At the risk of sullying the guest towels, my wife and I have made a conscious decision not to stock up on toilet paper. Don’t get me wrong, we have plenty of rolls sitting idly in our hall closet, but we haven’t felt the need to add to our stock by purchasing 12- or 24-packs of the stuff. In our opinion, that would be entirely too much toilet paper for one couple, and since space is at a premium, we try to keep our stock as low as possible. Do we ever run low? Not really. We buy groceries once a week, and I can’t remember us ever getting down to the last roll (or even the last two or three rolls). I guess the moral of the story is that, unless you have a lot of kids, you don’t need to fill your closets with two-ply.
Archive for the ‘Zits’ Category
Maybe this trick will work for me. Over the next few months, I’m going to use my Jedi powers to paint the living room, remodel the kitchen, and finish the basement. While I’m at it, I’ll also rely on the force to help me learn Spanish, master a musical instrument, and write a successful novel. For my final trick, I’ll conjure up Obi-Wan Kenobi and ask him to give me a set of winning lottery numbers. If those things happen, I’ll be more than happy to walk to the fridge and get my own ketchup.
Like most music lovers, I owe a debt of gratitude to my parents. If it weren’t for my dad, I might have dismissed sixties icons like Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel. If it weren’t for my mom, I probably would have ignored folk singers like Phil Ochs and Stan Rogers. The ever-present hum of my household stereo conditioned me to love and appreciate music. That said, I’m glad my parents never came to me looking for musical suggestions. I can imagine my dad listening to De La Soul and my mom listening to the Clash, but I can’t imagine either of them enjoying the experience.
It’s not surprising that a teenage boy would get a traffic ticket, nor is it surprising that he would kiss a girl. What is surprising is that he would like jazz, which is why I was tickled to see the parents in this strip react with such utter shock to their son’s Facebook page. I’m a music lover myself, but I could never understand the appeal of jazz. I grew up with stacks of Charlie Parker and Thelonious Monk records, but the music never grabbed me. It didn’t have the earnest simplicity of folk, the catchy inventiveness of hip-hop, or the raw energy of punk. And the few jazz concerts I attended were preceded by lectures explaining the music, never a good sign. I may come to appreciate jazz in the future, but for now, I just don’t get it.
Yes, I own a smartphone, and yes, I spend too much time glued to its minuscule screen. Much of this time is spent checking e-mail, browsing the web, and listening to music, but some of it is spent playing games. And while I’m not a connoisseur of mobile games, once I find something I like, I tend to get hooked. Earlier this year, I downloaded Plants vs. Zombies and played it for hours on end. I even played the game on my honeymoon, but only on the plane. (Okay, mostly on the plane.) Then, earlier this week, I downloaded Doodle Jump and took it for a test drive. I haven’t put the game down since. In fact, I think I’m going to play it right now.
Some books suffer under the weight of awful titles that discourage readers from discovering the wondrous text within. That appears to be the case with Dad’s Big Book of Pathetic Childhood Stories. If I saw this volume sitting on a bookshelf, odds are that I wouldn’t pick it up. But that would be my loss, since I would miss out on the whirlwind adventures of a mid-century youngster with a curiously middle-aged face. Far from being pathetic, this New Year’s Eve sounds like an absolute blast, so much so that I may need to replicate it. At the very least, I can make paper hats out of the Sunday Funnies to help ring in the new decade.
I’m no expert when it comes to zombies. Sure, I’ve seen Night of the Living Dead, thumbed through World War Z, heard good things about Zombieland, and played a game or two of Resident Evil, but I take those experiences as proof that the undead have come to dominate popular culture and not as an indicator of my interest in the subject. That said, it seems to me that the parents in today’s Zits resemble rotting corpses rather than bloodthirsty zombies. If they were from beyond the grave, they would almost certainly be drooling over the opportunity to get at their son’s braaaaains.