Things that amuse me, Vol. 8

Here are some more of the random happenings and such that have amused me lately:

1. On a church sign in town: "Celebrate Jesus, the Resurrected One". I was thankful for the clarification that they meant THAT one, not the dude slopping the refried beans into my burrito on the more fun side of town.

2. Stores don't even bother offering 99-cent Mother's Day cards for wives, because they know not enough husbands are stupid enough to walk into a bear trap like that.

3. Sleepy babies=Drunk adults at the end of the night

4. The unfortunate motto of a Louisiana home-repair company I stumbled upon is, "Where Quality Is Not An Option". ...I can understand what they're going for, but still I'd strongly suggest they re-form the Slogan Committee to brainstorm a bit longer on this.

What I've learned moving from city to country

It's been six months now since we moved out to the middle of these Illinois cornfields from the near-northwest Chicago suburbs (where I spent most of my life), so I figure now's a good time to look back on what we've learned.

1. People consider the "neighborhood" an amorphous area of about 5 square miles around you, and everyone within that space and even beyond will know everything about you that anyone can find out.

2. All of those people will do anything they can to make your time on this Earth more bearable, at any time of day or night.

3. When Jehovah's Witnesses don't manage to catch you at home, they will hand write a personalized letter to enclose with the pamphlet they mail you instead.

4. Feed corn is nowhere near as delicious as sweet corn, but feed corn is all anyone wants to grow.

5. If Nature loves you, then a scraggly-looking stand of bush-like trees surrounded by tall weeds can turn out to actually be a few mulberry trees grown together... and mulberry pie is easy to make and extremely delicious*... and because of this, the weed-free stand of noble arbors will begin to look more and more beautiful to you every day.

6. I must get some livestock. I just HAVE to! Conveniently, I also find myself really wanting to.

7. The slow pace of life and constant contact with the cycles of Nature can turn you into an 80-year-old surprisingly quickly. Suspenders seem practical, TV seems unnecessary and loud, everything is more satisfying when done yourself, and a bout of shingles is apparently par for the course.**

8. Children can entertain themselves for a surprisingly long time right in your yard. Just with sticks 'n' stuff.***

9. The ability to do whatever you feel like without everybody looking over your shoulder is intoxicating, and I find myself daydreaming about where would be best to launch my fireworks and set up my shooting range (factoring in my future prairie, forest, giant firepit, pond, 9-hole golf course, and gardens).

10. Wearing a shirt feels like suiting up in a tuxedo or a parka, depending on the weather and the fabric. It's definitely one of the worst parts about going in to town.

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* The only troublesome part is removing the little stems from each fingernail-staining berry, though some say you don't really need to.

** I'm pretty sure they'll repossess your house, or at least your land, if you don't develop it within 6 months. I made it just under the wire!

*** Only provided they have no apparent supervision.

Storybook Weddings: Elmo, assault, rampaging horses, and idiocy

I came upon an older article recently about 13 wedding horror stories, including a massive brawl at a lesbian wedding, and a groom arrested for violating his new wife's restraining order, and I figured I'd share my amused observations on a few of them:

Bride Drunkenly Assaults People - I'm pretty sure the lady in this amusing mug shot is the yin to the yang of this bride I posted about awhile back.

Bride Thrown From a Runaway Horse-Drawn Carriage - You may question his methods, but you can't argue with the results when God decides to point out that you're being kind of a douche.

Bride's Dress is Ripped by Dry-Cleaners After her Wedding - Really? This is on par with being arrested, poisoned, or nearly killed by a truck?? I'm thinking they ran out of good ones but still wanted to have 13, for the gimmick.

Husband and Wife Brawl With Police When Renewing Vows - When your name is "Elmo Jesus", there's bound to be a few assault charges anytime lots of people are gathered.

Woman Swallows Engagement Ring - This one was fated to end disastrously from the moment it was conceived. If this lady is anything like my wife, he should have already known that you do not put anything you value between her and a Frosty.*

Man Scales Side of Brooklyn Bridge to Retrieve Ring - This one answers the age-old question, "What does an idiot do when he drops something?"

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* I know that sounds bad, and she'll probably groan and hit me, but it's true, and I would never lie to you people, or even withhold unflattering information. Honestly, I don't blame her, though-- those things are good! Have you ever dipped a fry in one?

Editor's Note: With that winning note, speaking of brides, I'd like to announce that today is my wife J-'s birthday, which has always been one of the biggest highlights of her year. Since it's not yet been made a national holiday (though it was, much to her chagrin, named a national day of mourning 8 years ago), the day is tarnished by her having to go to work.

Wanna help me brighten her day with some well wishes?

