A Monologue

Eleanor: I wonder if other people lick the top of the yogurt and pudding lids like I do. Is that something only I do? Surely not. Surely at least one other person licks the tops of yogurt and pudding lids. I don't really see why you wouldn't. You're saving some of the yogurt (or pudding). You're not wasting a drop. Although the bottom edges of the rounded cups are hard to get with the spoon. I often give up on those edges down there. I guess I do waste some. But what I waste in the edges I make up for in the lids. See....that's not bad. Lid licking isn't gross, is it? I don't think so. Oh crap, what if its gross and I don't know it? What if every time I've lid licked in front of someone they thought, "Oh, Eleanor is so disgusting. There isn't anything she wouldn't lick if she licks pudding lids. She probably chews the gum she finds under her lunch tables." But surely not. I wouldn't lick the outside part of the lid. Only the inside part - protected and sealed from the elements. Surely people don't lid lick on account of it being gross. So why wouldn't they? What is wrong with lid licking? I honestly don't understand why someone wouldn't enjoy the yogurt appetizer. You at least get 2 licks worth. That's 2 more licks of yogurt you wouldn't have received had you simply peeled the yogurt lid and tossed it. Man....I'm getting in the mood for a brick of guacamole. Or a hay ride. Or an egg salad.

A Dialogue

Oliver: So you're telling me you know how to change the oil in your car?

Gene: That's what I'm telling you.

Oliver: And you're telling me you have had no professional training in oil-exchanging?

Gene: Yup.

Oliver: Impossible!! I'm calling your bluff.

Gene: Call it then.

Oliver: I just did. BLUFF!!

Gene: That's not really "calling my bluff," that's more just saying the word "bluff" really loudly.

Oliver: No, that's actually calling it. I called out your bluff.

Gene: No, you don't understand. You didn't call out my bluff. You just called out "bluff."

Oliver: I don't think you get how bluff-calling works. That's all that is required, me "calling your bluff." Bluff has officially been called. End of story.

Gene: No, no, no. You can't just say "I'm calling your bluff," you actually have to do it. You can't just announce, "I'm doing something right now" when you aren't doing anything. A bluff-call has not happened yet.

Oliver: What are you talking about? Bluff-calls happen when you bluff-call. There is nothing else to it. What else is involved in bluff-calling?

Gene: You call my bluff.

Oliver: I don't even know what that means anymore.

Gene: Exactly.

Mercantilism, Feudalism, and Pop Tarts

I think I have come across something more frustrating than 7Up! advertisements: customer service on the telephone. A few moments ago I had to call up our cable company to discuss a bill. You would think with "customer service" there would be some form of "service" for me - the customer. But no. No human contact. No personal representative. I had to talk to the Robot Lady - you know, the automated voice of some computer.

And this was the type that didn't want me to press any numbers, this robot actually wanted to engage in dialogue. "Please...tell...us....the.....phone.....number....associated.....with.....your....account." So I began speaking. And miraculously it understood. And then parroted back to me the correct number. I was a bit surprised. This usually does not work for me, especially surrounding the robot's confusion over the number 5 and number 9. They sound alike to robots. They get easily confused.

And now the robot wants to know "in two or three words" the reason why I am calling. It is polite. It gives me suggestions, "You....can....say...."Account Information"....or....."New Account".....or......"Service Desk." So, in a very abrupt and out-of-context-sort-of-way, I blurted out: "Bill." And miraculously, it understood. Robot Lady repeated, "Billing."

And just when I thought I was getting somewhere, the whole system fell apart. Once again she gave me some options to repeat back to her: "Make a Payment"...."See Account Balance".....or......"Neither of these." I wanted option three. So I said, "Neither of these." And I was quickly interrupted, "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" the robot insisted. I repeated myself, "Neither of these." And again: "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" So now I pretend like I am talking to a 2 year old foreign exchange student. "N...e....i...t....h....e....r...........o......f.............t....h....e......s......e......."

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Now why do these companies think this is a good idea - to talk to robots as opposed to engaging with an actual human being? Oh I know....you don't have to pay a robot to talk to you but you have to pay a real human. So that's it, I guess. It's all about the Benjamins. So while they are loading up on the cash, I am growing more and more irritated with the robots I have to dialogue with.

Dottin Dips

I'm sure that you've seen this kiosk in the mall. Or perhaps you have even seen them in certain vending machines. You know what they are. Dippin' Dots: Ice Cream of the Future. For $5 or more you can have a 3 oz. cup of ice cream pellets. What a wonderful idea. And what a complete rip off.

