Funny Strange is Lori Culwell's blog

It's Supposed to Be Good for You....

So, I've recently switched over from the refillable  plastic bottles that are apparently now toxic to glass and/ or stainless steel bottles that, as recent reports seem to indicate, are less likely to give us cancer. 

Are you feeling inundated with reports of things you're doing wrong?  I totally am.   I try to avoid paying too much attention to this kind of thing because guess what?  We're all going to die anyway, but every once in awhile I get suckered in to reading a report or buying a book about how every single thing in my home is killing me, like my makeup, my mattress, and apparently, my purple Listerine flouride mouthwash that I enjoy so much.  My purple flouride rinse!  Say it ain't so!  Yeah, apparently now there's a thing where alcohol-based mouthwash is supposed to raise risk of oral cancer by something like 900 %.  Of course, now this is all I can think of, so I'm probably going to end up at Whole Foods buying some patchouli-flavored Tom's of Maine "mouthwash" that doesn't work, because let's be honest, their deoderant is the reason why hippies smell so bad. 

I guess I'm just tired of hearing about how things I like are bad for me, and that even when I change to things that are supposedly good for me, THOSE turn out to be bad for me too.  This is only not true of cigarettes, which were clearly bad, and giving them up was good.  But...mouthwash?  For God's sake.....this seems like a game we will never win.  Another example:   I try to eat less meat and more fish, and then fish is bad because it has mercury, and oh by the way, the water in my city has antibiotics in it, so I get a filter and some plastic bottles, and then the BOTTLES are bad for me.  Frankly, all of this makes me want to build a house out of bacon, then eat my house.  Is that bad?

This whole post was inspired by a trip to the grocery store last week, during which I noticed this weird-looking box of organic brownie mix.  Um, ORGANIC BROWNIES?  Give it up, dude.  You're eating brownies....it's ok to just go with the Duncan Hines.  By the way, I am pretty sure that every day on the way home from school, I drank water out of the sprinkler, and I am still alive.    Let's stop the insanity, shall we?

Latisse....because you're insane.

 OK, I finished my most pressing project, so I have a few days to catch up on other things and do things like order a faucet for the kitchen, and answer all my email, and watch a television show.  I say "television show" because I only watched one DVR'd episode of "My Life on the D List" before I realized there was another urgent thing I forgot to do, so I couldn't really get my post-deadline CSI marathon going like I wanted to.  Because you know, nothing says relaxation like some dead people, and some people who work in a lab recreating how those people got so dead.

 
Anyhow, while I was watching TV I saw a commercial that reminded me that awhile ago, I was going to go on a rant about, like, "What's going on with these drugs, the side effects of which are worse than the conditions they're supposed to be treating?"   This is a topic I like to mention, actually-- oh, you're going to treat my eczema by giving me tuberculosis?  No thanks!   But, then I saw a new one to add to the list-- eyelash enhancer that can CHANGE THE COLOR OF YOUR EYES or mess you up in other ways.   FDA-enhanced EYELASH ENHANCER.  For your thin eyelashes.  Because you are insane and have never heard of "Mascara" or "False eyelashes for special occasions," and what you want is something that you put on your eyelashes for eight weeks, and then your eyelashes get a little thicker, and then they fall out, because guess what?  Eyelashes fall out.   

 

I am totally unsympathetic to this problem, because in case you don't know, I have invisible, see-through eyelashes and eyebrows, or perhaps a more appropriate description, eyelashes/ brows so blonde that when I was in seventh grade and was not yet allowed to wear makeup, a boy at school came up really close to me and asked if I even HAD eyelashes, because some people had a bet going.  That blonde. 

Here is a sample, in case you're still skeptical.  It's all good-- I don't let it get me down.   I also like how this photo makes my eye look like an eye from the movie "Psycho."    "Wendy.....I'm Home!"

So blonde and thin that my husband's long, dark, natural eyelashes taunt me with their supermodel-like effortlessness (side note, when I mention how jealous I am of his eyelash superiority, he rolls his eyes and says "dude, I have no f%*^ing hair).  And....guess what?  I'm totally ok with them just the way they are.  So basically, I'm the target audience for this product, and even I think it sounds dangerous and dumb.    I learned to wear makeup, and when I don't feel like it, I go out without it on, and I don't even give a crap.  Eyelashes are the least of your worries and I can't believe they've actually invented a product that you would purposely rub on your eyes to enhance them that might change your eye color, darken the skin around your eyes, or eye itching, dryness, or redness.  No no no! 

