Tags
eggs, humor, inclusiveness, life, musings, small world, world map
…it really is a small world after all.
In the egg carton of life…
21 Tuesday Jul 2015
Posted in Baking, Food, Humor, Inspiration, Pop Culture, Random Thoughts, Travel
Category Archives: Humor
Selfie Tips for the Accident Prone
11 Saturday Jul 2015
Posted in Books, Health, Humor, Parodies, Photography, Pop Culture, Technology, Travel
Tags
Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs and Ham, humor, Parody, photography, Russian Safe Selfie guide, safe selfies, satire, selfies
It seems that selfies are on the defensive these days. Selfie sticks have been banned at Disney World parks, major museums, Lollapalooza, the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona (wouldn’t it be embarrassing to be gored by a selfie stick instead of a bull?) and many world landmarks. Now the Russian Interior Ministry has published a Safe Selfies guide after hundreds have been injured and dozens killed while attempting to get the perfect pic.
In one recent incident a woman shot herself in the head while posing with a gun. (Can you pat your head and rub your tummy? If not, don’t try this! Which hand is for the camera and which for the trigger again?) In June a young man was injured when he brought down a statue of Vladimir Lenin while capturing a special moment. Viva la Revolution! (Or Russian words to that effect. Who knew the solution was so simple?)
In addition to the Kremlin’s campaign, a group named For Security wants the Education and Science Ministry to add a Safe Selfie curriculum to Russian schools. Lessons would be taught by police, psychologists, and professional photographers. Other real victims’ stories suggest they should get some medical professionals (“If you blow your hand off with a grenade, use this tourniquet.”) and wild animal specialists (“When posing with a snake, ensure it’s not poisonous—beforehand.”) involved as well.
Of course, America has its own safety-challenged photographers. Perhaps we should also rethink our classrooms and introduce STEM: Selfie Techniques to Eliminate Mishaps. We do not want to fall behind our comrades in these important skills.
But how about our littlest photographers? How will we keep them safe? Maybe this reworking of a beloved classic, with the aid of the Russian guide, will help. (Thanks and apologies to Dr. Seuss.)
A Selfie Ham
I am Sam.
A selfie ham.
That Sam-I-am!
That Sam-I-am!
I just don’t get
That Sam-I-am!
I’d never be a selfie ham.
Can I take one
here?
Or there?
You should not take one
Here or there.
You should not take one anywhere.
You should not be a selfie ham.
You should not be one Sam-I-am.
Can I take one on a house?
Can I take one with a mouse?
Not on a house.
Not with a mouse.
Do not take one here or there
Do not take one anywhere.
Do not be a selfie ham
Do not be one, Sam-I-am.
Can I? Should I?
With a gun?
I will! I’ll take it!
I’ll have fun!
Hey! You may like it.
Show some flair!
Let us take one on the stairs!
We should not, cannot on the stairs!
Or with a gun! Don’t take dares!
You should not be a selfie ham.
You should not be one, Sam-I-am.
A train! A train! A train! A train!
Can I, should I on a train?
Not on a train! Not on the stairs!
Not with a gun! Sam, no one cares!
Say! On a tower? A power tower?
Can I, should I on a tower?
Should I, can I on a cliff?
You should not, cannot on a cliff
Not on a tower. Not on a train.
Not on the stairs. Not with a gun.
You should not take them, Sam. Not one!
Can I, can I with a goat?
Should I, could I on a boat?
You should not, could not on a boat.
You should not be a selfie ham.
You should not be one Sam-I-am.
You do not like them so you say.
Take one! Take one! And you may.
Take one and you may, I say.
Sam! If you will let me be, I will take one. You will see.
Say!
I like to be a selfie ham!
I do! I like it, Sam-I-am!
But I will take one in a floatie
And I will take one with a goatee.
I will take one in my bed.
And one that will not leave me dead.
I will take one in a train
And clear Amtrak of any blame.
I will hold de-clawed kittens,
But only if I’m wearing mittens.
And I will pose in bubble wrap,
But leave an eye and breathing flap.
I will take them here and there.
But never once just anywhere.
I so like being a selfie ham!
With proper precautions,
Sam-I-am.
*All images of Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss courtesy of seuss.wikia.com
**All images of Russian Safe Selfie Guide courtesy of Ministry of Internal Affairs RF
Just Checking Out
04 Saturday Jul 2015
Posted in Health, Humor, Inspiration, Pop Culture, Random Thoughts
Tags
body image, exercise, fitness, humor, pop culture, Women's Health
I love standing in the checkout lane at Stop & Shop for so many reasons. Here’s this week’s:
As if you have a choice. As if you can open your closet and say, “Well, hmmm…What’s it going to be today? The stylish butt I got on sale last week?—oh, but I don’t have shoes to go with that one. My jeans butt?—I don’t know…I always choose that one. Oh My Gosh! I can’t believe this butt is still in here!—I wonder if it still fits!? I really just feel like my baggy butt today. Oh shoot, I have that meeting this morning. I guess it better be my best butt.”
The Examined Life
26 Friday Jun 2015
Posted in Children, Humor, Inspiration, Random Thoughts, School, The Formative Years
Socrates famously stated that the unexamined life is not worth living for a human. Dogs, koala bears, snails, and other such creatures get a free pass, which explains a lot about why they always seem so happy—or at least nonchalant: Do I want to roll around in this mud puddle? Yes! Should I? Yes! Will I? Yes!
I was reminded of the great philosopher’s wise words recently when I delved into a yellowed Banana Republic bag full of my past that my mother has kept in her attic all this time. There, nestled within two bulging manila folders, was 16 years worth of scrutiny—all of my report cards going back to preschool; the results of IQ tests and Achievement Tests taken every two years throughout elementary school; my SAT scores; dance class evaluations, girl scout records, and—most horrific of all—every class picture from age 4 to 18. Yes, all the discomfort one could want (to escape) in one tidy package.
