Raking Up the Past

First off... It has been so very long since writing a post.  Glad to be back!

I had a very revealing chore to do the other day: raking.  Let me explain.   When my wife and I moved into our house, the yard was in bad shape.  Not only was it not kept up during the time the home was vacant, it was also abused by the previous owner.  Anyway, I finally got around to chopping down the forest that erupted from the bushes in the front yard and then had to rake all the branches and leaves and junk out from under and around them.  I was expecting to find leaves, branches, weeds, maybe some bugs... but I got way more.  I had already painted a picture in my head of what kind of people the previous owners were, but with every dirty old knick-knack I pulled out from the bushes, I grew more and more confused.  Among the refuse, I found:

Hot Wheels Car
Beer Bottle Lid and partially broken bottle attached
Margarita mix pouch
Nerf Gun ammunition
7 foot aluminum pole
Small decorative american flag
Chop sticks
Crushed beer can
Twinkie wrapper
Light bulb
Dog chew toy (still squeaky)

I get the margarita mix and beer cans, they liked to drink and had no problem throwing their garbage into the bushes.  They probably had kids and a dog, hence the toys.  They were obviously very American, what with the twinkies and take-out chopsticks.  But the pole?  Why in the heck was there a big metal pole laying down behind the bushes?  Well, since I know the previous owners weren't firemen, all I can assume is that they were beer-loving-margarita-sloughing-Chinese-take-out-loving-dog-caring-Twinkie-scarfing-patriotic-parents who ran a strip club out of their house. . . . or something like that.

That's the best I can guess.  :)  Anyone have any other ideas?

Plane Manners

I don't know if I've mentioned this yet, but I'm out of town this week on business.  (Don't worry, I'll still be posting.  As a matter of fact, I have plenty to post about.)  Anyway, I am in Eastern Washington state, which is a far cry from Dallas/Fort Worth.  Literally, it took two, two-and-a-half hour flights to get here.  As we all know, flying is hardly ever without incident.  I have a story for you from yesterday.

I was sitting in my seat, waiting for the last people to board and for the flight attendant to close the door.  I had an open aisle seat next to me that I was getting excited about the prospect of moving to.  Well, just before the door was going to shut, an older, larger man lumbered onto the plane.  He looked confused as to where to sit.  (Understandable, given the way the rows were so badly labeled.)  A man in the row behind me muttered some choice words because he had an open middle seat next to him which could belong to the old man.  We were all obviously hoping that the old man's seat wasn't the open one next to us.

It turns out that his seat was the middle one in the row behind me with the choice-words-guy.  I was relieved.  Then, the guy behind me suggests, not so nicely, that the old man take an aisle seat instead of the middle next to him.  He pointed to the one next to me.  So, the older man, who obviously spoke English as a second language, obliged and squeezed into the seat next to me.   As the situation unfolded, I shot the dirtiest look to the guy behind me.

If I wasn't representing my employer, I might have said what I was thinking:
-You've got a real heart-of-gold, huh pal?
-Oh, real funny, *$% *&@#$
-How chivalrous . . .


I sat there, wishing with all my might that the old man would lean his seat aaaaaaaaaaaalllllll the way back.  I wished he would fall asleep and drool all over the guy behind me.  I mean, what a jerk, trying to act all in-the-best-interest-of-the-elderly-but-clearly-acting-out-of-pure-self-interest.  Sheesh!

On the bright side, Spokane is pretty nice!  :)  It's weird that there's only one real highway through town.  I'm used to DFW, which has seven high-ways to Sunday to get wherever you're going, lol.  

Got any plane horror stories to share?  Please do!

Double Dose

Cursed daylight savings!!!

Yesterday morning, I was very tired.  It wasn't because I went to bed particularly late.  It was because my alarm has been going off particularly early.  Why?  Daylight-freaking-savings.  Grrrrr!!!!  Here's what happened when I got to work:

I put my stuff down at my desk.  Next, I considered the unpredictable coffee already in the coffee pot at work.  Then, I considered the highly predictable Starbucks Via instant coffee in my desk drawer.  Any guesses which won?

