There are some people in the public sphere that I just can’t abide. I can’t even stand to look at their mugs. Charles Krauthammer is one of them. I could rant and rave, but where’s the fun in that?

I mean look at Charlie. Was there ever a more supercilious, self-important, smug asshole? Okay, you’re right, Robert Novak is right up there in the obnoxious department. What amazes me is that Krauthammer would allow this picture to accompany his column in the Washington Post. The most amazing thing is that the pisk* doesn’t lie: he writes like he looks.

So, instead of fussing and fuming, I don’t read his column anymore. Unfortunately, since I subscribe to the Post; his punum** catches my eye every once in a while. So, how to make sure that he will garner laughs and not bile? Put that pompous noggin on something silly.

I learned this from a mate at university. She was a concert pianist who, in order to get over her nerves before a performance, would imagine the conductor taking a dump. I always thought that this was a tad over the top. But, the alternative of imagining people naked (another ploy) can elicit rather illicit thoughts. So, I give them a body of the other gender and have a little fun with it.

So, you just try to get me upset Chuck. It won’t work! And you’re not far behind Novak. Go ahead, try it on someone you can’t stand. You’ll feel the tension fade away. Why the ball? Just ‘cause I felt like it. So there!

*mouth
**face

My apologies to Nikki St. Phaille, who sculpted the fabulous statue.

I want to be clear: UNICEF is a fantastic organisation. They do a hell of a lot of good for children throughout the world. But, hey, we all make mistakes. It seems that UNICEF has decided to mount a campaign against child soldiers, showing the effects of war on children, by using the Smurfs. You’ll remember the Smurfs, little blue guys who lived in a village of mushroom houses. Papa Smurf was the 542- year old patriarch. The antagonist was Gargamel. He was an extremely nasty wizard. He also had a thoroughly rotten cat who would’ve made a meal of any of the Smurfs given the opportunity.

There were Smurfs of every stripe and trouble was always right around the corner, but every episode ended with Gargamel getting his comeuppance and the Smurfs happy again. The Smurfs originated in Belgium, so it was natural that UNICEF-Belgian would have this campaign, I suppose. My question: who are they aiming it at? Or even better: what were they thinking? (more…)

I cannot understand the need to make gummy candies into animals. Liquorice is not messed about with – it’s extruded and it looks like what it is: a tube. Jelly babies aren’t made to look like babies; they’re little egg-shaped blobs. Why the need to make gummies into creatures?

I realised why I had this revulsion this morning. I love a certain brand of gummies from Australia. They are ginger flavoured. I take them to work not only because I like them, but because I don’t have to be afraid of them disappearing off my desk. Ginger, for some reason, is a flavour that most people don’t care for. I can’t, for the life of me, understand it; but it works for me. The problem that I have is that I can’t let my hands gets sticky at work, so I stick a toothpick into them to pick them up. You can see where this is leading, right? (more…)

Okay, here’s a heads up: don’t believe everything you read in the New York Times. There’s an article in the 9 October edition of the Times, that proselytises the concept of potty training babies. They have a picture of a mother with her infant on the loo. Mum is looking away from camera; child has an expression that can best be described as, “My Mummy’s crackers, save me!”

You might ask why I had such an immediate and visceral reaction to this story. Well, you see, my Mum tried to potty train me at 3 months. Again you might ask why. Yes, there’s a story. (more…)

The other morning one of the ‘agony aunt’ columns had a letter that made me laugh. Seems the letter writer has a relative who fancies herself well-educated. As such, this relative thought that it was her duty to correct pronunciation of everyone in the family. “What to do?” asked the writer.

I can’t remember what Abby/Ann/Carolyn said, I was laughing too hard. It was the image of this person going around correcting people and they weren’t knocking her lights out. Then, the memories came rushing back: I had an aunt who did that all the time. She had a couple of years of community college, a Penguin Classics of Plato’s ‘Republic,’ and thought that gave her superior knowledge about everything.

One word I remember that she’d always correct me on was, ‘surprise.’ I would say ‘suh-prise’, dropping the ‘r.’ that particular transgression stuck in her craw. She would always correct me. Since I was only a child, it never stuck. So, she was continually correcting me on my mispronunciations and spoonerisms. The most lasting thing she ever did was to threaten to turn me into the police for picking my nose. (more…)

Remember back to the time of snail mail? It was fun to hang around the mailbox, especially if you were in love. There was a time when our friends went out of their way to make their envelopes interesting. Then, a little later, you began to notice the other advantages and disadvantages of snail mail. “The check is in the mail,” of course can work both ways. Direct deposit is great, but electronic bill paying can suck. But with snail mail, the day would inevitably arrive when you’d open the mailbox and amidst all your proper post would be the envelope. It would make your heart sink.

