Life a la Carte

My April Suburban Scene humor column:


Life a la Carte
by Angie Brennan

We live in an age of niche gone nuts. Consider television….the old days of a handful of channels is only a vague memory. With cable TV you can watch practically anything; search long enough and you’ll probably come across such stations as the Dangle-Earrings Home Shopping Network or the X-treme Nine-Ball Billiards Channel.

Then there’s the book store. You want fiction--okay, so what’ll it be? Mystery? Romance? Health? (You know, health fiction--books with titles like “Losing Weight the Quick and Easy Way,” or “The Secret Revealed: Eat Cheesecake Twice a Day and Watch the Pounds Melt Away!”)

Awhile back I discovered a website that features a collection of internet-based radio stations. It offers a mind-boggling variety of music. In the mood for some jazz? You can choose from Blues, Salsa, Bossa Nova, “Smooth, but not too Smooth,” Weimar Rundfunk (Beats me. Sounds intriguing.), and even all-Christmas jazz.

I clicked around and explored the classical stations. Besides the usual “Tortured Love Songs Screeched in Italian” station or the “Mozart, Mozart, and More Mozart” station, there were a number of offerings that defied classification…

How about this one: “Contemporary music of all genres, choir, chamber, orchestra, organ, by Swedish composer—All music you need!” [sic] Yes, I would imagine that after about ten minutes, my contemporary Swedish choir music needs would have been fully met. And then some.

And what about food? Even shopping for popcorn can be overwhelming for the sheer number of choices. Do you want Lightly Buttered, Purposefully Buttered, or Great Glopping Gobs of Butter? Or maybe you’re looking for one that’s sweet and salty…should you get “Sweet ‘n Sorta Salty,” or “Subtly Sweet Swimming in Salt?” Besides buttered and salted, there’s a whole host of flavored popcorn varieties. Some make up for their fairly unadventurous flavor by using alternate spellings: Karoline’s Karmel Pop Korn. The health conscious have their choices, too, such as Light ‘n Fit Packin’ Peanut flavored popcorn. And there are flavors that are downright revolting--Smell o’ Seaweed Brine Shrimp flavored popcorn.

Well, it could happen. I can see it now…one evening the vice president of Orville Redenbacher is dining at his favorite seafood restaurant. Suddenly he pauses, fork in midair, and stares at his plate full of popcorn shrimp. “Why not?” he thinks. “Shrimp-flavored popcorn…somebody out there will buy it.”

And he’s right. It’ll probably be the person at home watching the Simply Shrimp Cooking Channel.

For the Love of Gorham, Kids--Stop Giving Me Stuff in My China Pattern!

Look, Chad and Danielle, I know you two thought it was pretty cool that your ol’ Mom finally got up the nerve to ditch that awful china Great Aunt Louise forced on me 30 years ago. And I admit that I was pretty excited when I settled on my new pattern, “Saffron Kuntry Dreams.” It was sweet of you both to help me start building up my new collection.

What a surprise, Chad, when you presented me with that Saffron Kuntry Dreams Poultry Platter for Christmas! It was a surprise not only because that platter wasn’t cheap, but also because, as you know, your father and I are both vegetarians. But never fear, son--I’m using that platter as a handy holder for the many other pieces I’ve received so far.

For example, the Savory Saffron Soup Bowls Danielle gave me last Mother’s Day. Not to mention the EZ-Open Kuntry Kanisters, the Sassy Saffron Sake Saucers, the Kwik-View Kuntry Kookin’ Recipe Box, and even the Swirlin’ Saffron Ceiling Fan Blades--each item featuring my new pattern! Every last one.

You two have certainly latched on to this thing. Makes for pretty easy shopping for ‘ol Mom, doesn’t it? Just go to the website, find some random stuff in my pattern, add to cart, and you’re done.

The truth is, kids, my Saffron Kuntry Dreams are turning into nightmares. About my birthday coming up…how about a nice card and a little bouquet of flowers? And no need to put them in a Saffron Kuntry Dreams 12-inch Decorative Daisy Decanter. I’ve already got one.

Madly in Love....

Below is my February humor column for Suburban Scene magazine. If you've been reading my humor blog for awhile, you may begin to experience some déjà vu while reading this...that's because I gleaned a little from a previous blog post or two. Keep reading, though--it isn't all gleanings! And now...

MADLY IN LOVE (with Emphasis on Mad)
by Angie Brennan

Have you ever done a Google search on “fear of cotton balls in vitamin jars”? If so, you aren’t alone. According to my website’s log data, that’s just one of the many bizarre search strings that have landed people on my humor website. I wish I could help the googler with this situation. All I can suggest is to transfer your cotton balls into a less intimidating container--a Folgers coffee can, perhaps.

Here’s another search phrase I came across in my log stats: “Baltimore Gas and Electric Co. ringtone.” I must admit, if I were looking for a creative and unusual ring tone--one that would really set me apart from the crowd--I guess this is the one I would pick. But what, exactly, would it sound like? Barking dogs, perhaps, such as you might hear when the BGE guy comes to check your meter? Or maybe the ring tone could double as a friendly reminder that your bill is due--or overdue, as the case may be--and play this song:

BGE: your source for power, lighting up your life!
Your coffee pot, the VCR, and your electric knife.
We cool your house in summer’s sun, bring heat in winter’s chill--
But you can kiss these things goodbye if you don’t pay your bill!

