![We called him… Carrot Jim]()
by Richard Timothy | Apr 8, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Life Characters, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
College is one of those things that will always mean something to those that went to college. What does it mean? Honestly, it just means that they went to college. For some people I know, college was a wise choice. I, for one, appreciate knowing that my dentist went to college and got a degree in the art of wielding tools of oral torture. Just thing of how unsettling it would be to walk into a dentist’s office and find him reading a “Cavity Drilling for Dummies” book just before you are to have a cavity filled that appointment.
I also need to point out that college, for a lot of people, is one of the most expensive private party clubs they will ever join. I know I’m still paying off the cover charge on my last collegiate endeavor. There is a universal conversation that all college goers have about 2 days after graduating or leaving for good, and that is, “Do I have to start paying of my student load right now, or in like a week or two?”
In my case, I went to college twice, once for art and once in hopes of getting a degree that could help me get a job afterward. The art school I went to was a touch odd on a few levels. For one thing, it was a school in Wyoming that was known for its arts programs. I should state that it was only known for this within the state of Wyoming, no one had any idea this was even possible. Besides, if you know anything about Wyoming you know that this equates to about 12 people actually knowing about this school. Ok so maybe there were a few more than 12, the point being that there just aren’t that many of us. In fact, if there were a Wyoming species of human, I’m pretty sure we’d be on the endangered species list.
Another oddity about the school is that it was also an agricultural school, for farming, and horses, and rodeo, and other cowboy and farmer like skills. Ok that’s actually more of an expectation instead of an oddity, but it did mean that about 90% of the students were either art majors or agricultural majors, and that does make is a touch odd as far as Wyoming colleges goes Other than the initial surprise that Wyoming actually has colleges.
The nice thing about being an art student is that, traditionally speaking, artists are rather odd ducks. If there is one thing I learned from the ugly duckling story it’s that odd ducks need to stay together … oh and don’t be a mean bastard. I’m pretty sure that was one of the lessons in that book.
It was during this attempt at being an art student that I met the lad I want to talk about today. His name was Jim, but we called him Carrot Jim. And before he was Carrot Jim he was Banana Jim. I wish I could say that it was because he was a vegetarian, but I don’t think he was. The banana name came from his bananas… the ones in his sketchbook. You know, the more I keep talking about this the more I think I’m going to get in trouble. See Jim was one of those artists that always had his sketchbook out and was working on a drawing. It was quite inspiring really.
Now if there is one thing you can count on from an artist it’s that they have phases. Picasso has his Blue phase, Monet has his water lilies phase, Pollock has his splashy-splashy dribble-dribble phase, and Jim, well, Jim had his Banana phase. He was always drawing them… and for the record, when I say banana I mean that strictly in the fruit that The Librarian of the Unseen University loved to eat. Besides Jim’s banana obsession, the other thing that set him apart from the other art students was his glasses. They were of the Buddy Holly genre of eye ware and you usually saw those dark horn rim frames before you saw Jim.
Jim belonged of the pasty pigment phylum of man and because of that his eye glasses were one of his more distinguishing physical identifiers. Perhaps this is what started the carrot project, I’m honestly not sure, but what I can tell you is this, college is a time to experiment and try new things just for the sake of trying it. Jim was no different.
It started out as one of those “You know what I heard” conversations where someone actually said, “You know what I heard? I heard that if you eat a bunch of carrots it will eventually turn your skin orange.” This was followed by a barrage of, “gnut agnaa”, which can be loosely translated to mean, “oh no it won’t.” There was however one “Really!” in the bunch. Maybe it was a result of being too pasty for too long. Maybe it was because he wanted to be the same color as Alan Steel in Hercules Against the Moon Men. Then again, knowing Jim, he just wanted to see if it could be done.
And that was the birth of Carrot Jim. For the next few months, for every meal, breakfast, lunch, and dinner Jim ate carrots. Not just a few carrots, but a cafeteria tray half full of carrots. He did eat other things and as I recall was a big fan of coffee, but mostly, he ate carrots. Now perhaps it’s just me, but attempting to change your skin color through mass consumption of carrots would fall under the “seemed like a good idea at the time” category of ideas, which usually translates at some later point to “that really wasn’t a very good idea, why didn’t you “friends” try to stop me.”