What I have been thinking about is....what if Dippin' Dots actually is the ice cream of the future. Are we no longer going to have normal tubs (or cartons) of ice cream? No more traditional scooping? No more ice cream cones? I suppose that in 3030 there isn't going to be any of this. Ice cream will come balled up in little "dots" that you can "dip."

I cannot conceive of any possible reason why the future would yield such results. What futuristic, space-age, technological need would there be to change traditional, creamy, tubby ice cream into little ice cream balls? Ok, maybe the lack of oxygen in space? But that's why we have that astronaut-Nasa-space-ice cream that comes in an aluminum pouch and looks (and tastes) like Neapolitan-colored styrofoam. But that's not the ice cream of the future. That's the ice cream of space. Down here on earth and in the future, we are still eating tubby ice cream. Not ice cream "dots."

Tubby, Danza ice cream.

J

Kathryn and I were discussing recently how it might be possible to change your name into an initial. You know, instead of me going by Matt Howell - I'd go by M.T. Howell (my first two initials). There are plenty of people out there who do this - C.S. Lewis, R.C. Sproul, J.K. Rowling, A1 Steak Sauce, etc. But how do you start this trend for yourself? That's the question.

And the more we thought about it - we realized that the crucial denominator is the letter J. Most every initialized nomenclature possesses the letter J. Here are our findings:

A.J. - the Apple Jacks "mascot"
B.J. Novak - Ryan on The Office
C.J. - there is a C.J. that goes to our church
D.J. Tanner - Full House
E.J. - Kathryn knowns an E.J.
J.J. - the "DY-NO-MITE" guy from Good Times
K.J. - Kendall Jackson winery
L.J. - Larry (Grandma) Johnson, LL Cool J
M.J. - Jordan, Jackson....
N.J. - New Jersey
O.J. - hmmmm
P.J. - a coffee house, a type of wine, shorthand for pajamas
R.J. - Again, Kathryn knows one.
S.J. - Sarah Joy
T.J. - I happen to know 2 T.J.s (for the price of 1)
V.J. Singh - the golf-o-matic golfer

I am going to go for HJ. It doesn't really roll off the tongue....but it does roll off your back.

When Hearts Attack

The heart is the only organ I am aware of that will actually turn on its owner and attack them. Other body parts seem to simply be reacting to disease - the heart goes on the offensive and attacks.

Although, now that I think about it - you do have asthma attacks. But to get technical, that isn't actually a lung attack, per se. It is something foreign, some outside genetic disease doing its attacking...not the actual lung.

The heart is like, "Naw man, I'm done with you. I'm sick of beating and beating. I'm sick and tired of this. I will attack you."

And there is not much you can do about it.

Metric, Imperial, and Starbucks Measurements

Yesterday I popped into Starbucks to “get caffeinated” and “get some work done.” And as is my custom, I ordered a small cup of coffee “for here” (you get free refills if they put it in the ceramic “for here” mug). But I didn’t order it correctly. Again. I ordered a “small” cup. And of course, no “small” cup exists. They have “tall” cups. Tall for small. Grande for medium. And Venti for large.

Now, Starbucks is not a new company. They’ve been around a while. And I still don’t get their measuring system. I have to look up and scan their menu every time to make sure I’m ordering the right size by using the right language. My thought is – If I’m not getting it yet, other people aren’t either. Starbucks, it is time to change your stupid measuring system and adopt the normal language of small, medium, large.

Everyone knows “Grande” means large. But not here. Here - Grande means medium.

Everyone knows "Tall" means big. But not here. Here - Tall is the shortest.

No one knows what "Venti" means.

They should have made Venti be the small, Tall be the medium, and Grande the large. That at least has some rhyme or reason (and rhythm) to it.

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?

Review: May Madness 2 (For You (Ewwww))

ONE A DAY FOR ALL OF MAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As is my consummational custom, I review the previous 30 days of Madness and invite my loyal audience to chime in on what was the highlights, the lowlights, and the lights in between. Now is your turn to get mad.

