My Mother’s Amazing Meatloaf Mystery

Every mother harbors a mystery of some sort. Many handed down from one generation to the next forming a bond so strong no man can penetrate. I came to realize this at an early age, which has stood me in good standing throughout life. Namely, don’t mess with female secrets.

It all started at a church fellowship supper, which is usually the centerpoint of any good church. Attend just one church fellowship supper and you learn everything that needs to be known about that church. These functions, as you might guess, are supervised entirely by the women of the church.

My mother’s mystery had roots at a church fellowship supper. Everyone was expected to bring their signature dish.

For example, everyone knew Sister Grace’s signature dish was her sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows. Nobody in her right mind would dare bring a similar dish. Also, Sister Sylvia always brought the mashed potatoes with gravy, which everybody agreed would be a featured plat du jour at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. Sister Eloise’s contribution was apple pie to die for, and the list went on and on.

Of course, being new to the church we did not understand this culinary dynamic. So, when we were invited to the first church fellowship supper the head lady asked my mother what dish she would bring. Not really having such a dish, my mother casually mentioned meatloaf, which seemed to settle the issue.

For some reason the church fellowship supper slipped our mind and the evening before my mother suddenly remembered. “Oh, my,” she exclaimed, “I forgot to make the meatloaf.”

Being a practical-minded person, she simply went to one of her favorite markets, purchased a freshly made meatloaf and brought it home and “doctored it up,” as she said. That settled, she thought no more about it.

The next day at the church fellowship supper, we arrived bearing our store- bought meatloaf. How were we to know this was anathema at the church? We were just delighted to be with the rest of the church people enjoying the delicacies. I will never forget the great spread we encountered. So much food, so little stomach.

Fifteen minutes into the eating portion of the fellowship supper, people began complementing my mother on the meatloaf. “This is,” one lady proclaimed, “one of the best meatloaves I have ever tasted.” Then she said something that sent my mother into a panic. “You just must give me the recipe for this delicious meatloaf of yours. I’ve never had anything like it before.”

Right about here an awful thought dawned on my mother. From bits of conversation heard here and there, she realized each dish was a special dish and if anybody knew hers was store-bought, she would be in serious trouble.

All the ladies took great pride in their special dishes at the church fellowship supper and would not be caught dead with a dish from the store. So, my mother faced a special dilemma. On the one hand, she couldn’t lie and take credit for something she didn’t do, but on the other hand, she was backed into a serious corner.

I, being young at the time, did not understand all that was going on, but I could tell my mother was in a lot of distress. Then, like the sun rising in the morning, her face lit up and a big smile crawled across her face.

“Ladies,” she giggled with delight, “I could never give away the family secret recipe.”

As silly as this seemed to me then and now, all the ladies of the church nodded knowingly and that was the end of it. Every woman knows every other woman, especially mothers, have secrets they cannot divulge. This goes double for secret recipes from the kitchen. They understood certain confidences are not to be breached.

This spawned a new dilemma for my mother. She was now expected at every church fellowship supper to bring her famous meatloaf. Once, I remember, she tried to make a meatloaf but it didn’t turn out like her “famous” meatloaf and she feared taking such a risk with such a discriminating group as the ladies of the church. For the next 20 years, she was forced to purchase her famous meatloaf from the market in high hopes that no lady from the church would discover her secret recipe for her meatloaf.

Several times during that 20-year time my mother volunteered to bring some other dish but none of the ladies would hear of it. One lady expressed the obvious opinion of the entire church when she said, “Our church fellowship suppers would not be the same without your homemade meatloaf.” Nothing more needed said.

My mother smiled, hiding the fear lurking in her heart that one day her meatloaf recipe would be found out.

Fortunately, nobody ever found out my mother’s recipe for her amazing meatloaf. Although she moved and no longer attends that church, she once in a while delights a family reunion with her famous meatloaf.

Mysteries are all around us every day. Even the Bible is full of mysteries. Some mysteries we will never discover and only eternity will reveal them.

Some, however, God graciously reveals to us now. One for example is; “To whom God would make known what is the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles; which is Christ in you, the hope of glory:” (Colossians 1:27 KJV.)

Mystery of mysteries is that God delights to reside in people like you and me.

About the Author

Reverend Snyder is currently ministering at the “Family of God
Fellowship” in Ocala, Florida. More of his articles are available
for reprint at his website: http://www.godspenman.com/
Rev. Snyder is available as a guest speaker. He writes a weekly
column and is the author of “You Can Always Tell a Pastor; But Not Very Much ” available at: http://www.jamessnyderministries.com/

Cash, a Rude Request?

Office gift exchanges can sometimes be a painful experience.

What happens if you draw the name of that one person in your office that makes your skin crawl? Or worse, what if you make the skin crawl of the person who drew your name?

Gifts are suppose to be from the heart. How can it come from the heart if that person makes your heart shrivel up faster than a vienna sausage that’s been left in the sun?

I enjoy the art of gift giving - and it is an art.

Giving the perfect gift requires thought, time and effort. The perfect gift says, ‘I know who you are and I celebrate you.’

What then happens to the gift-giving-challenged? Better yet, what happens to the receiver of those gifts?

My husband is the worst gift giver… ever.

It never fails to amaze me how someone who has lived with you for years on end, can just not get it. (We just began our 10th year of marital bliss.)

I have come to dread special occasions. My last birthday was the worst.

On the morning of my birthday, my husband sat me down on the couch and proudly approached with an arm full of gifts. The previous year’s birthday gift had been a big fat nothing. (Husbands take note: never give your wife nothing on her birthday - unless you hate her and intentionally want her to feel totally worthless.) Seeing him approach with the gifts, I felt a tinge of hope.

With the expectant look of a puppy searching for a new home, my husband sat in front of me and beckoned that I begin opening my gifts.

I picked up the first small package and lightly shook it back and forth. My husband prodded, “Just open it.”