But this is February. We should be discussing love, not overdue electric bills. Which leads me to one more interesting search string I found: “humor poem for mad spouse.”

If the person who googled that phrase happens to be reading this, let me first of all say this: I would not go there if I were you, my friend. If your spouse is mad, he or she may need an encouraging word, a little gift, or perhaps some time alone to let off steam. This is not the time for being a smart-aleck in verse.

But if you’re really sure “humor poem for mad spouse” is what you want, I’ll do my best to help you out. How about this one:

I know you’re really mad, my dear,
But try your best to grin--
And maybe while you’re at it you
Could grow some thicker skin.

I didn’t say, my love, that you
Should not have cut your hair;
I simply asked you if that style
Was called “The Grizzly Bear.”

No need to get upset, my sweet,
Try not to be a grouch!
What’s that, you say? Tonight my bed
Will be the downstairs couch?

I’ve learned my lesson, darling one.
Next time I’ll nod and smile
When I am asked, “What do you think
About my new hairstyle?”

Hope that helps! If that doesn’t do the trick, try a gift instead. Perhaps a coffee can full of cotton balls.

'Tis Better to Exchange...

My humor column from the January Suburban Scene magazine...

The presents have been opened, the visitors gone, and the last bits of wrapping paper and ribbon picked off the carpet. You and your credit card can finally sit back and take a well-earned rest. Now is the time to pause and be thankful for those special gifts you received from family and loved ones - right before you shove them back into the box to go exchange them.

Read more here.

Area Parents Wish They Could Hit "Pause"

Every stage of parenting, from changing a newborn’s diapers to sending a teenager off to college for the first time, brings its own challenges and joys. But there are moments when many parents wish they could put their child’s growth on hold for just a little while.

George and Louise Wilson, seated at their kitchen table, smile as they gaze at their son Travis. George reaches over to tussle his son’s hair. “We’ll enjoy Travis when he’s older, of course,” says George, “but there’s something particularly delightful about the stage he’s in now.” Louise nods in agreement. “I call it the ‘magic’ age,” she says, pulling a bottle out of the refrigerator.

Travis seems to know they’re talking about him. He glances up briefly and reaches for the bottle as soon as Louise sets it on the table. Soon his attention is diverted again to a small object in his hand. He begins to press the buttons quickly.

“He’s texting his office to let them know he’ll be late for a meeting,” says George proudly, watching Travis gulp down his mountain spring water. “He didn’t used to be considerate like that. He’d just show up late with a devil-may-care attitude. But ever since he graduated from college, our boy has shown unmistakable signs of growing up!”

“Travis never goes anywhere without a water bottle, do you, sweetie?” says Louise. Her son grunts in response, still looking down. Just then, his phone rings. “Yeeeaaaahlllo,” says Travis, stepping into the next room.

“Isn’t that endearing?” laughs Louise. “He always answers the phone like that. Even though he’s growing up and can now more or less support himself, Travis hasn’t yet lost his easy, fun-loving ways. And it’s nice that he hasn’t matured enough to want to get married yet, which would force us to start dealing with in-law issues…you know, whose house will they go to for the holidays? What if his wife insists on making the Christmas ham? Uh-uh--that’s my job, honey. Or what if she doesn’t want to help with anything? Nice. I’m stuck in the kitchen doing dishes while she plays Scrabble with the guys. What will I do when she complains in angry disbelief that Travis stays up 'til nearly 3 a.m. every night playing violent computer games? Do I team up with her against him or coldly reply that we’re pretty happy with how he turned out? That sort of thing. And then there’s the grandchildren…George and I just aren’t quite ready to be Paw-Paw and Mee-Maw yet. Yes, every age is wonderful, but sometimes I wish we could keep Travis 23-years-old forever!”

Make-Up Work

In an excerpt from a poem written in the time of Ancient Egpyt, a woman says to her beloved, “My desire is like eyepaint to my eye; when I see you, brightness comes to my eyes.”

While you may not run into many greeting cards using cosmetics as a metaphor for love (“To a special guy: you mean more than Maybelline to me!”), the use of make-up is no less important to us today.

Try this little cosmetics quiz:

1. The main function of blush (or rogue, as your grandmother used to call it) is to:
a) Slightly define the cheek bone
b) Create two stark Raggedy-Ann style red dots below each eye
c) Crumble in your purse, turning your wallet pink

2. When shopping for foundation, you should:
a) Try to select one that is oil-free
b) Try to select one that will blend in with your skin tone, to prevent creating a vivid line of demarcation along your jawbone that makes you look like a mime
c) Read the ingredients aloud, wondering whether you should be amused or disturbed that it includes HDI/Trimethylol Hexyllactone Crosspolymer

3. A good quality lipstick:
a) Is worth its weight in gold
b) Costs its weight in gold
c) Usually has some exotic sounding name only marginally related to the actual color (e.g. Cinnamon Excursion; Child’s Plate Applesauce; Tarragon Yearning)

4. Eyeliner can:
a) Bring out the eyes in an attractive manner
b) Bring out the eyes in a frightening manner, making the wearer look like a raccoon (Exhibit A: my high school yearbook photo, junior year. Sorry--exhibits not available for viewing at this time)
c) Be used in a pinch to sign checks

5. Plucking the eyebrows:
a) Gives a softer look to the forehead area
b) Should be done with a pair of good quality tweezers
c) Hurts like heck

6. Becoming a consultant for a multi-level marketing skin care/cosmetic company:
a) Provides an opportunity for you to make money doing something you enjoy
b) Enables you to share great products with others
c) Weeds out losers among your friends who refuse to host home skin care products parties

7. You’ve just finished your meal at the restaurant and would like to apply a little more lipstick. You:
a) Give your lips a quick, discreet swipe while seated at the table
b) Head to the ladies’ room for your lip-coloring ritual
c) Pull out your make-up bag, prop up a mirror against someone’s extra-large glass of tea, and do a complete restoration job on the ol’ façade.

