I Don’t Know Why This Made Me Laugh

So, you probably know I have this MySpace page (mostly for my novel Hollywood Car Wash).  I mostly feel too old for MySpace, but it’s a great way to get your stuff out to alot of readers, and for people to get in touch with me, etc. 

Every once in awhile, though, I find MySpace bizarre and very different from me, like for example, when someone posts this comment on the page:

We got this new thing going on . send us pics of you in ya fave hip hop
shirt stating why fire is ya #1 rapper or just rep RBP and we’ll post
you on the page in a slide show… the more pics we get of you the more
times you’ll appear on the page soo….. GET AT ME!!

This is problematic on so many levels, not least of which is that I don’t HAVE a "fave hip-hop shirt."  More specifically, I don’t have a hip-hop shirt AT ALL, much less one that I could consider a "fave."  So, I’m excluded right there. Also, I’m not even sure what the message is here, or why "Fire should be my # 1 rapper."  Is Fire a rapper?  Who is this person who wants me to "get at him?"  Is he Fire’s manager?  Why would he want me to appear on his page in a seemingly random hip-hop shirt?  Does this "Fire" have a shirt?  Does he mean "rep R & B," or did they actually invent a whole new category of music (R & P) since the last time I paid attention to music?  Because I’m going to tell you right now, the last rap album I bought was Jay Z’s Black Album, and I only bought that because I like listening to his music while I’m running on the treadmill.  I could not be less in touch with what the kids are listening to.

My point here is– I have no idea how this person found me, or why he thinks that I would be a good addition to his site in my non-existent fave hip-hop shirt.  My MySpace page is PINK.  It’s mostly dedicated to a chick lit-type book.  The only conclusion that I can draw here is that this person has totally misjudged his demographic, and is now trolling for rap fans in chick lit land.

Discontinued Ben and Jerry’s Flavors

I know, I know– I have been lazy about posting.  Now that I met my daedline for my sample chapters,  I’m staying away from the computer, because I am trying to learn not to obsess about certain people emailing me about certain book deals.  Apparently, patience is something I REALLY need to work on.

However, people are clamoring for the funny! 

Here are some discontinued Ben and Jerry’s flavors that I think are amusing.  I’m wondering how these ever got made in the first place, frankly. 

1. Chocolate Orange Fudge. So wrong. Fruit and chocolate should not be mixed under any circumstances.

2. Concession Obsession. Steph iked this one, but I can definitely see why they stopped making it. Popcorn in ice cream? Not a very nice surprise.

3. Dastardly Mash. Sounds like it has potatoes in it.

4. Lemon Peppermint Carob Chip. So…..many…..flavors. Also, carob is a poor excuse for chocolate.  Please refer to Halloween post.

5. S.N.A.F.U. (Strawberries Naturally All Fudged Up). Again, fruit and chocolate– no no NO!

6. Raspberry Gone Coconuts. Description says "buttery chunks of cookies," which in my opinion is enough to take it off the market right there.

7. Cantaloupe. Already disgusting as a fruit. Why not make a sorbet out of it?

8. Rainforest Crunch. Way too hippie-fied. Also, brazil nuts have a weird flavor.

9. Grape Nut. No, not a typo. That cereal that’s getting stale because your dad bought it and NEVER eats it? Also a discontinued Ben & Jerry’s flavor.

10. Miz Jelena’s Sweet Potato Pie.  Wow– racism, AND a disgusting flavor.  Two for one!

Dangerous Toys

Here is a post I’ve been working on for awhile, in honor of the holiday season, which does in fact seem to be upon us.    The subject: dangerous toys.

For the past few weeks, I have been noticing a lot of little kids in those strollers with the protective plastic on top– you know, the plastic that covers the whole stroller, so the toddler looks a little like they’re inside a snow globe, or maybe on display at a museum?  Also, there is a public school a few blocks from my house, and I’ve just noticed that they have the spongy asphalt now.  That’s right– they’re making the asphalt soft now, so when you fall off the monkey bars, you never even have to learn the lesson that FALLING ON YOUR HEAD HURTS.  This got me thinking about all the stuff that we did when we were kids that was totally dangerous, that parents would never DREAM of letting their kids do now.