Via.

So I grabbed my trusty mug, added some via, some splenda, some cream, AND . . .

---Side note---
Normally, one would add piping hot water to make instant coffee.  Well, due to my gross lack of sleep and unusual morning grogginess, I grabbed the coffee pitcher (instead of the hot water) and went to town on my beautifully prepared instant coffee mixings.

Also normally, one would notice when they perform a regular task in an irregular way.  Not me.  Not yesterday.
---End side note---

So I sit back down and begin reading my emails.  The coffee smelled particularly strong, but I took no note.  As soon as I thought my coffee would be cool enough no longer burn the very buds from my tongue, I took a sip . . . bad move.

Have you ever been in one of those situations where you drink something really really bad and you have to spit it out like you see on TV?  Or spew because you drink something and someone makes you laugh?  Today was one of those days.  I nearly spewed my coffee EVERYWHERE!  Why?  Because instant coffee made with coffee tastes like monkey bung hole!  (That's just speculation, by the way.)

Note to self:  Don't make instant coffee with actual coffee.
Note to readers:  Don't make instant coffee with actual coffee.  It's putrid.

Trenta

Trenta


What kind of former Starbucks employee would I be if I didn't bring up the "trenta."  (The what-a?)  Trenta.  (Ah, okay.)  Trenta is the latest addition to Starbucks' beverage size offerings.  Behold!

That bad boy on the left there is the Trenta, sized up against the now-paltry Venti.  It doesn't look all that different, right?  It is.  You see, I still have many friends who work there and I got lay eyes on one on Monday, the night before its big debut.  Here's how it went:

Friend:   Hey, Cole, have you heard about the Trenta, yet?

Me:       Yeah, they were testing it in very select markets about a year ago before I left.  Why?

Friend:   Starts tomorrow.  Check it out.  (Friend scuttles to the back and returns with the new cup and hands it to me.)

Me:       Hmm.  (I carefully wrapped my hand and my brain around the wholly American idea of a fifth drink size option.)  Well, it doesn't look that big.

Friend:   Yeah, but look at the Venti.  (No scuttling to the back for this one.  He placed one on the counter less impressively.)

Me:        Oh . . . 

Friend:   Yeah . . .

Me:        Oh my . . .

Friend:   Yeah . . .

Talk about lions, tigers, and bears.  The new Trenta size is obscenely large, 31 ounces to be exact.  Starbucks has been historically good at listening to their consumers' wants and needs, but I think this brushes awfully close to socially and corporately irresponsible.  The only reason it doesn't cross the line is because supposedly, you can only get it filled with iced tea or iced coffee.  But let's face it, people will be asking for the forbidden trenta-sized frappuccinos . . . low-fat of course.  :)

And We're Off!

And We're Off!


As I so briefly mentioned on Monday, my wife-to-be and I finally picked out a date for our wedding.  It will be...

March 27th, 2011


In case the large font didn't make my point, this is very exciting.  It's also very soon.  Normally, I don't think men get too excited about weddings.  (Ironic, isn't it?  Since the guy typically asks the girl in the first place.)  Well, I am stoked.  At first, I had trouble putting into words why, but I've since corralled my thoughts, so here they are:  Top 5 reasons a groom should be excited to be getting married.  (Not necessarily my top 5, but 5 good ones.)

#1 You have the opportunity to spend the rest of your life with the someone who appears to you to be the most wonderful woman in the world.  Your princess, your soul mate, your bride.  (I feel a little obligated to say that one, but I mean it.)

#2 You get a vacation!  And if you have kids (like us), you get to ditch them with grandma and grandpa and go on a vacation.  Any complaints?

#3 You get a discount on your insurance!  Let's face it, driving cars around is not cheap.  Any help we married folk can get is welcome.  (After all, we're going to have to start paying for diapers for all those babies we're gonna be makin'.)