8. A well-trained cosmologist:
a) Can recommend a make-up regimen tailored to your skin color and type
b) Uses quantitative, mathematical tools to analyze and better understand the large-scale properties of the universe
c) Both a & b

* * * * *

Answers: Sorry--answers not available at this time.

* * * * *

So how did you do? Are you a make-up master or a cosmetics cretin? I hope we’ve at least learned that there’s so much more to make-up than the desperate attempt to cling to the color and bloom of youth--to escape the relentless and ever-tightening grip of gravity and time (for example, it also covers up acne scars).

And if you ever need someone to host a home skin care products party, just ask me! (Sorry--contact info not available at this time).

Aunt Scriba: Showing and Shouting

This week Angie's Humor Blog welcomes guest columnist Aunt Scriba, who offers her words of wisdom to writers...

Dear Aunt Scriba,

I am a beginning fiction writer and would like to know how to show rather than tell in my stories. Can you help?

Sincerely,
Joe, a blond large-build male of German/Irish descent with a reserved yet fun-loving personality

Dear Joe,

Let me answer by showing rather than telling. First, a bad example. Let's take a passage in which the writer is doing a little too much telling...

Brunhilda looked at the pale yellow antique vase Harvey had placed on the marble-topped entry hall table. She seethed with anger, and felt really, really mad. Furious, actually. She felt as though she would like her anger to manifest itself in some pretty darned violent action, indicating the fury she was feeling so strongly.

Okay, in this passage the writer has told us all about what Brunhilda is feeling. But why couldn't the action demonstrate her feelings instead? Something along the lines of this:

Brunhilda's eyes narrowed when they fell upon the antique vase. So Harvey was at it again. She pulled a revolver from her purse, aimed it toward the entry hall table, and blasted the vase into the next zip code.

See how much more effective it is to show rather than tell? (Note: if you prefer a less violent version, Brunhilda could smack the vase off its pedestal with a travel coffee mug.)

Hope this helps!

Best,
Aunt Scriba

* * * * * *

Dear Aunt Scriba,

I've read that exclamation points should be used sparingly! They can actually tire out the reader! What are your thoughts? I want to know whether I'm overdoing it!!

Thanks!
"Exclamation" Mark

Dear Mark,

Here are a few situations in which an abundance of exclamation marks is acceptable:

1. Subject line for spam e-mail

Example: Best Finansial to Your Need!!!

Note: it is essential to use poor grammar, misspelled words, and awkward phrasing for this type of writing to be effective

2. Text message for the age 13-17 crowd

Example: He asked me out!!!! LOL!!! As if!!!

3. A male character in your novel is telling the woman of his dreams that he loves her, only they are both runway baggage handlers and the noise of incoming aircraft is deafening.

Example:

He: Darling, I--

She: I can't hear you!

He: DARLING, I LOVE YOU!!

She: Watch out--that floral night case is about to fall off the belt!

He: WHAT?

She: I SAID, NIGHT CASE!

He: YES, A KISS!

She: Right here?

He: What!?!

She: I SAID--

Employer: You're fired!!!!!

He and She: What?

Although exclamations marks, like Tabasco sauce, should be used sparingly, there are times when it adds just the right flavor to your written work.

Good luck!!!

Best,
Aunt Scriba

Open Letter to AARP

Open letter to William D. Novelli
Executive Director, American Association of Retired Persons (AARP)

Dear Mr. Novelli,

How excited I was to get your recent letter with a beautiful faux membership card, printed with your signature in contrasting ink color to make it seem like you, personally, had signed it!

I was ready to peel the card off the letter immediately, carefully removing all glue residue before searching for a prized spot in my wallet that it could call home. But I stopped short as my eye fell on the letter…

“Our records show,” the first line read, “that you haven’t yet registered for the benefits of AARP membership, even though you are fully eligible.”

Fully eligible? I thought perhaps the card was simply a glorious harbinger of things to come.

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, who wouldn't be eager to get those 22 benefits you listed on the back of the letter? Take benefit #4, for example: “The AARP website, www.aarp.org, gives you instant information and updates." Pretty cutting edge stuff! Though I might point out that one needn't be a card-carrying member of AARP to access its website.

Then there’s benefit #7: "Confronting age discrimination by employers." Count me in! One flash of my red and white AARP card and any employers I run across are bound to think twice about committing random acts of age discrimination.

And sure, I’d be more than happy to pay a buck or two less for my platter of pancakes at I-Hop.

On the other hand…I’m not sure I’m quite ready to be considered fully eligible, Mr. Novelli. Yes, I did recently read that 60 is the new 40, but still. I’ve got a good solid decade and then some before I turn 50; I’m okay with paying full-price for my breakfast until then.

