Miscellany

I do believe that this is the blogging temptation that I am meant to resist strenuously. Sadly, I am weak. Therefore I am about to tell you several things about which you will not care at all. Ready?

I was just siting at my dining room table (a misnomer, really, as I have no dining room. However, if I did, I would put this table in it.) which I very seldom do--a pity since it gives me a nice view of the immediate neighborhood. I discovered the following things.

1. It is raining in a very pleasant springlike way. Rainy Sundays fill me with happiness, whereas most Sundays fill me with a poisonous depression, so I am, well, happy.

2. About a year ago, the people across the street made an effort at painting their house (not a bad idea at all), but have gone only from the bottom of the garage to the first floor windowsill. As far as they could reach, in other words. Since then, they have made no effort to improve the top two thirds of the house--either by hiring a professional or purchasing a ladder.

3. These same neighbors suddenly have a baby in the family. I am totally unable to discern if the baby is the brother of the teenage girl, or if he is her son. Most worrying is the fact that despite living directly across from them for years, a nine-month period went by when I did not notice AT ALL that one of those women was pregnant.

4. The inside of my teacup is coated with such an alarming brown stain that, instead of a teaspoon, I am considering laying a toothbrush in my saucer so that I may do some vigorous brushing between sips.

Delightful

I feel quite certain that if I were personally acquainted with this bear, my life would be far less tiresome. He is delightful. I thought so when I first came across him in January. Then today, after reading his interview, I have perhaps become even more smitten.

In a seemingly unreated incident, I was just coming up my seldom used back stairs from the back alley where our trashcans are kept. There, on my tiny porch, I found a lone gummi bear, a bit swollen by the rain, but still recognizable. I have no notion where it came from.

How many small ursine encounters is it reasonable to have in one day?

The good ol' days

To my delight, I have discovered that I have access to old radio dramas via inernet radio. I'm addicted to them.

Phillip Marlow asks "Where're you going?"

The hard boiled dame replies, "I'm going back to my place for an old fashioned cry. Or maybe just an old fashioned. I haven't decided."

Salmonella in a citrus glaze

I flatter myself that I have a fairly good grasp of the English language. Not the fancy words, maybe, but the basic words I think I've got. Therefore when I see the words "sell by" I am not confused. I assume that the sell by date is the date by which something should be...sold. After that, presumably, there is, say, a two day grace period to actually consume this product. Otherwise it would be a "consume by" date, right?

And yet, I have apparently just purchased ingredients to make a marinade for my rotten chicken. Again. This is never my original intention.

Today is May 3. The sell by date is May 5. Nevertheless, opening the package evoked the gag reflex. Not good. This is now the third time this has happened to me. Perhaps the most troubling aspect of this whole affair is that, having experienced the exact same thing twice before, I continue to be astonished when it happens.

Corn Flakes, anyone?

Try champagne

There is an ad in the New Yorker that reads: "Promise her anything, but give her a chicken..." Under this, in smaller italic print, it says "Fine gifts from France."

Guess what? If you want to give her a fine gift from France, don't give her a chicken. Particularly if you've been promising her all manner of other things. Just trust me on this.