So I saw the Battery Outfitters on Campbell the other day, and as I needed some supplies, I stopped in.
I was greatly disappointed! I hoped to pick up some 105mm shells for my M119A3 and some 150mm shells for my Paladin (well, what kind of mobile artillery did you think I would own?), but all this store had was small power cells.
It’s back to the black market for me, I guess, and grizzled guys named Sergei and Michal.
But it takes a lot of concentrated fire to keep Japanese beetles off of my peach trees. Also, for keeping peaches, leaves, branches, and limbs off of my peach trees.
So my beautiful wife is working her way through computer Spanish lessons, and yesterday, as we were driving, we passed some daisies, her favorite flower.
“What is the Spanish word for daisy?” she asked me because I took Spanish for four years in high school and a year and a half in college.
To be honest, although Dr. Pasero told me I probably could have tested out of college Spanish–that is, taken a test to prove I had enough knowledge of Spanish equivalent to the required two years of Spanish at the university–I took the college Spanish anyway, mainly because hauling myself from my corner of Milwaukee to the campus early in the morning for the test was a pain to my pre-Freshman mind (although I eventually got pretty good at it as my college career progressed).
I even took an extra Spanish class because it was taught by the brother of a fellow who worked with me at the grocery store, and I often got chided for deploying my sense of humor by directly translating from the English idiom to Spanish. That is, the absurd things we say as Americans that are clearly made ridiculous to non-native speakers.
But I digress.
“What is the Spanish word for daisy?” my beautiful wife asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. It’s true: My Spanish vocabulary was never that good, even in my Spanish class days. It eroded over time, but it got a little bump when my children were really little and had a number of bi-lingual board books. But as a couple of recent birthdays have illustrated, that was also a while ago, so my Spanish vocabulario has dwindled again. You make your conversation that fits your knowledge; if I had to, I would simply call it flor. But I am digressing again.
“I don’t know,” I said, and note: here is the joke: “I still call her Ciela.”
Now, let me explain:
In the television program Agents of SHIELD, this one character is called Skye for a while, until she meets her parents and discovers they named her Daisy.
Now, everyone on the program calls her Daisy. It took me a half season to do it, too.
You see, Ciela is a feminization of the Spanish word for sky. So I was saying I still say sky instead of daisy.
Well, I guess you had to be there.
My wife got it after a moment. So I got that going for me.
Because, gentle reader, my humor often requires a particular set of arcane knowledge–say, the Spanish language and familiarity with the Marvel television universe–and perhaps footnotes and flow charts. So I cannot write a screenplay with jokes everyone will get. Heaven knows I wrote a full evening play full of obscure jokes that crack me up but might be lost on many people.
And, besides, the perfect, sophisticated comedy film has already been written.
9 1/2 Ninjas. I have seen that movie more times than I can count. Or probably should.
So I was talking with my beautiful wife about Ludwig Wittgenstein this morning, as I just heard a lecture on him in the (long) Great Ideas in Philosophy lecture series I’m working through (now, almost within 10% of completion!).
I told her how I had difficulty because every time the lecturer said his name, I’d miss a couple of lines because I’d repeat the pronunciation of the name.
“Vitgunsteen,” I repeated to her.
“Vitgunstine,” she corrected.
“It’s his progeny who pronounce it VitgunSTEEN to distance themselves from the mad doctor,” I said.
Mel Brooks mashed up with 20th century idealist philosophers.
When you see me smiling at nothing, that’s what’s going on in my head.
When customizing a store-bought cake, you might find that you don’t have any white icing, or the white icing you have is from the 20th century and has crystallized enough that you’re planning to polish it to make jewelry to give to your beautiful wife for your upcoming wedding anniversary.
Don’t panic! You can use Elmer’s School Glue to customize your cake! It’s non-toxic and washable, which means your cake will be dishwasher-safe (top rack only!).
Good Lord, Internet people, I am only kidding. Please do not actually do this. I’m not sure how much non-toxic stuff one can ingest before toxicity occurs, but it’s probably more than nothing. The Material Safety Data Sheet (MSDS) for this product is remarkably unhelpful. I did do some research on this post to see if I could find out if it would actually not be harmful if swallowed, but that fact is all No information on significant effects. Don’t eat. Don’t huff. Don’t Hoff. Don’t even read this post. It’s not funny after all.
