Thanks to a chance encounter last night, I now know there’s a type of dog called a “Goldendoodle.” I told the owner I couldn’t imagine the mechanics underlying the coupling of a male poodle and a female Golden, thinking that there must have been stepladders or pulleys involved. But as it happens, the father was a Goldendoodle himself. Problem solved.
When people conclude an exposition with “that’s just my personal opinion,” they’ve made an inane statement on multiple levels.
The show Lost is an amazing phenomenon. I never watched a single episode until launching the 2004 pilot on Hulu.com the other day. Now I’m hooked and ashamed to admit how much sleep I’ve lost watching episode after episode on my laptop. It won’t be long before I catch up to the current season and have to wait a week between viewings.
A certain blogger cum acquaintance has given me a new nickname. This has actually been going on for a few months, but I only recently discovered it. It’s a simple moniker yet somehow entertaining.
I’m thinking of picking up an ancient Yamaha vocorder so that I can start doing podcasts that sound like they’re being hosted by icons such as Daffy Duck, Mickey Mouse, Yoda, Alvin the Chipmunk, and Johnny Most.
I was recently paid several hundred dollars to not write an article. This is the second time this has happened with this particular publisher.
Whenever I start seeing gray hairs on a given part of my body, I just shave the whole area. Fuck it if it can’t take a joke. This is a limited phenomenon for now, but within a few years I will bear a startling resemblance to one of the aliens in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.
I continue to reveal my ignorance in the realm of private and semi-private female behaviors. Only within the past year have I come to understand just how many women start coloring their hair at age 35 or so, and how many single women own vibrators.
I’m going to start running with a tree stump under my arm, and if anyone asks questions I’ll mock them for never having heard of a training log.
I could live on popsicles. Since I eat the sugar-free kind, though, I would eventually starve to death in mid-lick. It would be like a chocolate addict trying to escape from being underweight by chowing down on Ex-Lax all day.
I don’t know where the popular belief that people are hungry half an hour after eating Chinese food came from. Whenever I eat Chinese, I can only drink water for the next seven or eight hours because the stuff is notoriously salty.
I bet that less than 50 percent of Americans know their own blood type, and it’s a solid bet that only 1 percent recognize whom a person with a given ABO profile can donate blood to and receive blood from. The latter isn’t of importance to the majority of folks, but it’s best to have the former on record somewhere.
I’m going to go to one of my sister’s Pampered Chef parties wearing nothing but Pampers and a chef’s hat. I wonder if people will get the joke. If not, I’ll shit my pants and not worry about it.