Al Dente
This might be first in a series of post we’re calling Ten Years Of Marriage. We’ll see how it goes. –Ed.
Al Dente? Who the hell is he? LOL! No, he’s not a person. He’s a thing. Al dente is actually Italian. It means “this bites.” (Disclaimer: This is a guess. I was too lazy to google. –Ed.)
In honor of my wife asking me to think about what I’ve learned during ten years of marriage (our anniversary is next week) I thought really hard and remembered spaghetti.
That’s using the old noodle!
My wife, although technically not a “chef,” is nonetheless extremely accomplished and talented in the kitchen. She really knows how to cook. Naturally this is both good and bad. Good in the sense that there are a lot of good eats. Bad in the sense that every meal dirties every pot, pan and kitchen implement in the house.
It’s bad in one other small way. It’s such a slight of a trifle that it’s almost not worth mentioning. Almost.
Every single thing I do is wrong. In the kitchen, I mean.
So there I was this one time making spaghetti. That means I had dumped some packaged noodles in a pot of boiling water. To me that’s “cooking.”
As was often my wont, when the timer went off I picked up the pot and dumped the noodles in a colander in the sink.
My wife saw. “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled.
Oh shit. Little Tommy in trouble.
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Love Warcraft Style
I can show you the world … of warcraft.
Have you met that couple? You know the one. So oogly moogly in love that they shout it for all to hear, whether they want to know or not. “Look at us,” they emote. “We are the world’s greatest lovers. We’ll be together to infinity … and beyond!” Then comes more mushy stuff than you can shake a stick at.
Gag me.
They say that the stars that burn the brightest have the messiest divorces. (Or something like that.)
So how do you go from endless love to histrionics like this? (My emphasis added.)
Filled with absolute dread as I’ll soon be near that son of bitch in court.
–Social media update
I think it helps if you originally met in World Of Warcraft, the massively online multiplayer game.
I’ll never forget the day we met. The sun was setting as I rode hard across the Arathi Highlands. Stromgarde Keep was my goal. I was going to kill that usurper Lord Falconcrest once and for all. Involuntarily my exposed bones shivered at the mere thought of that son of a bitch. “For the Horde,” I screamed into the night.
But I did not yell alone. Surprised, my hand dropped warily to the hilt of my halberd and I turned and saw you. I looked into those dull, cow-like Tauren eyes and was gone. Totally gone. Together we stormed the keep and never looked back…
Bonus points if you get the Aladdin reference.
Archaeological Institute of Abyss
Our scientists have made an interesting discovery: A hand-scrawled message, on a piece of yellowed and ruled piece of parchment, that we have dated as being approximately 10 years old.
There are a few interesting facts about this artifact:
- The artifact must be about 10 years old because, at the time of her wedding, my wife did, in fact, have a ring. This is proof the parchment predates the wedding.
- I had the prescience of thought to carefully preserve the artifact and keep it safe all this time. I must have recognized the cultural significance.
- No cameras from that time period are known to exist. Perhaps we’ll never know what prompted the author to put pen to paper.
- My wife’s bare finger is simply not that interesting.
Few artifacts from that time period are known to exist. As such we’ll be forwarding the piece on to the Smithsonian, NASA, Martha Stewart or any organization willing to accept it and keep it on display for the public to enjoy. We’re open to suggestions if they all turn us down.
Airlocket Sonnet with my Easter Bonnet
Credit: Neil Armstrong/NASA
Today I offer a simple space sonnet dedicated to me and you.
Imagine that we are standing together in an airlock. The situation is obvious. Between us and the cold reality of space is a door. And on the wall is a button. It’s the button. You know, the one that controls the door.
Let’s explore the possibilities together. Think of it like a cakewalk in space.
- I have helmet, you do not: This one’s a no-brainer. I push the button. I mean, how often does life provide a chance like this? You have to take it. Space is incredibly empty. I hope you enjoy the irony that it’s about to contain your brains.
- You have a helmet, I do not: You just love having one over on me, don’t you? Quite simply life isn’t worth living knowing that you have something that I do not. I push the button. I hope you can live with yourself, you helmet-owning bastard.
- Neither of us has a helmet: Now this is quite the pickle. What to do, what to do? Ultimately, and don’t take this personally, but I’ll squeak out some famous last words about gooses and ganders and then pound that button with style and flair. Because, you and I are going to be hanging out for a while.
- Both of us have a helmet: Sigh. This is all so tedious and pointless, isn’t it? Sure, I could push the button, but so what? What does it matter? Nothing would change. It’s not even worth the damn effort. It just makes me angry. So I’m not pushing anything. Do what you want. I don’t care.
By the way, according to Wikipedia, a space suit costs $12 million USD and has a mass of 47 pounds (21 kg) without the life support backpack, but how much fun is that? That might seem expensive for just one suit but remember: It comes with two pairs of pants*.
*A very old José Jiménez joke.
Blogger’s Message: The Cheer In Review
Artist’s rendition of my smile.
Mr. Editor, Mr. Blogger’s Apprentice (unpaid), members of the WordPress community, fellow Abyssians, dear reader:
I am happy. I am elated. I am full of good cheer.
Yes, it has been a banner year for negativity. The future is so bright I have to wear shades. Just make sure the lenses are made out of lead to stop the radiation.
To my apprentice, let me say this: Make no mistake, I need another trenta caramel frappuccino with whipped cream. Go get me one.
In short, there’s good news on every possible horizon. Hyppo and Critter have made up and are getting along famously. The Guru on the top of the mountain is only giving out good advice. Our son has outgrown his gerbil phase and is treating us decently. Hell, I’ve even forgiven my #boss and we kissed and made up. There is no pain. I am not crying.
Freedom of Conscience
There’s a group in our country who wants what they want. They communicate these wants through their leaders.
So, what do they want?
One example is something they want is atheists out of America. We know this through messages (called sermons) from official representatives of their organizations (called churches) led by official spokespersons (called preachers). Further, we know these messages are official because the membership (called congregations) has indicated support by voting (called money) for these representatives.
Another example (as if we needed more) is elected representatives (called Republicans) trying to control other human beings (called legislation) extending the “rights” of some to the detriment of others. These are the so-called Freedom of Conscience laws.
A few attempts have failed so far, including the one in Arizona just this week, but make no mistake about it. More are on the way. This will continue until one becomes the law of the land, at which point it will be appealed (at great expense) where it will finally be decided by the Supreme Court of the United States.
Now, I know that this combative group isn’t representative of all religious, conservative, Republican folks out there. There are lots of good, sincere and well-intentioned people on both sides of most any issue. (Even if one side stubbornly refuses to admit it.) But these types are supported by enough people that their messages often have as much power as a gathering storm.
The Freedom Of Conscience strategy represents a shift from the time-honored traditions of “abomination” and “you’re going to Hell.” One thing about the Culture War: It never ends and scouts are always being dispatched to probe for weaknesses along enemy lines.
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