Department Of With Friends Like These Who Needs Haldol
I recently received this email from my observant, always-pointing-me-toward-a-good-deal friend, SCM:
I’m just immature enough to giggle and consider buying these (I normally use .38 mm point pens and am convinced smaller is better—but perhaps not when the product is called Dong):
Being the more mature partner in our friendship, I of course had to make the purchase, sans giggling. I can honestly report that life is now…just… enhanced, in some incalculable way, when I whip out my Dong at lunch to do my crossword puzzle or KenKen puzzle.
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Speaking Of Other Pastimes That Mitigate The Need For Antipsychotic Medication
While you’re reading this, it is possible I am attending the Oregon Potters Association’s annual whoopdedoo. The Ceramic Showcase, which is “the nations’ largest show and sale of handmade pottery, sculpture, garden art, home accessories and other creative clay work,” is running through the weekend at the Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Portland. If you are a budding or veteran potter, or a collector of ceramics in particular or an admirer of art in general, or if you just need a new scrambled egg bowl, you owe it to yourself to see this show.
And sometimes, as what happened to MH and I two years ago, you find out you really need a bird-headed zipper face objet d’art to add some mojo to your hallway.
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Department Of Apropos Of Nothing
Have y’all heard the phrase, inspiration porn?
The term, coined by the late  journalist, standup comedian  and disability rights activist Stella Young, describes the patronizing experience common to many disabled people who hear themselves called “inspirational” when they accomplish things able-bodies people take for granted; thus, they are or have become inspirational mainly or solely due to their disability.
Young writes, “Let me be clear about the intent of this inspiration porn. It’s there so that non-disabled people can put their worries into perspective…It’s there so that non-disabled people can look at us and think ‘well, it could be worse… I could be that person.’”
In other words, inspiration porn paints people with disabilities as nothing more than modern-day Tiny Tims—pitiable people who help us put our own problems into perspective while making us smile with their courageous outlook on life. The problem with this is twofold: It not only assumes that disability automatically equals hardship, a tragedy that must be overcome, but it also incorrectly assumes that disability can actually be overcome with a smile and a little bit of determination.
(from Salon. Com, 2-2-15, “Inspiration porn is not ok: disability activists are not impressed with feel-good Superbowl ads“)
One of the reasons for my guilt was that Young’s talk reminded me of the time, many years ago, when someone asked me to name my biggest fear. My truthful answer was,  I fear being someone who inspires people.
Translation: I have never been praised for/accused of being an inspiration to others; therefore, if someone says that I have become “an inspiration” to them or others it likely means I have met with a devastating accident/injury/illness. As in,
“Robyn is such an inspiration. If she can ____
(recite the alphabet;
tie her shoelaces without passing gas;
string three multisyllabic words together without aspirating her drool…)
then anyone can!
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Department Of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not
Our dryer plays the harmonica.
That is, when it is in use, our clothes dryer sometimes produces a noise as if it were a harmonica player doing a sound check before a concert…if said harmonica player were a novice and the sound check consisted of the same note, blown at irregular intervals. 
International Person of Mystery ® that I am, I find this intriguing…or I used to, until I googled the phenomenon. Instead of what (in my mind) would be a logical response to my search (along the lines of, what a stupid question-have-you-tried-thinking-about-string-theory-or-something-more-profound?) I found…links.
It seem ours is not the only clothes dryer  with this talent. And I do consider it a talent.
Although I think it needs…something more. More cowbell?!
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In last week’s post I mentioned my son K’s trip to Iceland. As of Monday eve K is back to the States safe and sound, and survived his partaking of the putrid slop that puts the concept of national culinary pride to shame country’s national delicacy, Hákarl.
K hasn’t exactly been Mr. Travelogue when it comes to recounting his adventures. My favorite comment of his, in response to MH and I asking him about his impression of the country:
“The (tap) water tastes like eggs and the showers smell like omelets.”
A nano-seconds worth of double take, then, aha, of course: Iceland is an island/country that’s basically the tip top of a volcano.
And there’s nothing like a sulfur-infused beverage to wash down a mouthful of festering fermented shark meat.
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Department Of Things I Missed
Earth Day! It was last Friday, and there was not one mention of it in this space.
My shame knows no bounds. I’ll try to think of something entertaining and Earthy to make up for it.
How’s about something Eartha, instead?
* * *
May your home appliances serenade you;
May you be an inspiration…or not, as you choose;
May your showers be redolent of your favorite breakfast food;
..and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
* * *
 Not the event’s official title.
 Sadly, late as in recently deceased, not as in habitually tardy.
 Let’s just make that “comedian,” seeing as how in Ms. Young’s case, although she did perform on stage it was from a wheelchair and she wasn’t technically standing up…a joke that, I like to think, she would have appreciated.
 Yep, it’s all about moiself.
 And still is…sort of.
 Kind of like a less nasal version of Bob Dylan’s current vocal stylings.
 DAMN!! I was hoping for an American’s Got Talent gig.