And why is it when a friend makes a poor choice and then later reviews it, you suddenly become a “friend” as opposed to a friend, when they talk about your lack of stopping them from the choice they made. Yeah, and they always raise both hands, doing that little bunny ear sign in each hand when the say friend just to make sure you know the word is housed in quotations. 
This is when you attempt to explain that you, on numerous occasions, did attempt to defer them by saying things like, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” To which you always received trite and unimaginative response, “Well I’m not you.” In most cases people are going to do what they want, regardless what friends and family tell them to do. So stop trying to blame your “friends” for your choices. Case in point, I blame no one but myself for that six month period I went through that I tried to mimic Robert Smith’s hairdo. And you want to know why I did it? Easy, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Still, after about a month of mass carrot consumption Jim slowly started to tint orange, and with each addition week the more pigmently altered he became. I mean sure he might have been a little pasty, but at least it was a normal color that didn’t both confuse and detour the opposite sex, or whichever sex you fancy. Watching Jim turn orange, albeit entertaining, was in the end rather unfortunate. He did stand out in a crowd thought, and the ladies did notice him, it’s just none were interested in “getting a cup of coffee” with Carrot Jim. I think the biggest problem was that orange just wasn’t his color. Poor guy. Although, regardless of anything else that could be said about this experiment, I’m sure we can all agree on one thing… at least the lad was regular.
Jim couldn’t stop either, the carrots I mean. He said he had become addicted to them and could not stop eating them… so I slapped him, threw some milk in his face and yelled, “The power of beef compels you.” while hitting him with a half eater hamburger paddy. Ok, maybe not, but we did talk to him about a possible intervention. Eventually he began to cut back. I’m not sure he ever quit completely, but his skin did eventually return to its natural shade.
My friendship with Jim ended as most college friendships end, we graduated and moved on. Sadly there were some uncomfortable feelings at the end, which at the time was a big deal. In your early twenties there are a lot of big things that turn out to be not that important at all. And now, it just makes for a good story that has been known to get a laugh from time to time. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.
Although, thanks to the reconnectability magic of Facebook, I’ve since caught up with Carrot Jim. He’s just Jim now and turns out he stuck with his art, and fortunately for everyone, he got past his Banana phase. From what I’ve seen of his recent work, he’s become a rather fine artist.
So, any of you have any friends that tried and succeeded in turning themselves a different color?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: college, sketching in sketchbook, baby carrots, finger quotes, and intervention.
![We called him… Carrot Jim]()
by Richard Timothy | Apr 5, 2010 | Holiday Banter, I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
With Easter arriving on a Sunday this year, I found myself a wee bit distracted from the documenting Smirkful observations and spent the day with family. Besides laughs and conversation, it also included consuming chocolate, food, chocolate, sugar dipped marshmallow baby chickens, and hard boiled eggs… and chocolate. There are some holidays that carry with them certain smells that when you come across them reek that the holiday has arrived. The smell of evergreens filling the house will always announce to my nose that Christmas is here. Just like the smell of the mingling aroma of baking pumpkin pie and cooked turkey slaps my taste buds into a confusing state of mouth watering appreciation which can only be defined as Happy Thanksgiving. (I say confusing because I hate pumpkin pie, but do enjoy a real turkey out of the oven.)
Then there is Easter, which unfortunately carries with it the ominous odor of chocolate covered egg burps. I’m not saying this is how I want to remember the holiday. It’s just that over the year’s one of the most common reoccurring fragrances that Easter has always offered it the pungent smell of hard boiled eggs with just a hint of chocolate from all those damn Whopper Robin Eggs.
With Easter now over with, and with the bargain shoppers now rushing to all of the grocery stores to buy carts full of 50% off Easter candy and holiday décor that will be used next year, what better time than now to learn a little something about this holiday. Apart from the unfortunate smells associated with it.
If you know anything about this holiday it’s that you can’t have Easter without the Pagans. Granted there are a number of holidays we wouldn’t have without the Pagans. That being said… thanks Pagans. What few people know is that the name Easter comes from mistakes that were made in the east, as in east errs. Ok, I made that up. According to a fair amount of random internet sources that I perused for the sole purpose of shared enlightenment the word Easter comes from the name Eostre, who as the Great Mother Goddess of the Saxon people in Northern Europe. Apparently the name of the goddess originates from the ancient word for spring (or eastre), and a festival was held in her honor every year at the vernal equinox.
