Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts

Sunday, December 6, 2009

What the Magi are saying


Pass the trail mix.

h/t More Meredith Gould from the annual 'schlep of the Magi"

visual image: The three magi figurines are shown approaching a pile of chex trail mix.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

A Poem of Epic Proportions

-a poem dedicated to all those heroes and heroines who sally forth fearlessly

I.

In which our heroine is introduced

Our heroine wanders forth on her Wheeled Steed
Clasping only a clay tablet cracked after battle
On which to record her journeys
As she encounters creatures of the dark and light
On a mission to procure Vitamins,
An elixir designed to strengthen and preserve Health
Pills that are hidden in Round Containers
Located deep within the aisles
Of large vaulted places
Where fellow travelers wander aimlessly
Nay, passing by the elixir
Whilst our heroine,
Single Minded of Purpose
Strays neither left nor right
To the Bagged Crunchy Food or Dark Liquid called Cola
But first she must overcome the Obstacles
Both Physical and Otherwise
That block her way
As she ventures forth in her wheeled steed.




II

In which the heroine encounters the dreaded SUV monsters

Outside the Vaulted Building
Lies a criss cross of white lines on black steaming tar
On which the dreaded SUV monsters sit idly
Waiting, biding their time, their front grills cool and quiet
Whilst others of their kind roam, their metal grills
Higher than the heroine's wheeled steed.
Their encounters are swift and deadly
As she approaches the front of the Vaulted Building
Some back into her, casting off red lights
As they emit terrible honking noises
And various types of cursing
Aimed at the heroine who dashes left and right
Only to arrive at the road surrounding the building
Where SUV's travel with a speed so terrible
It makes her wheeled steed shake.
Yet she holds her ground, aiming to cross
No matter that her life is in mortal danger
Knowing that upon the appearance of a smaller
Black and white rolling apparition that has
A red dome on top the SUV's stop all movement
Allowing her to cross.




III

In which our heroine is rendered Invisible by those of the High Countenance

Our heroine must first enter the Vaulted Building
Sometimes there is a Button one may push that magically opens the doors
Or she can rush in behind another who has set the doors ajar
Otherwise she must find a way to ram the entrance open
A piece of wood, nay, any object works with the weight of her wheeled steed behind it.
Once inside, surrounded by rows of Objects meant to distract her from the elixir
She follows a well studied path toward the Vitamins
Avoiding those who wander from Object to Object,
Stopping in front of her only to stare blankly
Their journeys sadly gone astray
But this is of no concern to our heroine who sallies forth
Toward the aisle of the Elixir and seizes the rounded container
Hiding it as she goes to barter
With those of the High Countenance
Who stand behind Counters so High and Frightening
That one may not glance upon their visage
Nay, they stand in a world apart, Unseeing and Unfeeling
As our heroine takes her place in a line of those purchasing other Objects.
Predictably, one of the High Countenance speaks to the man behind her in line
Intoning "May I help you?"
Our heroine bravely utters "I am next", fearless and forthright
Unabashed by the casting of the Invisibility Spell.
"I did not see you," is the expected and dreaded response
And thus the bartering commences.

IV

In which our heroine recounts her Deeds and Battles after safely returning Home

Do not imagine that our heroine's battles are over
As she must once again escape the dreaded SUV's outside the Vaulted Building
And endure their squealing sounds as they stop, left and right,
Their heated grills rising above her head
Their curses loud and frequent
These are the memories of battle that must be recorded on the clay tablet
Our heroine has now strapped to the back of her wheeled steed.
Once home, she finds it is dark
Her fellows greet her,
Offering her solace and companionship
By the light of an Object called Ever-Ready
Our heroine casts shadows on the walls to show the SUV's dreaded attacks
From which she escaped unscathed
Showing her companions her journey through the Vaulted Building
And her safe passage home.
It is all good, they intone in one voice,
Whereupon our heroine passes around the elixir, the Vitamins
Before they all climb, crawl or are lifted into their bedding
The last one keeping watch and immortalizing our heroine's tales
On the cracked clay tablet,
A Journey that Must be Told, passed down
Generation after generation
In defiance of the SUV's and those of the High Countenance
And all others who would keep our heroine on her wheeled steed from her purpose-
To find Life's elixir and bring it back to those in need.

