Happy Birthday Dear Spam

Time to get your party hat on!

Spam just turned 75!*

In their wildest nightmares, 

who could have ever predicted that a

"ham-like nodule amalgam 

encased in a quivering gelatinous coating"

would last longer than the marriage 

of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes?

Did anyone ever jump on Oprah's couch and proclaim their love for a hunk of Spam on Wonder bread?

The answer to that my friends is a big fat no.

Spam has survived scorn and a bevy of failed taste tests 

to celebrate 7 decades plus a fiver

despite a profound and well earned lack of respect.

(The army liked to call it

"ham that didn't pass it's physical".)

So get on out there and celebrate

with a tender morsel of Spam wusubi.

Or,

you can just eat a Vienna sausage,

which is neither from Vienna, or a proper sausage,

but a Spam cousin, once removed 

molded into a flesh-toned cylinder of horror.

 

Bon appetit!

*I really hope I look this good when I'm 75. 

I really hope I don't look like this when I'm 75.

So Long Skipper

 I'm so relieved that Ernest Borgnine is dead.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure he's was really a nice old guy.  But I possess an unhealthy conceit in my ability to be able to tell you who is alive and who is dead.  Ernest has been the monkey wrench in my excellent accuracy average for about 20 years.  I mean seriously, how could the man hang on so long?  He looked 45 when he was 20 and has looked 105 for the last 30 years.  Old Ernie has been driving me as crazy as a monkey on a trike.

I am an excellent resource for the breathing/nonbreathing capabilities of a long list of of semi celebrities.  You know, the kind that create dangerous brain blips whenever you try to come up with their name.  According to Wikipedia, whenever your brain blips it wipes out the equivalent of one week of algebra class or 4 days of Conversational Spanish.

Just to prove how astute I am, here is a representative sample to demonstrate my prowess.

C. Everett Koop

ALIVE!!!

Currently taken over for Colonel Sanders as spokesman for Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Has mounted a rigorous campaign to "unkoop" chickens and turn them loose on the "free range"

Larry "Bud" Melman

DEAD!!!

Currently residing in heaven and trying to earn his wings by convincing David Letterman to become a Republican

Abe Vigoda

ALIVE!!!

Only a trained professional can evaluate this one.  

 

Last sighted in Addam's Family films, 

appearing as "Uncle Fester"

Rest in peace Ernest.  

You have kept me humble for 50 years.

Cruel and Unusual Shopping

THIS IS AN URGENT

WARNING TO MOTHERS

OF YOUNG CHILDREN

 Even if you are experiencing a life-threatening urge for 

glue sticks, velcro or decorative spanish moss, 

do not attempt to take your children shopping with you at this store!!!

Oh sure, you may make it through the fabric cutting line, or negotiate the yarn aisle by cramming your little darling full of goldfish crackers and fruit snacks, 

but eventually you will be forced to walk...

"The Chocolate Mile"

on your way to the checkout.

I have seen many a young mother try to make it 

past this treacherous stretch without beating their begging child. 

There is a reason that Child Protective Services has a kiosk in the lobby.

You decide what is more important; 

buying a pack of googly eyes to make that thing you saw on pinterest

or

watching your little darling grow up in foster care because you lost your cool in the middle of the chocolate mile and pummeled junior with a pool noodle that was on clearance for $3.99

The choice is yours.

A Fishy Tale of Grief

It was a sweet idea really.  

An innocent dual purchase at Petco. 

1. male beta
2. female beta

Research was done.  

An aquarium was divided to separate 

the happy couple until it was time for breeding. 

Romantic lighting was installed.  

Bubblers merrily bubbled away.  

Fragrant fish flakes sifted down regularly, plentifully.  

The male glided through his northern kingdom, 

displaying his finny plumage, 

showing off for his plain sleek partner 

in her southern chamber.

   

Anticipation was high that someday, 

someday,

there would be a union 

and hundreds of tiny offspring would be nurtured, 

floating amongst the bubbles carefully blown by papa fish until they swam free. 

Life was good.

Until...

In the deepest part of night, 

when a vigilant owner was buried in the covers, 

dreaming the dreams only high school seniors can dream, the duplicitous female made her move.

Burrowing her wet snout into the slight crevice 

between the screen and the glass, 

she silently slipped into her lover's lair; 

the innocent but flashy male beta 

that had taunted her lo these many days 

with his gaudy display of finny finery.

She attacked, she slashed.  

She nibbled and gnawed and gnashed her terrible teeth.  

He retreated, she advanced. 

He was confused.

She dogged him like an aquatic hound.

Our handsome suitor was discovered

 listless amongst the fauna,

his color bleached out by fear, 

his proud plumage chewed by a she-devil.

He leaves no survivors.

Still she swims.

Unrepentant.

Inhaling her fish flakes likes she has the right.

No trace of grief creasing her slimy brow.

Our own black widow of the sea

 flicks her careless tail

not realizing

that she is only a flush away from hell.

Mission Not Impossible

Did you notice that last Wednesday 

was the longest day of the year?  