Here is a photo of Stephan's eyebrow and eyelash domination.  Do you see the eyebrow arch and the delicate curl of the long, outside lashes?

Yeah, he doesn't even have to try.  WTF?  No eyelash curler, no mascara, nothing. 

Also, why is Brooke Shields the spokesperson for this product?  Is she somehow implying that she needs this product, because (how to say this delicately) based on the size of her eyebrows, I doubt Brooke Shields is a woman who needs a hair-enhancement product.  Do you know what I mean?   I watched the "Video Diary" on the site and apparently she damaged her own eyelashes over the years and used Latisse to grow them back.  Meh, okay-- but, dude, you're Brooke Shields, famous for eyebrows and Calvins and beautifulness.  I doubt anyone was even noticing your thinning eyelashes.

 

File it under "insult to injury"

This morning, I got an email that I found at once so hilarious and so macabre that I had to immediately stop what I was doing and start this post.  Because that's how it is with this blog-- either it's writing itself, or....nothing.  This is the nature of things that are funny and strange, right?  They hit you, and you have to tell someone, preferably right away.

 

So, let's just get this out of the way.  If you don't know already from reading this blog, my mom passed away suddenly in 2003.   Everyone who knows me knows this, of course, and probably if you've read one of my books, it's clear because all of my protagonists have only one parent (not a mysterious convention, just what I feel like writing about), and I think I have mentioned it a few times here-- not to be morbid or anything, but it is a fact about me, so sometimes it shows up.   Anyway, if you didn't know this and now you feel bad for me, thank you for your sympathy.  I really do appreciate the good wishes, and have ever since it happened.  My mom was 59 when she died and I really miss her, and it actually really does strike me as unfair sometimes that I have to go through the rest of my life without a mom.

 

But that's not even what this post is about.  If you've lost someone that's close to you, you are going to totally feel this post, which is about the lingering minutia that crops up after someone close to you is gone, that will remind you they're gone, but in a "gallows humor" kind of way, so all you can do is shake your head, laugh, and go "ok then."   Here's an example:  after my mom passed away I was responsible for all her financial affairs, all the insurance paperwork, all the disability, blah, blah blah.  I managed to wade through a sea of bureaucracy, probate, and every other stupid thing WHILE I was mourning the loss, and wouldn't you know?  The one place where I just couldn't make the paperwork stop was....America Online, which, I kid you not, requires an original death certificate, signed by the coroner, in order to close someone's account without their authorization when the account belongs only to that person.  Power of Attorney be damned!  America Online does things by the book.    I'd say it took six months for all the paperwork to slowly dwindle down to a trickle, and even then I was still getting mail addressed to my mother, from America Online, to the point where it was funny to me.   There were several other examples of this, like an ongoing back and forth I had with the disability office, or the receptionist-lady at the front desk of the ICU who thought it was a good idea to give me a "warning" talk about how if patients' family members didn't start using the intercom-entry system like they were supposed to, they wouldn't be able to come in anymore, only she told me this when I was there for the very last time (if you know what I mean), so I was like "thanks alot, only I won't be needing to follow your stupid rules, because I'm NEVER COMING HERE AGAIN," then told her she needed to go to sensitivity training, and that as far as I was concerned, she was fired. 

 

I will just conclude this prologue by saying that when someone close to you dies suddenly, it is actually really hard to think of all the accounts, all the dry cleaning that might not have been picked up, and all the other little things that might be in that person's desk drawer or on their "to do" list.   You don't know, dude!   There's no way you can think of everything.   And so, at a time which will be unknown to you, sometime in the future, something will crop up in a place where you didn't expect it, and it will be so ridiculous that it will make you laugh. In the future, I will also have to cover "people who find death so disconcerting that just seeing you causes them to blurt out weird things,"  because believe me, that is a whole different blog post.