Removing the wrapping revealed a box of staples - the kind for a staple gun that you would use around the house.

“So is this my new staple gun?” I asked, patting a square package sitting on the table. I was excited. I had been wanting one.

My husband got a puzzled look on his face, “Huh? No.”

The opening of the square box produced a small puzzle of white kittens, sitting in a row, on a pink background. It was the perfect gift for a puzzle enthusiast or a 10-year-old girl. Last time I checked, I was neither.

My hopes were fading but I forged ahead and picked up the next one. The slim, flat object turned out to be a package of bicycle reflectors.

Not owning a bike, and following the natural line of progression, I proclaimed, “Wow! You got me a bike??”

“Huh? No.”

Okaaaaaay.

This had to be going somewhere. Didn’t it?

I continued opening.

An air freshener in the shape of a yellow foot. The kind you hang from your rear view mirror and can buy at any AM PM Mini Mart for a buck fifty.

“That’s so you won’t get sick when you ride in my car.” (My husband being a smoker who has been regulated to only smoking outside on the deck or in his truck.)

A palm sized book of kitten photos.

“You like kittens, right?”

A box of ant stakes.

“You know, cuz of the ants.” (Very thoughtful, being that it was summer and I had been battling to keep the ants out of the kitchen.)

To his credit, the last gift I opened was The Best of Chris Farley from Saturday Night Live. Ok, I could live with that one.

As I sat there with my assortment of gifts and my state of shock, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much this man despised me or if a request for cash would be rude.

When Christmas came, I attempted to install a “no gifts” policy. Emphasizing that it just wasn’t in the budget - and truthfully, I couldn’t survive ant stakes under the Christmas tree.

But my husband insisted, “It’s Christmas. I have to get you something.”

Christmas day arrived and my husband handed me an envelope containing a gift certificate to Borders Books.

I hugged him.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Copyright (c) 2005 Maureen Valdes Marsh all rights reserved

Maureen Valdes Marsh is a former newspaper reporter. She currently writes a semi-punctual weekly column on her website called, “Musings of Vintage Grace.” She is the author of the upcoming book for Collectors Press, “Be There or Be Square: Fashion’s Flare in the 1970s”, set for release Fall ‘06. You can read more of Maureen’s writing on her website, Vintage Grace by visiting http://www.vintagegrace.com.

Playing the Hokey Pokey can get you Killed During a Fire Drill

It is four a.m. I have been asleep for roughly two hours. I can still smell and taste this really disgusting pizza we had a few hours earlier. Suddenly the fire alarm goes off throughout the entire building. I decided I was going to go back to sleep until a tiny voice in my head started shouting like a computer nerd during a power failure, “you’re an RA! Get the heck out there!” I kind of wish we had a costume we can wear underneath our clothing with the words RA in the middle like Superman’s. This way I can hurl myself out the window, land on my feet, and report for duty without breaking a sweat. Unfortunately I’m not that lucky. It’s four in the morning, and when it’s that early nothing wants to work, not even your brain. After tripping over my cable wire, I managed to grab whatever clothes I could find and put them on. As I went to the door I realized I live in Potsdam, and in this wonderful town of ours it is most likely freezing outside, even in the middle of April. So I stopped, took a deep breath, and grabbed my winter jacket as I went out the door. I had this feeling it would be a long one…

On my way down the stairs one of my residents pointed out there was some smoke drifting in from the 5th floor. I stopped, poked my head in, and then that little voice went off again, “Hey Jerk, since you got out of bed late, it is likely most of the people are outside, you should get your ass down there.” For once that little voice had some sound advice. Usually he is telling me to pick fights with small children in front of their parents. I made my way down the stairs, checked in with my fellow RAs, and went to work making sure no one ran back into the building while the fire department did their thing. This gave me some time to reflect on common occurrences I have experienced at different colleges during a fire alarm. I would like to share some advice to those of you who find yourself outside during a fire alarm:

1) Shut up.

Seriously. Shut up. And I don’t mean shut up if you’re talking to your friends or privately bitching about being outside. That’s ok with me. It’s cold and it’s early. No one wants to be outside, not even your Resident Assistants. But every time students have to go outside, there is always someone who has to be the center of attention. And that person must think they’re hip, cool, and original for being stupid. Shouting stuff like “Whoooo” or the ever popular “let’s rush the door, they can’t catch all of us” is just stupid. Go play Frisbee or something if you have that much energy so early in the morning. Of course, the worst example of this was at Alfred State during the semester’s first fire drill. Everyone filed out, the RAs did their thing and blocked the door until it was safe, and everyone was quiet. And then suddenly out of the great void one idiot decides to shout, “let’s play the hokey pokey!” I won’t lie, I was hoping someone would kill him. No one cares or wants to hear what idiotic things you have to yell during a fire drill. You know what they do want to hear? “It’s ok to go back inside.” Anything before that is just white noise. And I don’t mean the kind where the dead people speak to you.

2) Don’t rush the door.

“Let’s rush the door. They won’t be able to catch all of us” ranks up there with such great sayings as, “Adolph Hitler had some good ideas” and “Say, we should make another ‘Scary Movie.’” For starters, the odds are people know who you are and what you look like. So even if you rushed the doors and made it inside, the RAs will find out and you will be written up. Second, what is running inside going to accomplish? We’ve already established the only cool part of a fire alarm going off is when everyone can go back inside. Do you seriously crave attention that much? I’m pretty sure they made My Space for people like you. Get a profile and plop yourself down in front of it if you really need attention. No one will visit it, but at least you’ll think they do. The odds are once you’re inside you’ll find yourself running into either the village or town police, the university police or campus security, and/or the fire department. Either encounter will result in some heavy fines, which will zap your beer money, and result in possible judicial action. So now, not only have you made an ass out of yourself, pissed off the RAs, and guaranteed a steep fine against you, but now you may find yourself standing face to face with some angry police officers. Great idea, Skippy. Great idea.

