CSotD: Adult Humor, or a reasonable facsimile thereof
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Whamond slipped a reality check into Reality Check this past week to remind us that summer is drawing to a close. I don’t mind that, since autumn is my favorite time of year and this past summer was awfully hot anyway.
But his timing was extraordinary, because this ran on Friday and just the day before I had run into my least favorite part of my most favorite season.
I’d seen Halloween candy on the shelves for a week or so, but that’s about gluttony, not All Souls Day. We need to buy our bags of the candy in August so we can go through a few of them before we have to share with little neighbors.
No, what I dread is the annual Pumpkin Spice Festival, and I had just seen it pop up Thursday, including the presence of eggnog, in which it belongs, though a cup or two of eggnog scratches the itch for at least a year, so I’d rather wait for Thanksgiving or Christmas before facing the question of rum or bourbon.
The proper flavor of coffee, however, is “coffee.” I can tell, and appreciate, the difference between Colombian and Sumatran coffees, but that’s all the variance needed.
My problem with pumpkin spice is not the flavor but the rhapsodizing. I don’t care whether or not you like pumpkin spice but I’d just as soon not hear about it. Thank you.
Then Whamond came back the next day to remind us that it was Chop Suey Day, and I eat Chinese food fairly frequently, sometimes purchased and sometime cooked at home, though rarely chop suey or chow mein, not that there’s anything wrong with them.
But it reminded me of when I first arrived as editor of a small paper in Maine and kept seeing announcements for chop suey dinners at various places, and was genuinely puzzled, since I was in Moose Maine, not Lobster Maine, and nowhere near a seaport where you might expect to find a taste for foreign food.
Which is how I discovered that in New England and a few other places, “chop suey” is what I would have called “goulash.” Wikipedia explains that “it is known as ‘American chop suey’ both because it is a sometimes-haphazard hodgepodge of meat, vegetables and Italian seasonings, and because it once used rice, a staple ingredient in Chinese cuisine, instead of pasta.”
So it’s called American chop suey because it’s Italian but once used rice in place of macaroni. Perfectly logical.
Juxtaposition of the Day
I’m done with Lake America gags, but Hamilton deserves kudos for having tied in something that doesn’t matter with something that does, while Noth capitalizes on the old saying that “small things amuse small minds” and suggests that it’s not so bad that Dear Leader can be distracted by trivial nonsense.
The naming thing is bringing Dear Leader a constant stream of abuse and ridicule, mostly people repeating “Lake Epstein” suggestions and jokes about “Canada Geese” becoming “Donald Ducks,” both of which were clever at first but are now reaching 6-7 levels of annoying repetition.
I appreciate the ridicule, though, not because I think Natalie is going to let any of it get through to Dear Leader, but because it may pierce the bubble his loyalist followers dwell in. While his expensive, disastrous war in Iran and his attempts to fix the upcoming election won’t upset them, making him look foolish might cause a few of them to question their choices, and if the reflecting pool debacle hasn’t done that, perhaps this will.
But we’re not doing politics today, so the pies in the face are noted and praised, but now let’s move on.
Juxtaposition of the Day #2
I’m not sure the term “adult” has a specific meaning, but here are several possibilities, most of which aren’t nearly as fascinating as the phrase “adults only” suggests. I remember a new grocery store whose cereal aisle had a helpful shelf sign that said “Adult flavors” which definitely were not as interesting as you might imagine. They must have taken some ridicule, because the sign disappeared.
I just finished Emily Williams’ translation of the Odyssey, which was very much worth reading, and have decided not to bother with the movie, because it sounds like a very long Swords-and-Sandals extravaganza without the depth Homer gave it.
But I might go back and reread Ovid, because that’s where the gods really show their stuff. Literally, to each other and to any mortals who wander onto the scene. It was what you might call “adult literature.”
Tank has been anticipating the start of football season. I’m torn on the topic because I loved the sport until the brain damage became apparent, and the latest revelations are even more concerning. Not only have I got a couple of nurses in the family, but also a professor of neuroscience, which makes it hard for me to watch the game without recognizing what’s happening on even the most routine plays.
And after the death of Natasha Richardson, I interviewed a helmet designer who was researching prevention of head injuries, and who had a lot to say about hockey and soccer and skiing as well.
But if you tune into a preseason game, you’ll find that the announcers haven’t bothered to memorize the rookies, and so instead of telling you who made the last play, they’re interviewing team management in the booth.
The fact that they don’t seem to care about the game makes it easier to wean yourself away.
Before videotape, O Best Beloved, you couldn’t show highlights until the film was developed, which left TV with nothing to do at halftime except show the marching bands and the Kilgore Rangerettes.
Which was also how you spent halftime if you were actually at the game. This reminded me of 1968, when the Purdue marching band marched down to the rival Notre Dame student section and played Chiapanecas, inviting the students to clap their hands twice at the appropriate moments in the song. Predictably, the students instead inserted a two-syllable phrase into those intervals.
Dunno how the broadcasters handled it, because it wasn’t “Oh Boy.”
Mike Peterson has posted his "Comic Strip of the Day" column every day since 2010. His opinions are his own, but we welcome comments either agreeing or in opposition.
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