My wife put Maraschino cherries on the shopping list and for the life of me I couldn’t seem to find the damned things in the store today. Fortunately, I stumbled into the guy who stocks the shelves.
(I’m convinced that other than the cashiers and manager on duty there is never more than one uniformed employee in the store, and often less. Hence “the” guy and not “a” guy.)
“Excuse me. Do you know where they keep the Maraschino cherries?”
“Cherries? Like for ice cream sundaes or for making mixed drinks?”
“Ah, si,” he said, then led me briskly toward the Baking Supplies aisle. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure I was keeping up. “You making drinks or dessert?”
“My wife, actually. She’s rediscovered the lost art of mixing exotic drinks,” I replied.
If 30 years ago a merchant had told me “We’re sorry, your shopping cart no longer exists” it would have freaked me out. I don’t have a screen shot of the message I just received because it wasn’t until after blowing past it that I paused to consider how odd it is that we now accept such a statement as routine. It isn’t “I had a shopping cart but now it’s not here. It was taken by another shopper or by an overzealous employee who has returned it to the cart bay but we expect it still exists somewhere.” Now it’s more like “I had a shopping cart but then suddenly it winked out of existence.”
Back in the 80’s or 90’s I could have at least argued that regardless of what you’ve done to the shopping cart, it still exists. You could reduce it to individual atoms or even to energy but Newtonian physics and and Einsteinian relativity demand that, one way or another, it remains in existence. Now when the merchant says “your cart no longer exists” it’s pretty close to the truth.
So my wife and I were sitting around trying to decide what our porn star names would be. OK, we were sitting around trying to decide what her porn star name would be. Mine would be T-Bone, obviously. Hers is up for grabs.
First we had to decide what qualities her character would have. You can’t do that kind of work and have self-esteem issues so we decided her character would be as over-confident as my wife is under-confident. She’d dress to stand out rather than blend in. She’d be tough rather than tender. She’d be assertive rather than diplomatic. Five minutes into this exercise I realized my wife’s porn star character is a whip-totin’, leather wearin’ dominatrix.
Meanwhile over at Dead Penguin Society, DScott writes about The spork, the pressure cooker, and the back burner… and it got me thinking about sporks. Not quite a spoon and not quite a fork, these are the utensil apparently designed by cunning chopstick manufacturers to disappoint everyone equally. I say it’s time for the lowly spork to take its rightful place in English-language pop culture by replacing the words “fork” and “spoon” figuratively in much the same way as it attempts to replace the physical utensils for which it is named: poorly and with connotations of low price and low value. If along the way it replaces any other words that happen to rhyme, that’s fine too.
Posted in General, Humor
Tried Google Voice yet? I use it as my primary business phone number and it’s an amazing service. When a call comes in it simultaneously rings my cell phone, my desk phone, and any other phone I point it at. If a caller leaves a message, Google Voice lets me retrieve it in an app, over the phone, or over the web. They even make an automatic transcript and send it to your phone and your email.
And that’s where it gets…umm…interesting. The transcripts are remarkably good considering they are machine generated but they aren’t 100% accurate. Sometimes they are pure gibberish but other times the substituted words result in a message that is syntactically and grammatically correct but definitely NOT what your caller intended.