IL to ME Odyssey: Indiana, Ohio & Pennsylvania

Here are more of my observations on our car trip from Chicagoland to visit family in Northern Maine, part of the series of posts: Illinois, Indiana, Ohio & Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine.

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INDIANA
Distance Traveled: 154 miles
Bathroom Breaks: 2

• Indiana's most noteworthy form of welcome to weary travelers of I-90 is the stench of a sewage treatment plant for at least the first 20 miles. What could be more likely to invite us to get to better know our neighbors to the east? Perhaps a series of spike strips across all inbound lanes?

Or maybe a high-pitched noise broadcast across all channels and through the air, counteracted only for locals by special government-issued noise-canceling earbuds worn at all times? Seems like something those stinky old spiteful Indianans would do.

• The rest stop in Portage, Indiana amused me by having the Girls of Playboy pinball machine in the entry to their game room, right next to the children's claw game filled with Dora and Minnie Mouse dolls. I guess this just means Indiana is fun for the whole family!

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OHIO
Distance Traveled: 245 miles
Bathroom Breaks: 3

• As you can see, we got a lot better about bathroom breaks, thanks largely in part to threats and bribery. It figures, though, since the pricey Ohio Turnpike (more than half our journey through the state on I-80/I-90) is unbelievably clean, well-lit, and lavishly appointed. It makes me wish I could meet all my bodily needs for the entire trip during only those 2 of 22 hours.

• After stopping at a gas station for our final bathroom break (since I-90 splits off the Turnpike proper, it figures), we decided begrudgingly to give up for the day with less than a third of the trip covered after the first day, in about 9 hours. That's right-- only 9 hours, and only 430 miles or so.

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PENNSYLVANIA
Distance Traveled: 40 miles
Bathroom Breaks: 0

I can't tell you how happy I was to start out the day knocking down a whole state without a single bathroom break, or, at least, I won't tell you. Even though we were just clipping the corner of an otherwise large state, I'll still just quietly treasure it as my own secret little joy in this cold world.

By the way, in case you ever take a similar trip, please make sure you (like us this time) follow I-90 instead of I-80 when they split in Ohio, Especially if it's any time within a few hours before sundown. Otherwise, you'll just have to describe to us all how tender is the face of God, either from beyond the grave or having been blessed to narrowly escape it.

Let's all tell Congress it's okay to earmark a little something extra for PDOT (I've decided they must call it this if it's not already) to upgrade this road, perhaps at the very minimum by adding some reflectors on the lane lines, and maybe some new reflective paint. Or, they could issue everyone night vision goggles at the border. Which is cheaper?

Snake heads, heifers, and Carnaval

Surprise, surprise, here I am on a Thursday just to throw you all off.

But wait, no... scratch that now-outdated post opening. Blogger has had some kind of issue with scheduling posts in advance this week, so now it's actually Friday as usual.

Here I am sitting in a hotel in New Jersey in the middle of the night, dreading getting back behind the wheel sometime late tomorrow morning, and I've got to pile on finding out that just like I feared as we crossed state after state all day, Blogger never published my post.

It's really not unlike the dog owner following behind the dog with a plastic bag and a scoop. Who really works for whom in this relationship?

Anyway, now that you've smiled politely and nodded through my whining, head on over to Hot Dads to read my post for today/yesterday. Then poke around a bit after you're done reading mine, and you'll be glad you did.

Classic quotes, Vol. 13

Here are the latest quotes from my 5-year-old son D-, 2-year-old daughter M-, my wife J-, and me:

Me (to J-, once again dangerously undervaluing my hilarious genius): You being in a bad mood doesn't make me a jerk, it just makes me funny without being appreciated.

D- (as we walked past a church): Hey look! A window like a "t"!

M- (pleading with her brother after I explained to him that getting run over by a car would be lethal): And you would get a BWOOZE!!

D- (while building Duplos at the library): Dad, look! It's a dragon... with guns on him!

M- (repeating a gem of J-'s after seeing me in shorts on a mild day): You gonna freeze your bummy off.

D- (trying to start an unknown chant without the ability to spell): B! Y! B-M-J! B! Y! B-M-J!

Book Review: The Story of St. Patrick's Day

I know that I already wrote a St. Patrick's Day post on the day itself (and if you read that post, you already know that the day is properly referred to from now on as SpongeBob Day), but after rereading this book, The Story of St. Patrick's Day by Patricia A. Pingry, for the first time in a couple years last week, I just couldn't resist sharing it with you all:
We got this book cheap somewhere maybe 4 years ago after St. Patrick's Day, figuring it would be a good idea to have around, since my side of the family is predominantly of Irish heritage, and my son was born pretty close to St. Patrick's Day.