We did.

That was the day we were up before the chickens, scrambling with two big suitcases, trying to get a handsome young man in a new suit 

to the airport to catch a 6 a.m. flight.

"The Joey" is going on a mission!

You may remember this kid

He's been a willing, or semiwilling participant in many a Larainy Day shenanigan.  Now, he has taken a leave of absence; from college, friends, family life, movies, girls, ipod, facebook, Mac, novels, and sleeping in for the next two years.

If you see a tall handsome missionary in a white shirt and tie with a name tag, stop and say hello. 

It might not be "The Joey", 

but it will be some mother's boy, 

who is probably missing him a lot.

Calee4kneeah: The Rest of the Story

Day Three

Balboa Park
Natural History Museum

Apparently we didn't let Joey ride on enough carousels as a child and he has been forced to compensate

Botanical Garden

If my hand crafted Harry Potter-type wand worked worth a darn I would apperate this whole botanical building into my backyard and live happily ever after.









Mormon Battalion Museum, Old Town San Diego
      and 
Point Loma

For an entertaining half hour, go learn about the only religiously based battalion in U.S. history that marched 2000 miles from Iowa to San Diego.  Plus, you get a nice parking space for exploring old town where you can eat a great meal at Miguel's.

Universal Studios, Los Angeles

There are 345 stairs along side 3 long steep flights of escalators from the lower lot to the upper lot at Universal Studios.  I climbed the stairs and was feeling quite proud until some little kid ran past me laughing.  He waited for me at the top to tell me it was his birthday.  That is why I didn't beat him up.

Six Flags - Magic Mountain

Sorry, no pictures.  I was far too busy not riding roller coasters and eating churros

Home again, home again jiggedy jig

 

Calee4kneeah: Day Two

Day Two

World Famous San Diego Zoo

Don't be surprised to discover that some of the antelopes are highly evolved.  You may be approached by a leggy buckskin-clad pronghorn asking you for spare change

The aviary is spectacular until 

a) an insolent bird swoops by and poops on your shoulder 

and 

b) you look in a cute little food receptacle

and find a pile of neonatal mouse appetizers

I found both the  Dik Dik and the Meerkat to be extremely vain animals, preening for hours, posing from side to side, fluttering eyelashes and letting the breeze ruffle invitingly through their fur.  Shameless, utterly shameless.  They have obviously been in California far too long.

Extremely dangerous large birds of prey abound, but, given a combination of love, firm handling and neonatal mouse snacks, they can be tamed

 As can the king of beasts, except he needs bigger snacks.

Coronado Island

And then we built a sand castle!

Okay, so we didn't build it.

 We didn't stay here either, 

but if you act like you belong,
you can hang out on the Del's superior beach

P.S.  Stay away from the kettlecorn at the zoo 
or you will crave it fortnightly

Calee4kneeah: Day One

Day One

Sentinel Rest Stop - Interstate 8 to San Diego, CA

 


- Totally awed by the gossamer like toilet paper woven by civil service faeries (USDA Rest Stop Faerie Union 1320) out of recycled nonlethal spider webs











Territorial Prison Museum, Yuma AZ

 
- Sadly disappointed to find that Great Great Grandfather, William Jordan Flake
is no longer prominently featured with his own section in glass fronted cabinets of museum.  Has been relegated to brief mention in video.  Wm. J. was an invited guest for six months in 1883 after being convicted of unlawful cohabitation (polygamy) because he refused to abandon one of his two wives.  Organized fellow prisoners into cohesive working groups and demanded and received better food and treatment from guards while serving his time.

 (Dark Cell formerly sponsored by Voldemort)

See how dark the dark cell is?

Unburied Treasure

If a sign like this, propped next to a rickety fence, along side a rural road, hidden by a narrow driveway doesn't set your heart to racing, why then I don't know what to do with you!  Maybe yell "Clear" and shock you with enthusiasm paddles.

If I lived near a coast, I would be a diver exploring the silty depths for buried treasure, but in land locked Arizona, I settle for places like this, where I don't have to get my hair wet or wear an oxygen tank.

Outside there is rusty treasure to sift through, 

buckets and baskets,

 crates and signs, 

posts and boards,  

curry combs, harnesses, tools 

and

tires and wires,

 and 

chairs and wooden bears.

Inside a maze of old railroad cars

 There are more treasures
heaped and glowing
in dusty splendor.

 If you beg me, I'll tell you how to find it.

Yard Art

 It was 10:30 at night when I looked into the back yard and saw my teenage daughter, busily working in the soft glow of a flashlight.

The picnic table dripped with paper mache.  Two life size legs, modeled with clear packing tape dangled from the branches of the orange tree, fastened with clothes pins.

Today, the tree is chock full of body parts.

Earlier in the week I went to the kitchen and found my son writing a letter with a feather, wearing a shirt he created out of tape and bleach.

 Either my kids have too much time on their hands

 or I'm raising future inventive Franken/Einsteinian art installation creators.