This may be a sign I am getting older, but I don't understand some of the things that pass for entertainment anymore. And before this post (and, indeed, this blog) becomes a "crotchety old man rant about the world today" sort of thing, let me begin by saying that I have bungee jumped (and loved it). Wait, I just re-read that and I should back up: let me initially, first say that I am not crotchety - I am, of course fairly hip, with it, down with the kids, and super cool. Wait, I just re-read that and I should re-back up: let me primarily, initially, first say that I am most definitely not old (but that whole "super cool" thing may cause a few loyal readers to respectfully disagree). Anyhoo, I have bungee jumped, which was awesome, I love roller coasters, I golf, so you know, I'm not afraid to get my heart racing and all. Heck, if I didn't have kids I'd probably try sky-diving if I were drunk enough. But there are certain activities that just boggle my mind. Base jumping springs to mind: people who climb buildings, mountains, big bridges for the sole purpose of hurtling themselves off of them and trying to land safely. Now I know what you're asking yourself: "what the heck am I doing reading this inane blog; I have a million things I could be doing and yet here I am reading this drivel." (Well, just think of the self-loathing I have writing it!) No, you're likely saying to yourself, "wait Pablo (you know, because you're hip. After all, you're cool enough to be reading this blog, so you're probably thinking 'Pablo'), didn't you just say you'd try sky-diving? What's the difference?" Well, I'm glad you thought that because I would proffer - dictionary time people!! By the way, I just looked up 'proffer' because I originally had only one 'f' in it and it didn't look right, and this was the entire definition: verb; To offer. That's it??? If proffer means to offer, then why have an entirely different word than offer - you just added two letters to it!!! I thought I was going to find an elaborate definition, multiple uses, Latin origins - anything. Nope: to offer. I may be sick. No wonder every other non-English speaking citizen of the world hates to learn English! First they have to deal with things like their vs. there vs. they're. And raze (which means to knock down) vs. raise (which means to lift up). And ewe (sheep) vs. you (you). Things like that are bad enough. But then you have little Francois or Hans on Ming sitting in English class somewhere in the world and learning the word 'offer' and its definition. And somewhere down the line they'll learn the word 'proffer' and the teacher will say, "oh, it means the same as offer, but you have to add two letters to the beginning of it." Would they not be justified in beating the teacher over the head with the dictionary? Who invented this? I think I'll start my own language based on that premise: Pablovian. Its like English but different. Instead of saying "is" for example, to speak Pablovian, one would say "pris"; the word "and" would be "prand", and "or" would be "pror". "Proffer" would remain the same, of course and will hold a special place in my dictionary because it is the first official word of Pablovian. Wait right here, I have to update my resume to indicate that I am now bilingual...
OK, I'm back. Where was I? Oh yes, well, the difference between base jumping and skydiving is clearly the chance for survival. Sky diving takes you up several thousand feet (from what I understand) and when you jump, there usually aren't large buildings you have to, you know, avoid on the way down. And since you are several thousand feet in the air, you have a chance to check out the scenery, scream with exhilaration, calmly open your parachute and float blissfully toward a soft landing (unless the chute fails to open, in which case you would probably continue the whole "scream with exhilaration" thing for at least another little bit). But base jumpers are much closer to the ground when they jump, they have to open up their chutes immediately and hope they slow down in time to avoid becoming sidewalk art. No thank you.
Because scaring myself sh...witless (family blog) was never my idea of a good time. I still don't get horror movies or the people who go see them. Even the tv ads scare me. I just saw one for Saw 2 or something and I had nightmares for three days. How is wetting myself entertaining? I mean, sure it was funny when I was a kid and my parents had to change me, but what about after I was twelve? Then it became a bit less funny and a bit more prtragic and prsad prright?
