10 Jun
Why is it that when you run into someone you know at a store, and they happen to be lugging around a big package of toilet paper, they get all embarrassed about it?
Isn’t it a good thing for people to know that you do, in fact, use toilet paper? Shouldn’t we be suspicious of people we never see buying toilet paper?
I’ve put a medium amount of thought into this, and, yes. We should definitely be suspicious of people we never see buying toilet paper.
23 Apr
I recently took up French lessons via the wonders of technology, aka the Duolingo iPhone app, and now a fancy little owl pops up on my phone every day, nagging me to conjugate verbs and learn why the French spell their words with so many letters they never seem to pronounce.
This is my owl. I’ve named him Gustave. I sometimes feel like he’s looking down on me with that snooty monocle, smoking jacket and moustache. I guess I really shouldn’t criticize him for being fancy though, since I’m the one who made him that a way by using my points to buy him his “accoutrements,” which means “pretentious owl clothes” in French.
Sometimes I get more than three answers wrong, and this makes Gustave cry.
He cries so much that a puddle of his tears starts to pool at his feet. I feel this is abnormal for an owl, even a French one.
My mistakes also apparently lead him to inexplicably strip off his “accoutrements.” You mis-conjugate a few verbs, and the damn bird starts taking off all his clothes. It’s weird. It’s possible Gustave has some deep-seated psychological issues he will slowly start sharing with me as our lessons continue. It could get super awk.
I’ve also decided to take Pancake along on my linguistic journey, because I think they eat a lot of rabbits in France, so if she every gets bunnynapped by a gang of Frenchmen, perhaps they will have mercy and not cook her if she can speak their language. Plus, who in their right mind would cook a magical talking rabbit? Not even the French.
In fact, she can already say “Je m’appelle Le Crepe!” Well, I can say it in a voice imitating what I think hers would sound like if she could talk, which is pretty much the same thing. Viva Le Crepe!
6 Apr
So this conversation happened today:
So, yeah. Pancake might be Mormon now. It’s hard to tell. Because she’s a bunny. And I decided when we first got her that she is Jewish. But whatever, her religion is her choice, not mine.
(In case people get the sensies about this: I mean no offense to Mormons in general or the particular Mormons who stopped by, who were perfect gentlemen and at least pretended to be interested as I rambled on about my pet rabbit even though I’d just told them I had no desire to learn more about their faith. I know a lot of Mormons and though I don’t agree with many of their beliefs, they’re all genuinely nice people. Their particular religion just isn’t my “jam,” as the kids would say.)
(As I wrote that, I realized it sounds a lot like when racist people say they can’t be racist because they have a black friend. Oh well, I stand by it. ‘Merica.)
2 Feb
I had a massive revelation recently. Out of all the various chores you have to do to keep your house from looking like a hoarder’s, I’ve always loathed vacuuming the most. Mainly because I’m terrified I’m going to run over the cord and get electrocuted and die, and then who would be around to take Pancake’s selfies for her or defend against the rise of the Oxford comma-nistas or remind you when it’s Squirrel Appreciation Day?
I’m 60 percent sure that “don’t run over the vacuum cleaner cord because you’ll get electrocuted” is one of those urban myths perpetuated during childhood, like “mixing Pop Rocks and soda will make your stomach explode” or “if you cross your eyes for too long, they’ll stay like that.” (Sooooooooo … I kinda-sorta seriously believed that one until college. College, people. Good thing “True or false: If you cross your eyes for more than 10 minutes, they’ll stay like that” wasn’t a question on the SAT.)
For some reason, the vacuum cleaner one has managed to stick with me well into adulthood, and we’re practically living in squalor because of it. A few days ago, something deep in my subconscious must have clicked, because it finally dawned on me: The scene in the classic ’80s animated film “The Brave Little Toaster” in which everything’s just going to hell for the talking appliances, and then Kirby the Vacuum eats his cord and dies — DIES — apparently gave me PTSD that’s lasted for 20-plus years.
This is actually one of the more lighthearted scenes in this fucked-up movie. Seriously.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find an actual clip of that scene in the movie, so you’ll just have to rely upon the photo above and your trust in me to believe it was absolutely horrifying and a totally legit reason to be afraid of the vacuum cleaner for the rest of your life.
Who else remembers this movie? Did it also scar you for life?
Squirrel Thoughts 