Regardless of your beliefs, Easter is a salute to spring. For the Earth, spring is a very literal type of resurrection, renewal, rebirth, regurgitation… of sleeping vegetation, and other “re” words that would require much longer explanations as to how they relate to Easter, but that I really don’t want to get into. For Christians and Pagans alike it represents either the symbolic or literal resurrection of a god. Of course, this is dependent on either what kind of Christian or Pagan you are.
In Gerald L. Berry’s book “Religions of the World,” he wrote:
“About 200 B.C. mystery cults began to appear in Rome just as they had earlier in Greece. Most notable was the Cybele cult centered on Vatican hill …Associated with the Cybele cult was that of her lover, Attis (the older Tammuz, Osiris, Dionysus, or Orpheus under a new name). He was a god of ever-reviving vegetation. Born of a virgin, he died and was reborn annually. The festival began as a day of blood on Black Friday and culminated after three days in a day of rejoicing over the resurrection.”
That’s not all though. I know for me Easter has and will always mean one thing that thing is bunnies! And from here on out, it’s only predominantly going to mean Flemish bunnies. They are both adorable and huge. I have only recently been introduced to these massive creatures of fluffy adorability, and quite honestly, I have been waiting for Easter to arrive so I could share their existence with others… mainly because of the flawless segue I would be able to make from Easter Bunny to Flemish rabbits. Oh damn, I forgot to talk about the Easter Bunny.
Well, according to the myth, the Easter Bunny is a rabbit-spirit. Before being referred to as the Easter Bunny, he was called the “Easter Hare.” The reason being that rabbits and hares are renowned for having frequent multiple births. Because of this they became a symbol of fertility. The practice of the Easter egg hunt began because children believed that hares laid eggs in the grass. In looking more into this I found that the Romans believed that all life comes from an egg, forever answering the age old question of which came first the chicken or the egg. I also read that Christians considered eggs to be the seed of life, thus making the eggs symbolic of the resurrection of Jesus. Also, on a side note, I’d like to point out that once you devil eggs, they do become rather tempting.
Right, so Flemish rabbits, or as they are commonly referred to the “Flemish Giant” breed of rabbit, are the super sized options of the bunny kingdom. Some of these Bugs-like offspring have been reported weighing as much as 28 pounds (13 kilos). That’s like a Thanksgiving sized rabbit, and you probably wouldn’t even need any stuffing. Although you’d still have some because it’s stuffing, and stuffing is the delicious love child of a pride of garden herbs and a gaggle of croutons that have been spending too much time in a sauna. 
And no, I’m not recommending, suggesting, or in any way inferring that we should consume these large furry bouncing ground clouds of happiness. I was just making a very poorly thought out size juxtaposition, which I am not proud of. A better comparison would be canine. I mean they might not weigh as much as a golden retriever, but they could look it. Besides, everyone knows that visually speaking the fluffiness adds at least ten pounds.
My gripe with the present day celebration of Easter is psychological trauma that children suffer from in regards to how the holiday is usually celebrated. I am, of course, referring to all the children who are graced with a large collection of sugar infused goodies. After consuming as much of the candy as possible they are taken to some type of ceremonial activity and expected to be well behaved and quite while some religious themed message is shared to a group of attendees.
Getting your kids all jacked up on sugar and then punishing them because they were fidgeting, or screaming and running up and down the aisles as fast as they can is poor parenting, period. How is it possible that anyone be surprised that their children are behaving badly after you have just enabled and encouraged them to overload on sugar is like getting a Brazilian hot wax treatment and then acting all surprised that it hurts. It baffles me… on both accounts, the feeding candy to kids then yelling at them for being hyper bit, as well as the hot wax bit.
Regardless of your feelings about Easter and its symbolism and origins I think there is one thing we can all agree on… the urge all of you have, myself included, to pet one of those Flemish Giant rabbits. When I think of Flemish Giant rabbits I can’t help but think of Hugo the Abominable Snowman, who summed things up perfectly when he said, “Just what I always wanted. My own little bunny rabbit! I will name him George, and I will hug him, and pet him, and squeeze him.”
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JlVqfC8-UI]
Any Easter, or more importantly, Flemish Giant thoughts?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Flemish Giant, Flemish Giant with dog, Easter, Eostre, and kids eating Easter candy.