And before I go, I have to add depressing books to this list. My wife reads these books all the time (I'm sure they're all on Oprah's Book Club or whatever) and I'll ask her what they are about and her answer is invariably: a homeless, abused, orphaned, peg legged, mute teenager struggles to find her voice and keep her sanity during the bubonic plague in Calcutta during India's war of independence from Britain. Ooooo, pass that one over to me when you're finished will you? Jeez, no wonder she and her girlfriends drink so much wine at book club; if I read books like that I'd need therapy. She gave me a book like that - "The Road" - for my birthday and I made the mistake of reading it on a recent business trip. Its about a father and young son who appeared to have survived a nuclear holocaust and their journey down a road to "the coast" (by the way, the mother survived too, but we discover she killed herself because she couldn't take living in this destroyed world - I wish I were making that up). Well, there was not enough alcohol on that Delta flight for me as I read this. I mean, it could end with them discovering a fully-operational naked Disney World on "the coast" and it couldn't bring me out of my funk. Who purposely reads this stuff? I remember taking a Dostoevsky course in college and he is a fantastic author, but if I read about one more starving orphan or banishment to Siberia, I'm going to lose it.
Maybe base jumpers are avid readers of Oprah Book Club books...
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Tot For Sale
For Sale: One three year old. Female. Eyes: blue. Hair: blonde. Fingers and Mouth: sticky (causes of which vary, but include, juice, syrup, any lotion or lotion-like substance she finds in a purse, cabinet, dresser, or counter top, bubbles, cookies, cake, brownie, cupcake, paint, glitter, paste, watermelon, dirt, popsicles, dirt covered popsicles, ice cream, sand, sand encrusted ice cream, motor oil - don't ask, peanut butter, jelly, apple, orange, grape, pasta sauce, butter). Very cute, except when she doesn't want to be. Potty trained, except when she doesn't want to be. Opinionated. Always. Frustrating to the point of madness. Rarely responds to commands. In fact, any command seems to enter her ear and pass through a device that translates the command into "suggestion to momentarily consider before I ignore it and do what I want." Energetic (seriously, you have no idea). Smart - scary smart. Knows the alphabet (including the little used "L omelo P"). Can count to twenty, and even invented her own number, "eleventeen", which comes after fifteen and before eighteen (she has chosen to ignore sixteen and seventeen as they are clearly unimportant and passe'). Silly. Funny. Smile that could knock you over. Loves bubble baths and bedtime stories. Exceptional cuddler. Makes up songs and then insists you sing them. Loudly, and usually in public. Dances a mean boogie. The biggest heart you have ever seen. Will be four (and five, six, seven and eight) way too soon.
Come to think of it, I think I'll keep her.
But I want to know who the "genius" is that coined the phrase, Terrible Twos, because, quite frankly, that person knows squat about children. A two-year old is a walk in the park on a sunny afternoon compared to a three-year old. Sure, you have to potty train a two year old and that can be an adventure, and I'll concede that a two-year old is developing his/her own personality and thus the ability to say "no", and I'll even grant you that a two-year old has learned to whine. But a three year old is a whine connoisseur (oh, what a turn of phrase!! Admit it, you like that one, don't you? I'm pretty proud of that one myself. But, true confession, I had to look up the spelling of 'connoisseur' in the dictionary, but it was worth it, don't you think? By the way, it took me quite a long time to look it up too. That's the problem with dictionaries, if you don't know how to spell a word, what good are they? Sure, at my advanced age and education I can pretty much ballpark the spelling of a word so as to page to the general area in the dictionary where the word can be found. But I spent a valuable few minutes trying to properly spell connoisseur because first I was going with one 'n' and then I was going for double 'n' then 'i' instead of 'o'. I'll never have that time back, and for what? OK, well, it was for a really good turn-of-phrase that I'm quite proud of, but that's beside the point. What if I was an idiot (debatable) and I wanted to correctly spell "hors d'oeuvre", which I also just had to look up by the way, but at least I knew to start in the 'h' section of the dictionary. If I were a real idiot (debatable), I could spend hours leafing through the 'o' section until I drove my self insane (or just give up and go with "finger sandwiches", but then where does that leave such tasty hors d'oeuvres as lamb chops, crab cakes and beef satay spears which are not sandwiches at all - finger or otherwise? And where does that leave the mother of all hors d'oeurves, pigs in a blanket? (seriously, I defy you to find a more perfect finger food - wait - there's my answer; you'd go with finger foods instead of finger sandwiches. OK, I feel a little better for the idiots. But, since we're on the subject, pretend I didn't just figure that out and read on, dear reader, read on) Now, you may argue that the "blanket", that light, flaky, buttery, just-crispy-enough crust may rise to the level of "sandwich" since it envelops the mouth-watering delicacy of combined, salted leftover meat parts, but is that really a sandwich? We don't call a hotdog on a bun a sandwich, so why would be do so if we chopped the hot dog on a bun into thirds rolled it in pastry crust and baked it at 350 for 10-12 minutes, or until the crust is a flaky , golden brown? A sandwich, one of life's most precious creations, has to be protected better than that, right? Otherwise, people will start calling anything a sandwich, which, as we all know would lead to anarchy and the destruction of civilization as we know it. What? No, that is not a stretch, it is an active theory called the Sandwich Paradigm but I don't have time to explain every life-altering theory to you people, now do I? After all, you probably wouldn't understand it anyway - you're probably the idiots who would look up hors d'oeurve in the O's.
