I need to close tabs. Let the internet littering commence!
When I die, put me in these ninja pajamas, shove me in the dirt sans mortuarily gussying me up, plant a tree, some mushrooms and a bit of weed on my grave and remember me fondly. “Decompiculture” might be my word of 2012, despite its late arrival in my personal records. Anyway, I figure we are bound to be recycled — why slow the process? Make me part of the *sings* “ciiiircle of liiiiiife” as soon as possible!
I have recently become enamored of mole crickets, the AV nerds of the bug world:
Mole crickets amplify their song by chirping in a burrow that they’ve carefully sculpted into the shape of a double exponential horn, which acts as a megaphone.
I mean, how can you resist a cricket with undersized wings and diggety, mole-like front feet?
Even more irresistible is this 7up-endorsed kiddie cocktail. Never thought I could be more grossed out than I am by mixing ice cream and soda, but this may do it. (I know, floats are fantastic, or so my brothers and sisters would tell me, but I have never liked them, root beer or otherwise. Some childhood hates have gone by the wayside, dimming to ambivilences if not mild likes, but floats, yams, sweet potatoes, chestnuts and pumpkin in any configuration (yes, including pie) are still on the no-thank-you list.
Finally, this reminded me of Team SJ/Laurie. I am thinking, tho, how much more cheerful it would be if there were small people ropes-coursing throughout the thing… Or ski lifts!
This week, Peter Segal set up perfect example of the human desire to fill in holes. In this case, however, the sleuthing drive was put to creative use.
On the 13th of December — the night of the Chicago Community Trust’s 96th anniversary event — Mr. Segal was serendipitously in a position to take a picture of Yo-Yo Ma on a bathroom floor with a wombat. Because he is a kind, generous and somewhat mischievous soul, he shared his captioned photo with thousands of Twitter followers.
I envy this creative bent. I am able to muster a similar sense of playful guessing for Yo-Yo-Wombat-type holes in my understanding: Sure, fill those with nonsense! It’s fun! But when the information gaps are personal, or have a bearing on my life or the lives of family members and friends, my instant reaction is to fill them with worst possible scenarios. Why shouldn’t/can’t I instead fill them with marsupial daemons and beautiful cello languages that only wombats understand? Is it the fear that, should I be optimistic, the real facts will be a let-down? Well, perhaps they might be if I were too pollyanna in creating my own take… It is never wise to fill a hole with rainbow glitter and unicorn rides. Instead, a surrealist approach might be better suited to my depressive sensibilities: Fill in the frightening unknown with rainbow chicken-snails and unicorn farts, and the idea will be amusing until the facts arrive, and will then be easily traded for reality, since they were hardly possible to begin with… except in Laurie Pink’s drawniverse.
Resolution: Next time the boss has his door closed, I am going to assume he is practicing parkour with the rest of the management team. Yes. Much better. Now, does anyone want to join me in creating a version of Clue where “It was Yo-Yo Ma in the Lavatory with the Wombat” could be a possible outcome?