Most people don’t normally like skin or lumps in their mashed potatoes (come on, skin is delish, and good for you), but in restaurants, I like them, because they are evidence that my food is made from potatoes, and not a mix.
The internet lounge I’m posting from allows smoking. UGH.
On Christmas, a few of us went to the point and climbed down some rocks. It was a cool outcropping of sedimentary rocks, and I wondered how they were formed (I don’t remember enough) and eroded. I found large rocks to hit against the thin layers exposed from the side, and I thought of humans learning such things tens of thousands of years ago.
So a pigeon rode the subway. Big deal, I heard about that at least a month ago, along with the YouTube video. It must have been a slow news day for it to have made the front page of the Star’s GTA section.
Two thoughts from this:
1: Are you kidding me? Who cares? And somehow people are saying, “Damn, that’s one smart pigeon.” Even if the same pigeon came back to the subway, it’s more likely that the pigeon deemed it a safe place with food scraps than it thought, “Hmm, it’s an easier way to get to High Park, peck peck peck”
2: Do newspapers save stories like this for slow news days? I mean, reallllly slow news days.
Maybe the Grinch should steal Groundhog Day. Then maybe we could replace it with a holiday that doesn’t suck.
Say this as if it was a word with no vowels: Ph.D.
“Elmer Fudd” could very easily have come from Elmer, Ph.D. It’s very possible.
And that gives a whole new clarity to the phrase, “What’s up, Doc?”
I hate pants. You buy them to fit well, but then you gain 5 pounds and they’re too tight. I feel like a tool when I need to have the button undone. And if you do that, then you can’t wear a belt. Sometimes you’re supposed to tuck in (possibly the #1 worst part about dressing up)… they’re just awash with possible problems.
Right, so after a while of this, I decided it was smarter to lose a few pounds than to buy a full wardrobe of pants that fit. But not all my pants were too tight, and now I own a few pairs that are too large, and fall down unless I wear a belt. I’m still not used to this, so sometimes I’m out and feeling like a 15-year old boy who’s trying to look cool by showing as much boxers as pants. Except looking ridiculous isn’t cool (despite what passes for fashion) and again, I feel like a tool.
It seems economically sound to buy pants and just eat and exercise so that they always fit. They’re actually an early warning system for weight gain or loss, and possibly a better one than a bathroom scale, because fitting clothes matters more than an exact number weight.
Let’s go back to togas and robes, ok?
Hell is not fire and brimstone and devils with pitchforks…
In Hell, your bed is uncomfortable, and the pillows are dirty so whenever you lie on them you feel gross. You wake up too early every morning, imagining you’re going to sleep through the alarm. At breakfast, the cereal is always the crumbs from the bottom and the milk is too warm. There is always traffic on the way to work, and all the radio stations play crappy Christian rock.
Your books are always missing one page, and the print is too small. All decks of cards are missing the ten of spades. You get the Internet, but only dial-up that randomly conks out 3 or 4 times an hour, if you can even wait that long. Your chair is very hard and uncomfortable.
Your pants are too short, the waist is too large, and your pockets are too small. Your shirts are out of style and brandish only things you once liked but now resent. The labels scratch the back of your neck.
The water is hard, the beer is stale, the soda is flat, and the ice cream has freezer burn. All newspaper articles are written by Ann Coulter, and all TV shows and movies star Brooke Shields and Pauly Shore.
You stub your toe (see comic!), you bite your tongue, you cut your fingernail too short, and you have an itch on the roof of your mouth – these are what you look forward to every day.
You get to enjoy intimate company, but you either can’t get it up / get wet, come far too soon, or are with a guy who does.
When you do a crossword, the pencil breaks. Pens run out of ink after three letters. Batteries always need replacing and you’re always out of clean dishes.
You forget about tests, deadlines at work, and Valentine’s Day. You forget your ticket or ID or passport at home.
Your parents call every day and your friends and significant others never do. People date you for 2 weeks and then dump you, and all your exes turn out to be crazy stalkers.
You wake up every day with the hope that maybe it will be different this time, only to see your dreams crushed all over again.
…I think I’d take fire and brimstone.