter who wrote this piece forgot to finish the quote.

Here's the entire article, if you want to read it.

Photo courtesy of Archivo/Washington Hispanic. Comic blurb courtesy of me and my MacBook's software, ComicLife.

Day 18 (Part 2): Housecleaning Becomes Enjoyable

Received this via email the other day.



Can you imagine the product development conversations at Mattel? What I want to know is, were women involved in the development of this toy?

Day 18: Headlines

I love it when you read something and think it says one thing when in fact it says another. For instance, this morning, I read this headline in the Washington Post Online:

Grinch Considers 2008 Bid

The Grinch?! That guy with a heart three sizes too small? The stealer of Christmas joy and children's toys? Running for president?

Then I realized I'd misread it. The actual headline was Gingrich Considers 2008 Bid.

The Grinch.

Gingrich.

Well, I suppose it makes sense. They're not far removed in terms of heartlessness.

Of course, there is a difference between the two. Eventually, the Grinch sees the point of goodness and goodwill and grows a heart. The chances for Gingrich doing the same seem slim to none.

Perhaps his name should be Newt Gingrinch, but that seems like an insult to the Grinch, doesn't it?

Day 12 (Part 3): Weird Tags and Other Dangling Participles

Oh, man. I've been tagged by the Gunfighter. Well, here goes nothing....

Six Weird Things About Janet M. Kincaid (a.k.a. DC Rush Hour):

1. I like to buy sheets. It's true. When I moved, though, I had to jettison some of my sheet sets because I had too many and some were getting lonelier than others from misuse.

2. I tend to anthropomorphize things that shouldn't be. Like the aforementioned sheets. Or all the little critters that inhabit the tree outside my office window. There's Bert and Roscoe, the dueling squirrels and Percy the Possum and Bart the Bat and Waldorf the Woodpecker and... Well, I'm sure you get the picture. Oddly enough, though, I haven't named any of the many feral cats that wander through my yard and alley. They're all just named "Damn Cats!"

3. I listen to Christmas music. In July. A lot.

4. I have a thing about manners and using your inside voice when you're in public spaces and indoors. That's weird because a lot of folks in today's cell-phone obsessed, fuck-you world don't give a damn about common courtesy and decorum.

5. I love James Bond movies. Most of my friends--especially my feminist friends--don't understand this one. I don't understand it either. It just is.

6. I like to wear my Bergsteiger and yodel. Okay, that last one isn't true, but it is weird. And I do own a Bergsteiger Hut complete with pins from every town and province I lived or worked in in Austria.

And now I'm supposed to tag six other people.

Let's see. How about Mary Ellen, Sister Mary Lisa, Dr. Lala, Miss Understood, Holly*, and, and, and... Hm. I guess that's it.

*Holly, who asked me to do the Christmas Meme. Stay tuned for that. It will appear on this blog on or around Christmas Day.

Day 11: Jesus is a Stinker

Sometimes, I think my background as a sociologist of religion, ergo an observer of religious constructs and systems, makes me jaded. For example, this article in today's Washington Post.

Inquiry Sought Over Evangelical Video: Defense Department Asked to Examine Officers' Acts Supporting Christian Group

Year's ago, I likely would have read it and thought very little of it. But as it is, I try to pay attention to language and phrases as they are sometimes uttered unwittingly and overtly without intending to be offensive or short-sighted. And yet, they can be potentially stupid and offensive if you stand outside of what it is you're saying or you believe and you look in with objective, open eyes.

(Please note: I'm not saying that people of faith are stupid or offensive. What I am saying is, sometimes our use of language that is common to us and those who believe like we do seems perfectly normal. To us. And, we assume, by default, to others as well. But if we stand outside of our language and rhetoric and listen with the ears of those who are receiving our words, we may find that our language needs some modification in order for it to be better received.)

For example, the other day, the Post featured an editorial by one of America's foremost historians and commentators, Douglas Brinkley. In writing that historians should be cautious about declaring George W. Bush the worst president ever (which, may I say subjectively, he is, but that's not the point), Brinkley wrote, "Clearly it's dangerous for historians to wield the 'worst president' label like a scalp-hungry tomahawk (emphasis added) simply because they object to Bush's record." (Read the entire piece here, if you'd like.)

Did Brinkley really say that? I thought. Did he actually use the words "like a scalp-hungry tomahawk"? I even e-mailed him and asked, I was so astonished. I have yet to hear back from him, by the way.

Likewise, in the above linked article from today's Post, Army Brig. General Bob Casen is quoted as saying, "I immediately feel like I am being held accountable, because we are the aroma of Jesus Christ." (Emphasis added.)

My eyes came to a screeching halt on that sentence. Is this a new phrase in the evangelical lexicon? The aroma of Jesus Christ? What is that exactly? (See above parenthetical re: esoteric/common language.)

Did Jesus finally come out with His own line of perfumes and colognes? Should we expect a clothing line next? Something heavy in shrouds and the latest in sandals? Or maybe something more heavenly like white, flowing robes (though I have heard that brown is the new black this season. I wonder how He'll work that one in?)

