Long Walks on the Beach

Socially, there is the standard joke often placed after one of these types of questions: "What do you like to do?" Be it flirtatious, a genuine attempt at comedy, or another very bad reason, someone inevitably punches in: "Well....I like long walks on the beach....ha ha ha....ok, no, seriously...."

It is the token "joke." (The joken.) It is a reference to, what I would suspect, was a popular thing to put on personal dating ads in the 1980s. I'm John. I've never been married and I'm 36. I like cats, long walks on the beach, and limeades.

But I was just thinking about it - though it is widely used, terribly unfunny, and boringly cliched - I believe that NO ONE actually enjoys long walks on the beach. Just think about it.

First of all, you got beach. I will refer you to my previous posts about my hatred of this geographical terrain. Sand gets everywhere. In between your toes. All over your sandals. And you track it back into the car, onto the carpet, and somehow - into your hair.

Second, you got walking. Sand is HARD to walk on. You try to use it like concrete (or asphalt), propel off of it with your toes, and instead of supplying the much-needed resistance, it gives and ebbs away with your foot, making you have to work twice as hard to actually get leverage and forward movement.

And finally, as designated in the line, this is a LONG experience. You are doing this exhausting, sand-trekking and sand-covering exercise for an extended period of time. I could see maybe a "brief" walk, but a LONG walk? Who honestly wants to do this for more than 2 minutes?

I think the honest response should be "I enjoy taking brief strolls on concrete....to get to my car....so that I can be sitting down, in the air-conditioning, with no sand, as it speedily carries me to wherever I need to be."

I Almost Died Today

Today, I almost died. Or at least I thought I was going to die. And I'll be honest, I was a bit disappointed...not with the fact that I survived but that I didn't have the experience of my life flashing before my eyes. I wanted to see the past 27 years in the hyperspeed of a split second. But no. Nothing. Not even an old memory. Actually, my mind just went blank. It froze. This means one of two things: 1) The whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing is a hoax or 2) My mind knew better - that I was not in fact about to die. And so the instinct to go into life-flashing didn't trigger.

What is that about the mind? It just decides - Hey, I'm going to stop working normally and now rewind the summation of your memories "before your eyes" in a split second. Why does it just decide to do that? And why can't I make my mind do that right now? I'd love to watch The Movie of My Entire Life in a split second. And you have to wonder - what does that do to one's self-esteem when they survive the near death experience and realize that their entire life - all their accomplishments and successes - can be boiled down to but a second of time. Sheesh.

Ok....so I almost died today. I was out walking our dog, Thena - taking an enjoyable saunter (and meander) when out of nowhere, an enormous, monster-of-a-dog began charging toward us. Let me explain - this was a thick, husky, meaty Rottweiler/bulldog/boxer looking thing. Probably 150 lbs. It looked like a boar mixed with bear. A boar-bear. It was snarling, barking, and charging toward us as fast as it could. It had no leash. No collar. Just a random, stray Terrordog Boarbear roaming the streets and approaching us rather quickly.

So I began to run away from it (after soiling myself, of course). By God's providence, this ferocious beast didn't feel up to following us after we moved out of its bull-like-charging path. It could have. It had nothing stopping it. As I rounded the corner to safety (knees wobbling and heart pounding) I began to think about what I would have had to do had it decided to continue its aggressive pursuit. I would have had to kick it in the face. As hard as I could. And pray that I didn't merely wound it and infuriate it anymore. I didn't want to have to kick it in the face. But I would have. It could have swallowed me and Thena whole, I believe.

So there. No death. No life-flashing. Not even any face-kicking.

The Vivian Banks Conundrum

Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. You all know it. Shooting some b-ball outside of the school.

But let's talk about Vivian. The Matriarch of the Banks estate. For the first three seasons of this award-winning sit-com, Vivian Banks was played by actress Janet Hubert-Whitten.

And then something happened. Vivian....just....changed. At the start of season 4 and onward, Vivian was played by a different actress - Daphne Maxwell Reid. No heads up. No reason. No explanation.

This was quite confusing to me as a growing adolescent. Metaphysically, this makes no sense. Here is a completely different woman - yet her identity is the exact same. Everyone refers to her as "mom" and "Vivian." Uncle Phil seems to have equal affection for the new Vivian as he did for the old (and he doesn't seem to miss the old Vivian at all either). She dresses like Vivian, acts like Vivian....but is she Vivian? You can see how these philosophical puzzles plagued my young mind.