The book starts simply enough, before tipping its hand a couple pages in:
Before you question the composition of this image, you must remember that this all took place before the Irish fell under the yoke of English tyranny, before they were manipulated into slavish subsistence farming and dangerous over-reliance on a single crop, when they had much more time in the middle of the day to sit about in a field in mixed company, picking clovers and being amused by the ramblings of a curious foreigner with a tragically compulsive hair-cutting obsession and the good luck of living in an age with a definite scarcity of mirrors.

So this is probably at least 93% accurate as to how it went down.

Of course, it wouldn't be a book about St. Patrick without mentioning the snakes:

What they seem to be saying here is that St. Patrick was a Parselmouth, and what's more than that, he was apparently a very irritating one. I believe in this picture, he's offering to hand out religious pamphlets, asking if they've heard "all the many great stories in the Bible featuring the courage and ingenuity of Our Serpent Friends..."

Note that most of the snakes have given up moving laterally along the ground and are resigned to flinging themselves off a cliff. Pretty much the same reaction I have whenever Jehovah's Witnesses come a'calling.*

And finally, we have to deign to acknowledge those persistent pagan traditions that weren't co-opted for expediency in winning converts:

"And now, kids, ha ha, for a break from all that Real, Fact-Based Learning, here's a fun little story about how some silly people believe that tales of beings with magical powers who had wild, implausible, and unprovable exploits long ago are immutable fact, and that these beings continue to invisibly rule the world of the present day, watching over us all with stern disapproval.

"Remember: Though they may provide useful lessons and morals for all people, such stories are MAKE-BELIEVE and must always be clearly classified as such!"

I would love to see the lady's face on the page where one of the kids asks a question innocently making reference to "that story where Jesus cursed some guy who tried to take his pot of gold or whatever?"

So, to sum up: Guy shaking a stick to singlehandedly drive every single snake off an island the size of South Carolina: Fact. Leprechauns: Make-believe.

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* Our downstairs neighbor let them in the building one time, and now I'm pretty sure they legally have a permanent invitation to ring the buzzer, per God's Law of Awkward Guilt.**

** Case number God v. Who The F*** Do You Think You Are?

Book Review: K is for Kwanzaa

Once again, I am here to nobly perform a public service in reviewing one of the many pillars of the world's greatest literature that crosses my desk. Or my lap, as it were.

This time, it's Juwanda Ford's K is for Kwanzaa, a title my 4-year-old son D- recently selected at random* from the library:

This book is exactly what it seems-- go ahead and judge it by the cover, I can vouch for you.

But what surprised me, after picking through pages defining items like Gele, Mkeka, Ujamaa, and Vibunzi, is that even though they rolled all the many cultures of Africa into one catchall holiday, X still just stands for Xylophone:

Stay strong, brother! You will never be unseated!

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* To follow up his previous random selection, Fran Manushkin's Starlight and Candles: The Joys of the Sabbath.

Let's call this an adverb-filled do-over

I've had a taste of life not posting religiously, and I must admit I liked it.

But that doesn't mean I don't like blogging anymore-- I'm just a lazy, procrastinating shell of a man who can only function within the framework of compulsive habits.

So, not unlike a car --say, my stupid car-- stuck in a little rut of slush and ice, I got complacent and couldn't get back over that hump since the Pinko-Commie calendar insisted I acknowledge its existence in some way.

I briefly thought about not noting the, shall we say, recent collapse of my Previous Posts drop-down menu, but every time I sat down to write, I found myself either blathering about things more boring than usual or writing amusing bits that weren't worthy of being the Last/First Post of the Year.

So instead, I'll sum up: 2008 was a crazy year, but a great one overall, and 2009 will likely be more of the same, though under the guise of more unsettling numerals. Life's like that.

Lastly, though I've never been one for resolutions on an arbitrary timeline, I'm a big fan of arbitrariness in general (I think of it as an homage to my pagan god, Nature), so I'll allow the following statement:

During the next year, I may perhaps be more than gently urging my life into a more stable and at least slightly more conventional form, so I will most definitely be posting somewhat less often as a side effect of that effort.

Not less often than the past week, mind you, but just not five days a week on average, I'm sure. Furthermore, while my newly mobile and freshly independent wife weans herself back into the world (starting with going to work today for the first time in six weeks*), I will likely be back visiting many of your blogs more frequently than I have been recently, though I'm sure I won't be commenting nearly as much as I used to.**

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* Where, by the time she's reading this, she'll likely be praying already that they had just cut the leg off and replaced it with a shapely peg, with which she can create the Greatest Legend of All Legends of Scary Teacher Biographies Passed by Fearful Whispers at Recess.

