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Silly question, right? Everyone wants pie! Pie is delightful. Pie is our friend.
Pie…. is life.
But when I was scrolling FB the other day? This is the kind of pie that popped up in my feed.
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Definitely not the right kind of pie.
But proof positive you can literally buy anything on Etsy.
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The Winter Olympics are over, but some stories are still worth telling.
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Not being born with that particular appendage, I can only imagine what that would feel like. The time I froze the Oscar Meyer wieners by mistake comes to mind, and if so? Ouch!
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I’m happy to report Cluck was adopted. Read about him here.
https://amp.charlotteobserver.com/news/state/north-carolina/article258043433.html
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There are numerous reasons I’m not flying right now. Covid, extended periods of mandatory masking which kick my hot flashes into high gear, and crazy passengers who have to be zip tied during flight… but a stranger’s bare feet on the back of my head? If this is what’s happening now, I may never fly again.
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Of course it will. The way things are going in the world these days, I expected no less.
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Sorry, you’re on your own with this one. I didn’t read the article. My life is fine just the way it is.
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While Spook was a semi interesting read, I have to admit it wasn’t the chuckle a minute I was expecting. Perhaps the subject of death is beyond even Ms Roach’s power of snark.
There weren’t nearly as many blog worthy snippets, but here are a few I thought strange enough to include.
The early chapters talk a lot about the soul. What it is, where it is, how much it weighs, and the sometimes odd ways religions define and honor it.
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Porta potties for the dearly departed? That qualifies as odd in my book. And if your family neglects the weekly grocery run you have to eat your own poop from the beyond the grave? Clearly the Egyptians have a different idea of heaven.
Discussions of the soul’s origin are plentiful.
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Semen derived souls? Stop and ponder that for a moment.
Communicating with the dead covered a few chapters… with methods ranging from xrays, radios, EVP, as well as medium transference during a seance. These were all the rage at the turn of the century and as expected, charlatans soon took advantage. Levitating tables, ghostly apparitions and screaming banshees were all part of the show. One of the weirdest so called phenomenon? Ectoplasm. Which surprisingly looks a lot like wet spaghetti.
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Ectoplasm (from the Greek ektos, meaning “outside”, and plasma, meaning “something formed or molded”) is a term used in spiritualism to denote a substance or spiritual energy “exteriorized” by physical mediums.
From water soaked cheesecloth to cow intestine, mediums would do anything to draw a paying crowd.
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Well, almost anything.
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Another attempt at winter cat walking was made this week. The husband bundled up against the chill and Lord Dudley Mountcatten happily donned his harness for an excursion into the wilds of our backyard. All was proceeding nicely …
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Until we opened the door and the cold air hit his pansy ass feline self.
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At which point he turned tail and jumped right on the heating pad.
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His Lordship is most definitely a fair weather beast.
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The husband and I stopped into a local seafood place the other day for a drink and a bite.
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The bartender whipped me up a few fabulous Snowy White Cosmopolitans…
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And somehow we got to chatting about cats. A few cocktails in I was talking about putting the harness and leash on Dudley and told the bartender that as soon as I said “walkies!” in my best falsetto… he came running. She looked at me oddly, so I explained the origin of the term.
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Barbara was a British dog trainer who had a show on PBS in the 80’s. When I mentioned her name, the bartender didn’t have a clue. Which is when I apparently insulted her by saying “You remember that show”. I truly thought she would, because ya know… we looked about the same age and she had previously commiserated with me about hot flashes. Turns out she wasn’t my age, not even close and she was less than pleased I thought so.
It was then that I realized I had broken the age old drinking rule… never piss off the bartender.
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It’s a good thing she’d delivered my crab quesadillas before my I let loose my poisoned comment.
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But clearly we’ll never be able to go back to this establishment. Which is a shame because it was a fun place, complete with an “I prefer my pets” love meter sangria dispenser…
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And an outboard motor kegerator.
Me and my big liquored up mouth. It will never learn.
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Sometimes things look a little different in my state.
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Don’t knock it, you can carry quite a few six packs in that bucket.
Some of our locals are poets.
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The benefit of living in a small rural town filled with farms? Our food pantry is always well stocked for those less fortunate.
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Maine is on a temperature roller coaster right now.
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I swear I’m getting whiplash.
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But still…
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Life is good.
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Ohio politicians be crazy.
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Yes, you read that correctly. An Ohio mayor thinks ice fishing shacks are being used for immoral purposes.
For all my warm climate readers? These are the ice shacks in my town.
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Small plywood and tin buildings, usually uninsulated and always with a large hole in the floor. A more uncomfortable bordello you’re not apt to find.
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If you’ve ever been ice fishing you know how ridiculous this is. If you haven’t? Trust me… it’s not the least bit conducive to amorous activities.
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I’m going with embarrassment all day long.
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People often tell me my sense of humor is dark. If that’s true, then I really need to buy these.
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Tired of all those chipper little self help themed fortunes? Then get a load of these.
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Oh yeah.
I gotta get me some.
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Misfortune cookies. I love it.
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Take that you eternal optimists!
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I am so buying these.
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I live in Maine, Land of Lobster. We catch it, we eat it, we export it, we celebrate it with festivals. Hell, we’ve built an entire tourist industry around it.
The one thing we don’t do with it? Relieve menstrual cramps.
Yet someone, somewhere thought they should.
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Meet the Menstruation Crustacean.
Jesus wept.
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Lobsters are a lot of things…. long lived, bottom dwelling, quick swimming, and delicious in drawn butter.
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But cuddly?
Cuddly doesn’t make the top ten.
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Yes, this lobster abomination can hold tampons in its claws.
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Something I have to admit I’ve never seen ours do.
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Gather round boys and girls, it’s time to scientifically examine what happens after we die with select excerpts from book #3 in my ever expanding Mary Roach collection.
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You loved Stiff. You were pleasantly revolted by Gulp. So let’s pull back the veil of death and ponder the age old mystery.
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Important questions, all.
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In case you’re wondering… reincarnation nation is India. And since they have the highest number of people who claim to be born again, that’s where Mary began her research.
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This does not bode well. Cheese vagueness is a terrible thing.
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Au contraire Mary. I think the P.P. designation is damn near perfect.
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If that’s not definitive proof of reincarnation, I don’t know what is.
In reading this book we learn culture and religion have a lot to do with the acceptance of past lives, as this ancient Hindu text demonstrates. Live a good life? You will be rewarded. Live a bad life? Well… that’s where things get interesting.
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An eternity of vomit eating?
No one wants that.
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River's world..... 