Sleep well, our heroine, until you journey forth yet again!

Friday, April 17, 2009

My cat wants me to call him Bo


And it's my fault for leaving the news on too much. He's seen all the stories about the First Dog. The interviews. The walk on the White House lawn. The attention by the First Family, the press, the nation. Now his simple life seems unfulfilling, beneath him.

Fine.

So last night when he meowed for food, I told him to ask the White House staff to do it. When he tried to climb into bed with me, I told him to go sleep with Malia. Or Sasha.

I think he's starting to come down to reality now. He crawled into my lap this morning and responded, albeit reluctantly, to his own name.

There was a sad look in his eyes so I told him about Susan Boyle, the singer who rose to fame overnight. I explained that she could always sing, but the fact that the world didn't get to hear it on the big stage left her in obscurity. Maybe she's luckier for that, because the world often judges on appearance. No one expected much from her, except maybe a joke, a chance to laugh at what they thought was a middle age foolish dream.

He blinked at that. He could relate, not being a kitten anymore.

And then I told him that Bo would be up against the same kind of thing. Sure, now they think his barking is cute. But fame isn't necessarily easy, I told him. Bo had to go to training and has to behave to live in the White House. And there would be times he might miss a nap to do a press conference.

That did it. My cat snuggled up to me for the first time in days, grateful for his obscure existence.

By the way, he's cuter than Bo. Although Bo is very cute.

[image description: Bo, a black Portuguese water dog with white markings on his chest and legs, faces microphones at his first press conference on the White House lawn.]

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Hope you had a nice Easter



I know everyone, uh, celebrates in different ways. The weather was beautiful here and I was able to have a nice meal out at Whole Foods.

I didn't see anyone wearing anything like this.

[visual image: A woman wears a very tall hat covered in rows of marshmallow peeps of different colors. ]

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Flunking Penmanship

I was one of those Catholic school kids who was left handed. The nuns set to trying to make me write with my right hand, which failed since I immediately went back to my left hand when they were out of sight. But I did learn skills that came in handy - being ambidextrous, for example. I also learned to write under my jacket so they couldn't see which hand I was using.

In my parochial elementary school, we were taught penmanship as a separate subject which you could fail. I was reminded of that quite often because not only was I left handed but my handwriting (perhaps as a result of having to switch hands) was illegible. In fact, in a desperate move to pass penmanship in fourth grade, I began to write so small that no one could read it. I recall teachers holding my marble composition book upside down and sideways and taking a magnifying glass to it prior to writing a big red F on top.

So that's the story of how I graduated from Catholic elementary school with handwriting that looked like hieroglyphics. Flunking penmanship did not hold me back in life as I feared. Of course now I can't write at all because my hands are paralyzed. It's a bit of a relief actually.

If you went to Catholic school, you probably learned to write with the method seen in the video below. Ahhh, memories.

A Dog's Life

I just received a comment from Barbara/Daisy at Furlicity. It's a creative blog if you haven't read it yet. The intro reads:

This is my journal of life after being rescued from a puppy mill. It is fondly dedicated to my heros at: http://www.fureverafter.net/ to my foster parents who started me on the road to furlicity, and to all the humans who value life in all it's forms.

***

For all the animal lovers out there, I found this video showing a cat who is trying to battle a printer and it gave me a few laughs so I thought I'd post it.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

For a spiritual emergency, press 1

A NY Times piece entitled On a Ring and a Prayer offers a tongue in cheek look at how a menu of phone options on a spiritual crisis hotline might, er, get rid of a few problems.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

I am jealous, Greg

Not fair. Greg has a backpack with the name of his blog on it!!!!

He posted this earlier today, saying he was doing it to make his quad friends jealous.....well I am.... and no, I won't make up a 'blog fashion' tag just for this . I'm too jealous.

