Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy

“If you saw two guys named Hambone and Flippy, which one would you think liked dolphins most? I'd say Flippy, wouldn't you? You'd be wrong though. It's Hambone.”

-- Jack Handy

Zoidge: weird combinations of nothing important

When the economy is in shambles and times are tough, sometimes it helps to delve into the world of non-sense for a quick laugh.

Click the title above for a quick dose of "zoidge."

The type of wood is really important

“I wanted generally to apologize to every one of you all for letting you down,” Mr. Sanford told the gathering of his cabinet secretaries in a mahogany conference room in the ornate state Capitol complex. (New York Times, 6/26/09)

I once apologized to a group of people, but was standing next to a stainless steel counter top.


Other options:

1. Showing gratitude next to a cedar desk...
2. Feeling shameful in a tile kitchen...
3. Expressing remorse near a laminated board room table...
4. Displaying sympathy next to an outside stucco surface...

The Struggles of a "Knowledge Worker"

How does an intellectual come to terms with the world of work? Easy... he becomes a motorcycle mechanic.

Matthew Crawford on the Colbert Report

Word of the Day

We've all heard of a grocery store. It's where we go to buy groceries. Someone who owns or operates the store is called a "grocer" - which sounds pretty weird in and of itself. But, what if you wanted to buy just one item? Would you be buying a "grocery?" It seems to me if you're going grocery shopping, you ought to be able to buy a grocery.

I'd ask the people over at Safeway, but that's a "super market."

Put Something on the Marquee

When I was in the student council in high school, one of my jobs was to publicize school events by putting announcements on the marquee (is that the right spelling?) out in front of the school. On one occasion, with the help of a friend, we put "something on the marquee," on the marquee. I think a total of three people got the joke.

Speaking of things from the past, I just found a bunch of old files from my high school teaching filing cabinet. I used to keep records of the hilarious or ridiculous things students would write or say. Here's a few samples:

"After the bomb was dropped, Japan understood that we were very mad."

Yes, using atomic weapons is a very good way to demonstrate anger. People really know how you feel when you do that.

"Adolph Hitler killed himself by committing suicide."

Personally, I've always found committing suicide to be one of the best methods of killing yourself.

One student was able to morph Ike Eisenhower with Albert Einstein in a clever way by saying "Albert Eisenhower was one of the smartest presidents we ever had," ... or words very similar to this. Man, I miss teaching.

Disco Dave, the Freight Train and the Church

The week starts with anger over what was to be a beautiful concert. Imagine a full choir and orchestra playing beautiful music by Brahms and Beethoven in a cathedral. Everyone – a professional in attitude and appearance, ready to inspire and be inspired. Minds open, focused and ready to perform. Because of the sensitive acoustics of the church, every sound is amplified, so we will have to be careful and thoughtful with our volume. Then, the sound begins. Not the sound of the choir – not the sound of the delicate oboe, nor that of the violins, brass or soloists. The sound is that of a man in the pews whispering into his wife’s ear. He’s sitting there, one row removed from the French Horns (where I’m sitting) with his arm wrapped around his wife, not unlike a teenager in the back seat of a Plymouth Fury. His shirt, I noticed, was unbuttoned at least one button too many. Maybe they were going to a disco contest after leaving the church. “Get a room,” crossed my mind.

I thought, well, that’s nice, I can hear this guy, but I’m sure he’ll stop. I should also note that he’s within my peripheral vision, so in between the whispers, I can see him looking at his watch! Is he commenting on everything he hears? If he is, how can he listen in order to have things to comment on if he’s always talking? Well, then it must be about personal matters. “Honey, did you pay the Capitol One bill?” If it was consistent, like at the beginning and end of the piece, I could work that into the program mentally. But, it’s sporadic and the unique sound he’s producing is cutting through the music. The sound is unlike any of the instruments and voices and is starting to sound like a freight train to me. There’s a freight train running through this beautiful church! My concentration is off and I’m starting to get angry. I’m going to walk over to him any minute now. I’m going to tell the conductor to stop the concert. I’m going to walk over to this man and give him my horn, and ask him to help out, because I can’t concentrate! To paraphrase the commedian’s response to a heckler, “Sir, this is what we do. It’s what we enjoy. I don’t go over to State Farm or wherever you work, with a wooden ladle and a bowl of marbles, and mix them around while you’re working, do I!?” Imagine me going over to your desk at State Farm with my fictitious wife, Bunny. I’m dressed in, I don’t know, a spandex body suit, and with Bunny next to me, I stir the bucket of marbles every thirty seconds while you’re trying to conclude a transaction on hail damage. Psychologically, that might inflict the same kind of damage.

The second half starts, disco Dave, is back with his wife, the music begins, and ladies and gentleman, please open the church door and let the freight train back in again. It starts, and it cuts, sporadically, through every piece of music, all the way to the end.
There’s been a slight change in tonight’s program. In addition to the beautiful requiems, we would now like to add Marble Mixing in B flat major for wooden ladle, bowl of marbles and pan flute followed by Freight Train in G Minor, performed by Union Pacific railway and chamber orchestra. There’s a reason I don’t carry a sledge hammer. I relayed the story to my brother, who told me about Isaac Stern who performed in Sacramento a number of years back. In the middle of his concert, the popcorn eating and conversation got a little too loud for his taste - only he did not continue. He stopped and walked out, never to return again. What my band director in college used to say now makes perfect sense. The director told our wind ensemble to be quiet, because we begin in silence. After all, the painter would not begin painting his masterpiece on a smudged canvas, would he? A few years back, I would not have understood what Mr. Stern did that night in Sacramento, but it is now clear as dead silence is to me.