I was born in The Seventies, which I believe makes me OLD SCHOOL.  I say this only to emphasize the fact that I’m still alive and well, and yet frankly, I can’t remember even OWNING a bicycle helmet for any of my formative years.  Here are some other things I can remember from my childhood that would probably get you a nice visit from Child Protective Services today:

1.  Super Elastic Bubble Plastic.  Oh….my God.  So many chemicals.  So much potential for inhaling that multi-colored stuff back into your lungs.  I don’t know who invented this or when they stopped making it (I did a search, and while it seems like there might still be some floating around out there, it seems like if it was from the seventies, it would be even more dangerous). 

2.  Cap guns/ caps.  They are still making these, but I remember a fun game played by all the boys on my block, involving just the caps themselves and a hammer.  While I was making this list, my husband told me a very entertaining story about a kid in his neighborhood named Joey whose dad was really into caps.  Joey’s dad decided one day to take a whole box of caps, pile them up, and hit them with a sledgehammer, which he did, with disastrous and somewhat comical result. You see, the force created by setting off this many caps at one time sent the sledgehammer flying into his head, and he was actually knocked out.  After we stopped laughing about this, we noted that it might have been better if Joey’s dad had been hit in the gonads, before he had a chance to procreate.  Now, before you fire up your email to send me a nasty comment, note this:  several years after the caps/ sledgehammer incident, Joey himself was involved in a lawnmower accident that cost him three of his toes.  If that ain’t a perfect example of the benefits of natural selection, I don’t know what is, dude.

3.  The Mini-Bike.  Remember this one?  Little bike, big fat wheels, worst possible combination for balancing purposes?   I think more little kids fell on their heads as a result of this mode of transportation than any other.   That means that if you survived the Mini-Bike, you are a super human.  Of course, we will never know, because even if they do make these (which I’m pretty sure they don’t), no parent in their right mind would allow their kid to ride one. 

4.   Fireworks.  Oh yeah.  Roman candles, 4,000 degree sparklers,

5.   Models.  Teeny, tiny little parts, glue that got you so high you forgot what you were actually trying to make.  So wrong.

6.  The pogo stick/ the unicycle.   I’m predicting that in 50 years, the only place you’ll be able to find these items is 1) eBay, or 2) Ringling Brothers Clown Academy. 

7.  Chemistry set.  You can still buy this, but it’s COVERED with warnings and supervisory announcements, and no longer contains the noxious chemicals that could really kill you.  Why were our parents never concerned that we would just drink this?

8.  Shrinky Dinks.  I got two words for ya:  molten plastic.

On the flip side, I’ve been thinking of things that are in children’s worlds now that definitely weren’t when I was a kid.  These things, I’m convinced, means we’re officially raising a generation of milquetoasts who wear SPF sunscreen so high they’re unlikely to even be able to recover from a bad sunburn, much less a FALL from the MONKEY BARS onto CONCRETE, which is how we played it when I was a young tyke.   

1.  The afore-mentioned stroller bubble.  Because if your toddler gets wet, they’re going to turn to dust.  Everyone knows that. 

2.  Spongy asphalt.  See above.

3.  Mandatory helmet laws.  Like, it’s not even LEGAL to ride a bike without a helmet anymore in California.  So, if you were going to get Darwined out of the human race for being a bad bike rider twenty years ago, today you would survive to pass on your clumsy genes.

4.  The child harness/ leash.  I honestly believe if my mother had used one of these to keep me safe, I would have died from PURE SHAME from having to wear it in public.  I know it’s good in concept, but I gotta say– people survived for hundreds of years with huge families without the benefit of having their child on a retractable string. 

5.  Protective padding for every joint of your body.  I had one pair of knee pads when I was learning to roller skate.  They didn’t fit very well, and I wore them all the way through, after which I broke my arm by sitting on it while I was rolling down a hill.  Would wrist guards have helped me?  Yes.  But then I wouldn’t be the excellent roller skater that I am today.

