If I ever scrounge up the courage to get a tattoo, it’ll be a monster. My plan is to have someone ink an enormous Where’s Waldo scene across my entire back. Here’s the catch: there will be no Waldo on the tattoo itself. Instead, I’ll buy a series of temporary Waldo tattoos, and place one in a different location each week. That way, my back will turn into a constantly updating puzzle for anyone who’s willing to stare at it. Of course, the prospect of even 10 minutes under the needle gun makes me nervous, so sitting still while someone inks a crowd scene is probably out of the question.
Archive for the ‘The Argyle Sweater’ Category
The hamburger in this strip strikes me as unappetizing, and not for the scatological reasons you might suspect. Sure, it’s a little unsettling to think of hamburger “buns” being carved out of the “buns” of a Pillsbury Dough-Boy, but what’s even more unsettling to me is the fact that Dough-Boys tend to be uncooked. Imagine a freshly grilled hamburger sandwiched between two slices of dough – white, pasty, flavorless, uncooked dough. I don’t even like uncooked cookie dough, so imagine my reaction if I ever had the misfortune to bite into a raw hamburger bun. All I can say is, it would take an awful lot of ketchup to make that thing palatable.
Late last year, I had the pleasure of going to the eye doctor. I wasn’t expecting to have a pleasant visit, but I did, thanks to some incredibly nifty technology. My previous visit to the eye doctor had been as a child, but I was experiencing some eye strain and a few mild headaches so I thought to myself, “why not be responsible?” I was pleasantly surprised by how painless everything was, and was deeply impressed by the high-res image of my eyeball that my doctor pulled up on his computer screen. He also refrained from rubbing charcoal in my eyes, which was something of a bonus.
Two days ago, I shlepped over to the hardware store and bought a box of “contractor bags.” I was suspicious of their toughness and wary of their price, but I needed something sturdy to hold basement debris. Yesterday, I joined my wife, mother-in-law, and aunt-in-law (a real term?) in ripping copious amounts of tile from my basement floor and several sheets of drywall from my basement walls. We threw everything in the trash bags and…they worked. They were thick and rubbery and almost impervious to harm. I don’t think they would have held an Orca – even a baby Orca – but they sure did the job when it came to sharp-edged basement junk.
Like most people, I’ve lost a few socks to the dryer over the years. But losing the occasional gym sock, while frustrating, is not a big deal. What bugs me more is the fact that my dress socks are impossible to match up after they’ve been washed. Some are black and some are dark, dark blue. I can never tell the difference until I wear them with black shoes and notice they’re mismatched. I also sometimes pair long socks with slightly shorter socks, which feels awkward. Maybe the answer is to simply go to the store and upgrade my collection. While I’m at it, I can browse the appliances to see if there are any castle-like dryers, similar to the one in this strip.
Coincidentally, I’ve spent the past three years volunteering as an ESL tutor. Much of that time has been spent with the same student. He’s made tremendous progress over the years and we’re now able to hold conversations before class. But our initial sessions were fraught with miscommunication. How do you explain something in English to someone who doesn’t speak a word of English? It’s not easy, and I relied on a translator for many of the important topics like setting goals or rescheduling classes. Conversational English has its place with beginning students, but it shouldn’t be used to establish, confirm, or reschedule class times.
Those poor pigs. There they are, holed up inside a brick house that they’re hoping will protect them from the big, bad wolf. This hungry beast blew down their houses of straw and wood, but there’s no way he could topple brick, right? Well, I guess the Kool-Aid Man is getting ready to take care of that by busting through the side wall. I’d feel bad about the impending demolition and subsequent pork/ham/bacon feast if it weren’t for the sided attic on that house. Everyone with a semblance of taste knows that brick and siding do not go together. So I say, good riddance to this amalgamation of building materials. Hopefully the inheritors of this parcel will have the good sense to build using brick and brick alone.