I think I might know how I got on your list. It was that Miles Kimball order, wasn’t it? Almost as soon as I bought those stainless steel burner covers, I started getting geriatrically-oriented catalogs offering me products such as three-foot long-toenail clippers and handy multi-pocketed bags I could hang on my walker.

I don’t deny that some day I’ll want to own that handy lever used for hefting persons up out of a chair. And, sure, the time will come when there’s nothing I’d rather have than a handheld magnifier with distortion free lens, available in grey or white, with velvet drawstring storage bag. Actually, I may not need the drawstring bag.

Anyway, forgive me if I don’t detach the registration form and return by date shown. Why don't we wait until sometime after my mid-life crisis and then touch base on this stuff again?

In the meantime, I’ll hold on to that card; one never knows when one might encounter a flagrant act of age discrimination. I, for one, plan to be armed and ready to confront it.

Yours truly,
Angie Brennan

Humor Link Hodge-Podge

* “Angie,” you’re probably saying, “as National Fruit and Vegetable Month draws to a close I’m looking for a way to celebrate and honor vegetables other than chopping and eating them. Have any ideas?”

Yes, humor lover, I have: Introducing the Vienna Vegetable Orchestra. Click on over--then sit back, relax, and enjoy the appetizing sounds of onion peels, carrot sticks, and even a leek violin. You’ll never look at bell peppers the same way again!

* Onion News Network offers some advice on beating traffic jams.

* So you feel guilty about not having read some of the great classics but don’t have time to plow through them all? Even the CliffsNotes versions can seem a bit longish to the microwave generation. Finally a solution: Book-A-Minute.

*Cartoon: Failed Starbucks products

*Humorist Dave Barry fields questions about his 2008 presidential bid.

On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Seventh Year

I recently read some poetry by British Romantic poet Lord Byron. One poem in particular caught my attention: “On this Day I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year.” After reading it, there was no question that I’d have to compose my own version. After all, it so happens that on this day I complete my thirty-seventh year.

But back to Byron’s poem…at the time he wrote it, Byron was in Greece fighting against the Turks in the Greek War of Independence. He eventually fell ill and likely suffered further harm from the medical intervention he received. Though this poem was written before his illness became serious, Byron seems to sense that the end of his life was near; he died three months after completing it.

Below you can read Byron’s “On this Day I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year.” My version follows. Of course, my laundry pile doesn’t capture the imagination quite like Byron’s “funeral pile,” but you gotta write what you know. And while Bryon looks for the serenity of death in the glory of a war hero’s grave, I’ll I’m asking for is a brief, uninterrupted nap.

Enjoy!

On this Day I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year
by Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

‘Tis time the heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!

My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile.

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.

But ‘tis not thus—and ‘tis not here—
Such thoughts should shake my soul nor now,
Where glory decks the hero’s bier,
Or binds his brow.

The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.

Awake! (not Greece—she is awake!)
Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home!

Tread those reviving passions down,
Unworthy manhood!—unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.

If thou regrett’st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here:—up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!

Seek out—less often sought than found—
A soldier’s grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.

---------
(MISSOLONGHI, January 22, 1824)


On this Day I Complete my Thirty-Seventh Year
With apologies to Lord Byron
By Angie Brennan

Awake? My youngest is awake
Though it is only 6:04.
Go back to bed, for pity’s sake…
And shut my door.

A crisis comes at breakfast time--
We’re nearly out of Captain Crunch!
I tell them if there’s one more whine,
They’ll get no lunch.

A cup of milk becomes airborne,
And soon there flows a white cascade.
The prospect of a quiet morn
Begins to fade.

‘Tis time to do a load of clothes
Since middle child ran out of socks.
And though I cannot yet repose,
I’ll sneak some Brach’s.

The sound of quarrelling fills the air;
My patience now is running thin.
“Don’t shout!” I bellow, with a glare,
“And stop that din!”

“Go on,” I tell them, with a shove,
“It’s time to run outside and play.
A quarter hour’s peace I’d love,
Sometime today.”

Seek out--more often sought than found--
A nice brief nap; ‘tis for the best.
The doorbell rings…ignore the sound,
And take thy rest.

Despite the spills, despite the noise,
The tears that flow, the rifts that grate--
I’m looking forward to the joys
Of thirty-eight.

------------------
(MARYLAND, June 15, 2007)

Humor Grab Bag

I'm back! Last month I finished up a book proposal for a humor book on writing. Here's a little preview.

My June Suburban Scene column, in which I attempt to do some Erma Bombeck-style humor, is here.

Fans of "The Screwtape Letters" might be interested in The Screwtape E-mails.

For the time being, I’m probably not going to post a regular weekly column here--I'll just post when the mood hits me. In the meantime, have a wonderful Headache Awareness Week!

Planting an Idea: a New Gift for Mom

Mother’s Day is Sunday, May 13. Have you started thinking about what to get for Mom?

You might want to click here and read my May Suburban Scene column before making any final decisions.

Also, if you’re trying to come up with a delicious homemade meal for Mom--one that says, “You’re really special”--don’t click here. Unless, of course, you think Mom would appreciate a bundle of barely-cooked asparagus stalks and sauteed leeks with prunes. Yes, you read that correctly: someone is seriously suggesting that you present your mother with a plate of sauteed leeks with prunes. If you go this route, don’t forget to include a thoughtful Mother’s Day bottle of Pepto-Bismol!

Dental Drive-Through: A Modest Proposal

The "Suburban Scene" magazine, in which my humor column Banter from the Burbs appears each month, is now online. You can read my March column here.