 

So, a couple of months ago, one of my best friends since childhood experienced a sudden, tragic loss when her boyfriend, unfortunately, took his own life.     Of course I didn't write about that here, but again, if you know me and my circle of close friends, you probably have heard about this tragic event.  My friend has been so amazing about the whole thing, really stronger than you ever could expect anyone to be under the circumstances.  And, just like me, she is experiencing this "slow dwindling of paperwork and reminders."  It's been about four months since this happened, and I believe that everything is pretty much wrapping up....

 

That's when she booted up her Nintendo Wii this morning.   Apparently no one told Nintendo Wii of her boyfriend's unfortunate and unexpected demise, because the Nintendo Wii lady all of a sudden started asking about the whereabouts and exercise status of the Mii that represents her now-deceased boyfriend. 

 

This is what she emailed me this morning.  I am changing the name of the boyfriend to "Brad," just to respect everyone's privacy, and taken out some things, but I think that you will find the overall subject matter to be absurdly amusing.

 

From:  My Friend
To:  Lori Culwell (and others)

Subject:  Why I hate my Wii Fit

You are going to love this one.

I just got on the Wii Fit to see my weight and work out......suddenly Wii Fit lady asks me how Brad is doing.

She gives me 4 choices (is he slimmer?  did he gain weight?  etc).  because he has a Mii on the Wii fit home screen, and it's been awhile since his status was updated.

Needless to say there is no choice for "dead" in the Wii Fit world, so I answer "the same" to just be able to move on to the next screen.  She says back to me "change is always good, don't you think?"   The screen after that says "Maybe you are not paying enough attention to Brad,"  then the screen after that says ”on a side note did you know that dogs become more motivated the more attention their owners give them?” 

She also tells me that I am lazy…..

 

So, that's about it for today-- I am just going to leave you now, laughing while covering your mouth with your hand and going "NO!  NOOOOO!  That's AWFUL!"  since you have now observed how, taken out of context, the Wii Fit lady could just be doing her job and suddenly create a situation so very, very wrong and insensitive that it turns into black comedy. 

Octo-mom: the most disturbing ongoing news story of the year

My internet service keeps crapping out, for some reason, due to a "service outage" hackjob that was apparently perpetrated on Los Angeles and San Diego counties yesterday that left many people with verrrryyy sllooooow seerrrvice.   And by that I mean the internet service itself, and the CUSTOMER SERVICE.
Time Warner says it's fixed, but I'm not convinced, like, at all.  And, oh yeah-- good job, hackers!  Mission accomplished!  You totally annoyed and irritated half a state full of people.  That energy couldn't have been used for anything else, I'm sure.  Thumbs up!

Speaking of annoying and irritating, I keep forgetting to write about this—maybe it’s because every time I think about it, it gets me so incensed I can’t see straight, much less write.  But—finally!  A subject that transcends political lines, religious beliefs, and all the other divisive issues.   I don’t know why, but I find this whole “octuplets mom” thing more disturbing than the stock market taking a giant dump, or the real estate market circling the drain, or unemployment spiking. 

I think we can all agree that it is a very, very bad idea for a single, unemployed woman with six children already and a clear-cut mental illness to have eight babies at one time when she lives with her parents (who kind of seem like they don't even want to live with her) and collects money from the state.  Right.   Right?  I'm not even talking about reproductive rights here, people.  I'm talking about the fact that I am very concerned that a doctor has given medical care to an insane person who might actually think she's Angelina Jolie, and this has resulted in eight (or, fourteen) children who are going to have a crappy life because no one could say no to this woman.  How is this possible?

I have a personal thing about this because I am a taxpayer in California, and I know some people who have actually gotten IOU’s from the state because of the budget/ economic crisis.  I can’t help but feel personally taken advantage of by a woman who is clearly gaming the system, as half of the children she already had were disabled when she chose to get in-vitro to have the other eight.  That means food stamps, disability, and about $ 2 million worth of California-taxpayer subsidized hospital care for eight preemies who are then going home to live in a filthy, overcrowded three-bedroom house.

