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  • Objectionable Content?

    Dear Stupidocles,

    I’m sure you thought you’d gotten away
    with it by now, but I waited to send this letter to lull you into a
    false sense of security.  Sometimes the best teaching moments are
    when someone slams you from out of the blue with a wallop of unexpected
    common sense, even if it is painful.  Especially
    when it’s painful, I should say.  Perhaps you have no idea what
    I’m talking about.  Well up until now, that’s been for me to know
    and you to merely speculate, but let me tell you, Mr. Stupidocles.

    My name is Phil O. Dendron and I represent People for the Positive
    Portrayal of Prehistoric Phlora and Phauna in Phiction and Philm
    (PPPPPPPPH).  I have a bone to pick with you, metaphorically
    speaking, about that garbage you wrote (“The Interminable Story of
    Blake and Thea”).  Let me first tell you where I’m coming
    from.  I’m sick and tired of all of these unnecessarily negative
    portrayals of prehistoric animals as bloodthirsty and barbaric
    creatures.  For instance, we have absolutely no solid proof that
    Tyrannosaurus Rex would terrorize time travelers or attack giant apes
    without provocation, yet story after story shows them doing so. 
    On the contrary, based on present-day dinosaurs there is good reason to
    believe that prehistoric dinosaurs would be peaceful, happy, and
    well-adjusted.  The purple dinosaur Barney is a benevolent being
    who teaches and reaches out to human children, with no attempts to eat
    them that I’ve ever seen on the show.  Likewise, the consensus of
    PPPPPPPPH scholars like myself who have spent a lifetime in the field
    indicates that Tyrannosaurus Rex was in fact a kindly king-of-the-lizards who would rather tend his garden and spout
    philosophical sayings than eat others (Benevelosaurus Rex would have
    been a much more accurate moniker!).  Wild speculation assures us
    that the vast majority of prehistoric phauna were pacifists, phriendly
    to other animals and people groups such as the neanderthals and homo
    phloresiensis, which you depict in your story.  Sabertooth tigers
    in particular were known for their neighborly attitude in lending their
    teeth for use as can openers and their bellies for scratching. 

    All of this to say that I would encourage you to strive for realism in
    your stories, and that means a more positive portrayal of prehistoric
    phauna.  Now I know you just barely wrote about sabertooth tigers
    and not at all about tyrannosaurs in your story, but I just wanted to
    raise your sensitivity level on this issue.  My main complaint is
    your apparent glorification of violence against ichthyosaurs.  I
    ask you, what benefit is there in portraying the brutal bludgeoning of
    a peace-loving, pacifistic fish-lizard?  What kind of sick sadist are you?  I have no legal power to stop you from writing such trash, but I appeal to your conscience, if you have one.  Stop writing such trash! 
    I have no complaints about your treatment of prehistoric phlora as of
    yet, but be warned!  Should you malign giant ferns and bromeliads
    in a future story, I have the clout to arrange for an international
    boycott of your works among PPPPPPPPH members!  We will
    march!  We will storm the subways!  We will spray-paint your
    house!  And you’ll wish you’d never been such a meanie.

    Genially,

    Phil O. Dendron
    PPPPPPPPH!  

    Phil,



    I appreciate your feedback. 
    This isn’t the first time I’ve heard from PPPPPPPPH, though you’ve
    never appeared on my blog before.  I applaud your organization and
    the great work they do, but I have to defend myself here.  Let me
    say I have nothing against prehistoric animals.  When I was
    growing up,
    I loved dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures.  None
    of my friends and I fantasized about clubbing them, except possibly in
    self-defense.  I still have a deep and profound respect for Big Bird and Aloysius Snuffleupagus.




    But it’s my Third Amendment right to
    portray prehistoric animals however I wish in my stories.  I won’t
    stop you from painting nostalgic, sunshiny pictures of prehistory, but
    in the real world things aren’t always so black and white.  My
    stories might seem harsh to you, but they present the gritty reality of
    nature, red in tooth and claw.  And sure, Barney may seem all
    kindly and benevolent and non-kid-eating on screen, but we don’t know
    what goes on off camera.  And we can’t climb into Barney’s head
    and see if he doesn’t ultimately have some ulterior motive (like
    hunger) in all of this.  And none other than science itself (which
    we know to be infallible) casts doubt upon your characterization of
    Barney as a benevolent dinosaur.  Shockingly, he may not even be a dinosaur!