Note: Ordinarily, I don't receive a great deal of feedback from readers. This month, however, I received some enthusiastic response. And by enthusiastic response, I mean several dental auxiliaries e-mailed to inform me that only a dental hygienist--not a dental assistant--is licensed to examine and clean teeth. Guess I hit a nerve with that piece of dental work! (ba-dum pshhh).

The next time I write humor about an imaginary trip to the dentist, I may include the following:

WARNING: This column is intended to be humor. Any “factual errors” have been purposely placed there for dramatic or humorous effect, linguistic flow, or because the author didn’t feel like looking it up in Wiki. For maximum appreciation, those in the dental care field may want to consider self-administering a dose of nitrous oxide before reading. While the author would prefer that the laughs be produced by the wit and humor of the writing, the author will take laughs however she can get them.

Of course, then I'd get angry e-mails from those not knowing this was tongue-in-cheek to scold me for encouraging drug abuse.

I wonder...is this sort of thing the reason Dave Barry stopped writing his weekly column?

Heard the Latest Buzz? Me Either.

The following appeared in the "Suburban Scene" magazine earlier this month.

Beeps, sirens, electric guitar riffs, honking horns…there seems to be no end to the variety of creative and annoying cell phone ring tones these days. And now a fad among the youthful cell-carrying crowd takes the noise in a different direction—specifically, higher. Try this quiz to see how much you know about it.

The “Teen Buzz” ring tone:

a) Blasts popular music from the top 40 list

b) Was created by Alexander Graham Bell, who continued to develop it even after a colleague chuckled, “'Tis a bonny ring tone, to be sure, but I dinna think the lads and lassies will care much aboot usin’ it!”

c) Is being emitted from your son’s cell phone right now, only you can’t hear it

d) All the above

If you answered “d” you are absolutely…wrong. You weren’t trying very hard, were you? No, the correct answer is “c.”

It all started across the Atlantic. It seems that some shopkeepers in the UK were becoming fed up with groups of teens loitering outside their stores.

Now as people age, their ability to hear higher frequencies begins to deteriorate (stay with me here--we’ll get back to the loiterers). A Welsh security company developed an ultrasonic device, called the Mosquito, that would produce a high-pitched buzz. The tone was high enough that it would be annoying to youthful ears but inaudible to most adults, the shopkeepers assuming that adults would be more interested in engaging in credit card transactions than smoking outside the door. They may or may not have been right about this.

But in that can-do creative spirit that so typifies our great country, American youths are using that same technology to pull one over on their elders. Though students are usually required to turn off cell phones during school hours, with the “Teen Buzz” ring tone they might be able to sneak an incoming call or two past the ears of their teachers.

On the other hand, even if most teachers can’t detect the ring, they’ll probably be able to hear somebody whispering, “Hey--gotta call you back. I’m, like, in the middle of geometry. Yeah, I’m all ‘find the perimeter.’ Uh, oh—here comes Mr. Watkins.”

The Mosquito isn’t the only sound that has been used to prevent congregating teens. Some businesses play classical or other music they think will be considered uncool to today’s youth. Come on, teens—you’re not going to let a harpsichord scare you off, are you? What if the classical music thing caught on like the Mosquito tone? I can see it now…

A carload of youths pulls up to a stoplight; other drivers can feel the booming cannons of the 1812 Overture. At the mall, a cluster of high school girls raves over the latest oboe concerto ring tone.

But until that happens, parents, if your daughter suddenly jumps up in the middle of dinner for no apparent reason to grab her cell phone, you’ll know what’s going on.

It almost makes you appreciate those beeps, riffs, and sirens--at least you can hear them.

Humor Power's Twisted Movie Titles

Humor Power recently sponsored a "Twisted Movie Titles" contest.

I didn't win, but thought I'd share my entries anyway:

Waiters of the Los Tarque. Government spies pose as wait staff at a popular Mexican restaurant where they hope to discover the secret recipe for Los Tarque's famous Chimichanga de Pollo.

Gone with the Send. Feisty sales associate Scarlett O. Harrison learns too late she accidentally sent an insulting e-mail about her boss to the entire office. After she is fired, Scarlett utters the famous line, "I'll never hit forward again."

The Amityville Honor. In this paranormal thriller, a suburban New York home is visited each night by invisible beings who trim the front bushes, plant colorful flowers, and edge the lawn with eerie precision. As a result, the house regularly wins Yard of the Month.

Kind Hearts and Corn Nuts. Louie accidentally leaves his bag of Corn Nuts by the register at the Spend 'n Sprint, but the friendly checker hurries out to the parking lot and delivers the snack just as he's pulling out.

The Ping Panther. Clumsy and incompetent computer technician Jack Waters has been assigned to find out who's been hacking into his company's computer system. But will he inadvertently do more harm than the hacker? Will the mysterious Panther get away with the cache?

The Bridges of Madison Dentistry. A lonely housewife has x-rays taken by a traveling dentist. He repairs some of her missing teeth, but at her follow-up visit she refuses to run away with him to become his dental assistant.

You can read the winning entries here.

Déjà Vu All Over Again

I had planned a different post for today, but after I woke up this morning, my plans came crashing down like an ice-laden tree branch.

Outside my window, a sparkling wonderland of icicles and snow spread far into the distance. Every glass-like branch bowed toward the ground. Ice layered the streets; few cars ventured out this morning. Over all hung an eerie stillness.