Come to think of it, I think I'll keep her.
But I want to know who the "genius" is that coined the phrase, Terrible Twos, because, quite frankly, that person knows squat about children. A two-year old is a walk in the park on a sunny afternoon compared to a three-year old. Sure, you have to potty train a two year old and that can be an adventure, and I'll concede that a two-year old is developing his/her own personality and thus the ability to say "no", and I'll even grant you that a two-year old has learned to whine. But a three year old is a whine connoisseur (oh, what a turn of phrase!! Admit it, you like that one, don't you? I'm pretty proud of that one myself. But, true confession, I had to look up the spelling of 'connoisseur' in the dictionary, but it was worth it, don't you think? By the way, it took me quite a long time to look it up too. That's the problem with dictionaries, if you don't know how to spell a word, what good are they? Sure, at my advanced age and education I can pretty much ballpark the spelling of a word so as to page to the general area in the dictionary where the word can be found. But I spent a valuable few minutes trying to properly spell connoisseur because first I was going with one 'n' and then I was going for double 'n' then 'i' instead of 'o'. I'll never have that time back, and for what? OK, well, it was for a really good turn-of-phrase that I'm quite proud of, but that's beside the point. What if I was an idiot (debatable) and I wanted to correctly spell "hors d'oeuvre", which I also just had to look up by the way, but at least I knew to start in the 'h' section of the dictionary. If I were a real idiot (debatable), I could spend hours leafing through the 'o' section until I drove my self insane (or just give up and go with "finger sandwiches", but then where does that leave such tasty hors d'oeuvres as lamb chops, crab cakes and beef satay spears which are not sandwiches at all - finger or otherwise? And where does that leave the mother of all hors d'oeurves, pigs in a blanket? (seriously, I defy you to find a more perfect finger food - wait - there's my answer; you'd go with finger foods instead of finger sandwiches. OK, I feel a little better for the idiots. But, since we're on the subject, pretend I didn't just figure that out and read on, dear reader, read on) Now, you may argue that the "blanket", that light, flaky, buttery, just-crispy-enough crust may rise to the level of "sandwich" since it envelops the mouth-watering delicacy of combined, salted leftover meat parts, but is that really a sandwich? We don't call a hotdog on a bun a sandwich, so why would be do so if we chopped the hot dog on a bun into thirds rolled it in pastry crust and baked it at 350 for 10-12 minutes, or until the crust is a flaky , golden brown? A sandwich, one of life's most precious creations, has to be protected better than that, right? Otherwise, people will start calling anything a sandwich, which, as we all know would lead to anarchy and the destruction of civilization as we know it. What? No, that is not a stretch, it is an active theory called the Sandwich Paradigm but I don't have time to explain every life-altering theory to you people, now do I? After all, you probably wouldn't understand it anyway - you're probably the idiots who would look up hors d'oeurve in the O's.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Food That Should be Outlawed
