THE FIRST SWALLOW OF SPRING?
Well, maybe not. But this past weekend, I did see another annual rite of spring -- the first drink shirtless guy sitting in an idling Trans-Camero-Firebird in the fire lane of a certain retail establishment I've mentioned in this space from time to time.
This was during a typically bizarre shopping sojourn, during which I stood behind this bickering couple in the checkout line. You see, the guy had just given the girl a chocolate rabbit as a present, conveniently just a month or so after Easter. (Who knows -- maybe it was a Whitmonday present?)
But I digress. Anyway, they were asking the cashier whether he thought the gift was weird.
Well... no. No weirder than usual.
Monday, May 28, 2001
DEATH IN A SAD LITTLE CIRCLE
Okay, so maybe I fixate on this one stupid cartoon, but study last Sunday's offering below:
I realize that not all cartoons have to be funny, but doesn't this seem like the lonely ramblings of a desperate old man, bitter and estranged from his children, realizing the tragic futility of his existence as death whispers in his ear a little more loudly, a little more clearly with each passing day?
On the plus side, the Marmaduke cartoon that ran just below it was a real hoot.
Okay, so maybe I fixate on this one stupid cartoon, but study last Sunday's offering below:
I realize that not all cartoons have to be funny, but doesn't this seem like the lonely ramblings of a desperate old man, bitter and estranged from his children, realizing the tragic futility of his existence as death whispers in his ear a little more loudly, a little more clearly with each passing day?
On the plus side, the Marmaduke cartoon that ran just below it was a real hoot.
Thursday, May 24, 2001
CONSTRUCTION, CONSTRUCTION... WHAT'S YOUR FUNCTION?
I'm sure regular readers of this log (thanks, Mom!) have been waiting with bated breath to hear the fate of the mysterious midnight construction at our friendly neighborhood grocery store last week. The work site itself was apparently a pretty impressive sight -- a neighbor told us it was noisy as hell, and when we drove by the store the night the work was being done, there were these ominous giant crates sitting in the parking lot. Were they full of groceries.. or pod people? You be the judge.
So a few days later, I walk in, eagerly anticipating an entirely new, but still freakishly odd, grocery store. Boy, was I in for a surprise. A casual walk around the store revealed... well, nothing. Nothing, that is, until I wandered into the store’s notorious produce section -- so frequently stocked with rotting fruit that even employees fear to wander its aisles. I once heard two checkers getting into a fight over whose turn it was to do produce duty, but that’s another story for another day.
But I digress. It turned out that they replaced all the metal, vaguely communist-looking stands upon which they place the aforementioned rotting fruit with these newfangled plastic stands (with fake, unpainted wood grain -- classy!) As a side effect, they apparently threw away all the old fruit because everything looked relatively edible.
However. The changes I saw don't reflect the size and scope of the machinery I saw in front of the store on Tuesday night, nor the loud noises our neighbors reported. So I suspect something more nefarious is afoot. Maybe they dug an underground tunnel to a nearby store from a competing chain. That would certainly explain the assortment of suspiciously fresh fruit. Or maybe it has something to do with the odd connection to the Canadian military (which I’m still not prepared to discuss publicly in this space, out of fear for the well-being of my loved ones).
More frightening yet, I was back the other night, and I heard an announcement over the PA that made my heart stop. The store was closing early for... more construction.
The plot thickens.
I'm sure regular readers of this log (thanks, Mom!) have been waiting with bated breath to hear the fate of the mysterious midnight construction at our friendly neighborhood grocery store last week. The work site itself was apparently a pretty impressive sight -- a neighbor told us it was noisy as hell, and when we drove by the store the night the work was being done, there were these ominous giant crates sitting in the parking lot. Were they full of groceries.. or pod people? You be the judge.
So a few days later, I walk in, eagerly anticipating an entirely new, but still freakishly odd, grocery store. Boy, was I in for a surprise. A casual walk around the store revealed... well, nothing. Nothing, that is, until I wandered into the store’s notorious produce section -- so frequently stocked with rotting fruit that even employees fear to wander its aisles. I once heard two checkers getting into a fight over whose turn it was to do produce duty, but that’s another story for another day.
But I digress. It turned out that they replaced all the metal, vaguely communist-looking stands upon which they place the aforementioned rotting fruit with these newfangled plastic stands (with fake, unpainted wood grain -- classy!) As a side effect, they apparently threw away all the old fruit because everything looked relatively edible.