    If you really truly care about
    preventing violence to animals, prehistoric and otherwise, you need to
    stop tilting at windmills and go after the real animal abusers, the
    heirs to Ook so to speak.  The neanderthals at Hardee’s® have been
    touting for weeks their “Beer-battered fish supreme” sandwich.  I,
    for one, certainly wouldn’t be proud of eating something that had been
    bludgeoned by a can of beer.




    I can write about a prehistoric
    fish-lizard being clubbed to death, but I know how to separate fiction
    from reality.  I assure you that I would never condone such
    behavior in real life, but I strenuously uphold my right to make up
    stories about it.




    With poorly concealed hostility,



    Stupidocles


    P.S.  I would add that far from
    being mere gratuitous violence, there is true literary value here, for
    the ichthyosaur clubbing is a scathing indictment of man's brutality
    against nature and his environment



    P.P.S.  As to what kind of “sick sadist” I am, I’m not sure since
    I have no qualifications as a sick sadist classificationist.  My
    apologies for not being able to help you out on that one.



  • The Bizarre and Magnificent Insect World

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  • Technical Difficulties

    Due to various technical difficulties including my computer unable to
    install my new digital camera software and then multiple problems with
    the Xanga editor, I've not able to post what I've wanted to for the
    past several days and have wasted a lot of time attempting to do so.

    In lieu of that I present this question--Which unlikely scenario is more realistic?:

    1.  My house will be clean.

    OR

    2.  Cicadas will plot to take over the world.

    xangapics 002

    Only one has photographic proof.
  • Google Not Yet Hip to Catchy New Slang Phrase

    It's time to stop using borrowed slang and start making up some of our own.  We've got to OWN the LANGUAGE, Xanga-ites!  Check out this little invention of mine here!  Not sure what it means yet, but it's way under frimmin.  Once it starts blazin' cross the nation, just remember you saw it here first!!!

  • A Mysterious Phone Call

    Disclaimer: 
    This remarkable story is almost entirely true.  Only the events
    and people have been changed, or possibly made up.  I have posted
    a hint and also the answer in the comments section.

    The phone rang out with startling ringiness, awakening me from my
    sleepy stupor.  I'd been laying in bed on the edge between
    sleep and wakefulness, but now I was wide awake.  The bedside
    clock showed 3 A.M.  I rolled over and pulled up the covers.

    The phone kept ringing.  Lousy telemarketers.  I stumbled into the office and reached for the phone.

    "Stupid  Detective Agency," I replied, "Solving all your stupid--"

    A woman's voice interrupted me:  "Mister--you've got to help me, please!"  Her tone was frantic.

    I replied, "Yeah, you and the rest of you stinkin' telemarketers.  I ain't gonna buy it so scram!"

    "You don't understand, sir.  I need two dozen Krispy Kremes™ immediately!"  And then she rattled off some address.

    "What?   Lady,  I'm a detective, not a delivery boy.  Can't this wait until morning?"

    "No!  It's an emergency, and it is morning.  Better make it three dozen!  Hurry!  I'll simply die without them, just die!

    Click.  The phone went dead. 

    What was that all about?  How did this dame get my name anyway?  I'm all for helping a damsel in distress, but this little mystery puzzles me.  Readers, can you help me?  Can you solve the mystery, my junior Stupid Detectives? (by answering the questions in red)

  • Celebrate Day Day!

    Whereas there is a need for the public to be made aware of every cause, event, or person under the sun
    Whereas the ignorant riff-raff (i.e. the public) is not aware of this need
    Whereas we the educated assist
    in creating this awareness by loudly commemorating causes, events, or
    people with various designated days, weeks, or months
    Whereas I have the power to make absurd declarations on my own blog,
    I hereby declare two days ago to have been national Day Day!

    Following are my
    ever-so-slightly revised historic words of proclamation from that day,
    featuring a stirring clarion call to action from my towering Ivory™
    soapbox:

    Today is national Day Day, the day when we commemorate all of those
    national days of commemoration, both official and unofficial, by
    celebrating this day.