Or, is Christ a bit smelly and moldering after all those years away from earth and, by some Roman Catholic-like miracle, His pungency alights on the faithful and gives them an odor that only the truly devout can ascertain through their supposedly anointed olfactory senses? Sort of like a secret handshake or something?

I don't mean to be sacrilegious here (or maybe I do), especially since I believe in Christ, but I'm not wrapping my head around this new moniker, the aroma of Jesus Christ. And, if you'll pardon my hubris here, if I were Jesus, I'm not sure I'd want to be an aroma.

"Behold, I am Jesus Christ, come into the world to... smell."

Hm. Nope. Just not the same as His original message.

Day 7: Alliteration

al-lit-er-a-tion (noun): the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words. ORIGIN early 17th cent.: from medieval Latin alliteratio(n-), from Latin ad- (expressing addition) + littera 'letter.'

While I'm no Dr. Seuss, this is what might have happened at this year's Christmas party at my house:

Avuncular actuarials and academics eat Adriana's Advent asapargus aspics while bulbous, bodacious babes and beach bums brag about sunbathing along the boardwalk in Barbados. Cats cavorting, cuddling, and conjoling, connivingly convince convivial canines to conspire to capture and consume crunchy crudite. In the corner, dilly-dallying dervishes drain devilishly dramatic draughts of drink while dancing with Di. Eccentric electricians eat eggs as elegant engineers extrapolate explanations for Einstein's evocative eee equaling em-cee-squared.

Outside, fortuitously frolicking firearms amateurs face off with a gun safety guru, the Gunfighter, who guides gunslingers on the grange goosing grouse and grousing geese with gunshot. Meanwhile, hotelier Hilton heeds headlines regarding hotty-totty daughter and hollers, "Heel!" I spy and eye jazzed up Jews for Jesus in jammies jauntily juxtaposed with Kip and Kelly in kilts a-kimbo keeping kebabs kosher as Lena lends her luscious libretto to the lively alleluias ringing out in the lyceum.

Men mainly meander and muck about mincing words without modesty or modicum while naysayers and nabobs nit-pick over obtuse orators and politicians pontificating proudly pursuant to pork barrels and pay raises. In the observatory, the Queen quells queries regarding regimental raiments and regal robes. Sitting serenely on the settee, Sister Mary Lisa sagely supplies succor and solace to sad seekers in smelly sneakers and supine sots in soggy socks.

Twitterpatted toadies temptuously attempt to tantalize taciturn tarts with talking points who then end up understandably upset and uninterested. Varietals from vineyards various and vast flow from vats large and small. While back at the ranch, W whittles away at what's left of the world, 'xpecting 'xigent acceptance of his 'xistential claptrap.

Why worry over year-end yearnings and yadda yadda ya's? It's yuletide! Throw a yule log on the fire and yodel. Zany, zooty Zwinglians and Zorasters with zithers will serenade Zouaves with zydeco as we gather 'round the egg nog and shout "Zounds!"

Note to readers: If you can craft a sentence that uses your blog name in an alliterative manner, I'll post it here. I tried to include everyone who's over in my Links list, but alas, I failed.


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UPDATE: Please read the Comments section for other examples of fabulous alliterative writing by Sideon, Sister Mary Lisa, Miss Understood, and the Gunfighter...

Day 6 (Part 2): And Charlie... Light a Match!

Don't know if you caught this article in today's Washington Post. I confess: it made me laugh. (Which probably makes me a horrible person, but oh well.)

Lit Matches Prompt Emergency Landing

On the one hand, I feel bad for this poor woman.

On the other hand, having been subjected to a farting, drifting, drooling, snoring passenger on a return flight from L.A. this summer, I would have given real money for some matches and an air horn.

Day 3: 10 Names

Meme is not really my thing, but I've seen this little piece floating around the blogosphere and thought I'd give it a whirl. (Since I wrote this particular entry months ago and never posted it, I can't remember whose blog I originally saw it on. Wherever it was, here's a call out to you.)

My Ten Names

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)
~Brisky Tewkesbury

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on your mom's side, your favorite candy)
~Martha June Ritter

3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two or three letters of your last name)
~J'Kin

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
~Blue Doxie (Although, Doxie Blue sounds more alluring…)

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
~Marlene Vallejo

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 3 letters of mom's maiden name and first 3 letters of the town you grew up in):
~Kinjabanpro (I like it all together, but split, it's Kinja Banpro.)

7. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favorite color, favorite soda)
~The Blue Pepper

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first name of both your grandfathers)
~Eldon Carl

9. FUTURISTIC NAME: (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne and the name of your favorite shoes)
~Freesia Brooks

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother/father's middle name and the next name you hear on the tv/radio...
~Clayton Darcy

I'm not tagging anyone on this, but feel free to do this one if you'd like.

UPDATE:
See Muffy and Prince Lautengarten's Meme here.
Read Chakra N. Balance's Meme here.


Photo courtesy of Gigi Lau Design.

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What I wrote about a year ago: The Beauty of a Good Pet.