![We called him… Carrot Jim]()
by Richard Timothy | Apr 3, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, Nearly News, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Pratchett Perspective, Reviewed and Recommended
Friday morning was a good morning. Not because it was Friday, although it did help, but because of a fabulous little message that a new, yet dear, friend from Australia posted on my Facebook page. One of my Terry Pratchett inspired Smirks was posted in the April issue of Discworld Monthly, a free monthly on-line newsletter about Terry and his novels. It’s a very groovy yet surreal moment to discover you’ve had something published, but more than that is not to know you’ve been published until one of your friends has read the piece that was published in the work that published your piece and then tells you about it. I hope that made sense.
The article was made up of excerpts from the Smirk I wrote back in January entitled The Disc… A World of Literary Cameos (click here to read the original Smirk). I sent a copy of it to the editor a few days after I posted it, you know, just in case, and that was that. A few months later… hey! That’s me!
The Discworld Monthly has been around since 1997. In fact next month will be its 13th anniversary. A big, yet early, congrats and well done to them. It was created with the goal of keeping fans informed about the latest happenings in the Discworld and Terry Pratchett Fan Communities. I happened across it about a year ago. Then about five to six months ago I took the plunge and just subscribed to have the newsletter e-mailed to me every month instead of having to remind myself to check out the site each month or so.
My recommendation… if you are a Pratchett fan, and I know a number of you are, definitely check out the Discworld Monthly, and sign up for the newsletter. It’s a great treat for me each month receive an e-mail newsletter devoted to all things Pratchett.
There is also a Discworld Monthly Facebook group. So by all means check it out and join the group. And for those thinking about checking it out, there’s even a link to the new Going Postal trailer, which looks grand.
Thanks again to Heather for letting me know I was in this month’s issue. It’s a lovely way to start one’s day.
To those that checked out the newsletter, what did you think?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key word: Discworld.
![We called him… Carrot Jim]()
by Richard Timothy | Apr 2, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
I think everyone finds themselves in situations throughout life that requires them to evaluate certain things about themselves and then make a decision based on that self evaluation. Usually when I tell people that I am a certified minister there is always that confused pause where I imagine they are either waiting for me to share my story of this self evaluation that lead me to that decision, or that I’m lying to them. It is true though, I can, if I choose, legally put the title Reverend at the beginning of my name. This also enables me to legally perform certain ceremonies like, well the only one that comes to mind is weddings, but I’m sure there’s more. I’ve even thought about making some business cards that sport the title Reverend on them, but I’ve yet to find a functional purpose for doing that… unless it will get me discounts at restaurants. Hmm… looks like it’s time to do a little research.
The fact of the matter is yes I truly am a reverend. How and why you may ask? Easy, it was the result of a life changing event. The event actually took place in Central Park in New York City, just across from the corner were John Lennon was shot. It was where my dear friend Mike proposed to my dear friend Kathy. I never said the life changing event was mine. There was absolutely no inner evaluation on my part to make this choice. Once they got home we had one of our many and always fabulous wine parties and they announced the engagement. This created a frenzy of joy and emotional outbursts.
It was after I stopped screaming and clapping and jumping up and down in place they popped the big question. It was actually really groovy the way they put it… or at least the way I remember them putting it. They said that with all of the planning they had to do with finding a location, getting a guest list made, and all the planning involved in planning a wedding there was one thing they wanted to be perfect and didn’t want to have to worry about, they wanted me to create their ceremony and be the one to marry them, well, perform the ceremony I mean. And that was it. That was event that got me reverendized. Yes, much like Charlie Brown, I am a good man. Although, I’ve yet to have a musical written and performed stating this, but I am still holding out that it’s only a matter of time.
Being one of self set beliefs about life, the universe, and everything the first thing I knew is that becoming an ordained minister needed to coincide with my lack of religious beliefs. Thank you world wide web you fabulous little vixen of endless links from random Google searches in the hopes of finding something that would give me the title required to perform a wedding for these two amazing and incredibly trusting friends.
The first thing I discovered was that by simply googling “becoming an ordained minister” you get over 1 million results. To save you some time, you really don’t need to go past the first page of results to find the information you’re looking for. I found a “church” that claimed an all inclusive philosophy towards belief. Or to coin a phrase that is already a small shiny ore disc that some people flip into the air for the sake of betting, or for assisting indecisive people to make decisions, they are a “nondenominational” organization. They even had three key selling points that sold, sealed…, helped me chose them for getting my ministers status.