#4 Higher education magically becomes free!  Yep, for some reason, the government will throw buckets of money at you to go to college.  You can go to pretty much any non-football-based college for practically nothing.  (Men, you're gonna need those smarts to learn how to deal with women!)

#5 You can have all the hot, steamy, guiltless . . . um . . . cake you could ever want.  You still gotta work for it, though.

If I missed one, feel free to add it.  :)

Alcoholic Whipped Cream

Alcoholic Whipped Cream


The other day, I was at my parents eating their superfluous supply of Christmas cookies and my brother came home very excited about something.  It went a little like this:

"Hold your hand out," he said.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

"Um...Okay."  So I did.  He swung an arm out from behind his back, upended a can, and sprayed a white foam in my hand.  "What is it?"

"Shaving cream."

"Um..."

"Just kidding," he said.  "Eat it."

After passing a few skeptic glances around the room, I did.  "Hmm.  It tastes like..."

"It's alcohol infused whipped cream.  Vanilla."

"Oh.  I was going to say shaving cream."

That's right.  Some genius out there finally did it: commercialized alcoholic whipped cream:

Need some more booze between your dinner cabernet and your post-feast bourbon?  Try Cream, an alcohol infused whipped cream.  It comes in many flavors and can be used to booze up many different desserts.  As long as you're old enough, I say you should definitely give it a whirl.  Whip it!  Whip it good!

Freeeeeeeeee!!!

Freeeeeeeeee!!!


Why didn't I post yesterday?  It's because I was busy unlocking my iPhone.  Yes!!!

I used to have AT&T and an iPhone that someone gave to me.  I eventually dropped my AT&T service, but continued to use the phone as a glorified iPod.  It has been working great for a long time.  I have T-Mobile, now, which the iPhone can be unlocked for, but I never tried to unlock my iPhone because I didn't want to jack it up.  (After all, it was making perfectly good music while I wrote Dry Humor Daily.  Why would I want to?)  

Anyway, I was updating the firmware on the iPhone in order to use some wireless headphones I purchased.  Bad move!  iTunes forgot to mention that when you restore your iPhone in order to update the firmware, you have to reactivate it with AT&T!  (In other words, I couldn't even use it to play music any more...)  My reaction was something like this:

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Son of a . . . . ."

"Gah!"

*Long sigh*

Then it occurred to me that I officially had nothing to lose by risking jailbreaking my device.  So I did some extensive reading and decided on a method on how to do it and got to work.  And voila!  Music and the ability to text like white lightning!  I'm in a happy place, now.  :)

Hot Playground

Hot Playground


Awesome comment-leaver Sarah brought something to my attention yesterday that usually would never cross my mind: how hot it is in December. . . in Texas.  Our high temperature yesterday was 79 degrees, just a week shy of the first day of winter.  But I might not have noticed because 79 is a cool breeze compared to the 107 we hit over the summer this year.  Blah!!!  (Thanks for the cruel reminder of how season-less Texas can be...)

Oddly enough, earlier this year, we had over a foot of snow!  (Back in January, in case you're wondering.)  It was, without a doubt, the most snow I have ever seen in Texas.  In remembrance, here is a photo of the 6 foot snowman we made... It was as tall as me!!!

And this is a picture of a typical Texas playground, covered in snow:

:-P

The Big 200!

The Big 200!


Today marks the 200th post on Dry Humor Daily!  I am absolutely ecstatic to have actual readers whom I've never met in my life who genuinely read and comment.  Thank you to ALL of you.  You keep me encouraged and continuing to write.  So what's on the docket, today?  I thought we could take a brief walk down memory lane, then reflect on one of my favorite posts: Wasps

Memory lane isn't even a year yet, but for anyone who hasn't been around since the beginning, this is the best only screen shot I could find of what DHD used to look like:

This was one of the default blogger templates I used from when I first started.  Isn't it cute?  (It was one of the few that didn't look so feminine ...)  I eventually changed this to the blue version of the same pattern, then to a modern-looking black and green something-or-other, then a messy desk, and finally the better-looking messy desk you see now (with the Christmas theme added by yours truly!).  