However. The changes I saw don't reflect the size and scope of the machinery I saw in front of the store on Tuesday night, nor the loud noises our neighbors reported. So I suspect something more nefarious is afoot. Maybe they dug an underground tunnel to a nearby store from a competing chain. That would certainly explain the assortment of suspiciously fresh fruit. Or maybe it has something to do with the odd connection to the Canadian military (which I’m still not prepared to discuss publicly in this space, out of fear for the well-being of my loved ones).
More frightening yet, I was back the other night, and I heard an announcement over the PA that made my heart stop. The store was closing early for... more construction.
The plot thickens.
Thursday, May 17, 2001
ALL IN THE FAMILY
Looks like I'm no longer the only family member who's been written up in The Washington Post. Believe it or not, this guy's actually my cousin.
Good thing I'm already married -- if I wasn't, something tells me I wouldn't get access to the Rose Garden to pop the question. Of course, I could always pull the ring out of a piece of rotten fruit in a certain grocery store that's enjoyed a few mentions in this space.
Looks like I'm no longer the only family member who's been written up in The Washington Post. Believe it or not, this guy's actually my cousin.
Good thing I'm already married -- if I wasn't, something tells me I wouldn't get access to the Rose Garden to pop the question. Of course, I could always pull the ring out of a piece of rotten fruit in a certain grocery store that's enjoyed a few mentions in this space.
Tuesday, May 15, 2001
AT LONG LAST, A REASON TO GO ON
Finally, a longstanding void in my life has been filled. Drop by, and help fight the real enemy.
Finally, a longstanding void in my life has been filled. Drop by, and help fight the real enemy.
Monday, May 14, 2001
LET THE SHOW BEGIN!
So it's been a few weeks since my last report on the friendly neighborhood grocery store-turned-performance-art-piece (and one of these days when I walk in, I'm going to shout at the top of my lungs, "LET THE SHOW BEGIN!") Aside from an invasion by advance troops from the Canadian military (which I'll write about once I recover from the shock), Bizarro ----way's been a bit quiet of late. Normal, almost.
But as they say in the movies, trouble's afoot.
The subtle clue? A tiny sign taped to the front door saying the store would close two hours early Tuesday night... "for construction." Yes, construction... construction that begins at 10 in the evening and presumably is finished before the store reopens the following morning. I can't quite shake the mental image of little gnomes, or dwarves, or something, tinkering into the wee hours of the night.
Of course, Occam's Razor applies perfectly here. The most logical explanation? They're going to burn the place down for the insurance money. I mean, I would if I owned the place, though that might disturb the previously mentioned portal to East Baltimore. And who would want an angry Egg Man on your doorstep at 10 at night?
So it's been a few weeks since my last report on the friendly neighborhood grocery store-turned-performance-art-piece (and one of these days when I walk in, I'm going to shout at the top of my lungs, "LET THE SHOW BEGIN!") Aside from an invasion by advance troops from the Canadian military (which I'll write about once I recover from the shock), Bizarro ----way's been a bit quiet of late. Normal, almost.
But as they say in the movies, trouble's afoot.
The subtle clue? A tiny sign taped to the front door saying the store would close two hours early Tuesday night... "for construction." Yes, construction... construction that begins at 10 in the evening and presumably is finished before the store reopens the following morning. I can't quite shake the mental image of little gnomes, or dwarves, or something, tinkering into the wee hours of the night.
Of course, Occam's Razor applies perfectly here. The most logical explanation? They're going to burn the place down for the insurance money. I mean, I would if I owned the place, though that might disturb the previously mentioned portal to East Baltimore. And who would want an angry Egg Man on your doorstep at 10 at night?
Friday, May 11, 2001
DEAL OF THE CENTURY
I know ragging on spam e-mail is just about as old as the Internet itself, but once in a blue moon I get something that surprises even jaded old me.
Consider this message that found its way to my work e-mail address (natch, since it's a Serious Business Opportunity for Serious Businesspeople):
> From: Lisa --------
> To: -----------
> Sent: Thursday, April 5, 2001 1:14 PM
> Subject: www.AirbrushingEquipment
>
> airbrushingequipment.com is for sale.
>
> The price for this domain name is $499.
>
> This is a limited time offer. Available on a first
> come first served basis.
>
> Sam ------
> 708-XXX-XXXX
>
> __________________________________________________
> Do You Yahoo!?
> Get email at your own domain with Yahoo! Mail.
> http://personal.mail.yahoo.com/?.refer=text
>
Lucrative, yes. And to clinch the deal, nothing says "professional business opportunity" like that plug for free e-mail at the bottom of the message.
Fortunately, even though the message is more than a month old, I checked and the URL is still available. But be warned -- if you want the domain name, brace yourself for a bidding war. I'm prepared to go as high as $499.01 for it.