Then there’s the plastic surgery—my God!  The plastic surgery!  This woman has so obviously made herself in Angelina Jolie’s image, and I’m really questioning the sanity and ethics of a doctor who would repeatedly implant that many embryos into a woman with a history of depression, suicidal ideation, and a face full of plastic surgery.  I’m seriously more weirded out by this than Michael Jackson, HIS plastic surgery, his kids, and his Neverland ranch.  I mean, there’s no one around to regulate him, but at least he has family and some money to catch him when he falls.  I know, I know, everything he has is being auctioned, but he’s still Michael Jackson, which means he can still make music.   Nadya Sulemon just defies all logic, and the fact that she got medical professionals to help her out with this is amazing and scary all at once.

So—what to do?  Can regular people file complaints with the Department of Child Protective Services?    This topic leans more on the “strange” and less on the “funny,” and for that I am sorry, but—damn!  Can she really get away with all this during these hard economic times?    I am genuinely worried about those poor children.

I would start a petition or something, but I wouldn’t even know who to send it to.  Comments and suggestions are welcome.

Death by Pool Cover.....

 I'm sure I've mentioned what delightful fun I'm having as the Vice President of my co-op board, what with the weird people in the building, and the puddles of poop, and the garage door gate that happened to short out and permanently close itself on Superbowl Sunday.  Actually, I'm only being half-serious; it's a pretty fun (volunteer) job, and I'm learning a lot about the inner workings of buildings and homeownership.

Sometimes, though, funny stuff happens, and I want to tell you about it.  As part of my tenure on the board, I am trying to find ways to cut costs in the building and keep fees from increasing, and one of these methods was to investigate ways to keep from heating and cleaning the pool year-round when it only gets used half the time.

So, ok, I got a solar panels guy to come talk to us about that, and then next on my list was trying to find out about pool covers for the oddly-shaped pool.  I was having no luck with this at all, as it seems that oddly-shaped pool covers cost even more than the money we would be saving by having one.  Still, I hate to give up until I have all the evidence, so last week, when the pool guy was here cleaning the pool, I was all "hey, can you make us a pool cover?". I swear to God, the guy looked at me like I had just blasphemed his grandmother, and he's like "oh, no NO-- no pool cover!  Pool covers kill!  Pool covers, oh my gosh, if you just step on the pool, the pool cover will SUCK YOU UNDER and KILL YOU, and your liability insurance will go up, and......!" and his face was turning all red and he was getting all upset, and I was like "allright already, cool off, no one's getting a deadly pool cover today, I get your point, I'm just trying to cut down the building's electric bill."

That's when he came back to reality, stopped gasping, and said "oh, why didn't you say so?  Just reset the timer on the pump so that it runs six hours instead of ten," and just like that, he did it.

All I'm saying is, I find it so amusing when people are so totally outraged by things that would never even occur to you, so that an innocent question becomes an affront to their sensibilities, you know what I mean?

Benjamin Button, Grouchy Old Men, and McDonaldLand....

Stephan and I went to the movies on Thursday last week, a minor feat in and of itself because

a) we're so busy there's rarely an opportunity when we have a chunk of time that we don't have something due and are in the mood to schlep all the way out and sit in a theater without Facebook or our Blackberrys or phones for three hours, and

b) grouchy Old Man Cox only has certain times when he will even consider going to the movies, because he has HAD IT with people's bad behavior, and so we can really only go during week nights or maybe weekend days when the theater won't be crowded.

The second one is true and it sounds like I'm making fun, but really, I am totally on board with it.  I can't really stand people either, and being with a big crowd of them on a Friday or Saturday night while they yell and talk on the phone and smack their lips and slurp their sodas is just not my idea of a good time. Let me put it this way-- I once got in an argument with someone because they were talking really loud during SCHINDLER'S LIST.  Yeah, if there was ever a good time to be quiet and kind of respect the moment, it's during that movie.  So, that's when I lost all my faith in humanity.  Or, maybe it was that time when we were seeing "Proof" on Broadway, and a woman answered her cellphone, then stayed on it and talked as she made her way from the middle of the theater, over everyone's legs, and out the side door, all the while going  "Yeah?  Well.....what did he say?  Yeah?  Really?"  over the actors who were acting at the time.  Since then I have been reluctant to pay big bucks for a Broadway ticket, since I'm 99% sure people can't hold themselves together for the 2 1/2 or 3 hours that they're going to have to be quiet.  So, I'm just saying, I understand.

