A co-worker of mine (who lives in North Carolina) today mistakenly referred to Minnesotans as "cheese-eating drunks."
"No, you're thinking of Wisconsin," I said. "We're fish-eating drunks."
And then I started to envision a large map, with each state classified by what type of drunk they are:
NORTH CAROLINA -- Pork-eating drunks
TEXAS -- Barbecue-eating drunks
MASSACHUSETTS -- Chowder-eating drunks
UTAH -- There are no drunks
Counterculture is dead.
Paula Abdul tackles the important issues.
I am 351 months old (there's such a thing as a birth tree?).
Note to the makers of Swiss Miss pudding: I am a big fan of your product, but I find your packaging vexing. Every time I try to tear off the top part, it comes off in pieces. Then it gets all messy. Please fix your pudding lids so that they come off all in one piece. Thank you.
I found out Tuesday that my longtime friend Beth has a blog.
I've known her for more than a decade, when the two of us were functionaries for a subsidiary of the evil empire. When I got bored in my role as the guy who hangs out in the freezer-cooler all day listening to ska music and doing his best to avoid talking to any customers, I would pick up a ham and go find Beth. She was usually doing some foolish thing like helping customers and making their day better. I would stand there patiently until the customer left, then I would extend the ham to her and sing "Hold My Ham," to the tune of the Hootie and the Blowfish hit "Hold My Hand." I would sing to her until she held my ham.