I know ragging on spam e-mail is just about as old as the Internet itself, but once in a blue moon I get something that surprises even jaded old me.
Consider this message that found its way to my work e-mail address (natch, since it's a Serious Business Opportunity for Serious Businesspeople):
> From: Lisa --------
> To: -----------
> Sent: Thursday, April 5, 2001 1:14 PM
> Subject: www.AirbrushingEquipment
>
> airbrushingequipment.com is for sale.
>
> The price for this domain name is $499.
>
> This is a limited time offer. Available on a first
> come first served basis.
>
> Sam ------
> 708-XXX-XXXX
>
> __________________________________________________
> Do You Yahoo!?
> Get email at your own domain with Yahoo! Mail.
> http://personal.mail.yahoo.com/?.refer=text
>
Lucrative, yes. And to clinch the deal, nothing says "professional business opportunity" like that plug for free e-mail at the bottom of the message.
Fortunately, even though the message is more than a month old, I checked and the URL is still available. But be warned -- if you want the domain name, brace yourself for a bidding war. I'm prepared to go as high as $499.01 for it.
Wednesday, May 09, 2001
REVIEW HAIKU
So I'm flipping through The New York Times, and I stumble across what's got to be the world's best writing gig -- unless it pays by the word.
Along with times and channels, the Times' TV grid includes short, staccatto bits of commentary that manage to convey in a handful of words what takes most writers 1,500 words of tedious plot summary and half-hearted criticism. It's almost like haiku -- dissonant words that add up to more than the sum of their parts. More importantly, they're bitchy as hell.
Consider the following mini-reviews:
Armageddon, one of approximately 45 killer asteroid movies that came out a few years ago -- "Not a believable moment in it."
Wild Wild West, the Will Smith masterwork -- "Acid indigestion for the soul."
No Time for Sergeants, a 1950s-era Andy Griffith comedy vehicle -- "One belabored joke."
Big Momma's House, a showcase for the talents of master comedian Martin Lawrence -- "Not much here."
Air America, some feel-good '80s movie about the CIA and the contras, or something -- "Muddled bore."
And perhaps my favorites, for Pyromaniac's Love Story, about which I know nothing except that it stars one of the off-brand Baldwin brothers -- "Dreadful." Better yet, the comment for Nightwatch, some lame thriller -- "Preposterous."
Sure, It Pays to Enrich Your Word Power (tm). But sometimes it's the simple, thesaurus-free Everyman approach that works best. Consider the mini-review for the Kevin Costner epic The Postman -- "Truly awful."
Of course, to be fair, they don't hate everything. One of my all-time favorites, Airplane, gets a compacted rave -- "Hilarious Spoof. Truly."
I think I have the critical chops to make these kinds of gutsy judgement calls (that, or I'd just program a Word macro that spits out the phrase "festooned with manure.") But look at the average length of these weblog entries. If I did this for the Times, the TV grid would be longer than the Sunday magazine.
So I'm flipping through The New York Times, and I stumble across what's got to be the world's best writing gig -- unless it pays by the word.
Along with times and channels, the Times' TV grid includes short, staccatto bits of commentary that manage to convey in a handful of words what takes most writers 1,500 words of tedious plot summary and half-hearted criticism. It's almost like haiku -- dissonant words that add up to more than the sum of their parts. More importantly, they're bitchy as hell.
Consider the following mini-reviews:
Armageddon, one of approximately 45 killer asteroid movies that came out a few years ago -- "Not a believable moment in it."
Wild Wild West, the Will Smith masterwork -- "Acid indigestion for the soul."
No Time for Sergeants, a 1950s-era Andy Griffith comedy vehicle -- "One belabored joke."
Big Momma's House, a showcase for the talents of master comedian Martin Lawrence -- "Not much here."
Air America, some feel-good '80s movie about the CIA and the contras, or something -- "Muddled bore."
And perhaps my favorites, for Pyromaniac's Love Story, about which I know nothing except that it stars one of the off-brand Baldwin brothers -- "Dreadful." Better yet, the comment for Nightwatch, some lame thriller -- "Preposterous."
Sure, It Pays to Enrich Your Word Power (tm). But sometimes it's the simple, thesaurus-free Everyman approach that works best. Consider the mini-review for the Kevin Costner epic The Postman -- "Truly awful."
Of course, to be fair, they don't hate everything. One of my all-time favorites, Airplane, gets a compacted rave -- "Hilarious Spoof. Truly."
I think I have the critical chops to make these kinds of gutsy judgement calls (that, or I'd just program a Word macro that spits out the phrase "festooned with manure.") But look at the average length of these weblog entries. If I did this for the Times, the TV grid would be longer than the Sunday magazine.
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