3) Don’t stay in your room.

I’ll be the first to admit that during my time as a normal resident I have slept through a fire alarm or several. I never believed that the fire department would come in with the university police or RAs and check the room. Well, the truth is that not only are the rooms checked when the fire alarm goes off, but also you can be fined a lot if they catch you in your Captain Planet pajamas. I’ll skip right over the part where you might have a picture taken of you in said jammies and later find it all over the Internet faster than you can say “Star Wars kid.” As much as it sucks, and remember, I am not writing this to say getting up early in the morning or standing outside in the freezing cold doesn’t suck, you need to get out of the building when the alarm goes off. Think of it like this: how often during your time at college have you found a way to embarrass yourself in front of a large group of people? Plenty if you’re really honest with yourself (and if you said never, you’re wasting the best time of your life.) So let’s look at a trade off, do you want to embarrass yourself by going outside wearing Captain Planet pajamas or do you want to have an officer, fire marshal, or Resident Assistant find you in your jammies and issue you a huge fine for hanging out in your room. And let’s not mention the number of very pissed off people their might be outside who may find out you were nice and warm while they froze their asses off.

Finally, when you make it back into the building, hopefully in a calm and orderly fashion that doesn’t resemble a European football riot, don’t get on the elevator. Seriously. Don’t get near the elevator. Unless you’re in one of those massive dorms with 22 floors, just suck it up and take the stairs. Elevators and the rest of the building’s electrical system likes to mess with people after the alarm goes off, and people who use the elevator after a power outage or fire alarm may get stuck there. As someone who has been trapped in an elevator before can attest to, it blows harder than a hurricane through the Gulf Coast. If you are stuck in an elevator, try to use the emergency call button if available, or your cell phone if it works. The RA staff…well…the RAs who care about their residents. …will wait outside the elevator for you until help gets there. In the meantime, try not to fart or start any awkward conversations like, “I really dislike Hispanic people.” Otherwise it may be a while before you can get back to bed in one piece.

The Start of Civilisation via the Back Passage!

Following is an excerpt from The Trivial Times . Some
consideration must be made for the many memory inconsistencies
of Thick Mick. He does his best!
—————————————————————–
————— Mick here, It’s hard to believe, I know, but
Civilisation was man-made, and my great grand uncle won a Nobel
Piece Prize for his part.

Wind back your time-piece to the year 6000 B.C., and be careful
not to break the spring as I did.

It was winter, as usual, and though our daily lives appeared to
be the will of external forces, some special people had the
foresight to make decisions that would affect todays’
population.

Though I get over-paid for my column, please be patient as I
take you through it.

There was a particular Pagan ritual that provided us with fun,
on the face of it, but was actually a brainstorm that ensured
the current judical system of today.

It was known as THE GAME. This wasn’t a nocturnal activity, or a
matching of skills for that matter.

We had no skills!

It was latin for “MAGE” or “Mag”, and was a much finer
publication than the trivial times, even with the chisel marks.
The Mag was the prize for a one thousand feet free-fall dive
into a pool. We had no spring boards either, or indeed,
restrictive swim suits.

The pool was not like the modern olympic standard pools of
today, which drain chlorine-laden storm water to the innards of
the earth.

The pool was a simple lava pool!

All the local “bullies” were encouraged to participate, and
always agreed to agressiveness, with unknown results.

This was BRILLIANCE” and “VIRAL”, and “LOW BUDGET”
entertainment. The prize still hasn’t been won.

One after one, they lined up to win the prize. One after one,
they failed. The trick was to hold your breath, I think, and
no-one copped onto it.

As a boy of eighteen, I could never figure out why such men of
Herculean physiques failed to win the “Game”. It took me many
years of research to dicover that the solution was in the stone,
and indeed, only understood it properly, a few minutes ago.

Legend had it that instructions were actually carved into the
tablet of granite, but they were written in “Javascript”, a
language with origins from the island “Java” (this island is
still in existence, before I broke my spring, anyway).

Wasn’t I a lucky boy that my true nature wasn’t discovered as
quickly and easily as I discoved the solution, for I would
surely have drowned!

“Swimming and stones are not exclusive”, I remember some old lad
saying at a time more trivial than now.

Mick Savage. Indepth columnist with THE TRIVIAL TIMES.
savageswimming@thetrivialtimes.com

Boogers

The Booger cheer: Pick it! Lick it! Roll it! Flick it!

In an effort to explain my fascination with this “boogery
subject” I will recount a story to you. There was a little girl
who loved to read and she found, in a book of poetry, a
children’s booger poem. It was about a snaggled toothed snail
that lives in everyone’s nose. Now this snail, if you are
careless enough to stick your finger too far up inside your
nose, will bite the end of your finger off. I, of course, am
that little girl, and you would have paid good money the first
time I met a man with his finger amputated. I could not take my
eyes off him. I asked to feel his finger, and finally, unable to
contain myself, I asked innocently, “Did it hurt when the snail
bit you?” The man had no idea what I was talking about. My dad
had to explain to the man, and as I grew up, an idea began to
form.

Years ago, just after getting out of college, I worked at a
children’s home for a while. It was very satisfying work because
it was helping abused, unloved, unhappy, and confused kids
regain a perspective on life. I loved each one of them. I did
notice one thing though. All kids love to talk about boogers.
Boys especially love them, and they have a great time chasing
girls around with them. It is ironic that later in life, the
girls chase the boys, trying to catch them to wipe their noses.
I was soon using the idea I had begun to form to entertain these
children. Each afternoon, I would sit and make up a tale about
each type of booger, giving them adventures from which the
boogers would barely escape with their color. Eventually it
became necessary to introduce the newer children to the world of
boogers. This is the result:

Did you know there are seven distinct families or types of
boogers? Oh, yes, let me introduce them to you. They are red,
flakey, hard, green, gummy, sticky, and yellow. Okay, so now you
know the seven types, and, no, I did not adapt this from the
seven dwarves. There is no princess in this story and no
hankies. If you don’t have a hanky, let me give you a
suggestion, go get one. Boogers are an empathetic lot, and if
you talk about one of them you talk about all of them. So if you
notice your nose running as you read this, BE PREPARED.

