CSotD: Hungry, Hungry Humpday
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Once again, Humpday comes along at a moment when commenting on the news is becoming unbearable, though I often have to decide whether Venables belongs in politics or comedy.
I can’t tell if Fearless Leader truly believes he’s been talking to Iranian leaders or is just catfishing us, but I’m going to wait for more information on sudden gas and oil stock purchases to emerge before addressing it seriously.
However, speaking of imaginary girlfriends and such, it was nice timing to have Filmore head off for his futile mating trip, and this reminded me of a poem I wrote in eighth grade, the opening verse of which read
Oh, maiden fair, t’was cruelly done
To bid me wait, whilst off thee run,
Pledging return: O Wicked Lie!
Why wouldst young maid
So hurt a guy?
There was more, and I think that second line should have read “thou runnest,” but both the rhyme scheme and meter demanded that construction, even if grammar didn’t. Anyway, even by eighth grade I knew that sarcasm ne’er won fair maid and kept it to myself.
It was a few more years before I amused other people as much as I amused myself. Assuming I ever hit that point.
Meanwhile, on the topic of enjoying Humpday instead of the news, I continue to be struck by how the Prayer of St. Francis encapsulates Stoicism. When I was in school, the local TV station, owned by the university, signed off with that prayer after the National Anthem. Probably would have been better placed, as Pig suggests, just before the news.
But St. Francis also being the Patron Saint of Furry Things, perhaps the best idea would be to have the anchors hold cute animals in their laps while they read the news, and encourage people to do the same while watching at home.
The Tasmanian version of the possum is much cuter than the American version, so the folks at the airport gift shop didn’t have to explain how many ticks their little guest ate, and given that it was mooshed in there among the stuffed toys, it was probably wise not to bring up the topic of ticks at all.
We were discussing this story at the dog park and came to the conclusion that Australia is full of darling little furry mammals, which would be a lot better if it didn’t also have an impressive collection of insects and reptiles that can kill you simply by glancing in your direction, none of which you would want to find curled up among the airport souvenirs.
Which brings to mind a story about the time nature writer John Burroughs was at Theodore Roosevelt’s cabin outside of DC and woke up to discover a family of flying squirrels in his room. Burroughs enjoyed writing about nature but didn’t enjoy sleeping with it, so TR scooped the family into a hat and took them to his bedroom where they spent the night amicably, if not necessarily quietly.
A few mornings ago, I opened my kitchen door to find a faint coat of snow over things, and it occurred to me that, if that happens in November, my response is a gentle, “Ah, here it comes!” but when it happens in March, it’s greeted with cursing.
Timing is everything. John Burroughs probably liked flying squirrels when they weren’t ping-ponging around his bedroom in the dark.
Ben’s grandkids are getting fish. And a few other things. It’s a bit of an expensive start up, but the algae and the feral snails are free. I had a GF who liked tropical fish and was delighted by a fresh-water moray eel, whom she and the kids promptly dubbed “Snake Guy.”
I was getting the kids off to school one morning when the kindergartner said, “Look at Snake Guy!” and I saw that Snake Guy had one of the oscars by the belly in a death spiral. It occurred to me that, for the same price, I could have gotten him a Quarter-Pounder, but he seemed happy enough cleaning out the tank.
Except for the algae and the snails, of course.
About that same time, I began a policy that I thought was worthwhile. I liked that kids could order books at school, but, first of all, a lot of those books were pretty lightweight both physically and in concept, and, second, I felt books should be handled and considered and pondered.
Fortunately, we had an excellent independent bookstore in town, so the deal was that, if they didn’t use the class order form, we’d go down to Chinook instead and they could play in the toy house and pick any book they wanted. As long as it was more than 24 pages and didn’t read like Dr. Seuss on acid.
Chinook has since closed, but Colorado Springs still has Poor Richard’s. And my kids and their kids still buy lots of books.
I hope, on the other hand, that none of my kids or grandkids have even heard of Taylor Frankie Paul, which sounds like a singing trio, but is the most famous reality star who ever threw furniture at her boyfriend.
If you read the news, she’s hard to escape. I don’t understand reality TV for just the reasons Toby mentions: You can call it “reality” but it’s staged, edited and all but scripted.
I watched the first “Survivor,” but by the third season, people had learned how to behave on “Survivor” and they should have changed the name of the show to “Mimic”.
Meanwhile, I never made it through a single episode of “the Apprentice,” but I’d rather have Johnson Louie Wasserface throw barstools at me than sit through any more executive bogosity.
I spotted this guy’s problem right away. He’s a guy. Secret deodorant is for girls, and specifically, for girls like Katie Winters, who was always cool, calm and collected.
Though when I went to find video evidence, I discovered that she’d stolen the phrase. If she’d stolen it from Benny Goodman or Harry James, my mother would have mentioned it, but I doubt the name of Sammy Kaye ever crossed her lips.
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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