On to one of my favorite posts.  Enjoy!  And when you're finished, feel free to check out the very first post ever, (if you're into that sort of thing.)

Wasps

Do you have a favorite word? You should, if for no other reason than to have an answer the next time someone asks you. Maybe you like scientific words that no one else knows. Maybe you like words that sound funny. Maybe, in severe irony, you like the word hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia (look it up). Or maybe you could care less about words all together. Well my favorite word is wasps.

Try it. Say “wasps.” The “s” followed by “p” followed again by “s” comes out of your mouth like you’re trying to get someone’s attention. Wasps. I suppose it works with any word ending with an “s,” consonant, and another “s.” Okay, now try these out loud. Lists. Cists. Mists. Wisps. Costs. Masts. Casts. Fasts. Feasts. Crisps. Wrists. Asps. Clasps. Heists (Is your tongue getting tired yet? Are you spitting everywhere?). The one that takes the cake, however, is lisps.

Forgive my speech impediment insensitivity here. Lisps, as is, sounds just like the rest of them. “S,” consonant, “s.” Here’s the kicker, though: say it with a lisp (without laughing and spitting). (My advice: never ask someone with a lisp to say it.) It would go something like this. Lithpth. Isn’t it a little ironic that the word which describes a condition when it’s difficult for someone to say the letter “s” has an “s” in the word? Not to mention, two if it’s plural!

Now try the words from before, this time with a lisp. Lithth. Mithth. Withpth. Cothth. Mathth. Cathth. Fathth. Feathth. Crithpth. Writhth. Athpth. Clathpth. Heithth. In this light, there’s a new cake-taker: Cists, which would sound more like thithth. Can anyone even manage that one? If you can, save yourself the embarrassment and don’t show all your friends.

I still have a soft spot for wasps, though. It seems to linger on your tongue a little longer than the other examples. The humor in its pronunciation (that is, if you’re amused by it like me) is completely contradictory to the menacing image of the insect itself. Also, it requires the lips to move in many different directions all within the same word.

Pick a word and arm yourself with the knowledge surrounding it. Roam confidently with your vocabulary prowess! If you ever enter into a word-war with someone, be prepared to throw down the heavy, hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobic hammer on them!

Originally posted: 3/15/10

Cell Me

Cell Me


This time of year, I go to the mall more often than I normally would in other months.  It just so happens that this time of year is the time when all of the extra kiosks open up in the middle of all of the walking areas.  What does that mean for my shopping experience?  It means it's extra annoying.

I hate it when the kiosk vultures try to get my attention.  I know you can't tell much by my profile picture, but do I look like the kind of person who wants to buy some honey-flax-seed-olive-oil-butter-cream-lotion-made-with-Caspian-Sea-water?  (Also, if you can't tell, the answer is no.)  Anyway, that's beside the point.  Just about the only thing worse than being flagged down for a feminine hygiene product pitch is the cell phone booth.

The T-Mobile booth or Verizon booth, whatever it may be, is always stocked with the worst of the worst.  If you make it on to one of their radars, they ask you about your cell service as you approach the kiosk, as you walk by it, and as you're walking off, as well.  (Even if you never acknowledge them once.)  And somehow, they remember you.  You see, in almost every mall I've ever been to, you have to pass by everything twice.  (Once to go where you need to go and again to make your way back to your car.)  So when you're making your return pass by the booth, they hassle you again and give you the eye as if the seventh time of asking you is the magic one.

It's not. . . . and it never is.  So freaking stop it already!

Do you have any mall kiosks in particular that annoy you the most?  Please share!  :)

Good Luck

Good Luck

“Find a penny, pick it up.  All day long you’ll have good luck!”