But, last week!  Thursday night!   Benjamin Button!   It was a good combination because the movie has been out for awhile, so the theater wasn't likely to be crowded.  The only possible problem was that the movie started at 8:00 or so, and that didn't leave us very much time to eat before we went in to scope out the seats that were the farthest away from other people.   Did I mention that I want to live on the top of a hill, surrounded by unbuildable acreage?

Anyhow, the point of this story is that the only place that sounded good to both of us was McDonald's, so for the first time in about nine years, I had a McDonald's cheeseburger meal, and it was so delicious!!!  I totally understand the obesity epidemic in America.  McDonald's is SO GOOD!

While we were eating said McDonald's, we got into a discussion that I'm sure you will be able to hear in your head, regarding what, exactly, happened to all the rest of the McDonaldLand characters?  This came up because apparently they're not offering the cookies anymore, and we were speculating that this is because they've discontinued everyone but Ronald, which seems like a weird choice, because who wants to buy fast food from a clown?   We were trying to name all the McDonaldLand characters that we could remember, which led us to a spirited debate over whether Mayor McCheese was actually also the sheriff's constable of McDonaldLand, and also, were the Fry Guys made out of fries, or did they like to EAT the fries, and how exactly did that work?   Stephan also mentioned that on St. Patrick's Day, they would cross-dress Grimace (which, by the way, is a TERRIBLE name for a children's character-- grimace is what you do when someone steps on your toe) as "Uncle O'Grimacey" and he would drink the Shamrock Shake, which by the way, my uncle invented.

Wow!  That was a long sentence.  Anyway, this tangential discussion led us to do some verification on Wikipedia because there were some characters we couldn't remember, which prompted me to get out my Blackberry and look it up.  That's when I found this, which has to be the most exhaustive chronicle I've ever seen of a series of now-discontinued, fictional characters:

Wikipedia:  McDonaldLand Characters

Wow.  I mean-- wow!   I'm glad someone made this extensive entry, but also-- I'm a little scared.  Who knew that Captain Crook (who, as I'm sure you'll recall now, kept himself busy by attempting to reel in Filet O'Fish sandwiches, in blatant defiance of the fact that he was a PIRATE, and was out to sea, where he could catch actual fish) had to be changed to "The Captain" because focus groups found him TOO SINISTER?

Who knew that Mayor McCheese went away because of a lawsuit filed by Sid & Marty Croft for ripping off H.R. Pufnstuf, that they actually WON?  Did you know that McDonald's paid them $1 million?  I did not.

And so, my friends, I will leave you to reading that entry, which kept us entertained right up to the start of the movie, and the whole way home with sentences like "Officer Big Mac was similar to Mayor McCheese in that he had a large Big Mac for a head, except he was the chief of police and as such he wore a constable uniform."

Wow. 

This is the kind of thing that only I wonder about...

I'm sure you saw this on People Magazine online (because, of course, you totally follow celebrity news, right?).  Last week or so they mentioned that superhero cyclist and cancer survivor extraordinaire (no joke, he's really amazing) Lance Armstrong and his girlfriend of six months are having a baby together.   But...ok, this is going to sound weird, and I'm probably the only one wondering this, but as soon as I read the headline my mind started going a mile a minute, like "Isn't Lance Armstrong the one who had testicular cancer that spread to his lungs and brain, and didn't he have his (ahem) testicles removed, and didn't he freeze his sperm for future use before chemo and radiation, and don't we only KNOW this because he and his wife at the time made such a big deal out of the fact that they had three kids after he had cancer, and you can do it too, and don't give up, and the whole thing?"

All I'm saying is, I don't believe that it is possible for Lance Armstrong to get someone pregnant by accident anymore (even though he IS superhuman), so the only conclusion I can derive with my limited, celebrity magazine information is that they must have had a REALLY great first date, then decided to proceed several months later to the clinic, where they checked out a vial of sperm, then used in-vitro.  And like, to me that's something you might not want to commit to when you've only been dating a few months.   Is anyone with me on this?  That is alot of money, and paperwork, and invasive medical procedures for two people who practically only just met.

