End-of-the-Week Potpourri

Here are some loose bits and bobs that have been rattling around in my head during this week of randomness. See if these random thoughts stir up any random thoughts of your own. We celebrate randomity.

Recently I saw an icicle that had formed on a 45 degree angle. It was perfectly straight, just not pointing in a downward direction. How is that possible? A Rocky Mountain vortex? I have my theories.

Whenever I'm writing to a woman, I never know what title to put. How do I know if they're married? If they're not, is it Ms. or Miss? What's the neutral unknown?!? When I'm trying to address a simple letter I usually go online and internet stalk a woman just to find out their marital status. This seems strange and unnecessary. I mean, what does everyone else do?

Men are easy; just slap on a "Mr." Done. Darn you men. Also with your one-suit-for-every-occasion advantage. I'm waiting for the day when women have something equivolent to suits. Sometimes I want to enlist, be a park ranger, get elected as a judge, or work in hazmat just so I don't have to think about what to wear every morning.

Why on earth do cars still have a headlight setting for parking lights? What the heck are parking lights supposed to do? There's never a time when a car needs only parking lights and nothing else. The setting apparently exists to make me look like an idiot when I accidentally miss the last click. Also, I don't think my brain has ever once thought "That's a car!" when I first see another car driving with just parking lights. It's usually more like, "That's a guardrail traffic sign pedestrian biker motorcycle?...car!"

I discovered the worst-named cookie ever.



I'm sure it's tasty, but...no, wait, I'm not sure. It's too suspicious. It's a front. Like a brothel with a sign out front, "Come In and Get Saved!" I don't go to round black and white cookies for my nutritional needs.

But if you should find yourself with a WhoNuuoou in your hand, what can you do with it? (Besides stair rolling races?) Answer: Dunk it in this.



What am I ending? Life? A bad relationship? Whatever it is, this will make it right, I guess.

Man, misspelled food is always bad news. I'll give some examples. Cheez-Its. Sno Balls. Froot Loops. It's like a two-way admittance of defeat. "Hey," the box says. "I can't be bothered to spell myself correctly, and you can't be bothered to eat actual food, so why don't you just buy me and we'll go watch an entire season of Married With Children together?"

Leading me to a follow-up theory: Real food doesn't have words on it.

Except...that would rule out Dove Bars, with the words "Dove" stamped right on them, and they are very definitely real food. Hum, I'll have to think about this....