    I'm advocating for day awareness today, both in the sense of which day
    of the week and/or calendar date it is, as well as the particular day
    being commemorated.  It goes without saying that we already have
    days and months for everything under the sun many times over, but there
    really is a need for Day Day and the public needs to be made aware of
    it. 




    Yes, there are many other days worthy of consideration, but on this day
    of all days, Day Day, let us consider chiefly the day "Day Day." 
    Most importantly, those who ignore it are ignorant or intolerant. 
    Remarkably, they have never heard of Day Day or perhaps even reject
    it.  Either way, we must educate them.  Pound it into their
    numb skulls, scream it from the rooftops, scrawl it on the sidewalks;
    today is Day Day, a day like no other day!  The establishment will tremble, the people will awake and hit their snooze alarms!




    I won't deny that some days may seem to go too far.  For example,
    Night Day is oxymoronic, since night is the opposite of day.  But
    there is truly every bit as much need for public awareness of night as
    there is for public awareness of day,
    so I will not begrudge anyone the
    opportunity to celebrate Night Day should she/he so choose.  One
    may
    even celebrate nights.  "Night-night" comes to mind, as well as
    its close cousin "Nighty-night".  Even Day Night is not
    inappropriate, except in the small minds of the closed-minded, for we
    know that large minds are always open to cognitive dissonance.  Are not day and night arbitrary terms and is not truth relative?  Away with arbitrary terms, away with relatives!  Er, I mean, truth.  Relatives are okay, at least mine are, especially if they're reading this, but that may not be the case for you.  See what I mean by "truth is relative"?




    I trust you had a pleasant Day Day's eve last night and are refreshed
    and ready today, so get out there and celebrate Day Day today while it
    is still day!  And if you missed it, then I encourage you to
    celebrate Day after "Day Day" Day or perhaps 2nd Day after "Day Day"
    Day or beyond.  Or just wait and Day Day will be back next year,
    all ready to be celebrated and made aware of to the public again!

  • Brevity is the Soul of Wit

    (and this is not brief)

    What began as a dumb joke idea mutated into something much more
    malign.  Is it a romantic vision of the past?  A bold vision
    of the future?  Or simply an epic vision of the who cares? 
    You decide:

    The Interminable Story of Blake and Thea, Installment #1

    A tall, dark-haired man leads his
    blindfolded wife through a maze of tables in the dimly lit
    restaurant.  She hits her shin on a chair.

    Thea:  Ow!  I’m going to kill you, Blake!

    Blake:  Don’t worry honey, we’re almost there. 

    Thea:  Breathless anticipation has long given way to seething resentment, dear.  This better be good!

    Blake: (He seats her at a chair) Voila! (removing blindfold).


    Thea’s eyes pop open and she looks in wonder upon the scene. 


    Odd-looking moss-covered trees serve as pillars for the ceiling. 
    A small landscaped waterfall and burbling stream lay not far from their
    table.  Giant ferns and bromeliads adorn the cavernous hall and
    torches light walls decorated with cave paintings of wooly mammoths and
    saber tooth tigers.  Oversized dragonflies and other insects hang
    from the ceiling.  The cry of pterodactyls pierces the air. 
    The couple’s table appears to be constructed of the bones of some
    enormous animal.  A few other such tables are interspersed
    throughout the room between museum-piece style displays of prehistoric
    animals.  Directly in front of the couple stands a waiter;
    muscular, dressed in filthy animal skins, cummerbund and bow tie, with
    an unruly mass of hair. 

     

    Waiter:  Madamoiselle,
    welcalm to Pappy’s Prehistoric Café, zee rest-air-aunt of zee
    few-chair!  You may call me Ook.  I vill be your vait-air
    tonight, and vut a nicht it is!  Zee menu, si? (Hands menus to
    them) Gracias, por favor.  Should you be need anything, only
    haul-air.  (He bows and slips away through a curtain of reeds
    forming a doorway in the back wall).

    Thea:  Oh, Blake, you shouldn’t have!  How can you afford this?

    Blake: It’s our anniversary, Thea.  How can I not afford it?

    Thea (smiles): Hmm...maybe I won’t kill you just yet. 

    Blake smiles back.

    Thea: That waiter sure had an extremely prominent brow.  Quite striking, in fact.


