Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Wednesday Wa Pic - Marketing 101

 When your mistakes start to seem like ideas, that's when to get out of the game.

Sunday, January 31, 2016

An interview with the elusive Planet Nine

Astronomers announced last week that they may have found a giant planet beyond Neptune, which may (IF it exists, mind you), MAY vote for Donald Trump in November. All right, only the first half of that sentence is true, because it's an election year, and half-true is about the most you can expect from anybody. I did manage to snag an interview with the elusive planet, however. Don't ask me how. (See: election year, above.)

GW: Welcome, Planet Nine.

P9: Kadjfoieutwqioejgva!

GW: Hold on. Let me fire up my interplanetary translator. O.K., go ahead.

P9: Kadjfoieutwqioejgva! Ha ha, I'm just playin'. How are you?

GW: Fine. You understand that our scientists named you Planet Nine because we already have eight orbiting our sun?

P9: Yeah, but my friends call me Reggie.
GW: You have friends?

P9: Hey, you got an elliptical orbit, you meet people.
GW: Scientists have nicknamed you "Phattie" because of your size.

P9: And they spell it all 1990s to sound cool? That's adorable.
GW: They also tell us you are icy with a gassy outer layer.

P9: People in glass houses, George.
GW: Fair enough. What other attributes do you have that we might find interesting?

P9: I've got volcanoes up the ying-yang.
GW: Volcanoes?!

P9: Extinct ones, yeah. And diamonds the size of your face.

GW: Will you cough one up for me?

P9: It doesn't work like that. Where they come from, well, let's just say it's where the sun don't shine. You might want to pass.

GW: Any life forms on ya?

P9: I used to have a fern. It died.

GW: You're kidding, right?

P9: The Earth man is catching on. Look, even at my closest to the sun, I'm still frostier than Hillary Clinton at a gun show.

GW: Astronomers estimate that it takes you about 15,000 years to orbit our sun. Is that right?

P9: No, it takes a year. How long does it take Earth?

GW: A year.

P9: See what I mean? My year's just got a loooooot more holidays.

GW: Do you think those Cal Tech guys will ever be able to spot you?

P9: Not unless they walk in right now and order a venti macchiato. How do you drink this swill?

GW: Caramel is considered a delicacy here.

P9: Well, I'm out. Tell your guys to put down the telescopes, man. Look in, not out.

GW: That's deep.

P9: Well, let's just say from my neighborhood, I have a little perspective.

. . .


Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Wednesday Wa Pic - When "drought resistant" gardening goes south

 You knew disco was dead, just not where it was buried.

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Battling with nature brings out the best in every man

I sometimes think if God had wanted us to do yard work, he would have made our yards smaller. 

I am only now discovering that I apparently skipped a year in trimming my back yard wall hedge. How did I miss that it was exploding in all directions like some giant, green, sticky accusation? 

I don't look out my window much.

A back yard was great when the kids were little, when they needed a safe place to play and climb and splash. Now only the dog is a regular visitor, rooting in the underbrush for lizards, unconcerned that the overgrown ficus vines have probably become sentient, and possibly carnivorous.

Ficus, in Latin, literally means "hassle to maintain." I could be wrong. My Latin is rusty because I took German. But it totally should mean that in Latin, and any other God-fearing language. 

I usually mark the calendar to shear the hedge back into orderly shape, like they do at Versailles or McDonalds. Last year I must have "forgotten." I am putting that in quotes because it's how we use that word in my marriage.

Somehow I never forget to buy chocolate, but I often "forget" to mow the lawn, empty the dishwasher and chop the vegetables. I blame the ficus, which, even now, is probably beaming out forgetful rays at me in an effort at self-preservation, and the rays are affecting other tasks on my list. That probably sounds far-fetched to you, but how else do you explain that once I went three weeks without cleaning the bathroom?

Ficus is in the fig family, but my hedge does not bear fruit, only ill will. It sits atop my block wall providing us privacy and the vague scent of an oil spill which has somehow gotten dusty. It is evidently not content to just be a modesty screen, and so it travels, reaches, spreads down across my pristine block wall like the opening credits of some darkly comic TV series nobody quite "gets."

Ficus sap itches. If you get the white, gooey stuff on your skin it's like that "Alien" slobber. Sure, I could hire a gardener, but then I wouldn't be able to personally give nature "what for." A real man lives to battle nature, and nature in return gives him cocoa beans. 

I'd nail the whole "dominion over animals" thing too, but Facebook beckons. 

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Wednesday Wa Pic - Not necessarily a good sign

 If you need to put up a sign about it, I think you may be only scratching the surface of your condition.