Le' Review:

1. Sequels and Home Alone
2. Pros and Cons of Pros and Cons
3. Banandy
4. Squirrels and Rain?
5. Cinco de Mayonnaise
6. Territorial Dog Urine
7. Saving Water While Showering
8. Oranges: Hard to Open
9. Blame it on Dwane
10. Double Double
11. The Name Game
12. Three Thoughts
13. Jinx! Buy Me a Salad Bar!
14. Close but no Cigar
15. Emotional Cons
16. Chewing: The Lost Art of Self-Entertainment
17. Ms
18. Size O' King
19. Alex Li and Square Pizza
20. Gummy Insects
21. Milk: Why Advertise?
22. Grinning and Chagrinning
23. Dishwashing Philosophy
24. Easy Hearing Music
25. More Questions
26. Octopi and Freak Nastiness
27. Categories
28. TV Likes Odd Living Arrangements
29. Cats: Yuck
30. ¡Mexicana/o Gender Roles!
31. This.

It's over. Now I can finally rest. (And ingest (And digest.)). 

Gender Roles and Mexican Food

One a day for all of Mayo

The other day I found myself in the Taco Bell drive-thru with Kathryn. You have to realize, this never happens. Kathryn wouldn't eat Taco Bell if I forced her to at gun point (or point blank (or good point)). But there we were. At the Taco Bell drive-thru.

We were with some friends of ours and after acquiring our food, Kathryn asked this question, "Hey, did you get a Gordito?" Did you catch that? Gordito? I informed her, "I'm sorry, Kathryn, but GorditAs are feminine. Not Gordito!" I laughed. I made fun of. And then I got thinking about how odd it sounds when you switch the gender of Mexican food.

No one orders a soft taca.
People don't sign up for burritas, or enchilados, or chalupos. Or nachas. Or flautos. Or chimichangos. Or Mexican Pizzos.

Or Cinnamon Twistos. Or Danzo.

Why Cats Suck

One. A. Day.

If you are a cat person, this post will offend you. Stop reading now if you like cats. This is your chance to retain your current mood. Because if you like cats and you continue reading, your mood will get worse.

Because I don't like cats.

1. They destroy my allergies. And I'm willing to bet that they destroy yours too.
2. They are unbearably lazy. They lay around all day. Which makes them worthless. Sort of like fish. They are like enormous fish...only covered in fur...and don't usually die in transport.
3. They don't offer "just-got-home-and-happy-to-see-you-affection." Dogs do. Cats could care less. They just look up at you from their "spot" as if to say..."Hey, can you get me a bottled water while you're up?"
4. They eat nasty food. What is that stuff in that tin can? Fermented puke? Chocolate foot fungus?
5. They don't do tricks. No impressing your friends with this animal. Not unless their trick is to play like they are arrogant and worthless.
6. They shed. See complaint #1 above.
7. They have sandpaper tongues. Enough said.
8. They don't "move" like a normal animal. Instead, they are skitzy, crazy, unpredictable, and frantic. I don't understand. They are either uncontrollably nuts or sedated. Stupid animal.
9. As hinted earlier, they are pampered and spoiled by nature. They simply expect. They feel that they are entitled. They have rights. Dogs are grace-driven. Dogs are grateful for toys and food and pats on the head and comfortable spots to sit and lay. Cats demand them/
10. They poop in cat litter. Which means their poop remains exposed, naked for all to see who happen to pass by the litter box. They also urinate in there too. Dogs at least have the decency to take that trash outside. I think cats don't like to go outside because it isn't air-conditioned.

And that, my friends, is why cats suck. I'm sure there are plenty more reasons but alas, I am done for now.

The Brady Bunch Legacy

One a day for all Of may....

The Brady Bunch started it all. Well, what is "it" you ask? Good question. (Good use of diction as well, I might add.) The Brady Bunch started the sit-com trend to exploring the comedic bass line behind peculiar living arrangements. Here you have a single woman with three daughters and a single man with three sons. Throw them all together under one roof, toss in a live-in maid, and you have comedy.

Does this sound like "Step by Step"? It should. It's the same show, only 25 years later (minus the live-in maid). Odd living arrangement. Comedy.

"Who's the Boss?" Now you have an entire show built around a live-in maid, only with this hilarious twist of irony, the maid is a man. And there is a sexually-active grandmother up in the mix. Odd living arrangement. Hilarity ensues.

"Golden Girls." Again, more sexually-active geriatrics who happen to be living together. [I still can't get my mind around how this became a show.]

"Alf." Here's a weird living arrangement for you: A normal, white, suburban family with a talking, sarcastic, pun-spittin' alien for a pet. Now that is funny!!

"Growing Pains." This wasn't a weird living arrangement, but it had a character named "Boner." I don't care where you are from, that's hilarious.