    Two loud thuds from behind the reed curtain.  Waiter comes back
    through the reeds dragging two dead feathery-lizard creatures in one
    hand and a big bloody club in the other.  He slaps the animals
    abruptly down on the table of an adjacent couple who, unperturbed,
    smile and prepare to dig in.

    Thea: (Screams):   Ahhhhhhh!!!!!

    Ook: (approaches their table) Ready to ore-dair, Madamoiselle? 

    Thea:  Eep.

    Blake:  Could you give us just a few minutes?

    Ook:  Soytenly, sir.  Oll be bok soon to take yer arder.  Arrr! (Once again, he slips behind the curtain)

    Thea (horrified) Get me out of here, Blake!  That man is a neanderthal.

    Blake:  Honey, it’s
    Pappy’s Prehistoric Café!  Of course he’s a neanderthal. 
    This is a high-class restaurant!  Everything here has been
    reconstructed and cloned from DNA retrieved by paleontologists. 
    That’s what makes it the restaurant of the future!

    Thea:  Oh...I thought he said "the restaurant of few chairs”.

    Blake:  Well, that
    too.  This is an exclusive café, dear.  Now don’t go and ruin
    things by getting all queasy over a little blood. 

    Thea (protesting) But it’s barbaric!  There’s no excuse for not cooking food.  Not since the invention of fire!

    Blake: Honey, these upscale
    restaurants are always offering uncooked food.  It’s a
    delicacy!  Remember that scrumptious prime rib we had at Snobbo’s
    last fall?  It was drenched in blood!

    Thea: (somewhat placated) Well...


    They peruse the menu for a moment, sipping from their drinks.  Ook returns, sans club.

    Ook: May I take your or-dair, now, gentleman and gentlelady?

    Blake: Yes.  I’ll have the...omni...ombif...omnibifer (points to it) That one!

    Ook: Omnebiferogapterosilesiosaurus, sir?

    Blake: Sure.

    Ook: Very well.  And you, madamoiselle?

    Thea: I’ll have the ichthyosaur salad, please.

    Ook: May I interest you in our soup of the day?

    Blake: What is it?

    Ook: Primordial.

    Blake: I’ll have some.  Thea?

    Thea: No thanks.

    Ook (smiling): I’ll be right oot vith yer entrees, me laddies. (Leaves through reed door)

    Thea (leaning forward): Just what kind of accent is that?

    Blake: I’ve been trying to place it myself.  Must be some special neanderthal dialect.


    There is a loud splashing noise.  Ook’s voice rings out from the back:

    Ook:  “Schnell, schnell!  Achtung!  Vamonos!” 


    There is a great commotion with more splashing, growling, shouts of urgency and/or pain, and the sound of wood striking flesh.




    Thea and Blake stare at each other. 




    The battle sounds continue.  Soon a tiny, portly little fellow with hairy
    feet and pointy ears runs out and places a bowl of unappetizing gunk
    in front of Blake. 



    H (with bad British accent):
    Your soup, m’lord.  Ook says to tell you that your salad is
    forthcoming, m’lady.  We’re just ‘avin a little trouble subduing
    it.

    Thea:  Oh!  And you are?

    H:  Homo floresiensis, m'lady.

    Thea:  What?  (The little fellow darts away).

    Blake:  Homo floresiensis,
    dear.  Discovered in 2003, when the popular Lord of the Rings™ movies came out.  Quite a serendipitous coincidence.

    Thea:  Well, he certainly was a cute little fellow. (Alarmed) Eww, what’s that black clump floating in your soup?

    Blake:  Oh, probably just
    some roughage.  (Fishes it out with his spoon and peers at
    it.  Gasps) My word, it’s a fly!  Waiter, waiter!


    From behind the doorway comes a trumpeting sound of a great beast in
    pain, one final huge splash, and then silence.  Ook stumbles
    through and turns to call back through the door:

    Ook (menacingly)Adios, ichthyosaurus! (Blows kiss)


    Breathing heavily, he manages to limp to the table despite the gash in his right leg and side.

     
    Ook (still breathing heavily):  My profuse apologees.  Zee madomoiselles’ salad is on zee way.  How can I help yoo?

    Blake:  Waiter, there’s a fly in my primordial soup!

    Ook (recovering now, curious) Yes, and so there is!  Most observant, sir.

    Blake (impatient):  Well?  What are you going to do about it?