OK, I've held my tongue long enough (oh man, a blog about food and I lead off with that witty turn of phrase! I can't wait to see how good this is going to get.), there are certain foods that have to go. Nothing personal, but I simply can't stomach (told you this would be good!) them any longer. Someone has to take a stand and since I don't see any of you willing to put your necks out, it looks like I'll have to do the dirty work again (which I'm happy to do, but this is getting a little tiresome. Am I the only one who thinks of these things?). Mushrooms, I'm sorry, your time is up. You did an exceptional job fooling people for a long time - I mean, growing up in the woods, near trees and moss and bark and undergrowth, and then convincing people that you are some kind of delicacy instead of, well, a piece of dirt, moss and/or bark, brilliant stuff. My hat is off to you. But, you're out. First of all, you taste like the bottom of a shoe after it has taken a spin or two around a subway platform. Second, I'm sorry but you look really, really creepy. Which again is reason enough to applaud your efforts to make yourself into a delicacy, but, let's face it, if any shopper took a good look at you, from your pale grey, black, spongy exterior to your freakish shape, well, let's just say that eggplant looks good by comparison. Speaking of eggplant, sorry, you're out too, but you were probably expecting it. I mean, come on, even your name makes no sense. Eggplant?? Sorry, pack your bags and head back to wherever you grow (is there an eggplant plant? Is that redundant? Is there an eggplant tree or bush?) You can't continue to be a food if no one (well, me) knows where you come from. Yogurt? Is yogurt here? Oh yes, I see you hiding behind tuna fish - well yogurt, you're out too. Again, nice meteoric rise to the top - I mean who does your P.R. because they are downright impressive; (Actual transcript from Yogurt P.R. Meeting:) P.R. guy: "OK, what do we have to work with?" Yogurt: "Well, I am a dairy product, but I have gone rancid and I clearly taste like feet - can we work with that?" P.R. guy: "Ok, Ok, I'm thinking niche audience - probably the French, cause they'll eat anything, but let's walk through this. What can we partner you with that may broaden your appeal?" Yogurt: "Tuna fish?" P.R. guy: No, people are stupid, but they aren't that stupid." Yogurt: "Olives?, Peppers?" Tomato sauce?" P.R. guy: "Were you just in Italy or something? Can we get away from Italian food for a second? No, I'm thinking something sweet." Yogurt: "rancid, spoiling fruit?" P.R. guy: "BRILLIANT!! We will mix in rancid, rotting fruit and a slightly watery, gelatinous texture and we'll call you health food!! It can't miss!" Yogurt: "And if we throw in food coloring and a bunch of sugar, we can market it to kids!" P.R. guy: "Marge, get Jim Dannon on the phone, he's going to love this!"
Well, yogurt, it was a good run, but adios amigo, don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you.
Tuna fish...where to begin. You are by far, the worst food on the planet. From your smell, to your packaging in cat food tins and rancid oil, to your preparation in a gallon of mayonnaise and, good God save me, HEATED in casseroles (I just threw up in my mouth just thinking of that last one), I can't imagine a worse situation. Not only should you be banned, but I will personally track down the sick individual who dared conjure your existence, and we will banish him too. If you stick to meow mix and other cat foods you may remain on the planet, but don't let me catch you in any human food situations again.
What else? Oh, beets...out. Liver, tongue, any entrails masquerading as food - hit the road. Tomato, you can stay because of your good work with salsa, but if you get stewed again, you're gone.
Well, yogurt, it was a good run, but adios amigo, don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you.
Tuna fish...where to begin. You are by far, the worst food on the planet. From your smell, to your packaging in cat food tins and rancid oil, to your preparation in a gallon of mayonnaise and, good God save me, HEATED in casseroles (I just threw up in my mouth just thinking of that last one), I can't imagine a worse situation. Not only should you be banned, but I will personally track down the sick individual who dared conjure your existence, and we will banish him too. If you stick to meow mix and other cat foods you may remain on the planet, but don't let me catch you in any human food situations again.