Suddenly I recalled a day, much like this one, about a year ago. I wrote about it then. Since that story summed up so well the turmoil I experienced today, I offer it now. I hope that those of you who have read it before will suffer, once again, to accompany me on a journey toward...

Rigor Mortis

Kay shut her eyes tightly and tried to will away the chill creeping through her body. She imagined herself back where it was warm and light. She would stretch out in the recliner with a book, reach for her cup, and take a sip of—

"It’s almost dark."

The gloomy voice jolted her back to reality.

"And I think," it continued, "that we’re in for another cold night."

Kay tugged at the blanket and tried not to think about what awaited her at the coming of daybreak. Seven hours ago seemed like an eternity. Then, she had been cheerfully unaware—even looking forward to a bit of adventure.

If I had only known, she thought bitterly.

The hours crept by. Kay lay entombed in darkness, hovering at the edge of sleep, but unable to enter its shadowy refuge. Though the night seemed to plod onward ever more slowly, she dreaded its end. But as she tossed about thinking that surely only an hour or two had passed—for she had no way of telling the time—the blackness outside her window began to lose its harshness and the first pale rays of the sun stretched its arms upward.

Dawn had come.

At first she shrank further into the blanket, pretending she only dreamt about the arrival of day. She had, after all, finally created a thin layer of warmth inside the blanket. If she stepped out, reality would come rushing in with its icy grip. But no; she must find out for sure. She sat up.

"If you’re wondering," the voice immediately began, "the electricity is still out."

Kay’s hands began to tremble. "Still out," she repeated softly. "Then that means—"

"Yes," said the voice grimly. "No morning coffee."

Kay clenched her fists and lifted up her head.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

Her voice echoed through the house like the blast of a milk frother on an industrial-quality cappuccino machine. She rushed to the window. The snow had fallen again in the night and the snow plows had not yet come. There was no escape; her nightmare had become a reality.

The coffee maker would sit cold and still. This morning she would drink canned orange juice.

The End.
------------------------------------

A NOTE TO READERS:

Though the names and details of this story are fictional, the horror portrayed is not. Sensitive readers will perhaps find the conclusion disturbing; yet it is a story that must be told. It is the hope of the author that this narrative can, in some small way, be of service to mankind, if for no other reason than to suggest keeping bottles of Starbucks Frappuccino™ on hand for emergencies.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:

1. Compare and contrast coffee made with high-quality French roast beans with the limpid brown, nasty liquid they sell at convenience stores. Which do you prefer? Why?

2. Talk about a time you hadn’t yet had your morning coffee and then encountered a person making puns or whistling the theme from Andy Griffith or, God forbid, both. How did you feel? How badly did you injure the whistler?

DIGGING DEEPER:

1. Do you feel it is a mortal or venial sin to drink instant coffee? Under what circumstances might this become a necessary evil, if any?

2. Do you know any baristas? Why or why not?

UPDATE, Feb. 14, 2007:

1. In searching my old blog files, I discovered that I posted this piece almost exactly one year ago--February 15, 2006. I don't believe in the cyclical nature of history, and yet one must ask one's self some hard questions. Unless, of course, one hasn't had one's coffee yet.

2. You may recall my post from two weeks ago, What to Do When the Lights Go Out, in which I imply that the electric company was punishing a homeowner for writing critically about them. Just a little humor, guys! Ha ha! No WAY you'd do that to me!

Right?

I mean, Baltimore Gas and Electric is just a phenomenal power company and I couldn't be more pleased with you people, rate hike or no! Kudos!

3. This time, I did have some emergency bottled Frappuccinos™.

4. Happy Valentine's Day.

What to Do When the Lights Go Out

Dear Valued Customer,

Here at Central Electric Company, it’s our job to ensure the regular and safe delivery of electricity to your home. Occasionally, that service is interrupted due to circumstances beyond our control. Should this occur, we will do whatever is necessary to restore your power as quickly as possible--unless, of course, we’re talking about climbing out of bed at 3:30 a.m. in the bitter cold.

Please do not call us every ten minutes once you have reported your power outage. We here at Central Electric don’t enjoy being nagged any more than you do. Should you have the urge to contact us repeatedly, simply read out loud the following message:

“This is Central Electricity Power Company. Your power outage has been reported. Please be assured that we are currently working to correct the problem. We anticipate your power being restored by…unknown. Thank you for calling. To hear this message again, press one.”

Here are some things to keep in mind until your electricity is restored:

• Better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness. Usually.

• However great the temptation, do not--we repeat--DO NOT open your refrigerator. Not even real quick to grab a Diet Coke.

• It’s mealtime and you can’t use your microwave, your oven, or your electric stove. So what’s for dinner? Here are a couple of our “cabinet to table” favorites:

Cereal

Pour cereal into bowl. Get a spoon. Stop! Remember--the milk stays where it is. While your molars are working to pulverize dried granola, you might want to take a moment to reevaluate that letter to the editor you recently wrote. The one where you complain about Central Electric’s rate increase. You get what you pay for, my friend. Just a thought.