    Ook (notices his irritation):  Do?  Mmm...I see.  Zis is no small matter, it requires a most especial celebration.

    Blake (disbelief): Celebration?  A fly contaminating my soup requires a special celebration?

    Ook:  But of course, sir, but of course!  For it could only have come about through
    ayvolution!  Here vee have an especial proof of zee theory,
    vanderflea vitnessed vif our vairy own ice!

    Blake:  Evolution? 
    What a crock!  Looks more like spontaneous generation to me, which
    we all know simply does not occur.  Evolution takes billions of
    years!

    Ook:  Begging your
    pardone, sir, you do not know how old this soup is.  And of your
    low opinion of spontaneous generation I vociferously disagree! 
    Ay-volution is naught but spontaneous generation occurring over
    beellions of years!  And we at Pappy’s Prehistoric Café have now
    apparently developed zee technology to speed up zees process as your
    fly has clearly appeared in zee soup and gives now most appropriate
    raison de celebration, no?

    Blake (sternly):  No, it does not!  I demand to see the manager.

    Ook:  I am zee mana-jair, me laddie.

    Blake:  Well, then I
    demand fresh soup this instant or we’ll tell everyone we know and more
    all about your very rude and atrocious service!

    Ook (disappointed): 
    So sorry, sir.  Please accept my further humble apologees. (Takes
    the soup and hurls the bowl and contents against a nearby tree. 
    He yells back through curtain:) Frilbo!  Anozzer primordial soup
    pronto, por favor!  (Then leans forward to the couple).  I
    now have urgent business to attend to, but I promeese, vee vill make it
    op to yoo.  Au revoir, kemosabe!


    He limps back through the reed curtain, bleeding.

    Thea: (exasperated) What now?

    Blake: (sighing) I’m sorry honey, I’d so hoped this would be a romantic dinner together.

    Thea:  (turns away,
    clearly not meaning what she’s about to say) It’s all right,
    dear.  It’s the thought that counts.  At least we’ll make a
    memory.

    A bandaged Ook returns hauling a huge stone bowl of exotic greenery and
    ichthyosaur parts.  He is accompanied by several Homo floriensis carrying primordial soup and steaming trays piled
    with breaded meat.

    Thea:  So they do have fire here!

    Ook:  Banzai!  Your
    foods are here, gentlepeoples!  Please allow me to apologuys for
    your inconweniencees.  Zee meal is, how you say, on zee
    house!  Please also to enjoy zee complimentary crunchy fried
    velociraptor strips delivered to you by these good little hobbitses.

    Blake and Thea:  Wow!

    Ook:  I hope you vill find
    eet all satisfactorial.  And now, I leave you to enjoy your meal!
    (To the Homo floresiensis :)   Vamoose! (He herds them out the back
    and hurries to serve a different table where a new couple has just sat
    down).               


    Blake and Thea begin to eat and their expressions show pleasant
    surprise at the tastiness of the food.  They smile at each other,
    listening to the burbling stream and other ambient sounds of the
    prehistoric jungle.  Thea breaks into a strip of the crunchy
    breaded meat and regards her husband with starry eyes:

    Thea:  Oh, Blake!

    Blake:  Oh, Thea!  It’s turned out to be romantic, after all! 

    Thea:  (Gulping down some
    meat) Oh, Blake, you fill my heart with raptor.  Or my stomach, at
    least. (Puts arm around Blake) It’s all the same to me!

    Blake:  Well, you did fail anatomy.  But I love you anyway!

    Thea:  Me too!


    (They kiss, or perhaps embrace for audiences unaccustomed to such raciness.)


  • The Hellion Days of Youth

    Due to popular outcry and clamor for true tales of my upbringing, I regale
    you with this anecdote of yesteryear, told in third person:


    This is the story of a boy named Danny who,
    able neither to escape to Canada nor to satisfactorily establish conscientious objector status, was forcibly
    conscripted into the Cub Scouts
    at the age of about seven years.