Each type of booger has distinct characteristics. I feel it is
important for you to know them so you may properly identify what
you have captured from your nose. Let’s start with red ones. Red
boogers are usually caused when someone has become over anxious
and shoved his finger far enough up his nose to make contact
with his brain. The result is a certain amount of blood mixes
with the forming boogers. Hence we end up with some very dark
red boogers. These booger babies can be dangerous. First:
because trying to remove them may cause further damage to the
wound you created as you pushed ever deeper, and second, the
fact that giving birth to anything can be painful. Red boogers
are usually short-lived and cause very little problem. It should
also be noted that unless due care is taken, repeated insertions
of the fingers may result in severe pain and possibly brain
damage.

One thing concerning boogers I have forgotten to explain to
you: each family of booger has several relatives; these are
boogers that share characteristics. This is most noticeable with
the hard ones which when examined closely reveal a kinship with
our next subject. So let’s move on to the flakey boogers, which
are related to two of the major groups but would perhaps earn a
spot of their own if they were more common. These multicolored
jewels are usually formed around the exterior of the nose and
are as flakey as the finest pastries (no snacking between meals
please). If they reside just inside the nose (and are male, as
most boogers seem to be), they will actually be hard but sticky
and as such become quite hairy, for as the owner tries to remove
them, he inevitably removes hairs and all. (Ouch!!!)

I would like to skip to the true “hard” kind next. The real
hardcore hard-nosed booger is very tough to deal with. Nasty
little things, indeed, they bury themselves deep within your
nose and force you to dig them out. Hard as diamonds, they will
bring tears to your eyes as you try to catch them, and they try
to escape your search going ever deeper. Hard boogers are the
inspiration of many a young lad. I have even heard that some
children are so enamored of what they call “Snot Rocks,” that
they made up songs for them. The song was passed down for safe
keeping and faithfully reproduced in part here. It goes
something like this: “I look up your nose and what do I see?
Snot rocks! Tiny faces looking back at me.” Some even swear they
hear tiny voices singing along. It is sad that these real hard
cased boogers hurt so very badly. If you have them frequently,
maybe you really ought to try blowing your nose more often.

Okay, now easing off just a little, let’s discuss the simple
green booger. This is by far the most common of the seven types.
Grown in the nose of every child, it is harvested more in a
single day than any other commodity known to man. These little
packets of joy are the ones kids seem to love to use to chase
you. There is nothing remarkable about them, yet they cause more
squeals than all the scary movies made. You just have to love
anything that is so unassuming and yet so powerful. Green
boogers can take on some characteristics of all the other types.
The one telltale identifier is that they are green and usually
have short careers because moms everywhere are alerted to them.

Gummy boogers are basically colorless until they pick up the
color of dirt or some other equally disgusting hint of a hue.
These little blobs can be so much fun, rolled into little balls
and held between finger and thumb you would almost swear they
had opened their little eyes and winked at you. You find them
where you least expect and wish you hadn’t. Some adventuresome
young man uses one to stick his paper to the wall. You may see
another absentmindedly using one for a football, and as it sails
across the room, you can almost hear a small yell of glee as it
sticks in some poor girl’s hair. They appear to be the most fun
loving of the whole lot. Sometimes I think no day would be
complete without them. In truth, gummy boogers are used more
every day than tooth paste. They also encourage collecting. I
know one young man who has a jar full and has named each and
every one of his little friends.

A related younger brother of the gummy booger is the sticky
booger; these have not completely matured and are drawn out of
the nose in a long string…if you have ever had to remove one
then you know that odd feeling in your stomach that feels like
it has just been turned upside down and the contents have become
totally confused. (Yeech.) I know of no common use for these
because they are so hard to get rid of. Once you have them
trapped, they attach themselves to your finger, hankie, or paper
towel and refuse to budge, not that anybody really wants to
budge them. If left to themselves, they will dry to resemble the
flakey booger. Mostly colorless and totally disgusting, this is
my least liked booger.

Ah, almost done, does that nose feel nice and clean now? Well,
we have one more type to deal with, then we can all go blow our
noses. The yellow booger is slimy and ugly. They seem to inspire
instant dislike. No, they are not related to any particular
ethnic group. They are yellow usually because they are afraid.
Yes, cowards, not to hurt their feelings, but they are
messengers and as such should be brave hearted and know that
occasionally they will have to sacrifice their lives to the
betterment of man. These guys don’t show up unless you have some
serious infection, and they, being the way they are, will try to
hide it as long as possible. If you see them, quickly make your
way to see the doctor and do not leave till he tells you that
you will live. Remember with these fellows, it is best to not
start a trading club, keep your own, no sharing.

OKAY! You say, “What is the purpose of this little story?”
Simple, it is gross, and it is nasty, and it can be funny, and
if you talk to kids about it, you will have a quiet audience for
the length of the story. That is between the bursts of laughter.
It helps if you stop occasionally and find one of the kids
absentmindedly picking his nose while you tell the story and
shout “Careful, Billy! If you chase that one too far, the snail
will get your finger!” It is total nonsense, and the kids will
love it. Good luck, and we will send free illustrations if you
wish.

If you smiled, I accomplished my goal; if not, then the only
thing I have lost is feeling the warmth of your smile.

Ebony and Greenery Part Two

There stood before me was a little green leprechaun in a
polyester suit. Cursing under his breathe he pulled out a large
Havana Cigar and lit it. He proceeded to climb his keyboard
stand to sit hunched between his knees with his fist in his chin
and cigar tapping on his knee. “How is your ankle then!”