** I'm almost as sad as you are, I'll bet.

A heart-rending ending?

In case you're all wondering where Santa has gone now that Christmas has passed, I have some sad news to bring you:

Ho ho ho! Kids share economy woes with Santa*

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"You see things behind the beard that nobody else will ever see or hear. I've had children just literally tear my heart out."

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So therein lies the end of a long, productive career spreading joy throughout the world... painful death at the hands of some psychotic, bloodthirsty children who've apparently spent too many hours playing Mortal Kombat.

Then again, the tone of this statement suggests an acceptance that only experience can bring. So perhaps this is an annual tradition, like a simple shedding of the skin. Maybe the Easter Bunny drops those eggs in our baskets on his way to deliver the Kiss of Life to kindly old St. Nick each year.

It seems that matchup between Jesus and Santa might be more even than we thought.

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* I don't suggest you actually read this article unless you want to feel quite depressed.

Editor's Note: If you enjoyed this forest-missing nitpickery, you might want to peruse Literally, A Web Log.

Important Question: Jesus Claus?

The latest Important Question is a straightforward but timely one, though not nearly as important as the last one.

For those readers who are religious*, I respectfully ask the following:

Do you find that as your kids mature, the inevitable revelations about Santa Claus undermine or strengthen your teachings about God/Allah/Yahweh, even if you didn't take much of a part in this particular cultural/quasi-religious tradition?

This occurs to me every year, but I've never been in a situation where I could ask it with any hope of getting a thoughtful answer. I've just never imagined a way to teach a child about God and Santa/the Easter Bunny without setting up a significant crisis around age 8-10 or even earlier.

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In case the above question is too deep for you, answer this question instead: Who would win in a fight, Jesus or Santa Claus? (And I don't mean a wimpy South-Park-style fight, I mean a genuine, few-holds-barred brawl.)

Ground rules: No reindeer, no hitting below the belt, and no resurrections.

Keep in mind that while Jesus of course has some notable powers and one heck of a tag-team partner, Santa clearly has supersonic speed, incredible stamina, and the ability to change his shape and size at will.

The comment board is now open-- discuss either question, or both, at will!

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* I myself come from Catholic stock, mostly Irish immigrants, but I've only ever attended church for weddings, christenings, and the occasional funeral/communion/confirmation.

At long last, Pt. 4

Finally, here is the final section of my account of the Obama rally in Grant Park on election night in America. Part 1, part 2, and part 3 ran earlier this week.

...

The place was still packed and buzzing when the feed switched from CNN to the acceptance speech, and it was in listening to that landmark* speech that I felt myself really sucked in to the moment instead of floating outside it, taking notes, the way I generally do with most things in life.

I've often thought that I might have caught religion if I'd gotten to attend a so-called "black church" in my formative years instead of only visiting stale, conservative Catholic churches for various events in my extended family. Listening to this speech live was as close as I think I'll ever get, with the kinetic energy in the audience, the facial and bodily reactions of those around me, the frequent spoken responses throughout, and certain of Obama's tones in the speech itself. That sense of community, of taking part in a dialogue of both words and energy rather than sitting on my couch listening to someone talk at me from my TV, absolutely enhanced the experience in every way.

But more notably, I immediately noticed that feeling of widespread admiration for a president that I haven't known since I was 10 years old.** People who don't completely agree with this man can still admire him without feeling guilty about it, I think. I won't go on about my extremely negative feelings towards Presidents Clinton and Bush (Jr.) for their habits, attitudes, and personal character, since they're beside the point of this post.

...

After walking around a bit more to soak in the atmosphere, J- and I decided to start the slow trek back home, but not before accepting the fence-security guards' indulgence in actually peeking over at The Cool People's Rally. Also, not before I availed myself again of the remarkably uncrowded banks of portable toilets. Given the predictably low toilet-to-person ratio, the only explanatory factor I can think of is the prohibitive price of water leaving bladders empty across the park.

We took to the streets with glee, since this time almost everyone was on the move at the same time. The poor unlicensed t-shirt vendors hawking homemade wares from cardboard boxes could barely keep up with demand for their predictable products. I can understand the desire for a keepsake from such an event, but a t-shirt, and a poorly-made one at that, isn't necessarily my first choice.

J- decided she wanted one particular shirt, though, and I could console myself with the price versus other commemorative shirts she has chosen to buy, or have bought for her (ahem). All the shirts I saw were much more competitively priced than the typical unlicensed shirts offered at concerts and other events, which pleased me, but the one J- liked so much happened to be only $5, which pleased me even more.