Of course I'm sitting here chuckling at the thought of some folks wearing the name of their blog around town...Greg's name is tame, but I've seen some wild and silly ones. Would *you* want to do that?


[image description: A blue L.L. Bean backpack hangs off the back of a power chair's handles. Across it reads Pitt Rehab.]

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Case of the Lost Cookie

My name is Wednesday, Wendy Wednesday. I was undercover, as undercover as a quadriplegic in a power chair can be who is wearing a bright red Nike T shirt and sporting an orange safety flag. I rolled into the sub shop and looked around.

No one there except the folks behind the counter. I ordered a sub, extra lettuce, extra mustard. That was when it hit me.

"How much are those double fudge cookies?" I asked.

"A buck," the cashier said.

"I'll take one."

In true Dragnet style, I like to keep my conversations brief. You never know when a total stranger will become a witness and have to be questioned. I took my bag with the sub and the double fudge cookie and headed home.

Arrived at my destination while it was still light out. By the time I got there, my cookie was gone. Concluded it fell out when I had to go over that double crack in the sidewalk or skirted around the bicyclist. I was too tired to retrace my steps that day.

The next morning I set out to search for the lost cookie. Double fudge. Wrapped in saran wrap. Clearly identifiable. No fingerprints.

Ruling out the most obvious possibility that the cookie never was put into the bag (since I checked), I did a visual scan of the sidewalks between Point A and Point B. No cookie. I questioned the skateboarder who was playing hooky. He denied seeing the cookie or eating it. His alibi? He's allergic to chocolate.

It was then I found the stray dog laying down beside the white picket fence two blocks away. I leaned down. His breath smelled like double fudge. The wrapper was several feet away, slightly chewed. His tag read Fluffy.

Solved, I thought, rolling back toward the sub shop. It was empty except for the people behind the counter. I ordered a cookie. One. Double fudge.

The story you have just heard is true. The names were changed to protect the innocent.

In this 1954 clip from Dragnet, Leonard Nimoy makes a brief appearance (with the moustache).

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

My waiter looks like a monkey

Well, if you're in a certain restaurant in Japan, maybe he is....





via BBC.com

Yatchan and Fukuchan serve customers hot towels and drinks, and are given soya beans as tips.

The monkeys are family pets who have been allowed to help in the bar. Animal rights regulations mean the premises have been visited to ensure the creatures are not being mistreated

Friday, August 22, 2008

Blogger: The Musical


Have you heard about this new show? It includes hit tunes like:

1.I'm Gonna Wash that Spam Right Outta my Hair
2. Richard Harris singing Post-a-lot
3. Somewhere (There's a Blog For Us)
4. Don't Cry For Me, Technorati
5. Hopelessly Devoted to YouTube
6. I Could Have Blogged All Night
7. Can't Help Loving that Link of Mine
8. It Might as Well be Ping
9. Oh What a Beautiful Comment, Oh What a Beautiful Day
10. Come On-A My Sidebar

No? You don't think so? I thought I saw a commercial for this on late night TV...
[image description: A man in a dark cap and cloak sits with his back against a brick wall with a cup in front of him. He holds a sign that reads Blogger: The Musical.]

Monday, July 21, 2008

ahh technology!

I have a love/hate relationship with technology. I depend on it to do lots of things, and when it works well, I sing its praises. When things go wrong it can get very ugly

Last night though when I was out with friends, technology showed its humorous side. S, who is legally blind, decided to put K's number in her cell phone using the voice recognition feature. It took a few tries but it worked. "I can do it myself!" she said - and so she did.

Then she tried dialing K's number. Nothing. "Maybe I have the number wrong?" she asked.

K looked at her phone. "No, no service in here."

Time for the wiseacre quad to speak up. "Gee, amazing how both of you pay for cell phone plans, are sitting next to each other and we just spent twenty minutes trying to place a call from a cell phone inches away from the other one - isn't technology productive!"

Maybe you had to be there, especially when the message S left for K sounded on her cell phone a mere 45 minutes later.

Her message? "How close do two phones have to be to connect?"