“You are a fucking leprechaun, no way! Shit, you really are a
god fucking real life little bastard! How dare you be a
leprechaun! One sure way to put out a girls helfires, man I bet
everything shrunk. Man that is a shame.”

“Yeah and you ar some kind of lying stalking weirdo! Faking
that injure and getting me to bring you in my house. I mean who
are you!”

“My name is Bell, shit who are you? Man you are a fucking
leprechaun, God I can not believe it; where is your pot hey, and
I do not mean that one that is sticking out from your pants and
jacket there!”

“My name is Morey, and quit saying I am a fucking Leprechaun
already.”

“Damn, what Irish mother would call her little green shit
Morey! What some jewish traveling caravan came tinkering your
mothers skirts! Hey…”

“For one thing I am not stinking drunk Irish, I am a check! Now
get that straight, do you believe all stereotypes or what. You
Frog!”

“Oh god, I must kiss you on the lips to turn you back into a
prince and to shut your fucking mouth up! A green check with a
jewish name? Man I have heard and seen it all tonight.”

“But you will still be a fucking frog afterwards.”

“Ouch!” I said and grabbed my finger that was really sprained
and starting to swell up quite a bit.

“Do you always come looking for some fool to belittle
and….hey are you all right!” he said as he seen the tears
swell up in the corner of my eyes as I bent over holding my
finger. ” Can I get that Ice for you!” I said sure as he seated
me in the craftmatic once again. I apologized, I was just
reacting from my loss. The first man in two years made my heart
skip a beat, and I turned him green.

The first man I had contemplated getting close to without
ringing his neck .After that night I folded his pants and found
his ring drop out. I just watched it roll out and under my bed.
At least I did not have to put up with his snoring anymore. I
just left him sleeping there, in my bed, as I left for my next
business trip. It was to save our Chicago interests that were
failing. Consumer confidence was falling and so was mine. I lost
the deal and myself in that trip. From there on the company and
myself plunged. With my mood swings, so did our stocks. We had
some upswings to be followed by some dives straight into a
bottle of bourbon. You know the last drink I had before that
incident, was a Roy Rogers. I never cared for ginger ale! This
first man , and he ends up doing duets with Kermit on I’M GLAD
TO BE GREEN! “So what is your story, some evil witch hexed you
to your mortal form at night when your love was turned to a hawk
at dawn; like in that movie Ladyhawk with Micelle Pieffer and
Rutger Howard; Enuit!”

“No nothing like it.”

“Then what was it!”

“Hey, what about you! Why are you frequenting bars that were
paid for by three upc bars off a box of lucky charms! I’m lucky
to get paid a bowl of cereal by the end of the night. Why follow
a hack like me home?”

“Man you were no hack, until you failed to stack up…um; you
are actually, or was quite good!”

“What you mean was! Just listen and shut up for awhile.” Then
the Leprechaun played a sonata that lulled the heavens to asleep
as all the spheres above stopped. Bell felt like she was
floating within a dentist chair with all the fear removed. And
if someone came to remove all of her teeth, she would not even
of noticed as he played. The beauty of the night was really in
his hands she thought. But she was to find out was that it
resided truly in his heart. For the hands can only speak for the
organ.

“Man that really touched me, it really did. No shit!”

“Before you continue let me clarify one other thing for you! I
was born a Leprechaun and blessed by the Fairy Queen, if you can
call it that with that pale skin and extraneously lanky figure,
to take the form you found me with so I could further my music
career. There was not too many openings for little green
pianists. So in gratitude for saving her daughter, she blessed
me.”

“Why what did you do!”

“It came about on the Fairy Princesses’s thirteenth birthday
she set oft to spin hay into gold. Without knowing she was hexed
that after that point if her hand should ever be pricked by hay,
she was to fall into a fast sleep.”

“Oh my, what did you do…is that the apropiate cliche I am to
say at this interjunction, hey!”

You can believe me if you want.. Well that is my scripted part.
Now shut up and listen! Right! See I was called to the court for
my music was renowned through out all the woods. My music was
the spell that made the honeysuckle rise in summer and open its
perfume to the morning dew. I was one of the few whose job it
was to awaken the spring. You see they disturbed me on holiday,
I was in the Bahamas trying to avoid the Checkloslovian freeze
(it’s not always the Prague spring?). But no, they had to pull
me back to wake up that brat. Well that is what I first thought,
but when I seen her there sleeping..She was cute, just real
cute. Also I had seen the pain in the Queens eye and I watched
her tears roll down to those beautiful heaving breast..Um I’m
sorry! No the kid had something special about her. She looked
like the type of kid that would of brought her Grandpa Joe to
the chocolate factory with her, you know what I mean. She just
looked..just, so innocent. I wanted her for my own, so I played
the song and she awoke. Now out of gratitude and to get me far
enough away from her daughter as possible, She turned me into my
human shape. For when the child awoke her heart was also kindled
alight for me into a blaze that the whole hall had felt. See the
princesses despised humans, so that is what her mother had made
me. But I was blinded by the fact that now I could play
Carnegie! So off I left. Then it was too late, and my heart
sank. When I heard she married that Pooka from the Jimmy Stewart
movie, I was devastated! I know, another cliche. Sue me..but
that big shot, you know ..the seven foot tall rabbit with the
derby! And look, you can not exactly call that place last night
no Carnegie! Also you will notice she only made me five foot
three and three quarters just to be on the safe side.”

“That is so sad..you had love stolen right from under you and
you did not notice! You must of felt some lumps, hey!”

“Speaking of lumps, how would you like to go down to the
lower east side for a cup of tea?”

“No tea gives me such a headAACCHE! But wouldn’t they notice
you?”

“On the east side…I just blend right in, lets go.” and he
bent over to grab her hand as he stood on the foot of the
craftmatic and she fell right into him and planted a big red
kiss upon those minute green lips of his.