This is when you go "Wow, Lori-- you are really a very strange person.  Who would think that?"

That is One Stupid Kangaroo.

I can’t believe I sat on this picture for four days, but I was putting the finishing touches on the new novel (which is now DONE and being road-tested by a select group of readers while I hold my breath for feedback).   

Now, I turn my full attention to the kangaroo I saw at the Brentwood Street Fair last weekend.

Now, first of all, let us really qualify the words “Brentwood” and “Street Fair.”  When you think of a traditional street fair, maybe those words conjure up images like street food (which they did have, although it was definitely more high-end than your traditional hot dogs/ hamburgers), music (yes, they had that too, though it was a REALLY good jazz quartet), and kids’ activities (yep, also had these—FOUR bouncy-houses, face painting, pottery, etc).  I guess what I’m getting at is that Brentwood isn’t going to do anything that’s low-end, so it should really have been no surprise to me that the petting zoo they set up at the corner of Bundy and San Vicente (in the grassy divider in between the streets) was so very….fancy.

And by this, of course, I mean high-end, that it didn’t even stink, and that there were two clean-looking llamas, a bunch of cute little pygmy goats, and one of those exotic cows with the hump on his back (sorry—I don’t know anything about different cow breeds, and I’m just not motivated enough to Google it to find out what kind it was).  Oh, and also, they had this kangaroo, who was just hanging out  in a cage with his huge legs splayed out.  I like the way he's propped up on his tiny little front legs, like he's having you over for dinner and is pleasantly making conversation with you.  "So....what subjects are you taking in school?  Yeah?  That sounds interesting....."

Even though it’s a more, shall we say, upscale type of petting zoo, it’s still a petting zoo, which means those animals are not exactly in their natural habitats.  Personally, I have nothing against zoos, because I always figure those animals were either born in captivity (meaning they’d have absolutely no shot in the wild), or were slow enough to get caught, so they’d be someone’s dinner anyway, so now they have a nice life, albeit a life in a cage.  So, usually I just hope that animals like this have a pretty decent life, get fed and petted regularly, and don’t have to worry about getting sent to the glue factory, because they are actually making children smile.

I’m on the fence about this kangaroo, though.   I mean, they didn’t have nearly enough space to let him out, and kangaroos are NOT friendly, so there was no way he was going to be out and interacting with the kids.  So, I kind of get the look on his face, like “This totally sucks.”  He looks a little like he’s plotting something, like “oh man, I can’t WAIT until they come to give me my kangaroo kibble.  That’s when my nefarious plot to take over Brentwood will begin.  Yes.  Yes!”

Here’s the thing you can’t see, though—this kangaroo is in a pen with an OPEN TOP.   Um, doesn’t he know that kangaroos move around by JUMPING?  Doesn’t he know that he can, at any time, just break out and go hopping down San Vicente to freedom?

Apparently he doesn’t, which I guess means this kangaroo is stupid, which then answers for us the conundrum of why he’s the kangaroo in the petting zoo that little children can pay $3 to stare at, but that no one can touch.  He’s a special kangaroo, you see.  And by special, I am meaning “can’t figure out how to jump out of a cage with an open top).  So there you go.

Incidentally, we were at the Formosa on Monday night after the staged reading of Steph’s play (which went great!), and I told this story to someone, who then replied that they had a kangaroo story of their own (because who doesn’t?).  Apparently he worked in publicity for Warner Brothers when that movie Kangaroo Jack came out, and as part of the PR for the movie’s launch they closed down Hollywood Blvd and tried to have a kangaroo race.  However, as we’ve already established, kangaroos are neither intelligent nor motivated, so after all the prep, all the hassle getting street permits and paying people to bring kangaroos and let them loose in the streets of Los Angeles, the kangaroos just kind of stood there, going “What? I’m a f*&king kangaroo, okay?  You don’t tell me what to do.”

Need a New Job?

Yesterday I was having a conversation with someone about something completely unrelated when the discussion turned to ice carving (like it inevitably does when you’re out in the professional world, speaking of things).   