One selling point was their overall inclusion of belief structures, which includes the following: Agnosticism, Atheism, non-Religious, Baha’i Faith, Buddhism, Cao Dai, Christianity, Confucianism, Hinduism, Humanism, Islam, Jainism, Juche, Judaism, Natural Law, Neopaganism, New Age, Primal Faith, Primal Indigenous, Rastafarianism, Scientology, Shinto, Sikhism, Spiritism, Taoism, Tarahumara Beliefs, Tenrikyo, The Occult, Traditional African Religion, Unitarian Universalism, and Zoroastrianism. I have no idea what most of those mean, but they are all accepted and ok ideologies according to the “church”.
Selling point two, at the time (it has since been removed) there was a bulleted list on the ordination application page that stated the three key reasons that people become ordained ministers. The first was because people want to share their beliefs with others in a professional setting and not a street corner, i.e. start a church and preach to others. The second reason was to legally perform certain ceremonies, i.e. legally perform weddings for friends or family. And the final reason was, and I am quoting here, “a lark.” Yes as a joke. These people had not delusions about why some people become ministers. I was impressed. And had I not been doing it for the second reason, I would have definitely done it for the third reason at that point.
Finally, and the most significant reason for becoming an ordained minister with this organization, it was free. Turns out all you need to become a reverend is your full legal name, e-mail address, home address, and a working internet connection. It took about three minutes. I filled out the information and clicked on the submit button. They checked to make sure I was a real person living at the address I gave them and… call me reverend. I even have a certificate that I printed out on my computer, and an e-mail stating I am an official minister for the organization and can officially use the title reverend.
Now, if you want a high resolution certificate printed on a nice paper along with a ministers card and additional forms of identification stating that you are a reverend, well that’s going to cost you. Yes the pretty paperwork costs, but you get ordained for free. Hey, religions need money to survive, even all inclusive ones that offer a service so that you can wed your friends. They also have doctorates of religion courses you can take so you can become a Doctor Reverend. I figured one title that I never use is enough, but the option is always there! You know, in the event that I lose a bet that required me to either shave my goatee or become a doctor.
You many ask what becoming a reverend had meant over the years. Pointless titles aside I have actually performed 3 different wedding ceremonies so far and one funeral. I think it’s called conducted, or commenced over, or oversaw… something like that. Those are a little more difficult than weddings, but just as big of an honor.
My favorite wedding that I’ve performed so far is easily the one for my two dear friends that originally asked me to become a minister so I could marry them. There is something immensely satisfying about creating a ceremony for two wonderful people that you know and love. There are no rules for creating a ceremony like that. You start with what you know about each one and add them together. Throw in a lot of love, a line from Monty Python’s Spamalot, maybe a stick if you happen to find one lying around, some almond champagne, a white sand beach, and two rings and you have a ceremony that is not only beautiful and brilliant, but is from beginning to end… totally and utterly them and no one else.
The few wedding I have done have been pretty groovy though, and who knows maybe someday I’ll do a few more. The weirdest part about the whole thing is that everyone looks at you as the one with all the answers. All I can say is that for my first wedding, it was a good thing that I was married so I knew how things were suppose to go as far as lineup, precession, etc. I imagine a wedding planner usually takes care of that, if there is one, otherwise, as the wedding officiate you sort of become hyphenated, meaning the reverend-wedding planner. Although I highly recommend that you never put that on a business card. One thing I know for sure, every wedding does become its own little adventure.
What do you think about my reverendness?
Source Images:
Google Images, key words: reverend, free, and clapping.
![We called him… Carrot Jim]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 31, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
The battle of the sexes, it’s a battle that has been going on as long as there has been sex, well sexes. It’s not so much a battle type battle, like Helm’s Deep or… um, Highlander I guess. No, I mean that battle of perspective where discussions happen on epic levels about issues that makes no sense to one sex, but perfect sense to another.