She did not turn green and he did not grow handsome, they just
looked into each others eyes and seen the real beauty that
rested there for only each other to have found. In fact he never
grew again and she never really turned into a real frog. She
started her own web design company that mad interactive movie in
which he did the scores for. Ebony and Greenery; alias Belle
Ebony and Morey Green. Partners for life.

P.s. He learned to love her, even if she was pale and lanky.

Tickle Your Funny Bone

Practicing humor can lift tension, reduce stress, diffuse
confrontation, improve communication, and enhance your
relationship with others in any group. It can also increase
productivity, learning ability, cooperation, teamwork, and
profits while energizing you and others. Wow! Why wouldn’t we
want to incorporate even more of this no-cost action into our
daily life? Here’s more benefits:

Humor is the shock absorber that eases the bumps in life and
laughter is a vaccine for the ills of the world. Laughter
increases your adrenaline which leads to a release of enthusiasm
and optimism. Aerobic breathing comes from laughter - your
endorphins are super-charged.

Humor is associated with youth, vigor, intelligence and being
“with it.” The broad smile and light remark are welcome guests
at any gathering. It says: I want to be friends. Humor enhances
an image, motivates, and helps create a relaxed reality.

Expressing your sense of humor can be as simple as encouraging
and responding to the merriment of those around you - even with
just a smile. You don’t have to be a joke teller. Think about
words or images that bring a grin to your face. Here’s a start:
* supercalifragilisticexpealodocious (I think I got it right -
help Mary Poppins!) * upsy daisy day (thanks to Stephanie West
Allen who publishes an e-zine with this name) * Snoopy (Charlie
Brown’s dog) dancing for the pure joy of it * a child
discovering something new (I remember my niece’s first fun
encounter playing in the sand) * the antics of Red Skelton,
Carol Burnett, Bill Cosby, Lucille Ball, Robin Williams, Jim
Carey

Have you given much thought to what makes you smile, giggle or
burst out into a loud and refreshing belly laugh? What
situations were you in or who are you with when you feel the
most at ease to let your sense of humor come out and play? What
are the circumstances when your senses are full of the magic of
outright pleasure, entertainment and enjoyment?

Here’s a real easy idea - share cartoon and funny stories with
your friends, co-workers and family. I recently sent a cartoon
to a lady whose theme is to live with passion and gratitude -
she was delighted that I thought of her and responded directly
to her gardening interest. I took pleasure in knowing that I’d
made her grin too. Many of you probably receive and forward some
delightful tales and absurdities that you find on the Internet
or in magazines. Last week I *snail mailed* a piece about
ludicrous lawsuits and the cost of a child to some friends to
give them a little lift to their day. Not only did they enjoy
the silliness but they were also happy to get something other
than bills and junk mail to open!

I’ve read that benefits are gained from smiling at a minimum of
five people a day. If you are working alone or really can’t find
a good reason to smile at your co-workers or family that day -
then find another way to make sure you bring a smile to
yourself. Read some jokes in a book or on a humor site or
e-zine. Watch a favorite TV show or rent a movie that you know
will make you feel good. Another method is to look for five
funny or absurd things a day - this keeps your mind thinking in
the direction of being less serious.

Here’s some great statements and thoughts to keep in mind. *
Take time to laugh, it is music to the soul. * Every survival
kit should include a sense of humor. * A smile adds a great deal
to your face value. * He who laughs, lasts. * Laughter is
contagious…start an epidemic. * Put on candid camera glasses
every day. * Find your own “mirth angel”. * Recharge your
batteries and put more joy in your life.

Even Sigmund Freud, the famous psychiatrist, was a proponent of
humor. His basic concept was that joking relieves repressed
impulses and anxieties, and that laughter converts unpleasant
feelings to pleasant ones.

Gene Perret, who wrote extensively for Bob Hope, Phyllis Diller,
Carol Burnett and many others, said “Humor is not a condiment;
it a main course. It’s not a trinket; it’s a gem. It doesn’t
need justification; it’s essential”.

Have you ever heard of PHUFS. It’s an acronym for five points
outlined in the book, Laughter and Liberation, by Dr. Harvey
Mindess. Here’s a brief recap. * Playfulness allows you to be
lessen the grip that having too much seriousness can have on you
(such as narrowing your perspective). Instead know that it’s
okay to let go of your normal routines now and again to be
whimsical and imaginative. * Humility is being humble in mind or
spirit. However, recognize that there’s no need to make things
look or sound more difficult than they are - look for the crazy
or absurd side to balance out the serious side.

* Unconventionality lets you be less ordinary and more original
in thought and deed. You are willing to accept unexpected
occurrences as a bonus for they can heighten your awareness
level when you allow them to enter your base of experiences. *
Flexibility reduces the stiffness or rigidity in thinking
patterns which helps you adjust more easily to change. You want
to ask the questions of who, what, when, why, where, when, and
how so that you don’t fall into the trap of accepting and taking
things for granted.. * Spontaneity supports the idea of
expressing your natural feelings and impulses without giving
into the restraints you might otherwise pay heed to. A mind leap
that brings about a connection between what is and what could be
might even occur.

All in all, mirthfulness can have a very positive effect on your
mind and body. It’s difficult to remain angry, hurt, frustrated
or depressed when exposed to something that tickles your funny
bone. When you are having a good time you feel more hopeful,
excited and vigorous. Your attitude affects your body and vice
versa. Humor can help you attain a more positive balance
psychologically and physiologically. Encourage laughter in your
life and reap the benefits.

How healthy it is to set the child within us free to giggle,
sing, or dance a silly jig. Let this article be a reminder of
how important it is to break free of convention from time to
time and let loose your normal grown-up restrictions about
playfulness. Abandon your inhibitions for more than a moment or
two. Revel in it. A healthy personality has a measure of
unpredictability. Daily living ought to be spiced with
playfulness as it makes everything you think and do a bit more
delicious. Go ahead - smile right now (it does keep others
guessing what you’re thinking about!).