Saturday, June 28, 2008

I don't transfer for aliens...

Scientists say there are signs Martian soil could support life. Definitely asparagus.

Last night I laid down to go to sleep when I saw bright, pulsing lights radiating outside my window up and down the street. I thought perhaps a neighborhood teen was blasting music and keeping time with the headlights on his car, but when the lights didn't stop for about ten minutes, I sighed and reluctantly moved an inch or two to peek outside. That was as far as I was moving.

The entire street was lit up. It resembled a scene from a movie I saw where aliens landed and their ship sent off strange pulsating lights.

I laid back down. I was thinking "PSE&G" or some utility truck working at night, sending off light signals.

Or aliens.

But it had been a long day and I wasn't going to transfer into my wheelchair to check out what was going on. I laid there, watching the lights for a bit longer and then I heard a vehicle drive by and the lights stopped.

Guess it wasn't aliens. I wasn't transferring either way.

Anyway I was curious as to whether others would approach an alien spaceship if it landed, so I went to the answerbag, where one astute person stated he had seen enough movies to know approaching one was a bad idea.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Going to the cats and dogs....

A little humor for the pet owners out there....

[visual description: two part video: Part I: St. Peter makes a call from heaven to calm down cat owners; Part II shows a dog pacing in circles before answering a phone.]

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

For the birds...

A lost parrot wouldn't talk to the cops, but when taken to the vet, he gave his name and address and was returned to his owners.

He kept mum with the cops, but began chatting after a few days with the vet.

"I'm Mr. Yosuke Nakamura," the bird told the veterinarian, according to Uemura. The parrot also provided his full home address, down to the street number, and even entertained the hospital staff by singing songs.
via cnn.com

The owners say they spent two years teaching the bird his name and address.

So why does this remind me of Mickey Rooney in Boystown?

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Purple petunias

I've never been a gardener. In fact, I've developed a bit of an aversion to it. Meredith is a gardener, which is why I wound up googling clematis last night after midnight when she emailed that she bought a trellis for clematis. After I saw a photo of the climbing flowers, I said "Oooh." Then I sneezed - even over the internet.

I know that's where my aversion to gardening began. My parents, who grew up in the city, decided to plant gardens in our large suburban yard - flower gardens and vegetable gardens. I was pressed into service to weed the gardens every Saturday morning and hated the job. At that age I had allergies,sinus and hay fever issues, so I spent most of the time sneezing and trying to see through watery eyes. After I stumbled into a patch of tomatoes one day I was released from duty and returned to my book to read.

It wasn't until years later that I ventured into a garden again. One of my university friends was planting petunias at her home and asked if I wanted to help.

I wandered over to where she was planting a petunia. She prepared the soil, placed the plant in the hole, and patted the dirt around it, making it all comfy.

"Then," she said, standing, "after you plant it, you talk to it a bit." She turned to the plant and said cheerily "Welcome to my garden. Grow and thrive!"

Huh? I thought she was kidding me, but she looked serious. So I squatted down, took a petunia from the bin and planted it the way she showed me under her watchful eyes. There it sat, in the ground, and I had to think of something to say to it.

"Hi there, petunia," I began. I cleared my throat and placed a thumb on a purple petal. "I've never spoken to someone of your species before, but I wish you enough rain so you're not thirsty, yet not enough to flood you. I hope you have enough sun to make you grow, but not so much that you wilt." Hey this was easy. I was on a roll. " And I hope there's no hurricane this year that will rip your little petals off-"

"What are you doing?" my friend asked, in the same wounded tone my father had after I stumbled through his tomato patch. She knelt down and said to the petunia "We hardly ever have hurricanes. Just know that you're welcome here in this safe little garden well protected." Then she looked at me. "Stay away from my petunias," she said.

Banned from yet another garden. I sighed as I returned to reading my book.

You know, life changes but not that much.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Peeps - or Bunnies?



A poll over at More Meredith Gould asks: Peeps - or Bunnies? Cast your vote! The bunnies are way ahead at this point and once they start multiplying- wellll - hurry!