Ice Cream for Feet

January 31, 2008
    • From the “Kids Don’t Come With Instructions”department: I had to intervene in an argument between my 4-year-old daughters. The beef? One of them said, “Sissy took the ice cream away from my feet.” I responded with Churchillian eloquence: “I don’t want anyone stealing ice cream from feet!!!” That’ll teach ’em.
    • The other day I was in the bathtub when the doorbell rang. Expecting a package, I ran for the door, dripping wet, trying to get my bathrobe on. Upon returning to the tub, I noticed that on my way back I stepped into all of the wet footprints I’d left on my way to the front door. After I was dressed and walking around, I continued to step in the wet footprints. In other words, whether I’m going here or there, I step in the exact same place every time. If I live here long enough, I’ll have left divots in the floor where my feet always land.
    • I laughed at this. I mean, crying, tears-and-snot-and-saliva-coursing-down-your-face laughed. Maybe you will, too. (Can’t vouch for other site content.  Mostly because it’s in another language.)
    • To the girl at Target: I’m sorry. That strange series of vocal sounds I made to you is called a “greeting.” In the days of yore, people would offer a greeting as a way of being friendly and acknowledging another person’s existence and importance. I meant no offense.
    • I’m getting old. I made it only halfway through the new Clive Barker novel (“Mister B. Gone”). It’s about an ancient demon’s fun on earth. About the time he described bathing in infants’ blood and the happy way he filled his tub, I’d had enough. Slaughtered babies just aren’t as entertaining as they used to be, apparently.
    • I passed a car wash yesterday. The sign said “Don’t Drive Dirty.” Well. As someone who has driven dirty a time or two, I would argue that point. Party poopers.
    • Does anyone else do dumb stuff like this? I noted my dentist appointment on the calendar. I wrote down the time: 3 o’clock. After a second, I added “p.m.” Apparently, I’m afraid I might show up at the dentist at 3 o’clock in the morning.

    That’s the end of this negotiation.


    What are the Odds?

    January 26, 2008

    In the 19th century, Edgar Allan Poe wrote a book called “The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym.” It was about four survivors of a shipwreck who were in an open boat for many days before they decided to kill and eat the cabin boy whose name was Richard Parker. Some years later, in 1884, the yawl, Mignonette, foundered, with only four survivors, who were in an open boat for many days. Eventually the three senior members of the crew killed and ate the cabin boy. The name of the cabin boy was Richard Parker.

    The rest of them are equally creepy.


    Sexual or Excretory . . . That is the Question.

    January 26, 2008

    The FCC is always good for a chuckle. They are proposing a $1.4 million dollar fine against ABC affiliates because a woman’s tushie appeared on TV nearly five years ago. Apparently, the “NYPD Blue” episode showed “multiple, close-up views of a woman’s naked buttocks.” (Netflix, here I come.)

    Apparently, the debate is over the exact status of a woman’s ass. Is it an excretory or sexual organ? ABC argues that the tookas is not a sexual organ. The FCC disagrees, which makes you wonder what they’re doing at the Christmas party.

    So, let the debate begin. Is the booty an excretory or sexual organ???

    Or both??


    Daughterly Advice

    October 1, 2007
    • Driving home with my children, one of my daughters asked where all the cars were going. I told her they were probably going home or to work. “Well, dad, if you see any bad drivers, don’t get mad and say ‘goddammit, do you want a piece of me.'” Now, I will admit to letting the blasphemy slip on occasion, but “do you wanna piece of me?” is not part of my vocabulary. I eventually figured out that she learned that phrase from the movies. Impressive that she could put that retort together on her own.
    • A bumpersticker I saw: Who Would Jesus Bomb? I got a laugh out of that. An ironic musing, I’m sure, but it made me think. According to the book of Revelation, one of the trumpet judgments will release four angels bound at the river Euphrates who will kill “a third of mankind,” which would notch a body count of about 2 billion if done today. If He’s willing to loose genocidal angels, I’m guessing bombs wouldn’t keep Him up at night, so maybe it’s not so ironic after all. I love beer.
    • Went to see “Short Cuts” at the local art house theater. There was an annoying woman down the aisle who wouldn’t stop talking, kept laughing at moments that weren’t funny and ate her popcorn very loudly. In the film, there’s a scene where a fisherman discovers a woman’s body in a river. Surprisingly, this elicited not a peep from the Noisy Bitch. Moments later, the fisherman was seen gutting a trout, and Noisy Bitch said “Eeww, I don’t want to see that.” To review: grossed out by gutted fish, not bothered by bloated, naked human corpse. Nice.
    • Walking through Target yesterday, I spotted a cosmetic product known as lip-plumping gloss. The name? Sexy Motherpucker. It’s so subtle. I like it.
    • Speaking of subtle, here’s a headline that made me chuckle: La Nina Threatens to Wreck World’s Weather. Again, subtle. I like that. No need to overstate it.
    • Just sick and wrong.
    • I’m trying to teach my daughters manners. For example, when they want some water to drink, instead of pointing at their glass and barking “arrgh!” Tim Allen-style, I tell them to say, “May I please have a glass of water?” They will usually replay with something like, “May I a glass water of please have?” They’re 3-years-old, and have never seen a Star Wars movie, so I don’t know where this Yoda impression is coming from.