Our Era of Celebrities and Sex

Paris Hilton, Fred Durst, Rob Lowe, Colin Farrell, Tonya Harding, Kid Rock, Bam Margera, Tommy Lee and Pam Anderson.

These celebrities have one thing in common: at least half of America has viewed graphic content from the only private part of their lives.
This celebrity sex tape era stems from our fascination with reality TV and obsession with fame and sex, topped off by this technological revolution where everyone has a camcorder and computer with video.
Hardcore porn films have existed since the teens, but one of the earliest star pornos to surface was a nameless film that depicts what appears to be a young Marilyn Monroe, shot around 1948. Six decades later, the latest celebrity sex tape features Colin Farrell and a former Playboy Playmate, and contains a mere 14 minutes of action, marked by dialogue such as: “Where’s the zoom on this?”

But Farrell’s career probably won’t falter, and could even benefit in what has developed to be another media outlet celebrities can now work in. Some critics feel that celebrities may even be in on the sex tape “leaks”. It makes them more interesting and promotes their name.
Although our obsessive celebrity culture has been rising since the 1990’s, this public desire to see their sex tapes is a new development. Why? Partially because in our culture, the media divulges so much personal information about celebrities that people feel they know them on an intimate level.

After Paris Hilton’s sex tape surfaced, her superficial resume bulked up, and her freaking dog even wrote a book! In 2005, Yahoo’s seventh most-searched term in the world was “Paris Hilton”. Her tape is only a well-known example in the celebrity pornography trade, which increases dramatically with each innovation in motion picture technology.

In the past, Hollywood studios worked hard to curb inappropriate behavior. Celebrities under contract had to sign morals clauses, but now celebrities are constantly over boundaries of sexual explicitness that is almost encouraged. Consider 2001’s Monster’s Ball, with an intense and almost too-long sex scene between Billy Bob Thorton and Halle Berry.
The odd thing is, although people eagerly delve into media’s warped values, what we expect from ourselves or our politicians are radically different.

As a U.S. Senator your career would be ruined if your sex tape was leaked. A regular citizen such as me or you would be looked down upon. For example: A former Taiwanese Council woman was involved in sex scandal with her husband. She was described as disgraceful and forced from office. On the other hand, icon Paula Abdul had a sexual affair with a contestant on “American Idol” but is still a judge even after recordings and phone records displayed her relationship with the contestant…but the network claimed there was no proof.

What do these instances say about our society and our values? Why does our culture reward celebrities with publicity for their lewd acts?

Lauren Wise is a junior studying journalism at Arizona State University. She is editor of the college newspaper, a column writer for the independent paper Cellar Door created by students, the community college’s campus paper, and does freelance work over the internet and for local businesses. She is planning on joining the Peace Corps when she graduates in 2007 and write about her experiences so more people in America will know the conditions of countries that we rarely hear about. She loves writing, painting, playing the piano, going out with friends to sports bars, and works fulltime at a resort.

I nearly Drove the Ruddy Fire Engine Myself

Now then, those visitors already familiar with some of the
other articles on the site will know that, yes, I found love
last year, but it involved me taking on the role as step dad. I
wasn’t really up for that, to be honest. It can be best summed
up as: I fell in love but at a cost.

I was a bachelor boy and I don’t mean in the way that Sir Cliff
ruddy Richard is. No, that’s just unnatural and deeply
disturbing bachelorhood (!) I mean, I was one of the boys down
the bar, shooting pool and giving my liver a nervous breakdown.

But, there we are, I was in love so a young boy and girl became
my step-kids. To be honest, I’m young at heart. It’s an
advantage. (I think the pickling of my liver weirdly also
preserved my mind in a suspended perpetual youthful look on
life. Pickled and preserved, I think they call it …)

It has been very hard for me at times, a whole new routine, but
as I write this seven months have passed. And with those months,
a certain acclimatisation has taken place.

I’d like to draw the reader’s attention to something that
happened earlier today. We were all down the town, sorting out
the shopping etc, when I noticed that there was a fete being
held on the forecourt of the fire station. And as we moseyed
over, it became apparent that kids were getting a ride round the
block in one of the engines.

Well, I fairly dragged my step-kids into the queue, I was so
excited. They were a little shaken but once I explained why I’d
dislocated their shoulders they too got all excited. Almost as
excited as me. Regrettably at 33, I had to wait behind, but as
the engine pulled away, their faces beaming, I felt something
deep inside and I couldn’t help but grin back. (I was tempted to
hijack the ruddy thing and drive it myself, but there we are. It
would have ended in tears.)

Times of change will inevitably be hard for us as humans but I
have learnt to cherish these nuggets. Change gradually becomes
no change at all but in the interim process, cherishing these
nuggets, these moments, makes the transition far more digestible
and fun.

A moron’s account of 4th grade.

Ah looking back on 4rth grade, it was not my favorite grade, 3erd grade was my favorite grad butt when I think about all the grades I had in school 4rth grade was not a bad grade. My teacher for 4rth grade was Mister Tony, he was a very smart and very nice teacher and he was also the biggest teacher in all my grades.

Back before he decided to be a teacher Mister Tony did some exciting stuff, he was over in Russia and he got cot by the KYB and they throwed him in this place called the doologs that was very cold and all they ever fed you was potatoes. Another time he was saline across the ocean and he got stuck in this place called the doldrums where the wind never blows and him and his friends had to paddle there boat across it and it took a long time and they ran out of food and had to eat flying fish.

Another thing that Mister Tony did that was neat was back when he was a boy he learned Kung Fu, he was over in China for a long time and this guy named Gandy tot him Kung Fu. He said he would teach Mister Tony on one condishun, that he promised never to use his Kung Fu to be a bully. Mister Tony had a black belt for Kung Fu, accept it didn’t have a big buckle or his name on the back like normal belts did.