Choco-Sandwich

Measure out 1/2 cup whitish-mottled chocolate chips that haven’t been pulled out of the cabinet in, oh, probably a year. Place chips inside a slice of bread. Fold bread over and enjoy. No doubt a few chocolate chips will end up on the floor…just leave them. You can grope around in the dark for them when you get hungry later. Sort of makes you thankful that Central Electric usually keeps things running smoothly, doesn’t it? Sort of makes you reconsider the idea that we’re committing “highway robbery” with our reasonable rate adjustment, doesn’t it?

Okay, so you’ve had dinner. Now what? Can’t watch a movie. Can’t go online. You could read for awhile using one of those cheap book lights--if you don’t mind a headache. Of course, you probably already have a headache from caffeine withdrawal. Try chewing a few coffee beans until you’re able to use the coffee maker again.

Speaking of being “full of beans,” your bitter rant accusing Central Electric of doing whatever we can “to keep rate hikes continually soaring upward while customer service wallows in mediocrity” was quite a study in eloquent ignorance. As for your hinting that we’ve acted behind the scenes to keep out competition--consider the possibility that, on this issue, you might be a bit “in the dark.” Would hate for you to remain that way, if you get our drift.

HURRAY--THE LIGHTS ARE BACK ON! WHAT SHOULD I DO NOW?

Welcome back to the power grid! You’ll want to make a cup of coffee immediately, of course. Then go ahead and sweep up those chocolate chips. As for next on the list, why not consider writing another letter to the editor? But this time, one that explores the idea of electricity as the life-blood of the body politic. Which man, when the health of his blood is in danger, wouldn’t be willing to part with all his worldly possessions to be restored? And yet the body politic would complain about a 40% increase to be phased in over the next 12 months for its life blood? Pretty pathetic, don’t you agree? Aren’t you glad you’ve finally “seen the light?”

We hope this letter has been helpful. Should you have any questions, please feel free to re-read it.

Sincerely,

Your Electric Company

Central Electric: We’ve Got the Power!

Do-it-Yourself Demotivation

You've probably heard of Despair, Inc., right? "Despair introduced the world," says their website, "to a darkly insightful line of motivational poster parodies know simply as Demotivators®." You can view their posters here.

One of my favorites: photo of a handshake with the text: "Consulting: If you're not a part of the solution, there's good money to be made in prolonging the problem."

I recently learned from Scrambled Toast that Despair now invites you to create your own Demotivator.

Here are the ones I created. Click on the image to enlarge. Happy Demotivating!

Mumbo Jumbo Delivery

The following appeared in "The Crofton News-Crier" (Maryland) earlier this month.

Mumbo Jumbo Delivery
by Angie Brennan

The other night I ordered a pizza. When the delivery guy arrived, he shoved the box toward me with a muttered “Gddulkfrrzt.” I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

“Excuse me?” I asked after a moment. “Lkgfrzt,” he explained, peering into his shirt pocket. Not having had many conversations like this, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

After he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans I decided I must either be witnessing some sort of new pizza delivery entertainment, or else he was searching for the credit card receipt. My second guess was correct.

“Ssnr,” he said, slapping the receipt and a pen on top of the pizza box. That one I figured out. I signed it and handed it back to him. “Nnks,” he muttered, “Hvgdvng.” “You have a good evening, too,” I replied, proud of myself for breaking the Domino’s Code.

Okay, look--I didn't expect the guy to articulate as if he were delivering a Shakespeare soliloquy instead of a large pepperoni. But would it have been too much to ask for an extra topping of vowels?

Of course, sometimes there’s a good reason for mumbling. You know what I’m talking about: a friend asks how you like her new haircut. Once you realize it’s a serious question you think better of your initial reaction, which is that you’ve seen better hairdos on schnauzers. Mumbling may come to the rescue here. Your friend might interpret “Itlksrg” as “It looks really good” when you’re actually saying “It’s like road kill.”

Mumbling isn’t the only speech misdemeanor being committed these days. There’s also the filler word/groan syndrome (“If you act now and, uh, buy my product, I'll throw in a product of, um, little or no value.”) and the gratuitous “like” (“Sounds great! I’m, like, totally in the market for products right now!”)

In these days of quick e-mails and text messaging with their cryptic word-compressions (“ru free 2 nite? 1 2 c a movie? call L8r, k?”) and abbreviations (LRRHBOIMMNOLSIAW--“laughing really, really hard but only in my mind, not out loud, since I’m at work”), it’s no wonder our speech skills have become a little rusty.

That doesn’t mean we all need to become professional orators. On the other hand, a little dramatic soliloquy on the part of the pizza guy might have been kind of fun. Something along the lines of:

"To tip, or not to tip: that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler to give your usual buck
Regardless of the fact that the pizza’s late
And your Canadian bacon has gone cold,
Or to refuse me your pitiful dollar
Which won’t exactly pay my apartment rent.
Too cheap; perchance you might try two dollars
Next time and see if your service improves.
For the pizza deliverer braves rain, wind---"

On second thought, maybe I'd prefer the mumbling after all.

Lending an Ear to the Broker-Hearted

My friend dabbed tears from her eyes as she began her story. “It’s about this guy,” she said, sniffling. “At first I tried to ignore it, but I can’t fool myself any longer. He doesn’t call or send me notes like he used to. No more little gifts. I guess he got what he wanted. I know I’m not the first one to experience this, but it--it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

I handed her another tissue. “There’s really nothing I can say to take away the pain,” I replied. “It’s hard when a relationship with a boyfriend goes sour. But as a poet once said, ‘tis better to have--’”

“Boyfriend?” she interrupted, looking up in surprise. “Who said anything about a boyfriend? I’m talking about my mortgage broker.”

