Cerebrate Good Times

The other day I stopped at a grocery store I don't normally shop at. I was about to pull into a parking space when I noticed that this particular space was reserved for the police. I decided I don't need to shop at a store that requires police presence often enough to designate a space for them.

Last night I dreamed that I was at my parents' house and they were giving me some food to take home. My mom asked if I wanted some peas, and I said, "Peas? On Earth?" Everyone thought this was hilarious, because in my dreams I am a killer comic.

I've had an on-again , off-again relationship (pun definitely intended—I mean, who would want a perfectly good pun to go to waste?) with the shower radio I've had for a year or two. First it got water in the display, so I had to leave it tuned to one station or be lost forever. Then it's fallen off the wall a few times, but it kept more or less working. Then a couple months ago it fell only a few inches onto the window sill and decided it would stop working entirely. I kept it hanging there, because it has a mirror that is handy to use while shaving. Then this morning I noticed that the display was partially working, so I decided to try turning it on. Huzzah! It works again! The consumer electronics fairies have been good to me. I think I'm going to leave a plate of batteries out for them.

I've been meaning to post about this for a few days but kept forgetting. Last Sunday, a number of different people kept wishing me a happy Father’s Day, which was very kind of them. The thing is, it seems odd to me for Father’s Day (or Mother’s Day) wishes to extend outside the immediate family. I will wish my parents a happy Father’s Day, but it even feels weird if they give me a Father’s Day card. It just seems different from a holiday such as Christmas, when you can extend season’s greetings to anyone (or could until a few years ago, anyway). What do the rest of you highly intelligent people think?

To the guy in front of me: "You drive a little timidly for someone with a skull in his back window..."

I remember the first time I learned of the death of an author I enjoyed. It was Peggy Parish, who wrote the Amelia Bedelia books, as well as a series about 3 siblings who solved various mysteries. I was in elementary school at the time, and it just seemed unfair. Next came news of the death of Roald Dahl, which was a crushing blow for humanity as a whole. I don't think that needs any further explanation. Then, in late 2007, I learned that Robert Jordan, the author of the Wheel of Time series, had died before completing the 13th and concluding book of the series. So, after some 8,000 pages setting up the most intricate story conceivable, the series is being completed by another author. And tonight I made another heart-breaking discovery. This time the author is Donald Westlake, author of some of my favorite books: a series of comic crime novels revolving around a character named John Dortmunder . I was checking Amazon.com in anticipation of the publication of Dortmunder's latest...

I read somewhere recently that someone opened a bar in which the air is saturated with alcohol so you will eventually get drunk just breathing the air. This led me to wonder if you could saturate the air with nutrients which you could breathe in and get into your bloodstream. I don't know if it's possible; alcohol molecules are probably much smaller than vitamins and such. So it's still probably impossible to be a breatharian , and it is just too much fun to eat.

Wouldn't it be fun if everyone always dressed in clothing styles that were popular the year they were born?

Okay, this is a weird one. I noticed a few months ago that one of my pinky fingernails grows little raised circles, one after the other. I tried and tried to get a good picture, but this is the best I could do. Here they are, highlighted so you know where to look. It's just weird! Now I bet you're checking out your own fingernails...

A few days ago Katie made some fudge. Unfortunately, she put in a little too much condensed milk, so it ended up not solidifying terribly well. So we were eating it from spoons (it still tastes good), and then I realized that it works great for spreading on graham crackers like chocolate frosting. Presto, delicioso!

It's mushroom season, apparently. I've seen a number of different fungi around the yard in the last few days, since it's been so rainy. But I have never before seen a mushroom quite like these (assuming they are even a fungus): I'm guessing they are baby triffids . Does anybody have any other ideas?

"The natural state of being for woman is discontent; for man, it is complacency." Discuss.

I have a problem with windshield wipers. And, what with the rain we've been getting lately, it's really been bothering me. I have never driven a car that had the wipers work at the speed I wanted. They're somehow always too slow or too fast for the rain. If they're too slow, you can't see anything, and if they're too fast they squeak across the windshield. Even in cars with a delay system, you just get it right and the amount of rain changes so it's wrong again. Yes, some days I really have to stretch to find something to complain about.

Some of you know this already, but some of you may not. Last weekend I gave in and joined Facebook. Now I feel like I lost a small piece of my soul. But from what I understand, I can fool myself into thinking that hole is filled by getting as many "friends" as possible (sarcasm definitely intended). But I take comfort in knowing that so many of you will be there with me in social networking hell.

This morning I learned something about how the air currents in our house are. The garbage in our kitchen is against the wall, by the door to the living room. When I got up this morning, I noticed that there was something in the garbage that seriously reeked. But the smell was actually worse in the living room. So there you have it.

I think every occupation has its curse—that one thing you can't enjoy as much anymore, because you now know too much about something. For example, I bet hot dog factory workers don't run to the store too often for a package of what they make. In my case, I spend too much time thinking about words. On my way to work this morning, I noticed a truck that had the words "Superior Meat Distributors" painted on it. I was caught in a temporary brain loop wondering if it was the meat or the distribution that was superior. As I was pondering this, I noticed brake lights ahead of me (I was on the freeway). As I slowed down, I saw a police car apparently swerving all over the freeway. I couldn't get a clear look at what was going on because of the cars in front of me, but I kept seeing a police car with its lights flashing, swerving back and forth. I wondered if they were chasing someone on foot, or if a drunk had somehow commandeered a police cruiser. Eventually the car pull...

Yesterday morning I dropped a full can of shaving cream on my foot in the shower. It hurt.

We often have to tell Sam to stop doing something because it's dangerous. He's caught on, and now when we try to make him do something he doesn't want to, he uses the same excuse. So, when I was trying to wrestle him into his pajamas last night, that's what he told me.