Why do cafes only ever sell hot coffee and iced coffee? I think I could make a fortune selling room temperature coffee. The target demographic is “people who have such severe caffeine addictions that they can’t wait for water to change temperature.”
I’ve spent the vast majority of my life in the New York Area but I still have no evidence of this legendary fifth borough.
The Devil’s solo is clearly a notch or two above Johnny’s. I realize that the Devil had an unfair leg up because of his kick-ass demon backup band, but the song doesn’t say, “the Devil bowed his head because he knew that he’d taken unfair advantage of the situation by getting help from his diabolical minions;” it only says, “he knew that he’d been beat.” If nobody is bothered by the demons’ participation, then I think the Devil was an obvious winner. But maybe I’m just playing Devil’s advocate.
Plan A
It should be a lovely afternoon. We’ve reserved the picnic tables at Bogard Park next from noon to three. There’s a brand new jungle gym for the kids and a beautiful view of the hills. We will have fresh egg salad sandwiches, watermelon, and Jeff’s famous double fudge brownies. Then we will have some fun group activities like an egg-on-a-spoon race and our annual leap frog competition. During the last hour we’ll have a round of champagne toasts and Laura will give her usual wacky recap of the events of the last year.
Plan B
In case the grocery store is short on eggs, we may have to have a blindfolded race instead of an egg-on-a-spoon race. Also we would need to substitute the egg salad sandwiches from last week’s sensitivity training for the fresh ones. I’m told that they mostly still smell fine.
Plan C
Should Laura’s laryngitis flare up again, her less charismatic brother Jonathan will take over the recap. Also, since Jonathan doesn’t work here, he probably doesn’t get the jokes that Laura wrote in, so he won’t know when to stop for laughs. It might be a little awkward.
Plan D
If Jeff doesn’t have enough chocolate, we will have to make due with his infamous single chocolate brownies.
Plan E
If I don’t have time to make it to the wine shop tonight, we won’t have any champagne for the toasts. Instead we will just reopen that bottle of grape juice that’s been sitting out in the break room since Sandra’s birthday party. I accidentally tried it last week and, trust me; it’s plenty fizzy and alcoholic.
Plan F
If it’s foggy and you can’t see the hills, you can still see the garbage disposal plant across the street. And you can sure as hell smell it.
Plan G
If the paint on the new jungle gym hasn’t dried yet, there’s an old playground at the other end of the park. Sure, it’s seen better days and that see-saw is pretty rusty, but as long as nobody’s kids have any open wounds or anything, we should be fine. But definitely bring some iodine or something just in case.
Plan H
If it rains, we have ponchos available for guests. Unfortunately, in order to save money, we bought extras from radical political rallies. I suggest you bring raingear if you have qualms advertising any of the following groups/causes: Free Madoff, CPUSA, Unite the Dakotas, Occupy Coney Island, Quebec Libré, or Thurmond for President ’04.
It was a weird feeling coming back from Los Angeles to New York. The same questions kept going through my head over and over as I walked around. Where are all the mountains and beautiful swimmable beaches? Why isn’t anything green? What’s with all the speed limits and drug laws?
Anyone who calls reading, writing, and arithmetic “The Three ‘R’s” clearly didn’t go to a school that emphasized the Three ‘R’s.
At job interviews, I’m never sure how to answer the question “What’s your greatest weakness?” I wonder if pointing out that I can’t think of a good answer counts as a weakness. Maybe that’s sort of a self-defeating response.
Whenever someone claims to “curse like a sailor,” I think about the sailors I know. They pretty much all wear Polo shirts everywhere they go and their annual household income usually exceeds $500,000. I guess they might curse, but I don’t think this is the image that the expression is meant to conjure up.
If you like figs, you better not look up fig wasps. Let’s see how curious this makes you…
The moment I realized that I’m not a kid anymore was the moment I opened a present that turned out to be a sweater and instead of thinking, “Oh crap, this isn’t a toy. Well, I better fake a smile…” I thought, “Is this more of a jeans sweater or a dress-up sweater?”
PUT IT ALL ON RED 