Of course, I later pointed out to her that the likely reason it was so cheap was that while yes, the front has an interesting and imaginative design, the back says "I WAS THERE WHEN HISTORY HAPPEN AT GRANT PARK - NOV, 4TH 2008".

I cannot adequately express how much staring at the back of this otherwise nicely-designed shirt makes me twitch with a craving for unfocused violence.

But that would make me the only one, it seems, because after seeing this, I couldn't help but notice that about 15% of the ecstatic crowd marching home alongside me was wearing the same lowest-bid shirt without a hint of the shame I felt for them.

The Chicago Police reported not a single arrest at the rally,*** which is of course incredible given the attendance and the circumstances of the event, so I'm guessing either all the city's other copy editors stayed home that night or they simply aren't quite as prone to violence as I am.

...

The walk to the train stop was unbelievable, for the sheer number of people filling six-lane streets for as long as they did, controlling traffic and owning the city at least for an hour or so. I tried to capture the effect in pictures to little effect (see one example below), since I had neither a helicopter nor a camera positioned strategically in the many-storey youth hostel overlooking the exit from the park, which was filled with what were presumably visitors from abroad, waving and shouting constantly from several storeys up.

...

So I'm left now with blurred pictures and crisp memories, and I can only hope this night proves to be as momentous a turning point in modern American history as it felt like at the time.

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* Whatever your current opinion of our President-elect, his first speech in that role is as important as it always is, and given the tenuous state of our economy, government, and society combined with Obama's youth and the fundamental change he claims to represent, this speech, as an introduction to the coming inaugural address, was monumental one way or another.

** Granted, I was right in the middle of a distinctly unscientific sample, but I'll note that I did see several small indicators that there was a healthy number of McCain supporters there for the experience as much as everyone else. It's not like everyone can easily jet out to Arizona in the middle of the work week, and given that, why not be there?

*** I'll state for the record that I did see a young man being handcuffed while face down in the street, for reasons unclear, but that was several blocks away from the rally, and for all I know he was later released without being officially arrested.

Could it be a PR move for the sake of winning the 2016 Olympics? Or could they have just been helpfully demonstrating for this fellow what they would have done had he been unruly or disrespectful.

At long last, Pt. 2

I've never done long multi-part posts like this before (unless you count the saga of how I nearly lost an eye), but it became clear it was definitely called for this time.

You may want to read Part 1 of my experience at the election day Obama rally in Grant Park before continuing.

...

Once inside the Parallel Party Someone's Mom Organized For The Uninvited Nerds, we found that to keep the mob from storming the inexplicably opaque* fences of the Cool People's Party, at least 10 Jumbotrons were set up around the rest of the park, with the primary one alone allowing probably 60,000 people to soak in CNN's commercials** and ridiculous gimmicks for hours before and after Obama's actual speech (on a closed-circuit feed).

So we had to satisfy ourselves with watching TV while standing alongside a whole bunch of other very happy voters. Since it was immediately evident that all of these many, many spectators were exceedingly peaceful and well-mannered, this prospect wasn't as undesirable as it might have been under other circumstances. I had known for months that I wanted to be out Amongst The People for this night, no matter the outcome, and I got exactly what I came for.

J-, on the other hand, apparently got some kind of alien larvae threatening to Cesaerean itself right out of her abdomen, as was the diagnosis issued by the esteemed Doctor We-Don't-Want-To-Leave-So-We'll-Just-Play-It-By-Ear-While-Basking-In-The-Extra-Space-A-Sudden-Unexplained-Vaguely-Stomach-Related-Illness-Helpfully-Provides-In-A-Crowd.

These guys got all dressed up for nothing.

I haven't mentioned how miraculously warm it was that night, but it was over 70 degrees for three straight days, which is about 40 degrees higher than a typical November in Chicago. Clearly, it was a sign that God wants Barack Obama to be president.

This warmth was amped up at least 10 degrees in the thick of that many walking space heaters, and I'm sure the oxygen content of the air within the crowd was about half the dose required for sustaining life. Hence J-'s alien larvae decided to take evasive action by cutting power to her ears, sense of balance, and (almost) her consciousness.

It was at this point I decided to let J- lead us in a little conga line back through the crowd, issuing promises of copious vomit to anyone unwilling to make way quickly enough. I left her on a strangely unused filthy stage far from any of the Jumbotrons, and then made my way back into the madness to find some water.

Not just any water, mind you --after all, we were alongside one of the largest sources of fresh water in the world-- but rather the most expensive water I could find. Nothing's too good for my precious, and how else does one measure quality but by expense?