    Danny usually walked home from school (which was normal and
    safe
    for a Mahomet youngster in those days), but once drafted into the Cub Scouts, arrangements were made for him to
    ride
    the bus one day a week with "Berkley"
    *,
    the son of his new Cub Scout den
    mother.  On the first day, the bus passed many corn and soybean
    fields until it let
    the boys out at a house in a wooded area at the
    edge of the known world.  Another three or so scouts were present
    and on the front lawn Danny found himself a reluctant participant in a
    vigorous "wrastling" match where he seemed to be the protagonist
    antagonized by various attacking foes.  His fellow Scouts laughed
    heartily at
    the veins supposedly popping out of his neck in angry rage. 
    Whether or not he won these impromptu "wrastles" has been lost to
    history and is quite irrelevant anyway, but perhaps they played a
    formative role in his
    character.




    After this "initiation", other priceless memories were made over the next few weeks somewhat reminiscent of
    Deliverance and Lord of the Flies:



    1)  At one point Berkley took his older brother's motorbike for a
    joyride down the road and back.  The other scouts laughed, hollered, and cheered, but
    Danny burned with indignation; clearly this was against the law AND
    Berkley's mom's rules!



    2)  Unimpressed by a drawing of a dragon by Berkley's older
    brother, Danny stated emphatically that HE could do better (he knew
    deep down it wasn't true, but was only saying what his ego told him).  This made Berkley mad.




    3)  Several scouts took turns on a "swinging rope" in the
    downward-sloping backyard at the
    edge of the woods, but this was not the only activity going on. 
    During Danny's turn on the rope, he was struck in the crossfire of
    battle by a flying crabapple at point-blank range in the ear. 
    There was pain, bleeding, and hearing
    impairment which took several days to heal.




    4)  The scouts undertook a long, cold, fatiguing hike (i.e. "death
    march") over muddy trails marked with tractor wheel ruts (probably
    someone's farmland / cow pasture).



    5)  Berkley led the gang to a neighbor's house to taunt a boy who
    was there on
    the roof of his garage (must have been helping his dad or
    something).  This boy became angry and soon hurled a hammer at his
    tormentors who ran back to the Berkster's house (Danny of course was
    shocked and repulsed by the gang's behavior but kept quiet).


     


    6)  Danny's Cub Scout pals giggled as Berkley put a knife to his back and pressed him to a wall.



    Once Danny finally got around to telling his mother about all of
    this, he was
    immediately transferred to a more civilized Cub Scout den that provided
    an environment less life-threatening and more conducive to traditional
    Scouting activities like tying knots, earning merit badges and racing
    cars in pinewood derbies.  Anyhow, Danny was soon discharged from the Scouts and returned to
    civilian life well before Webelos, so he regretfully had neither the chance to wobble nor to fall down.




    *
    Not his real name

  • What's it All Worth?


    Receptionist (R)
    :  All right, Mrs. Pincher, your total visit to our eye clinic today comes out to $____.


    Mrs. Pincher (MP)
    :  $____?  That's outrageous!  That's
    almost half of what I pay to have my hair done.  Let me
    see the bill.  (R hands it over) No, look, you've clearly
    overcharged me. (MP hands it back)


    R
    :  It looks correct to me, ma'am.  Will you be paying with cash, credit, or check today?


    MP
    :  What?  I'll give you nothing!  I demand to see the doctor!


    R
    :  All right.  (pushes button and talks through
    speaker)  Dr. Greediman, a patient at the
    front desk wants to talk to you.


    Dr. Greediman
    (walks up, notices scowl on MP's face):  What seems to be the problem, Penny?


    MP
    :  Doctor, your receptionist is overcharging me.


    Dr
    :  Is that
    so?  Let me see the bill. (Looks it over).  Hmmm...Yes, that
    looks about right.  Actually, it's fine.


    MP
    :  What?  Are you kidding?  You've charged me for two eye exams!  Look, it's right there on the list!


    Dr
    :  Are you a cyclops, Penny?


    MP
    :  Huh?


    Dr
    :  The cyclops, in Greek myth, was known for having a single round eye in the middle of the forehead.


    MP
    :  Wha-?  I don't see what that has to do with anything!  Are you telling me-


    Dr
    Two eyes, two eye examinations.


    MP
    :  Why, that's preposterous!


    Dr
    :  I don't like to go on about the generosity of my heart, but
    to be honest, Penny, I've actually charged too little.  Knowing
    you are a mother with children to take care of, I didn't even charge
    you for the eyes in back of your head.