It’s an age-old story. You get a flier in the mail with “BAD CREDIT??” in bold red letters. “We can help--call today!!!” And so you do.

Leo (we’ll call him Leo) is attentive, friendly, and helpful. He provides the “personal touch,” just like his complimentary refrigerator magnet says. At first, everything is wonderful. You talk and laugh, together exploring possible loan options including conventional, jumbo, second home, and FHA. You’ll never forget the time that Leo, with eyes shining, urged you to consider the possible benefits—as well as pitfalls—of negative amortizations. How brave and handsome he looked in his loan officer’s uniform!

And then comes the closing.

Two days go by and you don’t hear from him. “It’s all right,” you think, “Leo just needs a little breathing room. He’ll be back to maintain and solidify the relationship built during the transaction--the magnet said so.”

Another week goes by—then a month. You wonder if perhaps it was all simply a beautiful dream. Eventually you’re able to admit it to yourself: you aren’t the first. You realize that Leo is drawn toward the desperate, the vulnerable--in short, those with credit history problems. That’s when you know it’s time to let go.

I studied my friend as she clutched a floppy round jar gripper featuring the broker’s office, cell, and fax numbers. “You’ll only make it worse by keeping those giveaways,” I said. “Throw out the little calendars and cheap ball-point pens printed with his logo. You need to move on.”

She sighed and gazed at the gripper for one long moment before handing it to me. “Here,” she said. “I can’t do it. Maybe you could throw it out after I leave.” I nodded, making a mental note that it would also make a handy coaster.

“Remember,” I said, patting her arm, “no matter what may happen, you’ll always have the pre-qualification. And someday--when it’s time to refinance--he’ll be back.”

Holiday Basket Case

Grab a beef stick to snack on and head over to McSweeney's Internet Tendency to read my humor piece, "Holiday Basket Case."

Happy Birthday, Thurber!

And now, my annual tribute to one of my favorite humor writers…

Today is the birthday of American humorist James Thurber, born on December 8, 1894. Thurber’s humorous short stories and essays, as well as his bizarre crudely drawn cartoons, appeared in the New Yorker magazine beginning in the late 20’s and through the next few decades.

He once wrote a piece lampooning a line from an opera entitled “Four Saints in Three Acts” by Gertrude Stein. Here is an excerpt from Stein’s work:

“Pigeons on the grass alas.
Pigeons on the grass alas.
Short longer grass short longer longer shorter yellow grass. Pigeons
large pigeons on the shorter longer yellow grass alas pigeons on the grass.
If they were not pigeons what were they. If they were not pigeons on the grass alas what were they. He had heard of a third and he asked about it it was a magpie in the sky. If a magpie in the sky on the sky can not cry if the pigeon on the grass alas can alas and to pass the pigeon on the grass alas and the magpie in the sky on the sky and to try and to try alas on the grass alas the pigeon on the grass the pigeon on the grass and alas.They might be very well they might be very well very well they might be. Let Lucy Lily Lily Lucy Lucy let Lucy Lucy Lily Lily Lily Lily Lily let Lily Lucy Lucy let Lily. Let Lucy Lily.”

An interviewer once asked Stein about this section. She answered:

“It was the end of summer the grass was yellow. I was sorry that it was the end of summer and I saw the big fat pigeons in the yellow grass and I said to myself, pigeons on the yellow grass, alas, and I kept on writing pigeons on the grass, alas, short longer grass, short longer longer shorter yellow grass pigeons large pigeons on the shorter longer yellow grass, alas pigeons on the grass, and I kept on writing until I had emptied myself of the emotion.”

Ms. Stein could have considerably shortened this “explanation” with “I had a mental breakdown last August.”

And now an excerpt from Thurber’s essay There’s an Owl in My Room, with his own meditations on “pigeons on the grass alas”:

“It is neither just nor accurate to connect the word alas with pigeons. Pigeons are definitely not alas. They have nothing to do with alas and they have nothing to do with hooray (not even when you tie red, white, and blue ribbons on them and let them loose at band concerts); they have nothing to do with mercy me or isn’t that fine, either. White rabbits, yes, and Scotch terriers, and bluejays, and even hippopotamuses, but not pigeons. I happen to have studied pigeons very closely and carefully, and I have studied the effect, or rather the lack of effect, of pigeons very carefully. A number of pigeons alight from time to time on the sill of my hotel window when I am eating breakfast and staring out the window. They never alas me, they never make me feel alas; they never make me feel anything.

“Nobody and no animal and no other bird can play a scene so far down as a pigeon can. For instance, when a pigeon on my window ledge becomes aware of me sitting there in a chair in my blue polka-dot dressing-gown, worrying, he pokes his head far out from his shoulders and peers sideways at me, for all the world (Miss Stein might surmise) like a timid man peering around the corner of a building trying to ascertain whether he is being followed by some hoofed fiend or only by the echo of his own footsteps. And yet it is not for all the world like a timid man peering around the corner of a building trying to ascertain whether he is being followed by a hoofed fiend or only by the echo of his own footsteps, at all. And that is because there is no emotion in the pigeon and no power to arouse emotion. A pigeon looking is just a pigeon looking. When it comes to emotion, a fish, compared to a pigeon, is practically beside himself.”

Pick up a collection of Thurber stories sometime…you won’t be disappointed.