Everyone knows that saying, right?  Even further, you should only pick up a penny if it is heads up.  A tails-down cent would be not-so-ironically bad luck.  Well, I was going home for lunch last week and as I parked my car and got out, I immediately noticed a penny on the pavement.  In less than a half-second, I rationalized that because the penny was tails up, it would be against my better judgment to collect it.  I didn’t skip a beat.  I just trotted right past it.  (I don’t think I’m superstitious, but maybe I’m lying to myself.)  Then I got to thinking (because I can’t help myself): what makes a penny lucky, let alone a heads-up penny?

Like everything, I gave it some serious thought.  I decided that there are basically two schools of thought when it comes to penny-picker-uppers.  There are those who believe in their implied good fortune, and then there are those who do not.

#1 Non-believers

Don’t believe in luck?  Then you really only have to ask yourself one question: Is your lumbar workout worth one cent?  If it is, then by all means, get to bending.  If not, then leave it for the next passer by. 

#2 Believers

I believe you make your own luck.  In other words, if you think rabbits’ feet and pennies are lucky, then in your own mind, they are good fortune.  Pick that penny up!  Heck, you could even pay it forward by passing it on to someone else.

That answers the most basic question.  Pennies are only lucky if you think they are.  But what’s the story behind them?  And what makes the obverse side of this coin lucky and reverse not?  It’s actually  mildly interesting. 

Metal was originally considered a gift from the Gods (Gods, meaning those of the Greeks and Romans).  Metal was (and is) extremely useful for making both weapons and armor.  Bare flesh doesn’t do so well against a sharpened iron spear.  Not now, and not thousands of years ago.    So, if you were an ancient Roman walking along one of those famous roads of yours and you just happened to stumble upon some metal, it would be considered a blessing.  A sort of being-smiled-upon by deities.  Metal was officially a symbol of luck.

Many currencies around the world began to be made from metals and the charm just stuck.  Finding money became lucky.  Finally, somewhere along the line, pennies became, well, lucky enough to be considered lucky.  As for the heads-up status?  It’s still a mystery.  Maybe it has to do with Abraham Lincoln smiling at you as you grow one cent richer. 

Any other ideas, please share.  :) 

Just Drive

Just Drive

Some people are very, very smart.  We have microsurgeries and smart phones.  We have the Hubble space telescope and 4G wireless networks.  Have you ever seen an Airbus A380??  It’s difficult to imagine that we humans can build such things!  To our extreme misfortune, we also have humans wandering around this planet which are on the complete opposite end of the intelligence spectrum: utter idiots.

Yep.  This article is about people doing stupid things, not smart things.  And if you’re trying to make a connection to the title of this article, I’ll just say it: this is about people doing stupid things while operating a vehicle.  That being said, what should we definitely not be doing while driving a car?  Here are just a few I could come up with:

Drinking alcohol – this is a no brainer.  If you can’t see straight, how could you possibly drive straight.  And oh yeah, it’s illegal.

Putting on makeup – especially around the eyes.  Especially, especially with the sun visor’s vanity mirror in your face blocking your view of the road.  Here’s an idea: wake up earlier!

Picking your nose – not illegal, but dangerous on bumpy roads

Texting – because Oprah says so . . .

Eating a burrito – it’s an accident waiting to happen, whether it be your car or your clean, white shirt

There are plenty of other examples, and as a matter of fact, I thought I had seen them all.  Then, there was the other day. . .  I pulled up to a stop light on a major street and just happened to glance over at the driver in the small, blue car next to me.  The lady was reading a book!  Not a magazine or a pamphlet.  A freaking novel!  And she was half-way through it!  I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she just whipped it out for that stop light.  But no!  After the light turned green, she just kept on reading while driving.  It must have been one life-altering book! 

I just have to say, how ignorant can you be?!

She might as well have been drinking, texting, putting on makeup, picking her nose, and eating a burrito!  To all of you page turners/drivers out there . . .  Stop It!  Just drive.

Happy 6 Months!

6-Months of Blogging!!