    MP
    :  (looking at him strangely)  You can't be serious! 


    Dr
    :  Ah, but I am.  Dead serious.  I don't like to
    lecture people, but when you've gone to school for eight years and
    earned the right to put those precious letters "O.D." next to your
    name, you realize that you should be able to charge anything you want
    for your expertise.


    MP
    :  Expertise?  What expertise?  It took you eight years to learn how to say, "Which is better, one or two?"


    Dr
    :  Ooh!  Just what I'd expect from Penny "Would-you-like-fries-with-that" Pincher!

    MP (gasps):  Appalling!  I'll tell you right now I'm not
    paying you a red cent, and I'm never coming back!  I'm going to the
    Evil
    Empire, where at least they "care enough to charge the very
    less".  You disgust me, you and your greedy ways!  I guess
    they don't call you Dr. Greedy-man for nothing!  Hmph!  (she
    storms off)


    Dr
    :  (shouting at her)  You've got that right!  And I'm proud of
    it!  I've earned it, I tell you, earned it!  (to receptionist) Without that degree I'd just be Mr. Greediman.

  • A Little Music History

    Despite the fact that "concerned reader" Mr. Pho Phan may be part of a
    big international Phan Clan conspiracy, I think that there are
    thignificant things to be gleaned from his letter.  As surely as
    Frank Oz wrote The Wizard of Baum
    I promise to be more careful in my fact-checking and will try to avoid
    spreading unconfirmed information (which Mr. Phan uncharitably refers
    to as "lies.")  In that spirit, I offer this historical vignette:

    One of my forms of recreation is playing the piano.  Over years of
    piano lessons I had several different teachers.  There were a
    couple times early on when I was ready to quit but my parents made me
    keep going and now I'm thankful they did.  I developed a taste for
    "classical music" and some of my favorite composers are Ludwig Beethoven,
    Sergei Rachmaninoff, Edvard Grieg, and Frederic Chopin.  I have a book of
    Chopin's Complete Etudes, which is fun to mess around with, but to be
    honest a little too difficult for me to play even though I've been working at it for several years.


    Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon the book:  Chopin in Japan:  The Lost Years by
    musicologist Charlotte Tan.  Ms. Tan is a music historian and
    concert pianist who has taken a special interest in Chopin's work and
    her research has uncovered the startling fact that Chopin spent the
    years 1830-1836 in Asia, traveling through China and Japan with his
    good buddy George Sand, immersing himself in the culture and picking
    up folk melodies to use in his compositions.  During this time he was
    apparently influenced heavily by the Maharaji, opium, and Eastern
    philosophy. 
    One remote village where Chopin is said to have broken his foot
    yielded a treasury of previously undiscovered works:  the Pagoda Prelude, Panda Promenade, and Karate Etude (with its stridently martial tone, punctuated with "hi-ya!s", sharp chops and kicks to the piano). 
    Shortly after that find, another serendipitous discovery was made by a
    Tokyo man whose suspicions were aroused when the antique grand piano he
    was carrying away from a yard sale listed to one side.  "My
    muscles are very symmetrical," said Fujimora Hashimoto.  "I knew
    there must be something inside for the piano to tilt like that." 
    His discovery upon opening the piano:  A short Chopin piece simply
    entitled Broccoli, inscribed on a bronze tablet.

    Chopin was also the father of Kate Chopin, writer of the screenplay for Awakenings, starring Robin Williams (though perhaps best known for her lack of involvement with The Fisher King and Dead Poets Society,
    also starring Robin Williams).  As a side note, Frederic Chopin's pal
    George Sand has always received wide acclaim for his
    invention of the ubiquitous sandwich,
    but Ms. Tan's book reveals this is a myth and he actually plagiarized
    the recipe from a Buddhist monk in Tibet.  If true, this calls for
    a major paradigm shift in how we think about the origins of the
    sandwich.

    Charlotte Tan's Chopin in Japan
    is full of such stunning revelations, not the least of which is that my
    so-called Chopin's Complete Etudes is misnamed, much to my chagrin.  It's
    missing the Karate Etude
    Guess I'll spend years practicing but not being able to play
    that one too.  And probably have to take karate lessons.  
     

    Japanese artists above, in order:  Chikanobu Toyohara, Tsuchiya Koitsu, and Hiroshige II

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