Luckily, I was in amongst a large, captive pool of consumers, so I felt sure I could count on Connie's Pizza to provide me with nothing but the best. After waiting out the 350 people ahead of me, I was relieved though unsurprised to find a bottle of water (not unlike the two I had confiscated at the gate) going for a patriotic $3, and knowing this stuff thus must be far better than any beverage I'd previously ingested, I readily threw down my money for a $5 slice of pizza while I was at it (since the mysteriously ill lady had decided greasy cheese would be an invaluable assistant in getting back on her feet).

...

After saluting the noble folks at Connie's (look for their Delivery Maseratis in a neighborhood near you), I again waded through a rainbow blur of human skin, dropped off the food, refolded J-'s death shroud, and headed out to find us a new base of operations. As I walked all over this sprawling park, I found several previously unnoticed McCain-sized rallies around each bend, in a layout I couldn't even begin to map out. If only the Secret Service would release some of the photos they must have been taking from their lonely helicopters up there in that restricted airspace, I could feel vindicated in my opinion of the crowd estimates.

...

Once again, you can read part 1 here, and look for part 3 tomorrow and part 4 after that.

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* Why can't I at least watch through the short chain-link fence, under the watchful eye of security forces?? Those flimsy little fences weren't protecting ANYone.

** I can't have been the only one looking for my DVR remote to obliterate those commercials. I'd almost forgotten what an irritating experience they provide.

Caution: Men Not Working

In case you were looking for more signs that we're surrounded by people who are dangerously lazy, and that we are definitely ruled by people who want us all to be so, here's a nice little tidbit for you:

Recently, while helping J- to relieve one of several local office-supply stores of the remainder of their loss leading pencils and notebooks, I saw a big display for a "Reduced Effort Stapler", which promised* to save me "70% of the effort required by traditional staplers."

Using a specific figure like this of course relies on the illusion, if not the actual fact, that they performed some kind of clinical research into this pressing problem. This is almost enough to stun me into silence, which you must have already realized is quite an impressive feat.

How they even managed to break down the effort needed to staple a couple pieces of paper together in the first place exceeds my imagination-- they've got to be coming as close to dividing by zero as anyone ever has. The undernourished math nerd in me, suddenly remembering the word asymptote way too late for my freshman year midterm, is eager to see the graphs* produced by this crack team throughout what must have been an incredibly arduous R&D process.

It was probably almost as complex as the epic gauntlet that was the gestation of that pinnacle of American ingenuity, electric scissors.**

Please come save us from ourselves, Jebus!


* They might have come out something like these classic graphs from xkcd.***

** Already ridiculed beautifully by David Cross.

*** Now that I've found another reason to link to this hilariously perfect and wonderful comic, I'll also point out this one that seems to have been made for J- and I as much as this one was.

Sometimes you feel like a nut

I think it says a lot about my religious outlook that when faced with the crossword puzzle clue Peter or Paul, but not Mary, I was dismayed to find myself unable to remember enough trivia about the' 60s folk movement to come up with the seven-letter answer.

Only after later getting 4 of the seven letters* did it suddenly strike me that these classic names are such because they appear pretty frequently in the New Testament, and that the clue was not exactly requiring me to have a degree in Religious Studies. Or to have taken even one course in it.

Alex Trebek would be so disappointed in me-- has he wasted all these years teaching me most of what I know about the Bible?

I'm going to go with the explanation that I have replaced what little knowledge I had of the New Testament with Dan Brown's version of events, so the answer Apostles would never have occurred to me when the clue was excluding Mary.

That gives me some grounds for credibility, right?

Popular fiction-- is there any amount of ignorance or boneheadedness it can't help us explain away?


* If I hadn't gotten this many letters, upon revisiting the clue, I probably would have gone next to candy-oriented trivia.

Developments at our house, Vol. 8

Here, at long last, are some more developments at our house in recent weeks:

1. M- decided one day to wake up at 6:30 in the morning because she had dropped her pacifier and leaked through her diaper. She wasn't at all bothered by waking up so early, but she did show signs of willingness to go back to sleep, so like a fool, I took her back into my room and laid her next to me in bed. She looked like she was drifting off, but then she made sure I knew it was NOT sleeping time by pointing to my closed right eye and saying, "Eye!" in an apparently loving memory. She then played it off as a coincidence by running through nose, mouth, ear, and hair, oblivious to the fact that I was pretending to be asleep.

2. My mom discovered that of course D- knows the word "touchous", because J- has long aspired to be an old Jewish lady. She was oddly proud after an awkward conversation at work revealed that a whole bunch of people thought she was Jewish for the entire first half of the year.