What else? Oh, beets...out. Liver, tongue, any entrails masquerading as food - hit the road. Tomato, you can stay because of your good work with salsa, but if you get stewed again, you're gone.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Its Time to Arrest the Man in the Yellow Hat
So I was reading a Curious George book to my 3 year old the other night and it finally made perfect sense. No, not the inane book (side note: I loathe Curious George books, and I have never known why until now. Part of me felt guilty everytime I read them to my kids - who love the books - because I wouldn't "bring it", really sell the story with proper voicing, emphasis, dramatic pauses, you know, really sell the story), but the answer to why I have always hated reading Curious George books: The Man With the Yellow Hat is the biggest criminal on the planet and should be arrested. There I said it. OK, maybe I'm being a tad hyperbolic (ooo, nice SAT word, don't you think? I'm feeling very erudite right now! And we'll be back with Paul Finds a Thesaurus right after these commercial messages) when I say that he's the biggest criminal on the planet. I mean, that's obviously a tie between Rosie O'Donnell, Madonna and whoever invented Webkinz. But, TMWTYH (I can't type The Man With the Yellow Hat anymore. Well, after this one, I mean) is pretty high up the list. I mean, if Curious George books were written today, the author would have the ASPCA, child development experts, and social commentators ripping him (or her, I can't really remember who authored the books right now, but I suppose I could easily Google it and get right back to my point, but that seems like alot of effort for one lousy name that really has little bearing on this story right now right? Of course, in the time that it took me to type that explanation I could have Googled it and have been back to my original point instead of right here, making this very tangential [Thesaurus!!]comment. But I digress.) a new one. Now granted, most of those people are whiny reactionaries, but in this case, they would have a point. Take the story I recently read for example: "Curious George Gets a Bike". Seems like a heart warming tale, right? George gets a new bike for his birthday from TMWTYH, George is happy, all is well. But, no, because as soon as George unwraps the bike and is so excited he can hardly speak (well, he's a monkey and can't speak, but you catch my drift), that cruel bastard TMWTYH announces that he's leaving and tells George not to ride the bike until he gets back. OK, I have a huge problem with this on a million (hyperbolic) levels, but let me mention a few. First, what kind of sadist gives someone an awesome new present like a bike and then tells him he can't use it? How cruel is that?? Second, this is not the first Curious George book in the series, so TMWTYH has to know George is going to take off on the bike, endangering his life and the lives of those around him in the process. Not to get all legal on you or anything, but we lawyers call that mens rea from the Latin meaning "guilty mind". In other words, TMWTYH knew George had a predilection (oh man, I'm on a roll!!) for disobeying him, and yet he gives George a bike - a freaking mode of transportation for goodness sake!! - and tells George to stay put until he comes back. Why not give him a loaded gun or a syringe full of heroin, you heartless bastard? I'm sure Curious George and the Strung Out Bender would be a huge seller. And then, to cover his sorry ass, every time he find George has screwed up again, he acts all dumbfounded that this could possibly have occurred - "Gee, I didn't think that George would take his new bike and drive immediately into oncoming traffic. Who could have predicted that?" Well, I'm on to you, TMWTYH, and I will see you put behind bars if its the last thing I do.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The End of Arguments
I was watching a soccer match on tv the other day and it occurred to me that all of life's little arguments and disagreements can be avoided if we adapt the yellow card, red card penalties to real life situations. Everyone (and by 'everyone' I mean, of course, me and anyone that I choose to also be included) should be allowed to carry yellow cards and red cards to use in everyday situations. If someone is acting like a jerk, bang, you show them a yellow card and they are on notice that if they receive one more, they have to sit out of society for a day. If a person is commiting a flagrant no-no, the red card comes out immediately and the person is sent home. If I had these in college, how many unpleasant hook-ups could have been avoided - one of your drunk friends is about to hook up with an ugo, show them a yellow card and snap them back to reality. If you're on the beach, at the mall, in a bar (or let's face it, anywhere in public) and a morbidly obese woman is wearing a belly shirt, bikini, or short shorts, bang, red card - go home immediately. Or, if a really hairy, overweight guy shows up in a tank top, jean shorts or, God help us, speedo - bang red card and he's gone. How many of life's little unpleasantries would be wiped away? I really have to look into this...
