My Absurd Life

Meet the new dog – an attack in pictures

 

Lucky me. I was taking pictures of a handsome dog that needed a good home, preferably with a Cesar Millan father figure. The German Shepherd mix was just being playful. And my arm healed up real nice with some Bactine.

Flu Haiku Two

Feel sick as a dog
But things could be worse if I
Were sick as a hog

Flu Haiku

My decathlon flu
Nose runs, lungs hurl, phlegm flies, splat
Whoa, I've got the gold

Gotta have my Pops. And hives.

Hives covered me from head to toe. The doctor asked what I had eaten. Hmm, well, for breakfast I had Kellogg’s Corn Pops. And lunch? Oh, Kellogg’s Corn Pops. Dinner? I’d have to go with Corn Pops again. Dessert? More bowls of the puffy stuff.

Without realizing it, I had consumed an entire box of Kellogg’s Corn Pops in less than a day. But, hey, I was 6 or 7 old. At that age, eating beetles and shoving beans up your nose seem like good ideas.

So, where was Mom in all of this? How could she allow me to binge on Pops? I have a theory: Lifetime Movie Network took my mother away. In fact, the theory should come with its own Lifetime movie called, “Hooked on LMN.” Followed by my story: “Popped to Death by a Cereal Killer.”

Anyway, the doctor determined I had an allergic reaction to yellow food dye, brought on by being a tiny kid eating an absurdly large amount of breakfast cereal. There was nothing much to do but break out the cotton balls and Calamine lotion. And stop eating the Pops.

Where to find human salvation

  
One of my favorite quotes from Martin Luther King, Jr.:

“Human Salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted.”

This is not about weird, creative people walking around with a Jesus complex. It’s about great people, such as King, who look around at what’s been done for years, and go, “What the hell?”

And then they do something about it.

Five giant scoops go oops!

Self-serving prelude:  I am not Madonna. I am no Gloria Estefan. I am not Fergie the famous Brit. But as a fellow mediocre writer, can't I still fancy myself a children's book author? If only my writing could stand on its own merit! Luckily, I've lined up a publisher anyway. It's MAL Content, Inc. Here's the first story, hot off the server.

Five giant scoops go oops!

Down the lane, summer came
Announced by a cheerful tune.
Ice cream truck, approaching soon!

Little Molly’s eyes grew wide
For Daddy handed her a five.

So excited, she flew out the door!
So delighted, his words she ignored:
“Hey, in this heat, I want you to treat,
Your friends on the way, make sure now, okay?”
 
But Molly
Was already
Standing in line.
After passing her pals
Who had not a dime.

She stared at Abe Lincoln, and started a’ thinkin’,
Should she let others share in her wealth,
Or get five giant scoops, all to herself?

She decided to order only one cone…
With FIVE GIANT SCOOPS for her all alone!

“Coming up!  Chocolate, vanilla, and mint for the girl!
Plus cookies and cream, and fudge marble swirl.”

Molly did lick with a lickety-split,
But five giant scoops went drippity-drip.
The ice cream was piled too high to eat fast.
In the hot summer sun, it just couldn’t last.

The tower of sweetness teetered and tottered.
It leaned over dangerously, oh, what a bother!
To keep it from falling, she ran side to side,
Yet nothing could stop its eventual slide.

The scoop at the top, dropped with a plop.
Followed by the next with a thunderous glop!
The middle one landed—smoosh on the ground.
Number two joined it for the mushiest mound.
Finally, the last of the scoops went ker-splat!
All over Molly’s poor little lap.

She burst into tears,
And it was painfully clear,
Empty cone in her hand
Was not what she planned.

Now there were those who had thought,
“She deserved what she got!”
But a boy who was smart, with a big enough heart
Saw a girl who went “oops,” not five giant scoops.

He brought her some napkins,
And said, “These things happen.
Here, take this spoon, too,
I’ll share ice cream with you.”

From the dropping of jaws,
The crowd was in awe.
Even Molly went from boo-hoo to a-ha!
By a boy who knew faults were easy to find,
And that it was harder to always be kind.

His actions inspired everyone there
To say, “Next time, I’ll show that I care.”

Feeling the same, Molly exclaimed,
“It’s not the amount that’s really the treat,
It’s the sharing with others, and the friends that we keep!”

Down the lane, a fading tune,
An ice cream truck’s route resumed.
Kids ran off—there was playing to do!
Building up friendships—solid and true.

And melting away in a pile of goop?
All that was left of five giant scoops.

Goodbye, my favorite Japanese curry

   

Alas, my favorite place for Japanese curry
Has been consumed by the weak economy

No more golden dish with glossy sheen
Made with beef, carrots, onions
And a special ramen broth

What joy to pick up the spoon!

Each bite always
part curry, part rice

All that flavor, all that fat
All under seven bucks

I will never forget you,
my favorite curry.

-----

Picture: Once you get over its gorgeousness, the curry dish also looks like a bowl of rice with a red pickled plum (umeboshi) on top.
 

My summer of sweat

Them:  “Oh, is it raining outside?”
Me:  “No, it’s just my sweat.”

Forget the pits. Sweat gushes from the front and back of my body. If the sun is blazing, a ten-minute walk creates a Sea of Me on any top I’m wearing. At the office, when I return from picking up lunch, the first thing I do is hit the bathroom for a paper towel wipedown.

By walking carefully, I can keep the back sweat from being absorbed by my clothes. It beads up and drips down to the waist, a less noticeable place. Once when I did this, a co-worker patted me on my sweat-beaded back and left a wet handprint on my blouse. That looked weird, but it gave me an idea.

Why settle for the usual perspiration patterns? Just because I sweat like a man doesn’t mean I have to look like I do. So I’m buying giant cookie cutters and working with my sweat to create art! On hot days, my solid-color polyester tops can shine with a temporary sweat imprint of a butterfly, dolphin or flower. Now that’s cool.

Mad Mel in Japan: a movie poster of Braveheart

 

It's everyone's favorite gay-bashing, anti-Semitic, called-a-woman-a-horrible-C-word, drunk-driving, two-timing, movie superstar! Here's his promotional poster for Braveheart in Japan. Please, do not give the glib Gib any sake bombs. He might let loose on what he really thinks of them sneaky Japanese. 

Simply pathetic?

“If I get hit by a bus, just know that I died happy,” I told my co-worker.

What got me so ecstatic? My favorite bags of chocolate-chip cookies had come in! I was off to pick them up at a nearby gift shop.

Either my life's really simple or really pathetic.