Wednesday, September 28, 2011

The Power of Friendship

Anyone who’s seen Charlie, Where the Red Fern Grows, or Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants understands that friendship is a valuable thing.  I learned this lesson anew on a trip I took this summer.  In the terminal, I had the good fortune of sitting near a trio of friends who were taking a vacation together.  I listened in on their conversation and was inspired. 

Actual conversation overheard at airport (names have been changed)

Voldy: Hey, Clover, would you mind watching our stuff while Watson and I go grab some food or something?

Clover: Yeah, that’s fine.  Go ahead.

Voldy: You sure you won’t mind?  We shouldn’t be long.

Clover: It’s fine.  Really.

Watson:  Okay, back in a jiff.

Watson and Voldy leave.  Clover’s phone rings.

Clover: Yeah, I’m at the airport.  No, it’s fine.  I can talk now.  Really, it’s fine.  Yeah, the flight should be on time.  It’s lame, though, because I’m really hungry, but Voldy and Watson left me with all their suitcases.  Yeah, they just left me.  I can’t go anywhere.  I’m just sitting here, bored out of my mind, surrounded by piles and piles of suitcases.  Yeah, they can really be jerks sometimes.  Uh huh.  Uh huh.  Ooh, gotta go; they’re coming back.

Watson:  Thanks, Clover.  Who was that on the phone?

Clover:  My brother.  He just called me, like, out of nowhere.  It’s not like I have better things to do, you know.  He can really be a jerk sometimes.  Is that sandwich for me?

Voldy: Actually, it’s for me.  I usually eat two sandwiches.  But we can watch your things while you get something. 

Clover:  I don’t know… You’re really going to eat both of those sandwiches?

Voldy:  Yeah, I get hungry.

Clover: Okay, yeah, I’ll go get something.

Clover leaves.

Voldy:  Wow.  Did you see that?

Watson:  Yeah, man.  It’s like she couldn’t wait to leave.

Voldy:  She can be a real jerk sometimes.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

It's not Swearing if You're using it Correctly

I recently re-watched The Hunchback of Notre Dame, a family-friendly Disney movie about a perverted priest who is obsessed with a sexy gypsy.  Some fantastic writers read the Victor Hugo classic and thought, “Hey, this would make a great movie for kids!”  The carnal themes are carefully hidden and the movie is a delight for both young and old, with the added benefit of introducing some fascinating topics for the budding pre-pubescent to discuss with loving parents. 

Looking back, I’m not sure how the less-than-honorable intentions of the priest completely eluded me.  I just thought he loved Esmeralda a lot.  I can’t help but wonder how I interpreted some of the phrases in the movie.  I have a few guesses:

Original line:  Why I see her dancing there, why her smold'ring eyes still scorch my soul

My interpretation:  She is a nice, pretty girl.  He likes her lots.

Original line:  Like fire, hellfire, this fire in my skin.  This burning desire is turning me to sin.

My interpretation:  Wow, that fireplace he’s standing next to is probably really hot.  Did he say it’s burning his skin?

Original line:  And let her taste the fires of hell, or else let her be mine and mine alone.

My interpretation:  Something about tasting… he probably wants her to eat some dinner with him because he loves her.

Original line:  Now gypsy, it's your turn.  Choose me or your pyre.

My interpretation:  What’s a pyre?  It’s probably a French word for “papa” or something.  He probably wants her to marry him, which means she’ll have to choose between him and her dad. 

Original line:  I’ll find her.  I’ll find her if I have to burn down all of Paris.

My interpretation:  I can fit ten macaroni noodles in my nose!  What did he say about Paris?

I can still fit ten macaroni noodles in my nose, by the way. 

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Nothing says it Like Gift Basket

For lack of a better topic, I’m posting a conversation I had with my sister via texting today.

Sister:  I gots the bus pass.

Me:  I love you.  I just kissed my phone because I love you so-o-o much!

Sister:  Um……………..

Me:  Now I’m licking it.  It’s pleasantly tingly.

Sister:  I’mma cut my pass in half, grossie

Me:  It’s my pass, baby, as soon as I cough up the forty smackaroos I owe you.  I’m gonna take that pass, I’m gonna own that pass, and then I’m gonna lick that pass. 

Sister:  You’re yucky

Me:  I don’t think I can pick my nose with the pass but I’ll give it my best shot.

I’ve never much liked texting.  If I must do it I tend to follow the basic rules of grammar, which can sometimes be taken the wrong way.  I suppose it’s the equivalent of going on a first date and addressing the other person as “thou” as in, “Art thou not famished, sir?  Forsooth the waiter is so wretchedly slow, I fear we shall never attain our sustenance.  Do not leave him a tip unless thou happens’t to have some bat droppings on thee.” 

It is so easy for texting to be confusing or boring.  If you ever wish to text me, here are some rules that might keep either of those from happening:

1.  No sarcasm, unless you indicate it with the sarcasm icon, which I am inventing (I’m thinking a tiny rhinoceros).

2.  No playing 20 questions or truth or dare.

3.  Easy on the emoticons.

4.  Keep exclamation points to a minimum.

But none of these rules will do any good if a texting conversation drags on like a small boy dragging a dog carcass to his elementary school.  Certain boundaries must be set by someone clever and possessing an amazing nose.  I am that person (obviously) and here they are:

1-2 texts = Succinct and to the point.  You can’t go wrong here.

3-6 texts = Pushing it a bit, but still likely to be reasonably interesting.

7-10 texts = Hard to keep it interesting at this stage.

11-18 texts = Only comedians and the Professionally Interesting should venture into this territory.

19-27 texts = Unless you are instantly shedding a pound every time you send a text, you have no excuse to be here.  Trespassers will be shot.

28 and up = If you ever make it this high, please send me your address.  I want to thank you with a special gift basket, which I have named “hatchet.”

Or was it the other way around?

Monday, September 5, 2011

Homework? What Homework?

School has begun again, which of course means I have a new bag of chocolate to eat (antidepressants, don’t ‘cha know) and a whole slew of homework to avoid.  I have also taken to staying up later.  I’m reasonably certain that this will not affect me to badly because I have cut fifteen minutes off of my morning routine, and fifteen extra minutes of sleep in the morning is worth at least two extra hours in the evening.

You’re confused.  You shouldn’t be.  It is a well-known mathematical principle:

(time in the morning) = (time in the evening)^5

(time in the morning) = (time in the evening)^500

(time in the morning) = (time in the evening)x10^23

I haven’t blogged for a while.  It’s harder than I remember, especially when I do it while comparing James McAvoy to Patrick Stewart as Doctor X and the Mr. Knightlys in three different versions of Emma.  I wasn’t meant for multi-tasking, which is why I’ve never tried to be a knife-juggling comedian.

But now Emma’s at the part where Mr. Knightly starts yelling.  I need to concentrate.