6.  Safety recalls up the wazoo.  Check out this highly entertaining list.  Did you know that KIDS CAN CHOKE ON SMALL THINGS? 

Of course, with people waiting until later and later to have kids these days, I suppose you just don’t have the luxury of the "well, we’ve got eight kids– if one gets killed in horrible pogo stick accident, we still have seven more" mentality.  If you paid $100,000 to have your miracle IVF baby, you BETTER make sure they wear a helmet, man.

In case you’re curious, here are the "Guidelines for Buying Toys" issued by the U.S. Consumer Products and Safety Division.  I find this to be a hilarious compendium of common sense information.  What in the world did we do before these guidelines were made available?  Think of the children that suffered because their parents just DIDN’T KNOW not to let a two year old play with a sharpened knife?  DAMN!

* Select toys to suit the age, abilities, skills, and interest level of the intended child. Toys too advanced may pose safety hazards to younger children.

* For infants, toddlers, and all children who still mouth objects, avoid toys with small parts which could pose a fatal choking hazard.

* Look for sturdy construction, such as tightly secured eyes, noses, and other potential small parts.

* For all children under age 8, avoid toys that have sharp edges and points.

* Do not purchase electric toys with heating elements for children under age 8.

* Be a label reader. Look for labels that give age recommendations and use that information as a guide.

* Check instructions for clarity. They should be clear to you, and when appropriate, to the child.

* Immediately discard plastic wrappings on toys, which can cause suffocation, before they become deadly playthings. at http://www.cpsc.gov.

I love the term "deadly playthings."  That is a great name for a band.

I Use Words to Make Funny

The other night I was at a business dinner….the guy sitting next to me was an executive at Ogilvy, the advertising agency.  The woman next to him was this older woman, and here’s how their conversation went:

Woman:  What do you do?
Man:  I’m an advertising executive.  What about you?
Woman:  I’m a nurse at a correctional facility, and I specialize in infectious disease control.  I teach inmates how to live with things like HIV, AIDS, and tuberculosis.

<This is the part where I do a spit take of my water, then there’s a looooong silence as everyone tries to think of an appropriate, dinner party friendly next step of the conversation.>

Me:  Butter?  Anyone?

The whole time I’m like "Please don’t let her tell a funny, work-related anecdote….PLEASE."

Jean Paul Sartre Cookbook

I love this….it’s old, but it makes me laugh every time. 

The Jean-Paul Sartre Cookbook
by Marty Smith

We have recently been lucky enough to discover several previously lost diaries of French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre stuck in between the cushions of our office sofa. These diaries reveal a young Sartre obsessed not with the void, but with food. Apparently Sartre, before discovering philosophy, had hoped to write "a cookbook that will put to rest all notions of flavour forever." The diaries are excerpted here for your perusal.


October 3
Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has never actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home immediately to begin work. How excited I am! I have begun my formula for a Denver omelet.

October 4
Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling blocks. I keep creating omelets one after another, like soldiers marching into the sea, but each one seems empty, hollow, like stone. I want to create an omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of existence, and instead they taste like cheese. I look at them on the plate, but they do not look back. I tried eating them with the lights off. It did not help. Malraux suggested paprika.

October 6
I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and cheese) is bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of a cigarette, some coffee, and four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am encouraged, but my journey is still long.

October 7
Today I again modified my omelet recipe. While my previous attempts had expressed my own bitterness, they communicated only illness to the eater. In an attempt to reach the bourgeoisie, I taped two fried eggs over my eyes and walked the streets of Paris for an hour. I ran into Camus at the Select. He called me a pathetic dork; and told me to go home and wash my face. Angered, I poured a bowl of bouillabaisse into his lap. He became enraged, and, seizing a straw wrapped in paper, tore off one end of the wrapper and blew through the straw propelling the wrapper into my eye. "Ow! You lung sucking dog anus!" I cried. I leaped up, cursing and holding my eye, and fled.

October 10
I find myself trying ever more radical interpretations of traditional dishes, in an effort to somehow express the void I feel so acutely. Today I tried this recipe: Tuna Casserole.

Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish.
Directions: Place the casserole dish in a cold oven. Place a chair facing the oven and sit in it forever. Think about how hungry you are. When night falls, do not turn on the light.

While a void is expressed in this recipe, I am struck by its inapplicability to the bourgeois lifestyle. How can the eater recognize that the food denied him is a tuna casserole and not some other dish? I am becoming more and more frustrated.


October 12
My eye has become inflamed. I hate Camus.

October 25
I have been forced to abandon the project of producing an entire cookbook. Rather, I now seek a single recipe which will, by itself, embody the plight of man in a world ruled by an unfeeling God, as well as providing the eater with at least one ingredient from each of the four basic food groups. To this end, I purchased six hundred pounds of foodstuffs from the corner grocery and locked myself in the kitchen, refusing to admit anyone. After several weeks of work, I produced a recipe calling for two eggs, half a cup of flour, four tons of beef, and a leek. While this is a start, I am afraid I still have much work ahead.

November 15
I feel that I may be very close to a great breakthrough. I had been creating meal after meal, but none seemed to express the futility of existence any better than would ordering a pizza. I left the house this morning in a most depressed state, and wandered aimlessly through the streets. Suddenly, it was as if the heavens had opened. My brain was electrified with an influx of new ideas. "Juice, toast, milk" I muttered aloud. I realized with a start that I was one ingredient away from creating the nutritious breakfast. Loathsome, true, but filled with existential authenticity I rushed home to begin work anew.

November 18
Today I tried yet another variation: Juice, toast, milk and Cheetos. Again, a dismal failure. I have tried everything. Juice, toast, milk and whiskey, juice, toast, milk and chicken fat, juice, toast, milk and someone else’s spit. Nothing helps. I am in agony. Juice, toast, milk, they race about my fevered brain like fire, like an unholy trinity of cruel denial. And the fourth ingredient! What could it be? It eludes me like the lost chord, the Holy Grail. I must see the completion of my task, but I have no more money to spend on food. Perhaps man is not meant to know…

November 21
Camus came into the restaurant today. He did not know I was in the kitchen and before I sent out his meal I loogied in his soup. Sic semper tyrannis.

November 23
Ran into some opposition at the restaurant. Some of the patrons complained that my breakfast special (a page out of Remembrance of Things Past and a blowtorch with which to set it on fire) did not satisfy their hunger. As if their hunger was of any consequence! But we’re starving, they say. So what? They’re going to die eventually anyway. They make me want to puke. I have quit the job. It is stupid for Jean- Paul Sartre to sling hash. I have enough money to continue my work for a little while.

November 24
Last night I had a dream. In it, I am standing, alone, on a beach. A great storm is raging all about me. It begins to rain. Night falls. I am struck by how small and insignificant I am, how the entire race of Man is but a speck in the eye of God, and I am but a speck of humanity. Suddenly, a red Cadillac convertible pulls up beside me. In it are these two beautiful girls named Jojo and Wendy. I get in and they take me to their mansion in Hollywood and give me a pound of cocaine and make mad, passionate love to me for the rest of my life.

November 26
Today I made a Black Forest cake out of five pounds of cherries and a live beaver, challenging the very definition of the word cake. I was very pleased. Malraux said he admired it greatly, but could not stay for dessert. Still, I feel that this may be my most profound achievement yet, and have resolved to enter it in the Betty Crocker Bake-Off.

November 30
Today was the day of the Bake-Off. Alas, things did not go as I had hoped. During the judging, the beaver became agitated and bit Betty Crocker on the wrist. The beaver’s powerful jaws are capable of felling blue spruce in less than ten minutes and proved, needless to say, more than a match for the tender limbs of America’s favorite homemaker. I only got third place. Moreover, I am now the subject of a rather nasty lawsuit.

December 1
I have been gaining twenty-five pounds a week for two months, and I am now experiencing light tides. It is stupid to be so fat. My pain and ultimate solitude are still as authentic as they were when I was thin, but seem to impress girls far less. From now on, I will live on cigarettes and black coffee.
***
Sartre died in Paris in 1981. His last word is reputed to have been, simply, "Trix".