What attributes or characteristic elements are essential for identity? Obviously not physicality. Identity must extend to how others relate to you. But wait....your identity is solely contingent on others? If the other characters in the Banks' household treated New Vivian differently - she would be a different character??

And why did the NBC producers think they could just slip this one by us? Like we wouldn't notice or something? Come on. And whatever happened to Old Vivian? Why did she leave just 3 seasons in?

I miss Old Vivian. I never really quite got used to New Vivian. It disrupted my show. I'm glad this was the only show I know of that didn't pull the switch-a-roo with other characters. Imagine there being a New Mona. Things just wouldn't have been the same.

P.I.E.S.

The dessert (or treat) of pie is delicious. It's my favorite. As I've said before, I prefer birthday pie to birthday cake. Jim Gaffigan calls it liquid cake, but that is still putting a bit too close to cake in my opinion. Pie is amazing. It is simply breathtaking...for it simply takes your breath and sprints with it away from you.

But as I've discovered, "pie" as a term of dessert designation is vague. There are a lot of things described as "pie" that bear no resemblance to authentic, traditional pie. The term is being used way too broadly. So I'm here to set the record straight (and strate) and determine once and for all what is actually pie and what isn't.

1. Moon Pie. Not pie. Should be called "Moon Disc." Or maybe "Nasty Moon Disc That Necessitates Milk." (There is a banana flavor available for you banandy fandys.)
2. Pumpkin Pie. A bit more gelatinous than your average pie, but yes, still, certainly pie. And delicious.
3. Oatmeal Cream Pie. Not pie, but still delicious.
4. McDonalds Fried Apple Pie. Not pie. But close. And can be served boiling, lava hot in the middle.
5. Chicken Pot Pie. Nothing "pie" about this except for the crust replica. Should be called "Chicken Casserole Disguised as Pie." But it isn't fooling anyone with its disguise. "Wait a second! This doesn't taste like pie! This is chicken casserole! I don't want this for dessert! Why is all this Cream of Mushroom poured into a pie crust?"
6. Pie in the Sky. This is just confusing. Does the pie have wings? Jet engine? No more comment.
7. Pizza Pie. Despite contrary opinions (Steger), pizza pie is not actually pie. It is really just pizza. Not pie. It you baked a pizza inside of a graham-cracker crust and put whip cream on it, it would be a better fit for "pizza pie." But it would still run into the problems of Chicken Pot Pie above.
8. Coconut Cream Pie. Definitely pie. And definitely delicious.
9. American Pie. Bye, bye Miss American Pie. I don't think this is pie. I don't think I know what this is.
10. Humble Pie. Not pie. Not even food. Humility can't be eaten. Huckleberries can though apparently. This is a stupid pie type.

While we're on the subject, I also don't like back sweat.

Cold and Sore

I have a cold sore in my mouth. And it is ruining my week. It is in the perfectly unavoidable spot too - right on the other side of my lower lip - face to face with the gums on my lower incisors. It's in that front lip pocket where people often stuff snuff in. Yes, in the snuff-stuffed pocket. Convenient, huh?

Did you know that when you pierce the skin of a fresh, summer-time, acid-saturated peach that the juices squirt directly into the snuff-stuffed pocket? I do. I do now. Because I writhed all the way through my afternoon peach experience today.

Don't forget about hamburgers. Mustard, tomato, pickles - all the acidic juices seem to b-line (bee-line?) their way into the snuff-stuffed pocket. Oh, man. Not fun.

I hate this thing. If you have ever had one...you know because you hate them too. How do these things happen? Where do they come from? How does it happen to get in THAT spot?? How do I get rid of it?

And what's with the name "cold sore"? There's nothing "cold" about it. "Cold" conjures up images of Aspen, winter-green, and Altoid commercials, slish-sloshing on white, dusty snow. That sounds soothing and refreshing. This thing in my mouth is not soothing and refreshing. It is ruining every piece of food I place in my mouth. It should be called "Hell Sore." That's a bit more accurate. Or perhaps "Don't-Eat-Oranges Sore." Or maybe even "Don't-Eat-Anything Sore."

Danza Sore?