3. I discovered a new level of 4-year-old giggles by describing to D- why his breath smells like "poo-poo" in the morning. I'll give you a hint-- it involved personifying and demonstrating the consumption and excretory practices of a typical bacterium.

4. M- decided it's great fun to head-butt piles of Multi-Grain Cheerios, because that hint of brown sugar reacts with supple baby skin to make at least several of them stick to her forehead until they are picked off. Making D- laugh is, as always, just icing on the cake.

5. M- has decided that kissing your food before eating it makes it taste better. Also, all food headed for your mouth on a spoon should be blown upon as hard as possible, preferably at the last possible second, so all that scaldingly cold cereal/vegetables will safely spray all over the room and away from your tender mouth.

6. I found out that my spaghetti is apparently so terrible that a 4-year-old will feign tiredness and beg for a nap to avoid having to eat it for lunch.

7. M- has found, like D- before her, that it's okay to hit people as long as you say "Five!" before you do so.

Sound the alarm!

Folks, we have a little emergency down here at LiteralDan Enterprises-- someone needs our help!

Let me fill you in on an important e-mail* I received yesterday from a "Mrs. Nomi Solomon" of "Abidjan,Cote d'Ivoire":

First of all, let me assure you that she is "the above named person from Kuwait." She was "married to Mr solomon anthony.who worked with Kuwait embassy in Ivory Coast for nine years before he died in the year 2005." They "were married for many years with out child."

But here's where it gets tricky: "Recently, [her] Doctor told [her] that [she has] serious sickness which is cancer problem." I'll pause here to let that soak in.

As tragic as this story may be, this woman is not being allowed to finish out her life in peace. Yes, she is "not afraid of death hence [she] know[s] where [she is] going," that is to say that she "know[s] that [she is] going to be in the bosom of the Lord," because "Exodus 14 VS 14 says that the lord will fight [her] case and [she] shall hold [her] peace." Unfortunately, she has some Earthbound complications that are causing her much stress:

"When [her] late husband was alive he deposited the sum of (US$2.500million dollars in a Bank in Abidjan Cote d'Ivoire west africa)." Now, "presently,the fund is still with the bank," so don't worry yourself too much-- it's safe for the time being.

However, what "disturbs" her even more than her "stroke sickness" is her fear that "[her] husband's efforts [might] be used by unbelievers" (non-Christians), who of course would never use it for "orphanages, widows,propagating the word of God and to endeavor that the house of God is maintained," but rather for pagan parties of Bacchanalian delights or some other such selfish disgrace. Heathens!

The modern American cynic in you might think this clearly unimpeachable dying widow is not actually such, and is instead someone trying to trick you into sending her your money or bank information, but it is quite obvious to me that this is not the case at all. Shame on you! She just doesn't "want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly way. This is why [she is] taking this decision."

Now, here's where we come in: She doesn’t "need any telephone communication in this regard because of [her] health hence the presence of [her] husband’s relatives is around me always [she doesn't] want them to know about this development." Thankfully this weak and sickly woman is being allowed unrestricted and unmonitored access to the Internet, or we might not be able to help her rescue her husband's money from these unbelievers incompetently nursing her and feebly attempting to keep her comfortable in her last days with undoubtedly selfish motivations.

As you know, "with God all things are possible", so worry not-- as soon as we "contact [her] on the above e_mail address for more informations", "[she] shall give [us] the contact of the bank here in Abidjan." And all she wants in return is "the church to always pray for [her] because the lord is [her] shephard. [Her] happiness is that [she] lived a life of a worthy Christian.

Be advised, however, that "any delay in [our] reply will give [her] room in sourcing another church or individual for this same purpose," so let's get our act together and make sure we are the ones to help this poor dying widow find some comfort during her last days in this mortal coil.

I vote that all of you contact her on my behalf, since I'm quite busy. If each of you issues a plea for her to nominate me as the most worthy recipient, and you give her my address for the giant check, I assure you that I will then distribute it fairly amongst my readership for doing good works in the name of Christ and stuff.

When you contact her, at naomi_sol5@k.ro.clickingherewon'tsendtothisaddress, please assure her of the following: 1) "that [I] will act accordingly as [she] Stated herein"; 2) that I want "to serve the Lord" so I will "serve him in spirit and Truth"; and 3) I will "always be prayerful all through [my] life." She'll know what it means.

Oh, and be sure to tell her to "remain blessed in the Lord", and sign off with "Yours in Christ"-- she'll eat that stuff up.

I mean... that's how I always say goodbye. I'm a good Kuwaiti/Cote d'Ivoirean/Romanian Christian, after all.


* It was so important, it bypassed my Inbox and went right to a little-used folder called SPAM, which I can only imagine stands for Super-Pivotal Awesome Mail.

