The word “donut” came into popular usage in 1942 when we were saving “g”s and “h”s for the war effort. We’re no longer conserving “g”s and “h”s, so knock it off already. They’re doughnuts.
A car with a tiny version of itself in the glove compartment:
I know… I’m sorry.
I thought I was done with this, but they just keep coming to me.
When we sensationalize everything, we trivialize the truly sensational.
Tonight’s full moon isn’t all that “Super”. Tonight the moon will be full and at perigee.
This happens once every 14 lunar cycles (basically yearly). It will appear almost imperceptibly larger and a bit brighter than usual. Can we please stop acting like it’s some rare and spectacular event?
Let’s be honest, if no one told them it was “super” most folks wouldn’t notice the difference.
Back to the point of my earlier post; when did we, as a society, decide that having “too much free time” or “too much time on your hands” was a bad thing (or even possible, for that matter)?
“Oh you know what? I do have too much time on my hands! I better get to work!”
Fuck that shit.
Word is, NASA has contracted with a Japanese automaker to build a vehicle to explore Uranus.
(Southpark fans will get this).
An electric car using 1950’s technology:
A Vacuum Tubaru.
I think I’d like to build an art car. An Impreza WRX covered in short curly hair. That’s right…
With a Pubix Cube hanging from the rear-view.
In the interest of protecting the “innocent” and sparing myself any reprisals, I won’t be using any real names as I relate this story. I’m sure you understand.
Several years ago, I was shopping with my girlfriend at the time (we’ll call her “A”) and her 15 year-old daughter (whom we’ll call “T”). As we walked into Dick’s Sporting Goods, “A”, a strait-laced minister’s daughter, took a big whiff and announced, “I love the smell of Dick’s! It reminds me of Christmas time.” I responded “Please don’t ever say that again, honey.” She looked at me quizzically and said “What? I just said that I love the smell of…” her voice trailing off. Blushing, she burst into hysterical laughter.
Naturally, this didn’t go unnoticed by her daughter, who wanted to know what was so funny. Between peals of laughter she managed to repeat the exchange, whereupon “T” also burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. They excused themselves to the restroom to attempt to compose themselves, but came out several minutes later, still laughing uncontrollably, the humor of the situation further compounded by the alarmed reactions of the other ladies room patrons.
Sadly, we had to cut our trip to Dick’s short, but I got the funniest story ever out of the deal. Seems like a fair trade.
This sort of lazy misuse of the word “accident” makes me so mad. From KTLA
Bicyclist Killed in Possible Road Rage Accident.
Seriously, if it was “road rage” then it stands to reason that it was not an “accident”. Why does it make me mad? Because it’s indicative of a far too common apologist attitude when it comes to crimes being committed by automobile drivers. Far too often motorists get away with recklessly, sometimes intentionally, maiming or killing cyclists, pedestrians, motorcylists, and yes, even each other because “it was just an accident”.
The English language is a rich and varied tapestry, full of synonyms with gradated meanings. Stop calling it an “accident” every time a car crashes. I know that the media is careful (for the most part) not to assign or imply blame, but they should also be more careful not to implicitly absolve (alleged) perpetrators of blame which is exactly what the misuse of the word “accident” does.
I know I’m officially “middle aged”. While I don’t necessarily embrace the fact, I do (begrudgingly) accept it and even think of myself as such (from time to time).
I was stunned by my reaction when Fritz over at Commute by Bike referred to me as “This middle aged man“. I wasn’t surprized that he wrote it, but I was quite shocked by how much it stung, if only just for an instant, seeing it in print. Ahh… the power of the printed word!
Oh and Fritz, you’re still missing the point of my story. It wasn’t about being complimented by a teenaged girl. It was about her subsequent mortification and embarrassment. The compliment was just the icing on the cake.
Thank goodness they warned me, otherwise I surely would have made a peanut butter and silicon* grease sandwich.
*Yes, I know that it’s actually silicone.
Ok, since I’ve already started down this path; here’s a useful term I coined several years ago:
snotrockletize (accent on last syllable) – the generally inadvertent act of blowing a snot rocket onto something (or, heaven forbid, someone). Example: “Damnit, the wind shifted and I snotrockletized my shoulder!”
Here’s a funny story of ‘snotrockletization’ from Ireland for your edification.
Yeah, I know; I’m basically just an overgrown ten year old with (a little) more discretionary income and way too much free time.