As of yesterday, I've been officially blogging for 6 months!  I guess that's like a 6-month-versary.

Thank you to every single follower, subscriber, reader, and commenter!


I might not have made it this far without all of the encouragement I get from y'all.  I am really, really humbled that even that many people care what I have to say.  Now, I say, "Bring all your friends!"

So, in honor of Labor Day, I've decided not to labor.  I don't have to go to my real job today and I'm not setting out to amuse the public either.  I have, however, set up a few links to some of my favorite posts from waaaaaaaay back in the beginning, so you can either remember, or pretend you were there the first time around.  (I only wish I had some tacky screen shots of what my site used to look like.)

Purpose March 26, 2010

Wasps March 16, 2010

Engrained March 10, 2010

and my very first post ever, Glass Ceiling March 5, 2010

Again, thank you for reading!

Tuesday 8/31

Tired of Twilight


I've been tired of the twilight bonanza since before I even really knew what it was.  Its following is only growing and the longer it goes on, the more ridiculous the new stories surrounding it become.  Here's a tip-top example is saw yesterday:

A push-up challenge with Taylor Lautner?  Really?  At this point, they're really scraping the bottom of the barrel for material.  I have a better challenge:  I challenge anyone to care . . .

Wednesday 8/25

Pun Intended

In case you haven’t noticed, not all of the humor here at Dry Humor Daily is always “dry”, per se.  (The title of my blog was chosen more to describe my own personality, not necessarily the contents of these pages.)  That’s okay, though.  Laughs, cackles, and giggles are good all the same.  I thought maybe over the next few days, we could explore some different types of humor.  One of my favorite varieties is the pun. 

Puns are great.  They are actually kind of borderline dry humor.  It all depends on the delivery.  If you can appropriately (and intentionally) use a pun while keeping a straight face, it usually qualifies.  Puns are basically a play on words.  And they’re usually better told spoken because of the common use of homophones.  Well, I’ve conjured up some classic scenarios using puns.  The first two are real.  The second two, I just know of.

#1 I was on a school field trip to the Fort Worth zoo sometime in middle school.  (I don’t think the trip coordinators at the school realized that 13 and 14 year-olds weren’t amused by the zoo at that age.)  We were breaking for lunch and we all sat in a large area with picnic tables.  It was well shaded.  Perched in those shade trees were swarms hungry crows (we call them grackles) waiting to swoop on the first sight of leftovers and falling food.  My friends and I were eating and talking and I suddenly felt something.  I though it was a drop of rain.  Then I looked at my arm where I felt it.  One of those crows had relieved itself . . . onto my arm.  The first thing I could think to say was, “Aw crap.”

#2 One way I used to cure boredom was by drawing and sketching.  I loved drawing back when the only thing I had better to do was watch Ninja Turtles when it came on.  Anyway, this particular day, drawing was the last resort.  I had tried everything else.  So I grabbed the sharpest pencil in the cup and a notebook and plopped on the bed.  I flipped it open and put the pencil to the paper and CRACK!  The pencil broke.  Then, realizing that my attempt to pass the time was officially futile, I said to myself, “Well . . . this is pointless.”

#3 A thief broke into the local police station and stole all the toilets and urinals, leaving no clues. A spokesperson was quoted as saying, “We have absolutely nothing to go on.”

#4 A man rushed into a busy doctor’s office and shouted “Doctor! Doctor! I think I’m shrinking!” The doctor calmly responded, “Now, settle down. You’ll just have to be a little patient.”

Tuesday 8/17

Out of Commission


I had a root canal, this morning, so I'm not in much of a writing mood.  I did see a funny warning while I was there.  A sign next to the x-ray machine read:

Please let us know if you are pregnant or could possibly be pregnant.  Thank you.

I understand why they put this sign up.  Women would definitely want x-ray technicians to be extra careful so as not to zap all of their eggs on accident.  Buy my question is:  Shouldn't x-ray technicians just be careful not to zap ovaries anyway?  All the time?  Not just when women are explicitly expecting.

