Right back atchya, little buddy.

Dear Gulliver,

I too entreat you and your more-than-tinctures of holier-than-thou vicelessness (yep, I can make shit up too) will likewise not presume to come into my sight.  You make my flesh crawl, to again use your own turn of phrase.  Get bent.

Kindest Regards,
Me

PS.  Yes, of course.  It’s entirely possible that I just don’t get it.  I probably should have read your tale with a hearty helping of Cliff’s Notes, or Spark’s Notes, or whatever the kids are using these days.  But thanks to wikipedia and the interwebs, I think it more likely that I get it just barely enough to know I despise how you say it.

PPS.  I bet your wife thinks you stink, too.

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Grace in Small Things

  1. Actually staying awake through a whole movie!  The first time I sat down to watch it, even.
  2. Watching that movie makes me want to reread Crime and Punishment.  Again.
  3. The weather would be rather fitting for that.
  4. I don’t have to kill the spiders.
  5. Mike has some interesting and creative improvised methodologies for that.  

Two Things

I just had to share, because this cracks me up to no end:

So anyway, I’m sitting in bed in my red underwear and I’m feeling and looking quite bloated. I don’t have a shirt on or anything else for that matter. I just got done scarfing down about a pound of Brisket and some Chicken Wings. Lately I’ve noticed that my teeth haven’t been as white as they used to be, so tonight I decided to try Crest Whitestrips. I can’t talk without drooling on myself. I haven’t shaved my shoulders or trimmed my chest hair in a while, so my torso is starting to resemble a Cardigan Sweater. I’m wearing my glasses. My angelic wife just removed a piece of glass from the bottom of my right foot with a pin. I whined like a little bitch the entire time. Earlier in the day, my almost three year old daughter, asked me to fart on her head, so I did…

And in the very same post, Mr. Out-Numbered also give us a link to perhaps the best moments ever of daytime television.  You’re welcome.



That’s how you know it’s a good one.

Please direct your attention to the new venture by Ms. Amelia Witherspoon, of A Common Grey Spider fame: 1,000 Dog-Eared Pages. The book blog to beat all book blogs. I like it when people talk about books, lend me books, borrow my books, write books, write about books, read books. Yes. Books are good. As are people with good taste. So there ya go, what more could you want? A good friend to guide you to or through one of their favorite books is even better than an English teacher to help you understand Shakespeare (oh, am I the only one who needs that?), even better than Shelfari (though Shelfari is pretty frickin’ sweet), because sometimes they’ll just say, hey, you have to read this, and yeah, you could blow that off, but then sometimes they show up and just put a copy in your hot little hand, and that’s pretty hard to refuse. Even when it’s a book whose title or reputation may have you think, meh, I’m not going to enjoy this, you pretty much have to read it. It’s good for you. Makes you more worldly. Broadens your horizons. Builds character. Puts hair on your chest. Wait, what? This is a horrible post. Go read something better.

Grace in Small Things, Homecoming

  1. Hot lemon-scented towels. Thank you, Lufthansa.
  2. Airline wine that isn’t $6 – it’s free. More than once, if you like.
  3. Tiny triangles of Camembert.
  4. Chicken that actually resembles chicken, and that sausages and kraut wasn’t the only option.
  5. A really good book to read on the planes, with exactly enough pages remaining to kill the hour of the final leg home. Also, managing not to cry out loud while finishing it, as it was quite a tear-jerker. In a good way.

Grace in Small Things

  1. Tiny toddlers pushing tiny shopping carts through the grocery store who look up at me and smile and say “HI!”
  2. Kebabs with pepper, onion, grape tomatoes and steak medium rare. FOR FREE. AT WORK.
  3. When scientists argue about literature. Supremely hilarious to me, even when the content of the conversation’s not humorous at all.
  4. Scavenging through a friend’s iPod, finding old songs that make me feel both young again and old anew.
  5. Playing Sardines with little kids. It’s like hide and seek, but hilarious.

Ripping Off MetroDad

(Click post title to see inspirational material.)

“The four most over-rated things in life are champagne, lobster, anal sex and picnics.” – Christopher Hitchens.

Champagne. You’re wrong, Hitch, dead wrong. If I could have no other libation for the rest of my life, I’d be totally content to quaff bubbly only forever. Love it. Not the super sweet sticky stuff, but the dry, mmmmmm, the dry. Now don’t be fooled – Extra Dry is even sweeter than Spumante. You want the bottle of Brut. If that gives me some pseudo-nouveau-riche pretension vibe, that’s fine and dandy with me. To quote Monica, “Who here thinks that a little pretension never hurt anyone?” Plus, given that I’ve never really even drunk champagne that wasn’t probably technically cheap champagne and I still think it gets no better than that? Verdict: underrated.

Lobster. Totally depends how it’s cooked. I’ve had some really badly overcooked lobster, which basically transforms it into rubbery cholesterol-laden fishy leather. Not yum. But properly done, it is quite divine. However, the chances of finding it well cooked anywhere around here, along with the King Crab swimming around out there considered as competition point to verdict: overrated.

Anal sex. I have no idea, personally, but I have a theory. From a heterosexual female perspective, I totally don’t see the point. Women do not have a prostate gland or any other pleasure center that is better accessed by that method than some other. So what the hell? Seems to be a temporary concession of control, mostly. Here, I will do this for you despite there being very little chance that I will enjoy it at all whatsoever. I love you enough to allow the possibility of having my bowel perforated? Ew. From what I’ve heard heterosexual men say of the practice, the main benefit seems to be that they think it’s really cool that you’d do that, but I still wouldn’t think it gets that woman anything more than talked about, muchly and vulgarly. One theory that I’ve heard in support is the um, contraction factor? …if you will. Um. No. Try this first instead. Obviously dudes of any sexual orientation might enjoy such a thing, but with the same caveat of not my cup of tea but to each his own: overrated. It’s not going to show up on my life list. To throw in one more superfluous Friends reference – I highly doubt that is one of the seven:

Picnics. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a real picnic, but if it included well cooked lobster salad and champagne, verdict: underrated.

So now’s the part where we all name our personal most overrated things. I’ll start.

  • Whiskey, bourbon, scotch. Tastes to me like it’s already been drunk and regurgitated. Ew.
  • Cilantro. Tastes like soap. Ew.
  • Sports in general. As Schmutzie says, “I just don’t understand the enjoyment in watching a bunch of people run around in an ordered fashion to achieve a goal that doesn’t do anything for anybody.”
  • NASCAR. No real explanation needed here, I think.

Yes, yes. MetroDad had TEN things. Fucking showoff. I will stick with Hitch’s format of four, at least until I remember all the other things in life that some people love with the same intense fiery passion with which I say, meh. You got four?

Hilarious postscript: my boss borrowed my computer for a Skype thing and I totally didn’t close this tab. Oops. I’m so sure he wanted to know what I think about anal sex. You’d think that’d embarrass me, but see, I’m fresh out of embarrassment. Famous last words.