A long time ago, I wrote about how good I am at parallel parking. I told you then that I don’t like to brag. That’s still true. Bragging is so uncool.
But I’m exceptional at peeling oranges.
Oranges – Good And Good For You
You might not think that being a skilled orange peeler isn’t such a big deal, but it is. Peeling an orange makes it so much tastier. The better I enjoy the taste of the orange, the more likely it is that I will eat it. When I eat an orange I get all the health benefits it has.
An orange contains twelve and a half percent of your body’s daily requirement of fiber. That’s important for a guy my age. Just think of all the money I’m saving on Metamucil because I’ve developed my orange peeling to such a high level.
Did you know that members of Roald Amundsen’s successful expedition to the South Pole ate penguins to ward off scurvy? They did, because Norwegians are notoriously bad orange peelers. My orange peeling gift allows me to get at the tasty Vitamin C inside the fruit and protect myself from scurvy.
But enough about oranges, let’s talk about me. Read the rest of this entry »
Last week, I told you about my latest and most terrifying haircut adventure. Today I’m going to tell you that it may not be over.
No, I’m not saying that I’ve been getting my hair cut continuously for the past three weeks. I will admit that would be terrifying in its own way. Thank you so much for bringing it up. If there’s anything I need, it’s to waste more time worrying about crazy stuff that you bring up…like three week long haircuts. Please don’t interrupt me.
I’m concerned about something much more sinister, with ethical implications far beyond what I should be addressing on my humble blog.
Lydia, Oh Lydia
You might recall that my last few haircuts were done by a woman who is littered with bad tattoos. During my last cut, she brought out a straight razor to trim the hair on the back of my neck. No one has ever used a straight razor to cut my hair before. Read the rest of this entry »
It has been rare that the same person has cut my hair more than once. That seems to be changing with the shop I go to now.
This new place isn’t bad. There aren’t other customers waiting when I arrive. I’m always first in line. The woman at the counter asks if I made an appointment. I never make one, because like I said, I’m the only one there.
So she always says, “have a seat, someone will be right with you.”
It used to bother me that the receptionist would ask me to take a seat and wait when I’m the only customer. The Hallmark Channel is always on the waiting area television. I began to wonder if my penance for not having an appointment was enduring ten minutes of sappy Hallmark programming. Now I realize that the wait is a good thing. I think they are trying to assign me to the same person each time.
I’m not sure how old my current hair cutter is. Perhaps she’s in her seventies. It might also be true that she is in her forties and has gone through a lot of wear and tear. She has red hair, but it isn’t a shade of red that occurs in nature. I don’t simply mean that I know she dyes her hair. I’m saying that this woman’s hair is a completely unprecedented red. If the color wheel was a tire with a nail stuck in it right where the reds are, this red would be at the spot where that tire went flat. Read the rest of this entry »
There are times when one plus one equals two. But now and then, you look at one, you look at the other one and when you add those together you get five.
When one and one equal five, there are usually logical reasons to think that’s the answer. Once, when I was very young, I added one plus one.
And the answer was Syracuse. Read the rest of this entry »
Don’t try this at home – I burned my finger in the toaster oven.
I knew this before I burned myself, but the elements on a toaster oven get extremely hot. I’m now able to say that they are hot to the touch. Let me stress that you should not try that out for yourself at home, nor should you go to another person’s home to try it.
I’m a little nervous telling you this, because I don’t want a rash of people going out and trying to see if this works for them Read the rest of this entry »
I went to Catholic school for the first few years. One of the most vivid memories I have of that experience is from my first grade class room.
We were practicing writing. The boy in front of me was left-handed. The nun who was our teacher came by and cracked the back of his hand with a ruler and told him to use his other hand. He swapped hands. Unfortunately, each time she stopped our practice to teach another letter we had to put our pencils down. And when the nun instructed us to pick them back up, my classmate’s natural tendency took over. He’d take up his pencil in his left hand.
Over and over this poor kid would pick up his pencil in his left hand after a pause and the nun would hit him. I don’t remember much of what she taught that day. I just remember learning gratitude; I thanked God I wasn’t born left-handed. Read the rest of this entry »
If you call someone a clown you usually don’t mean it in the literal sense. When I call someone a clown, sometimes I mean it literally. My parents were clowns.
Growing up as the son of clowns had its share of challenges. I did quite a bit of writing about what it was like to go through the high school years with parents who wore red noses. But I’m not here to tell you about those old days. This is about something more sinister.
And by sinister, I suppose that I mean odd.
I Haven’t Told This Story In Years
And this is odd because had I dinner and drinks with friends two nights ago. Ok, that’s not odd, I do that sort of thing frequently. But odd because after dinner I told the story of how The Unification Church tried to recruit me while I was in college. Yes, the Moonies took a swing at bringing me in to their flock. Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve got a cold. Last night, no cold. This morning, a cold.
Who knows where these things come from? I wasn’t near anyone who was sniffling or sneezing. Everything was fine. And then, at 3:26 a.m., I had the start of a cold.
I wonder, in Nancy Kerrigan’s immortal words - “Why? Why?”
I have a theory. Read the rest of this entry »