Anhydrous Wit

Are you pondering what I'm pondering?

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

My Name Is Cap'n, and I'm a Junk-food-aholic

My story starts, as so many often do, in childhood.  I discovered that I like snacks, but there was something about Pringles that made me crave more, more, more.  (This got me into trouble once.)

In adulthood (it took them a couple of decades to invent this variation), although I had known for years that I was fond of Cheetos (anybody besides me remember the bacon flavor from the early 1980's?), I discovered that, if I start on a bag of the jalapeno variety, I could easily eat the entire bagful.

To be fair, I'm not hooked on just junk food.  Costco sells an in-house chicken alfredo entrĂ©e that is nummy, and which I have not been able to resist a second helping.

My latest weakness is crunchy pretzel "pillows" stuffed with peanut butter.  I will eat them until my stomach tells my brain, "Shut your mouth, if you know what's good for you."

Out of all the foods in the world, why am I so attracted to just four?  I suppose I should be grateful that I'm not addicted to more!

On that note, I'll leave you with this performance of "Junk Food Junkie" by Larry Groce.

Monday, March 19, 2018

I'm Just an Old Fogey

As I left my hair-cutting place yesterday, I overheard a woman tell the stylist that her son wanted a "bogey".

He wants his hair cut like Humphrey Bogart?  Most of the movie clips I've seen of him show him in a hat (either as Sam Spade, Rick Blaine, or Charlie Allnut), but, from what I recall, he had a flat haircut parted on one side, like mine.  In my day, that was called a standard haircut for boys.

Even more obscurely, I can't imagine how one's hair could be cut to resemble a score of one over par in golf.

I probably should've stuck around to learn what the boy wanted.

Monday, February 26, 2018

Would You Like a Burger with That?

I completed a fencing estimate today for a Mr. Fries.  Fence fries, get it?

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Savor the Irony

Part of my job is to be the primary phone call-answerer.  As such, I often pass along messages to coworkers.  This morning, one started asking me all sorts of questions about a message I took yesterday.  "What did she mean?"  The whole time, I was pondering how to say politely, "All I did was write down what the caller said.  Why don't you call her back and ask her?"  (The coworker finally thought of doing just that.)

Why don't people ask you questions you can answer?

Monday, November 27, 2017

Ain't It the Truth?

I've been reading a collection of Erma Bombeck's columns, which I checked out from the library.  It's rather extensive for a gathering of the "best" or "favorites", but I was glad to see my personal favorite included.  When I first read it at the age of ten, I thought, "This is it.  This is me."  It's still as true as it ever was.  Here is an excerpt from "Third Child" (November 5, 1981).

"...third children have no history.  There are no footprints of them in the baby book, no record of their baptism, no snapshots of their birthdays, and no report cards to show they ever were.  Their childhood diseases are uneventful, their first words fall on deaf ears, and toilet training is a lonely affair with no one to applaud their efforts.  The third child learns early that he is odd man out and has broken the family symmetry.  Kitchen chairs come four to a set, breakfast rolls four to a package, and milk four cups to a quart.  Rides at Disneyland accommodate two to a seat, the family car carries four comfortably, and beds come in twos not threes.  The third child is the one who gets called the other two's names before the mother finally remembers his.  He goes through a lifetime of comparisons:  'You're not going to be as tall as your brother... as smart as your sister... as athletic as your father."

With minor variations, all the above is true for me.  In my case, it was my grandmother who went through my father's and brothers' names before arriving at mine (I did note she went chronologically), and I was forever being asked by teachers, "Are you so-and-so's brother?" (as if they'd ever met anyone else named Chlorophyll).  Occasional pictures were taken of me in my childhood, but generally only at events where multiple family members were present.  My older brothers, I think, used up most of the film in the world before I was born.  I think there actually are more pictures of my Carvel birthday cakes than there are of me on my birthdays.

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Sometimes I Surprise Myself

Here's a sample of the books I've read recently:  a memoir by Bob Hope, Neil Patrick Harris's autobiography, a memoir by Katherine Hepburn*, and Noctila, the Death Owl.  If I ever do something crazy, not only will my neighbors say they were surprised because I was a quiet guy who kept to himself, but librarians will say, "Yeah, but you should see some of the weird stuff he checked out of the library."

* I don't know why three celebrities whose last names begin with H.

Friday, November 03, 2017

Shall We Play a Game?

Lately, I've been bringing snack sacks of a brand-name, cheese flavored cracker to work, to help me hang on through that long period between breakfast and lunch.  The crackers are imprinted with letters because the packages have the licensed name of a popular game (involving letters on tiles, you know the one).  I pondered if I could actually make words with the crackers in a bag.

The first day I tried, I started pulling out D O T N...  Except that I pulled out the T and N at the same time, so I legally could switch them, and that looks like "don't".  The next letter was E...  Wouldn't it be funny if I spelled out "Don't eat me"?  That didn't work out.  Here are the letters I ate on two consecutive days.  I haven't been interested (or bored) enough to try rearranging them into any words.  Would you care to try?

Day 1:  D O T N E G F N Y W F R E S V R E M C L G E P I H G R E A C

Day 2:  I Y I Y N N R R I A L B R O I R X A A T B N I T I S X L E R