And one more thing.  What dentist is taking pictures down there?

Tuesday 8/3

Recognition


So I took this picture a while ago . . . hold on, back up.

I used to work at Starbucks, for almost three years, actually.  (Sweet gig, by the way.  If you've ever thought, "I like Starbucks.  I wonder if it would be fun to work here", well it is.  You should definitely check it out.)  Anyway, I digress.

The recipe for hot chocolate at Starbucks calls for chocolate drizzle on top of the whipped cream.  Yum, right?  For fun, I used to use the pointed chocolate bottles to draw chocolate smiley faces on all of the ones I had time for (especially the kids ones.)  Someone ordered six hot chocolates once and we weren't busy, so I took a picture with my phone and sent it to facebook.

If you're at all familiar with facebook, it suggests all kinds of things to its users, like friends you should be friends with, groups you should join, movies and music you would like, etc.  It has another feature which lets you "tag" people in your photos.  That way, someone who is looking at your photos can run their mouse over someone in a photo and their name will pop up.  Just yesterday, facebook was thumbing through my photos and, in its infinite wisdom, decided to suggest I name the person in this picture (my hot chocolates from Starbucks from like three years ago):

At least the facebook-photo-search-so-you-can-tag-your-friends-engine got one thing right.  Hot chocolate is indeed my friend.  But then it asks, "Whose face is this?"  I didn't know what to say, so I put "Quasimoto."

I guess you could take one of two angles on this.  One, perhaps my prowess as a chocolate artiste is easily recognizable, even by the mechanical means of a computer program.  Or two, face recognition software is so pitiful that even my crude chocolate rendition of positive emotion was deciphered as human.

I think I'll go with the first one.

By: S. Cole Garrett

Wednesday 6/9

This is an older post that got good feedback.  Enjoy!  (In case you missed it the first time around.)

Flat Line

Few incidents in life carry the potential to elicit as wide of an array of emotions as road kill.  It can be downright tragic and in other instances, wildly funny, but why?  And where do we draw the line?  For most of us, the accidental auto-slaughter of a golden retriever is heartbreaking whereas the tire-ironing of a common bullfrog may not be.  In fact, depending on the position of the poor frog, possibly arms and legs out-stretched, it may actually be funny.  For those who think all road kill is tragic, there is still an arguable range of sadness.  Surely, a family pet death evokes stronger emotion than that of a pan-caked raccoon. 

So what exactly is the spectrum of sadness involving road kill?  At first glance, it seems very straight forward.  Give anyone a list of animals and ask them to order them from comic to tragic.  With slight subjectivity, a collection of these lists would turn out very similarly.  We can all agree that the inadvertent expired existence of a human being is by far more depressing than a flattened field mouse.  A linear pattern certainly exists, but it’s more complicated than that.

Add a second dimension to the same question: the gore factor.  Clearly, some road kill is more gut-wrenching to observe than others.  Revisit the frog.  A paper thin amphibian with no entrails in sight most likely won’t make one avert their eyes.  What may be difficult for some is the suspension of laughter.  A poor, pulverized pit bull is not so funny.  Ask the same group of people to rate goriness and the results would probably be even more similar.  We now have a planar representation within which to plot our road kill emotional state.  If only it were that easy.

Our understanding could be enhanced with a third dimension, a fourth, a fifth, and so on.  Without going into much detail, we’ll hit a few of them.  There is the quantity factor.  For example, if one finds a paved possum humorous, then no doubt, two would be doubly so.  There is the delayed reaction factor.  Think skunk.  There are a multitude of others, blurring the delineation between comedy and tragedy:  the eye-contact factor, the trajectory factor, personal taste (maybe you hate Chihuahuas), the tread factor, the exotic factor, the collateral damage quotient, and etcetera.  Use your imagination. 

You will have to decide for yourself what tickles you and what doesn’t.  So for every squashed squirrel, Panini-ed pigeon, tread-ridden turtle, steam-rolled stray, and waffled weasel, laugh appropriately and mourn when meaningful.  Just be glad it wasn’t you.