Things That are Currently Bothering Me
Or is it, bothering me currently? Oh well, you know what I mean (and by "you" I mean "me" because I'm not really sure how many people are even reading this. Which reminds me, if anyone out there is reading this, well Hi, but let me apologize for not posting more frequently. I've decided that the hardest part about having a blog is finding the time to blog. Some of the blogs that I read just amaze me in that the authors seems to be able to fire out postings at an astonishing rate! But I'm going to continue to try to get better.) Anyhoo, on to the current topic at hand, which is things that are bothering me currently (eh, either way, I guess). Now I don't get mad very often - well certainly not drive-900-miles-in-a-diaper-and-try-to-kidnap-my-lover's-girlfriend kind of mad, but there are things that annoy me. Webkinz are currently at the top of my list - and if you don't have young kids, or if you've managed to avoid Webkinz if you do, consider yourself extremely lucky. These are little $10 stuffed animals which seems harmless enough since my kids have enough stuffed animals to start a Stuffed Invasion of a neighboring house (which would inevitably lead to a full-scale Stuffed War and cost hundreds of downy casualties, so its a good thing my kids, and their stuffed army are for household protection only - sort of like a stuffed state militia). But the Webkinz stuffed animals come with an id tag and a website that, once a child logs on, provides a whole world of Webkinz - virtual outfits, accessories, houses, games, money - it is like a cult! And every parent of a child in the 5-11 range is experiencing this rather unpleasant phenomenon where all our children want to do is go on the computer and play Webkinz. Whoever had this bright idea for a Webkinz world should be taken out and shot (or, if not shot, then at least strapped to a chair in front of a computer screen for a week straight while kids play Webkinz - that's actually worse than being shot; they'd be begging for someone to shoot them after a few hours).
You know what else bothers me - and this has actually bothered me for sometime now - bumperstickers. Yes, the pseudo-philosophy of the great unwashed; the pop-psychology of the brain dead masses. To any and all bumperstickerers out there, I'm only going to say this once, so pay attention: no one cares if you 'heart' your cat, dog, hampster, pet rock, tv remote, cookies, grandson, granddaughter, polka music, Irish music, or state. You are not tough because your car is protected by smith & wesson, or because you threaten to beat me up if I tailgate you. I don't care if your kid is an honor student, loves soccer, hates mean people or won a state championship. I never asked you - so please stop broadcasting that: you love Jesus, you love Mother Earth, you are against abortion, you are for abortion, you are a vegan, you love meat. I didn't ask you - and don't care to know - what your "other car" is. And your pithy little slogans that seem extremely deep to you, only serve to prove to me and everone who has the misfortune of driving behind you, that you are a certifiable moron who shouldn't be allowed to hold a drivers' license in the first place. Maybe I'll throw that on a bumper sticker and drive around for a while...
You know what else bothers me - and this has actually bothered me for sometime now - bumperstickers. Yes, the pseudo-philosophy of the great unwashed; the pop-psychology of the brain dead masses. To any and all bumperstickerers out there, I'm only going to say this once, so pay attention: no one cares if you 'heart' your cat, dog, hampster, pet rock, tv remote, cookies, grandson, granddaughter, polka music, Irish music, or state. You are not tough because your car is protected by smith & wesson, or because you threaten to beat me up if I tailgate you. I don't care if your kid is an honor student, loves soccer, hates mean people or won a state championship. I never asked you - so please stop broadcasting that: you love Jesus, you love Mother Earth, you are against abortion, you are for abortion, you are a vegan, you love meat. I didn't ask you - and don't care to know - what your "other car" is. And your pithy little slogans that seem extremely deep to you, only serve to prove to me and everone who has the misfortune of driving behind you, that you are a certifiable moron who shouldn't be allowed to hold a drivers' license in the first place. Maybe I'll throw that on a bumper sticker and drive around for a while...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)