As I thumbed through all the numbers, letters, pictures, and brief comments that summed up my youth without actually adding up to it, I realized that reviewing this kind of material takes a certain dogness or koala bearness of mind:
Do I want to be able to look at the picture of myself in that dress with the 1600s Pilgrim collar without cringing? Yes! Can I? No! Did you want the popular pixie hair cut in 7th grade? Yes! Should you have gotten it? No! Can you look at that school picture without wanting to run for the matches? No!
Well, I guess it takes some work to achieve true dogness. I’m determined to reach that plateau, though, so as part of my ongoing journey, I’ve decided to let go and let You:
My Pre-kindergarten class picture
This is where it all began.
On the bulletin board behind the class are these paint blots. Are they Rorschach tests? Or early prototypes for the Orphan Black logo?
My Kindergarten report card
Here are all the skills that were to set me on the right road in life. Did I learn them? My report is a bit contradictory. Under comments I “measure up in every way.” But the report of my readiness test states that I am “Apparently very well equipped for first grade work.” “Apparently?” All I can say is that I still paste neatly and I try.
Stop the Presses! The Hollywood Sun-Tattler, page 8
My one shot at fame and they spelled my name wrong. If I didn’t know the technology was a few years off, I’d say my head was Photoshopped onto some other girl’s body. The picture’s caption offers its own interpretation of our faces, but I think my expression forecast a hope that I was waiting to get a neck.
My 5th Grade school picture
A perm was the answer for a little girl with stick-straight hair. And what’s up (unfortunately way up) with my bangs?
I’d rather sit it out, thanks
I was not a natural tapper—couldn’t snap my head on a spin to save my life—and this progress report from Ron Daniel’s Academy of Dance seems to politely bear that out. I may have improved 100% week to week, but, really, 100% of awkward is still awkward.
I was also struck by the use of the universal male pronoun in the letter to the parents. As far as I remember, there were never any boys in our classes.
?????
I never, ever remember being on any sports team. At recess I was a strong volleyball server and, despite my height, was good at nabbing basketballs out of the air. Could I have been on some team? The world will never know.
Now here’s a sport I was good at—but a roller skating proficiency award? Now that I think back, I do vaguely remember demonstrating my skills in a darkened rink with reality-distorting lighting and mind-bending music (Delta Dawn – Helen Reddy and Bad Bad Leroy Brown – Jim Croce to name just two.)
Examiner: “Skate forward…Now, skate backward. You’re proficient!”
One of my High School Report Cards
Isn’t all math anal? Oh, wait…that was Analytical Geometry! While I’ve never used the math I learned in that class, I do remember Mr. Gulla making it fun by dancing around and singing, “Sine sine cosine sine” and “Cosine cosine sine sine.” He also answered complainers with a pithy, “Am I wearing a ‘life is fair’ button?” Now, those lessons I have often used. This report card also includes my beloved Modern European History class with Mr. Wilson for which I won the annual award. Now, that was an award I worked for and remember.
The Numbers Game
A smattering of numbers comparing me to other kids. Who were these “other kids,” what were they really like, and do dogs and snails have to go through this?
A Breakthrough
After much Laughter Therapy, Blasé Meditation, and a kibble diet, I have reached a certain level of puppyness and am able to release this picture of me in the Pilgrim collar.
But the pixie haircut? I’m afraid I’m still too human to post that.
Tick Magnet
06 Saturday Jun 2015
Tags
celebrity, gardening, humor, insects, mosquitoes, nature, pest control, puns, ticks
What can I say? Ticks dig me. It’s been this way as long as I can remember. I suppose my story is a bit cliché, but I’ll let you be the judge.
I was discovered at the age of three in a little town called Hollywood. Yes, that Hollywood! Is there any other? California, you say? Huh! But I digress. I was in the yard, romping around the coconut palms and through the croton bushes when I was approached by an agent looking for new blood. I was sucked in by the idea that I had something special, something that set me apart from other people, something—dare I say it?—in the very life source that flowed through my veins.
Before I knew it, the bug had gotten under my skin. I was the host of the town— living large, the meals and drinks always on me. Soon, not only ticks but everyone wanted me. Sure, it was attractive at first; I felt needed, as if I truly had something to offer. Admirers swarmed around me everywhere I went. A buzz of excitement erupted whenever I stepped outside.
But over the years I discovered I couldn’t satisfy everyone. I took to staying indoors, covered up when I went out. Then the whining started. I couldn’t escape its insistent droning in my ears, reminding me always, always that I had to perform, had to give my followers what they wanted—the little parasites. I tried shooing them away, but it didn’t work. They only flew at me with greater force, poking and prodding. And then they started on my children. We couldn’t go to the playground, walk to school or plant a garden like other families. The pests were relentless; they were eating us alive. I even employed a SWAT team, but our protection was only hit-and-miss.
I was drained and had the scars to show it. I decided to quit. I dropped out of sight, and the clingers-on forgot about me. At least, I thought they did. Recently, I felt that old, familiar itch. I returned to my roots, plowing the fertile soil of my comeback and planting seeds I hope will flower and bear fruit. As I’ve toiled I’ve reflected on those long-ago days. Had they really been that bad? Hadn’t the wounds healed?
The answer has come swiftly. I’ve been back in the Lyme light for only a week and already the ticks are in my hair, clutching at my arms and legs, sucking up to me. In the intervening years, though, I’ve learned a few things, and this time I’m DEETermined to dump these ticks before they burrow too deep.
Wit Love, Kath 