Category Archives: humor

Nothing Spells Summer…

…like sandals, sour cream, and Chicken in a Biskit.®

Spelled thusly so Nabisco doesn’t get slapped cuz it’s not a biscuit by FDA standards? Or a fun word play on Chicken in a Basket? Either way: all the plastic, salt, fat, and carbs a girl could ever wish for. P.S. That’s one happy chicken. If only he knew.

  • Sandals
  • Ultra-fatted sour cream
  • Manual foods
  • Mesmerization
  • Extras for sharing (avec sanitizer or 6-foot tongs)
  • Raging good tymes = SUMMER!

A Modern Stone Age Family

. . . must have used this slot for processing transactions, like payments for commissioned cave paintings and wooly mammoth chops.

Other ideas?

Fake Braille for the Newly Blind

Braille probably takes a while to learn, and my older friend isn’t about to try. So when he asked for some CDs of cheery Broadway musicals (yep, some of us still play CDs), I glued “indicator letters” on the jewel cases so he can tell them apart, e.g., “G” for Godspell or “MF” for My Fair Lady. I can’t think of an alternate deployment of felt letters, but you might.

Two glues worked:  Mod Podge and super glue. A glue gun might have melted the felt or plastic. Three letters of readable size took up too much space. Cardboard wasn’t thick enough to read. The thicker the felt, the more readable. If the colors are ugly or your stenciling sloppy, well:  they’re blind. Don’t forget a nice cup of coffee as you craft.

Beaver or…

…bored teenager, night of a riverside party? Neither was anywhere in sight.

 Really, I’m not kidding. Don’t know the first thing about beavers, except they’ll menace you with that SMACK if you get near their dam.

I vote  Beave  just  because  I  don’t  see  a  yoot  having  that  much  patience.  Beavers  are  busy,  and  they  are  also  patient.  But I defer to the authorities.

Frozen

As a generally can-do person, it rather stuns me when I freeze up, motionless. One example: years ago, I was house-sitting in L.A., where friends had relocated. Before they left, the wife said, “Use the car in the parking garage, my grandmother in New York gave it to us—it’s really big!”

I froze up. There was no way I could drive on freeways in some giant jalopy, a lone Beverly Hillbilly. I couldn’t even picture piloting the ship (a 1984 Chevrolet Caprice Classic) out of the building’s garage, heaving its enormous steering wheel. I explained this to a carless comedian friend from New York, then living in Santa Monica, whom I badly wanted to visit. But: I couldn’t drive the boat. I walked 4.8 miles to Santa Monica.

Another: I was living in a scary part of Chicago, losing it after 9/11 and taking psychology classes (of all things). One day I just couldn’t get into the subway to go home. I crouched into a ball in an alley, phoning a friend to talk me onto the subway (“Lift right knee…”). Prior, I had considered anxiety disorders total hooey. Yet there I was: frozen solid.

Back to L.A. When there was a 6.7 earthquake there, my friend quickly ran for their dog and earthquake kit. His wife, frozen, put on lipstick. How we react to panic is largely animal. It’s what happens a bit after the initial shock, perhaps, that makes us human.

When the potential enormity of COVID-19 first became apparent, all I could do was cook. Others did similar or hid under blankets, fretting and texting. A sage in Bethel noted that when we’re in Survival Mode, our love center shuts down. How terrible. Hence one guy stealing milk out of a woman’s shopping cart at Market Basket.

We’re now over the initial shock. We’ve gotten used to circumstances changing weekly or daily, sometimes hourly. It is time to exit Survival Mode, calm down, unfreeze, and somehow trust that we will transcend this—economically, psychologically, and physically. For some, calming comes from YouTubed church meetings or pagan Zooms. Friends and I hold Facebook Messenger “Wait Watchers” meetings wherein we share perspectives and tips that keep us sane during this crazy-making wait. Mostly we laugh and cuss and that is the real draw. If you’re lapsing into frozen, reach out for help or, possibly, to help. Either works.

 

I saw high school girls in a parking lot, each seated solo in the way back of an SUV with the hatchback open, each facing the middle (like a flower). They played music and laughed, socially distant. Next a group of women on lawn chairs around a fire pit. They drank and laughed, socially distant. I do “live FaceTiming,” wherein I visit people and we talk to each other thru a closed window or glass door, on our phones. It doesn’t all have to be virtual, right?

Despite the horrors, which are legion, benefits exist. People are slowing down. Reprioritizing. Paying attention. Walking. Feeling. Calling elders. Cleaning closets. Napping. There can be no mass shootings (no masses), minimal war (sick, unwilling, or napping soldiers), little pollution. The planet is healing. Some speculate that the virus was sent by Mother Nature. “I see, you’re gonna keep trashing my forests, creatures, and waters? Ho-ho, take that!” Who knows…the planet is a living thing. Maybe it went into Survival Mode.

So: what do you want to do with your time? When this thing is over, and it will be over, it’s entirely possible we’ll lament, “Where’d all my free time go, man?” Choose wisely.  Share laffs. Help. Learn something new. Meditate. Stretch, lit. and fig. Send pleasant thots. Panic not.

Report in as able. Good luck to you and yours, Dear Reader, and good day.

I’d rather take a Test than celebrate Valentine’s Day

On the eve of everyone’s favorite manufactured holiday, here’s a test for you on absentmindedness from a book on habits. It’s called, cheerily, the Cognitive Failures Questionaire. It may depress you more than Valentine’s Day—or not. Or maybe you entirely forgot it’s Valentine’s Day because you’re absentminded.

Take the test and find out just how bad off you are. Fun!

 

It’s Take Your Cat to the YMCA Day


Apparently.

The New York Times Finds Jesus

Home delivery of The New York Times...to the manger. (The Times is in blue plastic on the bed of pine.) All the news that’s fit for the coming of the Lord?

A friend snapped this on her early morning walk. I can’t tell if the topmost angel is strolling down the sidewalk or suspended in mid-air.  Either is good.*

*Inside tidbit: As I was entering germane “tags” for this post into WordPress, one mysteriously autofilled when I entered the tag, “Jesus learns to read”: Advice to youth in the workplace.  Snort.

 

Life-sized creche, Pleasantville, NY, USA

©Moelino 2019.

Thank you, Jesus!

I Love Autofill Part Deux

I like this one even better. It’s rich in variety and ends on a curious note.

The small print at lower right also intrigues: “Report inappropriate predictions.” I bet the editors have to cull some doozies. That would be a fun job to have.

I Love Autofill

One of the most fun things in Modern Tymes is to see what autofills in Google when you begin typing a query. Here, we started with: “How do I get…” [the mount off a Garmin GPS.]

The next option, not pictured, could be: “How do I get rid of Apple TV.”

Feel free to send me your gems to post, or you can put them in this page’s Comments. We could all use a laugh.

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