By: S. Cole Garrett

Wednesday 4/14

Solo

Laughing is good for the soul.  Laughter is the best medicine.  Laughter brings people together.  Laughter makes the world go ‘round (or is it money that makes it turn?)  Anyway, we laugh at people, things, situations, and plain old jokes.  We laugh with people and at people.  Laughter comes in many forms, and most of them are joyful.  But when is laughter not a good thing?  Laughing at yourself: that’s no bueno.  It’s not so much laughing at yourself, either.  What’s embarrassing is when you are the only one laughing . . . at you.

Have you ever been in that situation?  It is extremely awkward.  Something is obviously funny, or else you wouldn’t be audibly amused, but something is equally and obviously not funny, because no one’s in your boat.  As a matter of fact, your boat is sinking and no one will toss you a preserver.  Here’s a scenario:

A group of college friends are sitting in a bar (cliché, isn’t it?), discussing the recent death of one of their elder professors, recalling days past.  The moment is cheerful with memories.

Thinking he would be funny, one guy finally says, “I sure am going to miss that grumpy old fart, Mr. Rumblebottom.” 

He starts chuckling at his own joke, but it was tasteless and amusing to no one else.  Soon, the crickets start chirping.  He’s all alone…

How does he get out? 

Talk about the weather?  . . . weird

Talk about camping? . . . random

Talk about the Mr. Rumblebottom’s widow? . . . creepy

Talk about politics? . . . death wish (depending on your views)

Fade into a pathetic sob, exposing his delicate feelings? . . . not if he wants to keep his man card.

You see?  Not so funny when you’re the only one laughing at your joke.  Well, don’t forget, laughter is the best medicine.  His best move now, with that sick feeling in his stomach?  The poor shmuck should simply follow-up with another cheery memory, distracting his friends from his indecency.

So now what?  Well, have you ever heard the saying, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?”  Well, here’s a corollary to that statement you could also live your life by (especially at parties and other settings where people currently respect you):  “If you don’t have anything smart to say, don’t say anything at all.” 

By: S. Cole Garrett

Tuesday 4/6

Ode to the Pothole

Oh, pothole, how devious you are!

In youth, you are unnoticeable and hardly felt under the suspension of our advanced vehicles.  At first, you do little more than gnaw our tires.  Our course remains undeterred and our conscience unmarred.  You are present without presence.  You, pothole, are but an acquaintance to be forgotten.

You grow in girth and in depth.  Your rubber appetite is becoming unquenchable.  Drivers avoid you like it is a game.  For now, you are avoidable, but nonetheless, our cars are built to sustain your bite when necessary.  We know of you, heard your name.  On a clear day, people evade you easily.  You are hungry and patiently waiting for your accomplice: the rain.

Under torrential rain, you wait under puddle, to claw at each unfamiliar driver.  You grow deeper with each strike, too, like gossip, adding fuel to your fire!  You are indiscernible among both pounding rain and sunny aftermath.  You hide like a chameleon, reflecting the world around you when filled, your most dangerous state.  Feast while opportune, pothole, because when you become well-known, you become problematic.  Then, the war begins.

We patch your gaping jaws, but you know it is temporary.  The next rain or freeze has all the potential to un-gag you, rip the tape from your mouth.  Rain equals wrath and the longer it rains, the longer you eat.  Enjoy.

Ironically, man built the roads you infest.  Construction neglect and failure to know the porous soil beneath roadways are your loopholes.  We indulge you with asphalt patchwork on which you gleefully feed.  You are a weed, unable to be nipped in the bud, a recurring nightmare, a cicada outside the bedroom window. 

We cover you, again and again, but you will never cease to exist, as long as red tape barricades solutions, as long as you are economically unviable to repair correctly, and as long as rain falls on this green earth. 

In other words, until the planet dries up, you will forever plague our streets.

By: S. Cole Garrett