Actually, I think to get as accurate as possible, it’s not so much a sex thing as it is a personality type thing, namely the masculine and feminine personality types. This is not the same thing as male and female. I have met some very feminine men and very masculine women. I myself have been known to have some typically feminine perspectives about some commonly male topics, like football for example. Of course there are exceptions to the rules, but for the sake of today’s Smirk the thing to remember is that they are exceptions and not the standard traditional stereotype.
So what am I talking about? What is this topic of endless hours of banter between the masculine and feminine personality types? Nothing less than the always controversial topic of… throw pillows. Here let give you a conversational setting that cover both perspectives on this topic:
Feminine (F): I got some new throw pillows.
Masculine (M): Ok… um, why?
F: Because they’re pretty.
M: I can see that, but they don’t look very comfortable.
F: You don’t use them.
M: You mean you bought pillows that are not meant to be used?
F: Of course you use them.
M: What? Wait do can I or can’t I use them to sleep on.
F: You don’t use them to sleep on.
M: Then what’s the point?
F: They’re throw pillows. They add color and design to places in the home.
M: But you said we don’t use them.
F: Not like you mean when you say use.
M: So they serve absolutely no functional purpose?
F: Yes they do.
M: Like what?
F: They’re pretty!
And this is where people voices generally tend to increase in volume as the circular conversation continues, sometimes for hours.
For the feminine perspective throw pillows fall under the visually aesthetic realm of things that help make the world more beautiful, especially your home, apartment, flat, bungalow, etc. The main point that the masculine perspective always fails to realize is that for the feminine something that helps an area look prettier constitutes as a very viable and real functionality.
For the masculine perspective somethings can be pretty, but it becomes much prettier if that object is functional, like Italian leather shoes, or a fully restored cherry condition 1969 Mustang. The concept of throw pillows falls into pointless frivolity on a number of levels for a number of reasons. The first and most obvious reason is the feeling of utter pointlessness the masculine type gets when looking at one.
Personally I think the main problem comes from the name throw pillow. You have two separate words that when the masculine perspective combines them together they automatically think that they are specially made pillows for optimal striking in a pillow fight setting. To the masculine a throw pillow should be the ninja star of the pillow industry. A pillow that you can throw at advancing pillow toting minions in a goose down battle for control of the house… or television remote at the very least.
When the masculine type first learns that throw pillows are not to be thrown in any context what so ever, it creates a sort of syntax error is almost the human equivalent of the blue screen of death. Even after they reboot, the idea of gently moving the arsenal of things called throw pillows from the bed to a designated storing area on the floor makes their brains cry a little.
The end result of this debate consists of two separate resolutions that each type chooses to not tell the other. The masculine rejects the functionless attributes of the throw pillow and uses them whenever the feminine is away. This rarely allows for a comfortable and deep sleep opportunity because the masculine has to be on their toes so they can place the used throw pillow in its place when the feminine returns home.
The feminine are well aware of this practice. The ware and oil stain left by a sweaty sleeping head on the throw pillow is a bit obvious even if the masculine can’t really tell. What this does is ignite a “I’ll show them” reaction in the feminine to purchase more throw pillows. The rational is that the old ones are becoming dirty and worn out. Besides it’s cheaper to buy new throw pillows than it is to buy a steam cleaner. This also creates a desire in the feminine to find the holy grail of throw pillows. A completely functionless yet brilliantly beautiful throw pillow.
I am here to tell you that not only have I seen this holy grail throw pillow, but it lives at my house. That’s right, I am telling you we already got one. And you know what. It’s very nice. Seriously, when looking at it even I’ll say, “Oooo what a pretty throw pillow.” It’s about 14 inches by 14 inches and one full side is covered with ½ inch mother of pearl squares. Again, for the record I do concede it is very beautiful… and utterly useless, but very pretty.
It’s a debate that I don’t know will ever go away. The only real compromise I have been able to find is that for every two throw pillows the feminine type purchases the masculine type is allowed to trash one of them as they see fit. Yes this is a compromise, and believe me, to all you masculine types out there a 2 to 1 ration is actually pretty damn good odds in this situation. The thing is, the longer you take to wear out, trash, blow up, sneeze on, use in pillow fights for control of the remote, or use as a sponge to wash your car, the longer it will be before the feminine type purchases new throw pillows. Please note that both parties need to agree on this compromise before you, the feminine perspective, begins purchasing new throw pillows, and before you, the masculine perspective, begin lighting fires to existing throw pillows.