"The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air." Take a well-to-do, cultured, upper-class African American family in Bel-Air, CA and throw a wacky, urban, "Fresh," teenager in the house. That's an odd living arrangement. And that's hilarious. I can hear the producers around the table brainstorming about this: "Oh! Maybe he can do something crazy and RAP!"

The semi-current and current mutations of the Brady Bunch legacy? "The Real World." "Friends." "Will and Grace." Odd living arrangements. Funny. Pure, comedic genius from the outset.

Ruining Categories

Day. May. One.

Yesterday Kathryn and I went to the pool to celebrate Memorial Day. We memorialized Memorial Day by lounging by the pool and getting pounded by the ferocious sun (the sunburns are not pretty). While lounging, we witnessed a game of Categories being played by a group of female youths nearby. You all know this game - One person stands out of the pool with their back turned and begins working through certain "categories." The other players are in the pool trying to make it across without getting caught by the player standing outside of the pool. Their cue to begin moving from one side to the other is when the player standing outside shouts out their chosen item from the given category. Ok. You remember.

One poor girl was not getting anywhere. She was working through the category of colors. She said - Silver, Yellow, Beige (BEIGE?!?!?), Black....uh......Yellow. None of the girls were crossing. And this girl was apparently running out of colors to call out. She kept turning around and none of the other girls were moving, so she had to keep taking steps forward. She really was stinking at this game. So...I got involved. A few moments later she called out "green" (she should have just worked through ROY G BIV) and one of the girls quietly dipped underwater and began her silent crossing. So I shouted out, "Uh oh!!!" The girl turned, jumped in....and didn't catch her. Hey, I tried.

Another weird thing from this game. At one point they were working through the category of "Soda" and the first two sodas that this girl named were "Sun Drop" and "Cheerwine." Honestly - is that the first two sodas that come to your mind?!? Kathryn and I were shocked. I don't think Coke or Dr. Pepper even made it into the mix. Just weird, off-brand, generic sodas. I think she even included "Dr. Thunder."

When the Octopus Got Freak Nasty

Day a May....bla bla bla....

This is the image that just crossed my mind. It did. So here it is.
Imagine this. A cartoon octopus. With cool, sunglasses on. He's in the middle of an under water dance club (not to be confused with an Octopus' Garden, mind you). There is a spinning disco ball spreading out fragments of glittery light across the dance floor. And the octopus is straight gettin' freak nasty on the dance floor (not to be confused with "freaky naughty," mind me). His tentacles are wobbling. They're wibbling. They're thrashing. Straight up freak nasty style.

That's what I pictured. But the phrase that obviously stood out to me was "freak nasty." This made me laugh. Not to mention the fact that it was a cartoon octopus that happened to be gettin freak nasty (not to be confused with "Getting jiggy with it," mind us). I think they should let Octopi into dance clubs. Just for the sole reason that Octopi could teach us a thing or two about gettin freak nasty. Or about gettin jiggy with it. Or about gettin low. Or about gettin loose. Or about gettin goose. Or about gettin Danza. We could all stand to learn a thing or two (or Danza) from the Octopi.

Questions Aplenty

yeah yeah...May a day....

Why is Bible paper so thin? Honestly, you can rip this stuff if you turn too frantically. Face-paced Sword drills result in torn Bible pages, people. Let's "get with it" and have Bible paper be "the normal thickness." Are other holy books made with thin paper? Or is just the Bible? Or just books starting with "B"?

And why is Yahoo! so excited all the time that they have to have an exclamation point after it? You can check Yahoo! Mail. You can read the Yahoo! News. Why does Yahoo! force me into a state of exhilaration and excitement. I'm just checking my email, people. I'm not entering into a pie-eating contest.

And what's the deal with chicken?

Easy Listening

one A day for all OF may....

Music. Genre. Easy Listening. This is actually a type of music out there. Easy Listening. I'm not sure I could pick it out on the radio, however. It isn't easy to identify Easy Listening. What is it, anyway? What is this claim this genre makes - that it is easy to listen to? What, other genres aren't? Sure, some of that "scream-gothic-primal-terror" music is not "easy on the ears," but I would think that every other genre is fairly easy to listen to.

If you think about it, listening is pretty easy to do as is. You just....listen. So what is this genre claiming? That they are the most easiest to listen to? That isn't claiming very much. Jackhammering is easy to listen to simply because it is loud. It is noise. All noise is easy to listen to. Things that are hard to listen to would be whispering, mice chewing, and the natural response when someone says, "Shhhh...do hear that?" and stares blankly off into the distance with their finger over their mouth.

You know what else is easy to listen to? Cacti. And fungi.