I am the monkey god, goo goo g'joob

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I believe I may have found my new calling. Forget this whole "Trying to put thoughts on paper and finding someone to pay me for it" nonsense, because at the risk of offending up to hundreds of millions of devout believers, I do believe that I could do a better job running an Indian business school than the monkey god Hanuman, though known for his strength and valor he may be:

Indian school names monkey god as its chairman

I don't even think my nearly complete ignorance of the language, culture, religion, or conventions of India and her people or my lack of (and reluctance to gain) formal business training could possibly hamper me in my ability to sit in an office, collect currency stronger than any dollar, and generally look noble and inspiring. Well, the occasionally uncontrollable giggling might hamper my stoic image, but I could always just hide under my desk and leave a note on top to the effect of:

Gone back to Mt. Olympus cause I forgot some of my god stuff. You heard me, Mt. Olympus-- the Ancient Greeks had it right, and everyone else since has been a fool. Please leave me a non-curried offering at your earliest convenience.

P.S. Don't look under my desk.

I suppose I'd have to have my secretary write it up, for obvious reasons, but as long as I had her do so when I wasn't giggling, such as one day towards the beginning of my tenure when I was still battling epic diarrhea, I could just copy and paste it thereafter.

I think I've covered pretty much every possible angle here, so this plan sounds like a go-- can either of my two incidental Indian readers offer me any assistance in finding another business school that hasn't yet contracted Hanuman for his chairmaning services?

I guess I should wait till I have that minor detail straightened out before informing J- that we'll soon be moving to India (which I think I'll dub the Canada of the Indian subcontinent, to help her get excited about it), but I feel pretty confident it will work itself out before she's back from her certification test today, so that makes the point moot.

She's going to be so excited!

Like manna from heaven

Not only do my kids get their daily inoculation from eating food that's fallen on the floor (while they still get the sniffles here and there, overall we've got their immune systems working like fine-tuned killing machines), but apparently my son has developed quite a taste for it.

I dropped a Goldfish cracker (one of our staples) on the kitchen floor this morning and immediately bent over to pick it up. I had decided to be fair to the kids by eating it myself, to help balance out the times I hand them the floor food before getting myself a new one from the bag, etc. In my defense, they are usually too quick and much closer to said floor food, so I don't have much choice but sacrifice dropped food to the band of starving orphans who swarm my kitchen, tugging on my pant legs any time I'm making food.

Anyway, unbeknownst to me, I was in a heated race for this particular prized morsel, which was apparently more desirable than the handful of Goldfish D- already held (new folk saying-- 'a fish from the floor is worth 10 in the hand'?). As I lifted it up, I heard D- exclaim, "Ahh!! I wanted to eat that one!" I just looked at him for a second, then naturally, I obliged.

Do I need to raise my standards a bit? It's not like I deliberately feed them meals off the floor. I mean, that's the baseline for bad parenting, right? Right??

Merry Eastermas

There's just nothing better to recognize the death and resurrection of your favorite savior than purchasing and consuming the very finest hard liquors available at what are quite simply the best prices in town, if the Easter Sale flyer I received from a local liquor store this week is any indication.

This just begs one multi-part question, for me-- since even winos deserve Easter excitement, I wonder if bourbon shots would leak out of those plastic Easter eggs, and if so, how big of a market would there be for watertight eggs intended for imbibing such spirits for the Lord? And if this market was to be capitalized, would there be a marked enough decrease in church attendance on Easter morning to warrant a much-sought condemnation from the Pope?

At our house, we'll leave this question rhetorical and stick with the candy in baskets. But then, I would posit that eating five eggs' worth of jelly beans at once could leave you in much the same state as taking an equal portion of booze. M-, for one, is definitely already drunk on the power of eagerly calling out "meh-whoa!" to get a mini marshmallow placed in her hand. Her judgment clouded, she decided this morning to steal D-'s egg of marshmallows and run to the other room to devour them as quickly as possible.

Even Ms. Chubbycheeks was clearly at maximum capacity by the time we found where she had gone to. But by the look on her face, she felt it was worth it. Luckily the Easter Bunny left the rest of the marshmallow bag in the cabinet...

One parting note; D- has already nailed down the spirit of Easter, and by extension Christmas-- he told M- she should climb back down off the stairs, as Daddy was demanding, because, "You should not do naughty things on Easter!" As an aside to my dad and me, as much as to continue his mentoring of his sister, he added, "You only do good things, so you can get stuff." I asked if that was what it was all about, and he confirmed that yes, yes it is.

So there you have it. Take that, Hokey Pokey!