The throw pillow debate is one that has been going on far too long on this planet and it needs to stops. Can’t we all just get along?
Although, and this is a theory I’m making up on the spot here, if an alien race ever does attempt to invade our planet I honestly think we could avert it by simply introducing throw pillows to the feminine type aliens. Then all we’d need to do is get some popcorn, sit back, and enjoy the show.
Any throw pillow thoughts from your end?
Images Sources:
Google Images, key words: bed pillows, pillow fight, mother of pearl throw pillow, throw pillows, and battle of the sexes.
![We called him… Carrot Jim]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 30, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something to Wine About
Saturday proved to be a rather delightful day dedicated to catching up with old friends. Some dear friends from my coffee shop past just so happened to be in town this weekend celebrating their birthday. Only one of them was having their birthday, but since they were married, it made sense that they should celebrate it together. They wanted to get together and catch up, and they wanted to eat some really good Mexican food. So we killed two stones with one bird and Angela and I met Jules and Brandon and their ridiculously adorable kids at one of the best, if not the best, Mexican Restaurants in Salt Lake, The Red Iguana.
It had only been about 12 or 13 years since I had last seen Jules and Brandon, but I can always count on a clever and well written Christmas letter from them when the holiday comes along. Now there are a few things that happen when you first learn that you will be having lunch with your old friend’s kids. I mean your friends will be there too, obviously, but it’s the unknown element that kids seem to always be bring into any equation that gets you initially a little unnerved. When it comes to old friend’s kids there are really only two possible outcomes, well behaved fabulous children, or misbehaved complete and total bastards. There is also that inner little person filter that you need to remember to pay attention to. I did a fairly good job keeping my language at least at a PG-13 level through the entire meal.
As for the kids, they were grand. There are a lot of little people (I mean children for those of you that don’t know I call all children little people) in Utah. Making babies is kind of a… a hobby for a fair portion of the inhabitants of this state. In my experience I see a lot more ill behaved kids than well behaved kids. So anytime I run into well behaved kids, I always feel like I’m in a Ripley’s Believe It or Not episode. It’s just commonly so uncommon that I’m usually befuddled for the first 5 to 10 minutes. It was unbelievable. The kids just sat in their chairs, eating their food, and giving the adults a chance to catch up. Well done Jules and Brandon… well done Jules and Brandon’s little people.
After lunch and a huggy farewell, it was back to the house to get things ready for the wine party that was to start at 7PM. Oddly enough, to keep in tune with the reunion motif that was lunch, I had two old friends that I had not seen since 2002, at my ten year high school reunion, show up at the wine party. They live in the area and ever since we agreed to be friends on Facebook I have invited them to a number of wine parties, but it just never worked out.
So yeah, the wine party had its own reunion element with these old high school friends showing up for the first time. It’s always nice to catch up with old friends and realize that you have more in common with them that you thought you might have. Conversation definitely evolves to new levels of sharing when you hit that point. I did hear some stories about other people in high school that I never really cared to know, but alcohol has a way of enabling people to share stories that you normally wouldn’t. Still, all in all, it was a lot of fun reminiscing and being reminded of things I had completely forgotten about… such as the Samantha Fox lip syncing video that I shot at my with all the girls at the 8th grade graduation party while all of the boys sat in the next room watching Aliens or some Arnie movie. I have no idea where it is and for the sake of all of us, let’s hope I never find it.
There were a few other first time wine party friends there as well, plus the always reliable wine party regulars that are truly the friends I refer to as my other family. We did have plans to have a Earth Day moment. For some reason that seemed like a good idea at some point in the party planning, but it sort of got lost in the evenings consumption. I think the forgetfulness could be connected to the 15 empty wine bottles that covered the table be the end of the night. That doesn’t include any of the mixed drinks that were being enjoyed throughout the night as well.
I think for the Earth Day thing we were going to turn off all the lights in the house for a moment a darkened Earth appreciation and meditation for those that were coherent enough to meditate. When we finally remembered that we had forgotten we decided that since so many people were at the house that meant their houses had all the lights turned out, thus conserving a lot more energy than if we had simple turned out our lights for a few minutes. I believe it’s called proxy energy conservation. It’s a new theory. I mean brand new… as of Saturday night at 11:37PM, but I think it’s going to catch on.
