Death and Destruction
Ok, first off, before I do anything else, I have to tell you to go visit Being Daddy, who has Extremely Important Information about soap.
Back again?
Then I have to tell you it's worth visiting Pound, who's having another articulate snitfit about Jemima J.
Hi! I'm still here. But wait! You might want to check out the Lego-style (not a true Lego product!) Holy Trinity, which has a glow in the dark Holy Ghost. (In the category of Things-I'm-Not -Buying-For-The-Child-This-Christmas-Or-Ever.) (As usual, got this from Fr. Bryce.)
I was intending to discuss Debbie New's book, Unexpected Knitting, which has so far been ably discussed by Lisa and Teresa, but I got sidetracked, so more on that later.
What sidetracked me is an entirely different book which arrived recently (here's a plan; be a literature professor; marry a literature professor; stack books three feet deep all over the house; order more. Yeah. That'll work.). It is The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Holidays. I have ALL the "Worst-Case Scenario" books, and I love them all dearly. Dearly, Dearly. I was cheered by the information found in the original one, for instance, that in order to elude a mountain lion what you need to do is open your jacket and spread it out like wings. Apparently this makes you look really really big. Or just idiotically scary, I'm not sure. But at any rate, it's the Best Method We Know for escaping the dreaded mountain lion. (I've got no call to try this out around here in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, as far as I know, but while I was still living in San Francisco there was a renegade mountain lion who was snacking on joggers on Mount Tam -- easy pickings, I gather, cause they weren't running THAT fast, and they had those headphones on. Mount Tam joggers! Keep your jackets open!)
I come from a family that's enchanted by death-and-destruction stories, and their counterparts, the how-to-escape-death-and-destruction stories. We love the Darwin awards. We exchange books on hilarious deaths. We're full of advice on how to elude the disaster which awaits us at every moment, ready to pounce on unsuspecting joggers. This is not our fault. When my brothers and I were kids, our dad received, for a short time, some magazine called "Family Safety," which was full of stories about Mr. Brown, who was carelessly mowing his lawn, without having any idea that the blades were about to pick up a rock and fling it, tragically killing his next-door neighbor, or Mrs. Smith, who carelessly whipped up some hot drink in her blender, having no idea that the blender glass would explode, tragically severing her arteries, all of them. Oh, we loved that magazine, but it disappeared pretty quickly. I think my dad finally copped to how gory it was. But the damage, alas, had been done. Now we're insatiable, and according to the laws of karma, all three of the Brannen kids who got addicted to that magazine are going to die horrific, but sadly hilarious, deaths. We're waiting. Meanwhile, we're taking notes.
Anyway. The new Survival Handbook is very useful, containing, as it does, good hints on how to stop charging reindeer ("Do not raise your arms over your head!"), how to get down a chimney ("Feel and smell for a lighted fire!"), how to fit into clothing that is too tight ("Use safety-pins on pants with side and rear closures!"), and how to fend off an unwanted kiss ("Employ evasive maneuvers!").
Oh, it's a treat. Guess I know what I'm sending my brothers for Christmas.
Back again?
Then I have to tell you it's worth visiting Pound, who's having another articulate snitfit about Jemima J.
Hi! I'm still here. But wait! You might want to check out the Lego-style (not a true Lego product!) Holy Trinity, which has a glow in the dark Holy Ghost. (In the category of Things-I'm-Not -Buying-For-The-Child-This-Christmas-Or-Ever.) (As usual, got this from Fr. Bryce.)
I was intending to discuss Debbie New's book, Unexpected Knitting, which has so far been ably discussed by Lisa and Teresa, but I got sidetracked, so more on that later.
What sidetracked me is an entirely different book which arrived recently (here's a plan; be a literature professor; marry a literature professor; stack books three feet deep all over the house; order more. Yeah. That'll work.). It is The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Holidays. I have ALL the "Worst-Case Scenario" books, and I love them all dearly. Dearly, Dearly. I was cheered by the information found in the original one, for instance, that in order to elude a mountain lion what you need to do is open your jacket and spread it out like wings. Apparently this makes you look really really big. Or just idiotically scary, I'm not sure. But at any rate, it's the Best Method We Know for escaping the dreaded mountain lion. (I've got no call to try this out around here in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, as far as I know, but while I was still living in San Francisco there was a renegade mountain lion who was snacking on joggers on Mount Tam -- easy pickings, I gather, cause they weren't running THAT fast, and they had those headphones on. Mount Tam joggers! Keep your jackets open!)
I come from a family that's enchanted by death-and-destruction stories, and their counterparts, the how-to-escape-death-and-destruction stories. We love the Darwin awards. We exchange books on hilarious deaths. We're full of advice on how to elude the disaster which awaits us at every moment, ready to pounce on unsuspecting joggers. This is not our fault. When my brothers and I were kids, our dad received, for a short time, some magazine called "Family Safety," which was full of stories about Mr. Brown, who was carelessly mowing his lawn, without having any idea that the blades were about to pick up a rock and fling it, tragically killing his next-door neighbor, or Mrs. Smith, who carelessly whipped up some hot drink in her blender, having no idea that the blender glass would explode, tragically severing her arteries, all of them. Oh, we loved that magazine, but it disappeared pretty quickly. I think my dad finally copped to how gory it was. But the damage, alas, had been done. Now we're insatiable, and according to the laws of karma, all three of the Brannen kids who got addicted to that magazine are going to die horrific, but sadly hilarious, deaths. We're waiting. Meanwhile, we're taking notes.
Anyway. The new Survival Handbook is very useful, containing, as it does, good hints on how to stop charging reindeer ("Do not raise your arms over your head!"), how to get down a chimney ("Feel and smell for a lighted fire!"), how to fit into clothing that is too tight ("Use safety-pins on pants with side and rear closures!"), and how to fend off an unwanted kiss ("Employ evasive maneuvers!").
Oh, it's a treat. Guess I know what I'm sending my brothers for Christmas.
<< Home