First of all, silly me, I had no idea that ice carving was a real thing that people learned as a trade, and actually based whole businesses around.  I’d seen ice sculptures before, like at weddings and work events, but I guess I never really wondered where they came from, sort of like how you never see baby pigeons.  Not that I’m comparing the world of ice carving with flying, disease-infested airborne rat vermin, but you get the point.  It kind of weirds me out when I discover a whole segment of the universe that never even occurred to me, so I thought I’d investigate a little.

Anyhoo, did you know that ice carving is an actual Olympic Sport?  Yeah, it is.  It's also a course at the University of Akron's Hospitality Management Program, AND they have their own association, and an event called ICEFEST.  And it involves chainsaws, so you know my clumsy ass isn’t getting anywhere near a block of ice, even as a hobby.   CHAINSAWS, dude!  That is hard core.   Also, how anti-climatic must it be to put all that energy into a sculpture of a swan or something, just to have it slowly melting the whole time your event is going on?  That’s got to be the rough equivalent of slaving over a Thanksgiving dinner for a zillion hours, then having your family come and demolish it in 45 chaotic minutes, right?

Okay, now think about that as you look at this website, where seriously, these people made Rodin’s The Thinker out of a 4,000 pound ice block.  If I made that, I’d be like “um, we’re just going to keep the thermostat set at 23 degrees from now on, because I don’t want my The Thinker to melt.”  I mean, I don’t even like cutting stuff I’ve written, because you know why?  That’s what I have to show for precious moments of my life, even if it’s total crap and the book would be better without it.  You know what I’m saying?  I wouldn't want Ice Jaws or Ice The Thinker or Ice Barney Rubble to melt away into oblivion right after I'd finished carving it, which is probably why I don't know about this profession or have it as a hobby.

Right now, I think you should go over to the website of the National Ice Carving Association (again, who knew?) and check out all the crazy stuff they make out of blocks of ice.  It really was illustrative to me this afternoon, and hey, if you're looking for a new hobby, maybe this is it.  Let me know how it goes.

Unless You're Over Thirty, This Probably Won't Freak You Out.

I totally don’t want to go off on one of those “in my day things were different” rants, because of course, everybody thinks that, and frankly, I feel the EXACT same as I always have, like in my mind I'm still in high school, only I have a job and more stuff.   So really, the only way I even know I'm getting older is because time is passing and my friends' kids are turning into actual, coherent human beings who can take phone messages and have conversations about global warming. So, I don't usually indulge in that kind of "in my day Saturday Night Live was better, and people didn't talk so loud on their cellphones, and   music had meaning," rhetoric, because really, where's that going to get us? 

But, ok….I noticed something the other day, and I just can't keep quiet about it.  I guess I started thinking about this after reading this hilarious post about how the game Candyland has changed since we were young.  I was in the grocery store over the weekend—have you noticed that the packaging for breakfast cereal has gotten really scary since we were kids? I’m not just talking about “oh, that Captain Crunch has gotten a little more sinister looking.”

I’m talking, friends, about this:

Is it just me, or does this squirrel look not only like he’s eaten far too much of the sugary breakfast cereal he’s advertising, but also like he’s tweaking on meth?

And, what about Lucky the Leprachaun? For the record, I was one of those kids whose mom wouldn’t let them eat sugary cereal, so I never even had Lucky Charms until college. But, when I did have them, I’m 99% sure that Lucky did not look like this:

 
Jesus Christ! What happened to Lucky? Did he always look like a 3-D rave partyboy dancing in a club?

   I don't think so.  And, what are all those new charms?  Has the cynicism of this modern age even managed to permeate our breakfast cereal?   

To answer your next question, no—I was not high when I started wondering these things. I haven’t been high since the nineties, dude. Can you imagine how weird my mind would be if I did?   Maybe I was off on a nostalgia tangent because we were in my hometown over the weekend, and maybe while I was there I started thinking about how very long it's been since Lucky Charms even occurred to me.   Maybe this is due to the fact that on Saturday, we were eating in a pizza place, and randomly started talking to this kid who worked there, and during the conversation Stephan said "oh, my wife's from here," and maybe then the kid said "What year'd you graduate?"  And maybe I said "Oh, a long time ago....we probably don't know any of the same people."

And maybe then Pizza Kid said "Oh, come on-- what year?  I KNOW ALOT OF OLDER PEOPLE."