I do have two favorite lines of the night that I wrote down so that I would remember to share them with all of you. They consist of:
- One friend arriving late so there are only a few bottles left that have any wine in them. Once he helped finish the last of the bottled reds, he notices a box of Sangria, pours a glass. He takes one sip and replies, “Ew, if I’m willing to drink that, it’s time for me to stop drinking.” That about an expected profoundity, profan… talk about a profound moment.
- The other was mostly an observation said with the desire to get a friends to smile who was going through a spell of drunken melancholy. The line was, “You know, if urine smelled more like lemons, bathrooms would get cleaned a lot less.”
Yes, I know boys and their toilet humor, but hey after 15 bottles of wine there’s a good chance that even you would be giggling at either one of those lines. Well if you hadn’t already passed out that is.
As for the party’s wine winner, I give you the 2005 Castello di Gabbiano Chianti Classico Riserva. It was a bit of a fixed win though. I hold a very special place in my heart for this wine. It was the wine Angela and I had at our wedding. Regardless of that little fact, the wine is still an amazing wine. I was first introduced to it when we first started the wine tasting group all those years ago. They were 2003 bottles at the time though. Still, the 2005 release has kept the flavor and depth that caused me to fall in love with the 2003 release in the first place.
It is one of those wines that after I take my first sip, my eyelids automatically shut as my eyes roll to back. Then, ss the wine hits the back of my throat I unconsciously begin smiling. And as I let it roll down my throat a small, “Mmm.” involuntarily escapes signifying to everyone in the room that yes, the wine is that good.
The key thing to remember is that it is the Gabbiano Chianti Classico Riserva, which is the bottle with the black label. The regular Gabbiano Chianti is ok, but pales in comparison to the Riserva. It’s a $20 bottle of wine, but is definitely worth it, unless you are a fruity wine person. The thing I like about a $20 bottle of wine is that if you are a posh wine consumer, sure it might be a little low end for you, but it’s still in the high low end range instead of low or medium low end range. And even if you are a two buck chuck drinker $20 is something you could do and be ok with once a year, like on your birthday when someone is buying a bottle for you and you want to try something that is an experience to remember.
It was a good Saturday all the way around, and on a groovy note, the next wine party is in two weeks. I have one of my best friends visiting and if there is one thing I know for sure its when a friend is visiting from out of town, you definitely have a party.
Any good wines that you’ve tried lately? I’d love to hear about them and add them to my list of friend recommended wines.
Images Sources:
Google Images, key words: red iguana, 2005 Castello di Gabbiano Chianti Riserva, good kids, friends laughing, and lemons.
College is one of those things that will always mean something to those that went to college. What does it mean? Honestly, it just means that they went to college. For some people I know, college was a wise choice. I, for one, appreciate knowing that my dentist went to college and got a degree in the art of wielding tools of oral torture. Just thing of how unsettling it would be to walk into a dentist’s office and find him reading a “Cavity Drilling for Dummies” book just before you are to have a cavity filled that appointment.
It was during this attempt at being an art student that I met the lad I want to talk about today. His name was Jim, but we called him Carrot Jim. And before he was Carrot Jim he was Banana Jim. I wish I could say that it was because he was a vegetarian, but I don’t think he was. The banana name came from his bananas… the ones in his sketchbook. You know, the more I keep talking about this the more I think I’m going to get in trouble. See Jim was one of those artists that always had his sketchbook out and was working on a drawing. It was quite inspiring really.
And that was the birth of Carrot Jim. For the next few months, for every meal, breakfast, lunch, and dinner Jim ate carrots. Not just a few carrots, but a cafeteria tray half full of carrots. He did eat other things and as I recall was a big fan of coffee, but mostly, he ate carrots. Now perhaps it’s just me, but attempting to change your skin color through mass consumption of carrots would fall under the “seemed like a good idea at the time” category of ideas, which usually translates at some later point to “that really wasn’t a very good idea, why didn’t you “friends” try to stop me.”
Jim couldn’t stop either, the carrots I mean. He said he had become addicted to them and could not stop eating them… so I slapped him, threw some milk in his face and yelled, “The power of beef compels you.” while hitting him with a half eater hamburger paddy. Ok, maybe not, but we did talk to him about a possible intervention. Eventually he began to cut back. I’m not sure he ever quit completely, but his skin did eventually return to its natural shade.
