A fat kid's random stale cookies

When I was a kid there were always sweets in the house. Ice cream in the freezer, always. Those great big Hershey bars, the kind about four-by-six inches, stashed in a drawer or "hidden" in an electric fryer that sat unused on top of the fridge. And a cookie jar of some sort, on the kitchen counter, with some low quality and half-stale Fig Newtons or Nilla Wafers or some such. I knew where all the sweets lived because I was both a curious and fat kid. I made it my business to have a basic rolling inventory of everything that was in the cupboards, pantry or refrigerator. I think a "keep it away from the pudge" policy was the reason they were always trying to hide the good stuff. But being a sort of Sherlock Holmes of desserts, I sniffed it all out.

That cookie jar, however, was always my last resort. If there was only one sort of crappy, cheap cookie in there, that might do in a pinch. But there was a tendency for two or three kinds of crappy, cheap cookies to end up in there together, and their smells and flavors would inter-marry, and that was not a palate pleaser even for a fat kid. A sugar cookie should not smell like a ginger snap - a Nutter Butter should not have a coconut flavor - the race mixing of the cookies was morally objectionable.

All of this is by way of saying that a pastiche, a potpourri, and pot of leftovers, is often not all that tasty, and this blog post is exactly that kind of pot of leftovers. You have been duly warned. These are my Random Loose Ends.

Update on New Year's Resolutions

Here it is March already. 2010 is one-sixth over. You're probably wondering how the fat kid is doing with the old resolutions. So here's where I stand: I have been 100% successful in stopping saying I will cut down on drinking, and I have followed through on my pledge to get up every morning and give serious consideration to a strenuous workout. I have also had complete success in giving up eating baby seal meat, and I have totally said no to necrophilia. On the downside, I have not fulfilled my pledge to get a prominent tattoo that says "Be Kind, Rewind." But there's still five-sixths of the year left.

Wearable technology observation

With a small cringe for fear of offending, I would like to quietly suggest that the wearing the earpiece-cell phone thing 24/7 is really 2008 and it's time to let it go. It just didn't catch fire like you thought it would, bunky, so you look like a nimrod. Let's move on, ok? I know, I know, you are saving a lot of time and effort reaching into your pocket, purse or holster to get your phone out all the time, but only television directors and dispatchers and air traffic controllers really need a semi-permanent headset situation. I mean, how many urgent business deals are you making during the recession? And you were never really that important anyway, were you? (At the same time, as soon as they come out with the fully implantable cell phone, cut me open and stick it inside my head. Give me a little set of buttons behind my ear. Hands free, and I'll never have to worry again about watching my fancy phone drown in the toilet.)

The many names for one's thing

They say the Eskimos have a hundred - or a thousand, or a million - words for snow. Snow is very important to them. Frogs, if they had a language, would have a hundred or a million words for flies, I guess. So if there is some thing that has lots of different names, it must be important. That's why, I think, there are are so many different names for the naughty bits. Most people can, without hesitation or a Google search, reel off 10 or 12 terms that equate to penis, and perhaps an equal number for vagina. I find this intriguing, but I can't quit figure out how to get some blog value out of it. Stay tuned. Maybe we'll have a contest. First prize can be a jar full of stale Fig Newtons that smell like Snickerdoodles.

Lastly, two random cheap laugh photos that came my way. I share them because a cheap laugh is still a laugh.

Ok, I don't know who this guy is, where he is, or what the fuck he's thinking, but if Conan the Barbarian got in a time machine and popped up in a park in Milwaukee in July, and then tried to find some clothes to blend in with the locals, it might look a little like this. I can't help but think that even though no one else in the photo is looking at this guy, there all are talking about him. And not admiringly.

I think maybe this picture came with the caption "Excited about the weather?" I wish I could improve on that, but I can't.