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.