June 26, 2007
In the driving directions Google just gave me, I have to go several miles on a “Partial toll road.” There is no explanation about what that is. Maybe it means that they only collect a toll sometimes. Or maybe only parts of the road have a toll, and Google doesn’t really know where those parts are.
But I have my own theory.
A story about how sushi chefs are trying out new materials for sushi because of the rising cost of fish.
Really, once you’ve tried venison or horse sushi, you’re only twelve or thirteen short steps away from hot dog sushi.
June 21, 2007
Playing around with the Wii Weather channel
“Oh, let’s see what the weather is like in the South Pole.”
Hits buttons for forecast “No 5-day Forecast available” appears on the screen.
“I’ll give you a five day forecast: It’s gonna be fucking cold. You want a twenty day forecast?”
And if you click on the cats, they squeak.
June 19, 2007
There are individually packaged string cheeses at work that come with riddles on the outside (and answers concealed within) of the sort that, if you have spent a significant amount of time with a 7-year-old who has acquired a book of them, no jury in the world would convict you. But they occasionally lead to lunchtime hilarity.
“What has many ears, but cannot hear?”
“An old-people’s home.”
“Uhm. A cornfield.”
“I like my answer better.”
June 17, 2007
Walking across the grass
“You better not complain if you get stung by a—”
Hopping across the grass.
“—bee… Why are you hopping? What’s wrong?”
“I got stung by a bee.”
June 12, 2007
The last few weeks, Nick and I enjoyed some culinary experimentation. A few notes, for those of you who might want to try this at home
- The hot dog sushi was awesome. It really was.
- Good choices for peach pizza cheese: Brie, Feta, Mozzarella. Bad choices: Velveeta.
- Wet your hands before dealing with the sushi, or the rice and nori will stick.
- I’m not joking about the hot dog sushi.
June 11, 2007
Walking to the park for lunch today, I saw a man on the other side of the street running down the sidewalk. He was really booking it. Arms and legs pumping, breathing hard. He wasn’t fat, but he didn’t have a runner’s physique, either. Yet he ran like he had purpose. If he’d been wearing a hat, it surely would have flown off.
As I crossed the street to the opposite corner, he left the sidewalk for the street and quickly ran around, then climbed in his car, started it and accelerated around the corner. I gave him a thumbs up on his dramatic escape, and he smiled and waved.
About five seconds later, the street sweeper brushed its way past the spot he’d been parked in, followed closely by a tricycle police car writing parking tickets.