    Later I’ll you see maybe.


    If You Could Read My Mind

    September 25, 2007
    • When I’m at a buffet restaurant, I sometimes find myself hurrying to the food line before an extremely overweight person gets there. I feel bad, but I blame my survival instinct. They should make a nature show with a whispering narrator: “The tall one now breaks for the pizza line to feed before the big one takes everything and leaves the tall one to starve for the winter.
    • Two days ago, at a stop light, I counted people in four different cars throwing their cigarette butts out the window. Nice to know this beautiful planet can serve as an ashtray. I’m not Captain Planet, nor am I an anti-smoking Nazi, but honestly, some of you smokers deserve all the smoking bans you’re getting.
    • When did they do away with the light brown M&M’s? Those were my favorite as a kid. This is disheartening.
    • Alice Ghostley had the coolest name ever.
    • I must have the nicest ass in Omaha, because other drivers are always trying to ride it.
    • Saw a TV ad for Viagra last night. The jingle was “Viva Viagra,” sung to the tune of Elvis’s “Viva Las Vegas.” There was also a disclaimer: Viagra does not protect against sexually transmitted disease. You know they wouldn’t say that unless somebody had written a letter complaining that “Viagra didn’t stop me from getting the clap.”
    • I could really go for a big bowl of chili right now.
    • There’s a song, “If the World Had a Front Porch” that contains the lyric: It was where granddaddy taught me how to cuss and how to pray. Did this happen at the same time? “Get on yer goddamn knees, boy, we’re gonna teach ya how to fuckin’ pray.”
    • Police seized a photograph of a nude girl from Elton John’s private collection, suspecting it may have crossed the line. I love this quote: The picture is now being examined by lawyers at the Crown Prosecution Service. I’ll bet it is, folks. I’ll bet it is.
    • I’ve been thinking about my strange nocturnal experience described below. I’m curious if it’s all in the brain, or something supernatural. Also wondering if there’s really any difference. I’m reminded of the quote: There are no miracles, only patterns we do not understand. So it can be explained by science or it is simply beyond the ability of science to explain at the moment. Either way, anything that happens is natural. And the same brain that dreams and shows us hallucinations when we trip on acid is the same brain that perceives “reality” for us. Everything that we know to be real is shown and confirmed for us by our gray matter. It could all be a dream within a dream. That’s cool, I think.

    See you in the ether.


    Almost Projecting

    September 17, 2007

    Last night I had a strange experience. In bed for the evening, I read until I was half-asleep. Then, after lights-out, I fell into what I can only describe as a waking sleep. My body was heavy and limp. My breathing was deep. My eyes were closed, yet I could still see around the room (it wasn’t in total darkness). I was asleep, but still conscious. I began to dream even as I could see around the room, like two movies superimposed upon one another. It was, without a doubt, one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I felt like I was on the path to something higher, more intense, like an airplane at takeoff speed on the verge of leaving the Earth.

    Just then, my daughter arrived to wake me and request a changing. After I tended to her, I returned to bed, unable to fall asleep, tossing and turning for a couple of hours.

    Not sure what I did (or didn’t do) to bring this about, but I’d like to do it again. Has anyone out there ever experienced anything like this? I wonder if this isn’t some form of mild astral projection.

    The day of my little trip, I remember having a very strong sense of spiritual optimism, as if answers to questions I’d long had were going to be answered soon, that I would soon experience some sort of illumination. I remember the intuition being so strong I got a little emotional.

    Open the pod bay doors, Hal.


    Firming Up the Gluteal

    September 10, 2007

    Women are paying more attention to our butts, fellas. Some of the top-of-the-line bottom treatments include: scar and hair removal, “butt therapy,” hip reduction, hip implants, fat reduction and removal of chicken pox scars . . . .

    Or, you could shave your own ass, stop scratching your butt when you have chicken pox and do a few lunges.

    Next patient, please.