I recently quipped, “It was my turn to prepare dinner, and I overcooked the cannibal sandwiches.”
Of course, this is a bit of obscure humor. One must be a northern person of a certain age to get it.
Cannibal sandwiches are open-faced sandwiches of raw ground beef served on rye and topped with raw onion. Or, if you cannot afford onion, onion and/or garlic powder or salt. My sainted mother was not an ethnic Pole or German, but she served us this treat on occasion. I think it’s because she didn’t like to cook.
It’s been decades, of course, since I’ve had a cannibal sandwich since everything is more dangerous these days, or at least the risk of everything is hammered so loudly that its outsized peal keeps us from so many things.
As to cannibal sandwiches, the media continues to extol its risk even into the 21st century.
But it won’t be running these stories for much longer, as people who enjoyed the dish in spite of its risk die out. Not from the deadly food, but from old age, which kills a lot of the risk-ignorant and all the risk-averse.
Oh, and by “overcooking the cannibal sandwiches,” I meant “made hamburgers.” But that was before I took a little slice of humor and tried to blow it up into a Greater Meaning as one is wont to do one one’s eponymous Web log.
Archy wouldn’t use a capital letter or an apostrophe. Nice try at making us think a cockroach had hacked your computer, though.
I was, of course, referring to Archy, a piece of schtick by The Evening Sun (NY) columnist Dan Marquis. The gist was that a cockroach would jump on the keys of Marquis’ keyboard overnight, generating different poems and bon mots and whatnots, and he would sign it -archy. Because he was hopping on the keys, he couldn’t use capital letters or punctuation that used shift keys (depending upon your model and typewriter, the apostrophe was probably a shift piece of punctuation, not like your modern keyboards).
But I’m not sure anyone else in the world would get that. That trivia is so old it does not appear in trivia nights and games any more.
Being this is the Internet, I have put this post into a form many Internet readers will understand.
Via Hell in a Handbasket, whose proprietor is a Call of Cthulhu game master from back in the day. I did a couple games of that back then, too, including one that took place in an insane asylum, where everyone was already crazy. Also, I corresponded a bit with Lynn Willis at Chaosium, and he wanted to use a scenario I sent in in the core rules for the sixth edition. But that didn’t come to pass. After I said Chaosium should reprint some of the old Lovecraft stories, he sent me a copy of The Hastur Cycle. But I’ve probably hammered that story from those days where I fancied myself a writer over and over again.
You see, Unitatis Redintegratio is the Vatican II decree on ecumenism, wherein the Catholic church wants to reunite the faith, and within it it says that the Catholic church is doing everything right, and other Christian denominations are doing as much right as they are aligned with how the Catholic church is doing things.
Never mind, if I have to explain the joke, it loses a lot of its funny.
Actually, I’ll have to try this on an actual Catholic theologian to find out if it’s actually funny, or if I just amused myself because I think it’s clever.
You how it goes: The weekend finally gets here, and you’ve only got a few free hours before it’s back to the psycho treadmill of the week. You have a choice: You can work on something fun, like a hobby, or you can do some housecleaning.
Let Brian J. tell you how you can do both–at the same time!
I like to get out something in my hobbies–collecting (accumulating!) things–and I put it in the middle of everything.
Like when I cleaned my office the last time, I took the ill-advised long boxes of comic books (I organized my comic books and put them in long boxes like you see at comic book shops, but then I learned long boxes don’t fit onto shelves-they’re designed for tables of comic books like at comic book shops!), and I put them into the hallway so I could vacuum my office. But it is a dark hallway! So I could leave the boxes there for months! And I did.
So today, armed with some new short boxes (which fit nicely on shelves!), I did both housecleaning and hobby!
I reorganized the comics and cleaned up the hall!
So keep that in mind! Sometimes you have to make a bigger mess just to clean it up–especially if you want to spend your weekend hours most efficiently!
Now, someday I’ll do something about the other boxes in the hallway containing overflow Atari 2600 cartridges and record albums. Someday–on a weekend where I want to think I was doing housework!