You knew what this meant just by looking at the envelope. You name would be hastily written or typed and there probably wouldn’t be a return address. You didn’t want to open the envelope and toyed with idea of throwing it away. But you wouldn’t because you knew that it would be from a friend. But in this innocuous-looking missive, wasn’t a bill. It wasn’t even a plea for money. It was the dreaded chain letter. Why would they leave their names off the envelope when they would be at the bottom of the list that you were supposed to add your name to? (more…)

Not everyone fantasizes about having an oil well. Sometimes, they just conjure one up whole cloth. HB grew up on the west side of Los Angeles. Not the posh-y side, he was further south in the working class section: closer to Inglewood than to Brentwood. He used to play around the oil wells of the Baldwin Hills. Oil was discovered there in the early part of the 20th century and it was quite a find for many years.

When HB was a teenager, the oil fields were a nice secluded spot were he could take his dates who were one in the rhythm with the pumps (if you get my drift). He still has fond memories of a certain “Sweet Lorraine.” Oh yes, he was well-acquainted with the oil fields. When he grew up, HB bought his first home in Ladera Heights which was just south of the Baldwin Hills oil fields. Close and yet so far away. The backyard of his property was terraced down the hillside. Steps led down to the bottom of the property.

One Saturday, he decided that he had better clean up the foliage out back and so he went out with a rake and started to work. It wasn’t long before he noticed, under the leaves and debris that there was something black and tar-like oozing up out of the ground. He bent over to touch it. It reminded him of the La Brea Tar pits, which is on top of a huge repository of oil.

Now, some of the people in the area where HB lived had been paid by oil companies for the right to slant drill on their land. They received monthly checks for just living over an oil field. Suddenly, it hit him like a bolt of lightening: I’m sitting on an oil field! My property is over an oil field! I’m an oil baron! His eyes turned into dollar signs and did an a-wooga wooga. (more…)

Long ago, I was driving with my Mum. We were driving south from Los Angeles toward San Diego in California. At some point, we passed by Signal Hill. Signal Hill had been the sight of one of the biggest oil discoveries in California history. The oil has long since been pumped out, but at that time as I was looking out the car window, the oil derricks were still there and pumping. As I gazed at the wells pumping away, my Mum suddenly said, “I could’ve picked up that piece of property in 1932 for a song!”

Double take by me. I looked at my Mum and back at Signal Hill and back at my Mum again. “Mummie, that’s Signal Hill! It’s been owned by Standard Oil since the turn of the century!” (more…)

It’s true, I am shameless. Don’t think you can ever make me feel guilty. I spent too many years wracked with guilt. I was genetically pre-disposed to fell guilty: Mum a Jew, Father a Catholic. Gimme a break, I had to end the cycle sometime. You know what I mean?

So, I am now officially without shame. Actually, I didn’t realize it immediately, only after I had programmed the ring tones in my mobile (cell phone). Very early on, I was fascinated by the funny ring tones. I was also repulsed by the unimaginative choices that people made when programming their ring tones. Not only were they unimaginative, they were LOUD! Geez, I do not want to hear the 1812 Overture at 10 decibels above the threshold of pain. In Europe, where mobiles were de rigueur long before they were in the U.S., the 1812 Overture was big. Have you ever been on a looooong train trip through the Italian Alps were someone has that going off every 10 minutes? Thank Gawd for tunnels and earplugs. (more…)

I once had the good fortune to work for a while in Hawaii. Of course when you get a job in an exotic place every relative and friend finds a way to visit with you. As a matter of fact, you find that you have more relatives and friends than you ever knew.

So, that’s how it happened on a Sunday that an aged relative was visiting and had gone with the children and the babysitter to the beach. Being tired, I decided to stay at the house and read the funnies and relax (I was working 6 days a week). As I was reading the funnies there was an earthquake. Having lived around the ring of fire all of my life, I was used to earthquakes. I thought that it might be a good time to go down to the beach. So off I went. (more…)