I could talk for a long time about Mr. Tony because he had a very interesting life, accept I should probably tell you different things about my 4rth grade year.

There was my 2nd cousin Ricky in my 4rth grade class. Growing up I had 8 cousins, my 1st cousin Missy was in 6th grade that year and I can not remember what grades my other cousins was in accept I do remember that my 8th cousin little Jenny was not in school yet. Anyways Ricky had this girl friend that was a 4rth grader in my class, her name was Lisa. She was a little pretty accept she was very mean for a girl, even back then she was mean for a girl. One time she fell off the magic carpet and broke her nose, she laid there on the ground and moaned accept we couldn’t understand what she was saying because she was laying with her face in the dirt. Some of the 4rth graders laughed because she was always mean to them. Finally Mrs. Chritchunson came running up and said “I think you have broken your nose. We better get you to the hospital!” They took her to the hospital and put a cast on her nose, accept she didn’t let us sign it like Maria did when she broke her arm. Later Mrs. Christchnson came up to us that watched Lisa fall off the magic carpet and said “The next time Lisa falls off the magic carpet and breaks her nose, will you please come and tell me?” accept the way she said it was different.

I remember one morning in the 4rth grade that started out before 4rth grade started, in the morning. It was a Friday and my mom got me up at 6 am so I could watch the house while she went down to this place, I can’t remember the name but they all jumped up and down and bounced around and did stretches and such. Like my mom did every morning she said “Please just watch cartoons and don’t get into anything, I will be back at 7, if anything happens call 911” and my mom left the number for 911 right by the phone with where we lived on a piece of paper so if something bad did happen I could call 911 and tell them where we lived.

This morning there was no good cartoons on t.v. and I didn’t want to watch t.v. so I went into the kitchen thinking to myself “there must be something fun in here” and I looked for something fun until I found a box of matches in the cupboard. Now I had used matches before to start the stoves burning, and I knew how to use matches, accept never before did I have a whole box of matches. “This could be fun” I said to myself, accept I didn’t really say this.

I don’t know why but I struck a match and watched it burn, then throwed it in the kitchen stove. I also do not know why but I did this again. I did it again, and again, and many times. Then I don’t know why but I lit 2 matches at one time, then 3 matches, and even 10 matches at one time. I had great fun lighting matches, accept it was not very long until there was no matches left. I knew this was not good because my dad would be mad if he had to by knew matches, since we did not have a money tree. Then I put the matchbox back in the cupboard and turned on cartoons and waited for my mom to come home.

When my mom came home she said “What is this smell in the kitchen?”

I said “I do not notice anything.”

She said “It smells like sulfur in here.”

I said “It does?” I was pretending that it didn’t smell in the kitchen.

“What did you do while I was gone” my mom asked me.

“Watched cartoons” I told her.

“Did you light any matches in here?” my mom asked me.

“Yes” I said.

“Why?” mom asked.

“I was trying to get the stove going” I told her.

“How many matches did you use?” my mom asked me.

“A few” I told her.

Then my mom looked in the stove at all the burnt matches, and also looked in the cupboard in the matchbox and saw there was no matches left. “You used all the matches!” she screamed at me.

“I did?” I said trying to act like I did not know I used all the matches.

“And there is no wood in the stove either!” my mom screamed at me again.

“Oh, maybe that is why it was so hard to get burning” I said still pretending that I was trying to light the stove.

My mom did not believe that I was trying light the stove and she made me sit down and she yelled at me for a long time and asked “why did you use up all the matches?” accept I did not know why I used up all the matches. My mom told me that I was in big trouble and that they was going to send me to pyromaniac school where you go for a long time and they teach you not to play with matches as much. Also my mom said I was grounded and that I could not go to Mike’s house after school.

I went to school very sad because I did not want to go to pyromaniac school, and me and Mike had important plans to do that weekend. I told Mike that I could not go to his house, and he was sad because we could not do our plans. I went home after school that day and I was feeling very sad and my mom told me I could go to Mike’s house after all, so I went to Mike’s house. Also my parents did not send me to pyromaniac school after all.

Mike and I were going to dig a hole at his house, we had planned it for a long time and we had Cory who was a smart 4rth grader draw up blue plans for our hole. The only thing was that we did not no where we was going to dig it, it had to be a secret place. Mike said that he knew the perfect place accept he could not tell me till morning where the secret spot was.

In the morning Mike said “we’re going to dig the hole in the chicken house, the ground is soft and no one can see us digging”.

I said “But what about when your mom gets eggs?” and Mike said not to worry about that because he had planned that out to.

Mike and I got shovels and picks and went in the chicken house and started digging our hole, just like Cory’s blue plans said to. The ground was soft and the digging was easy and it was not long before the whole was as tall as us.

“Tie the rope to the bored over there so we can climb in and out” Mike told me. And I took the rope and tied it to the bored using the best not I knowed and I through the other end in the hole.

The digging was still easy and we was having to use a bucket to get the dirt out with. It was not long before the hole was very deep, it was 12 feet deep I know because Mike’s dad measured it later on. Cory’s blue plans was for 200 feet deep, and Mike said the we had 188 feet to go, accept our hole was starting to fill up with water. This made the digging tuff and also made us cold, since it was in winter.

Mike said “we better get out of this hole and think for a while” and he grabbed the rope accept when he grabbed it all fell right in the hole with us, even the other end that was tied to the bored.

“I do not understand!” I yelled. “I used my best not and it came untied. What are we going to do?” I asked. Mike looked very worried.

We tried climbing out of the hole, I even tried jumping out of the whole and it was no use. Mike tried standing on my shoulders but we still couldn’t get out of the whole.

“The only thing that we can do now is wait for someone to come out here” Mike said, and he looked sad like he was going to cry.

“Maybe we should try screaming for your mom” I said.

Mike said “we could try that but the house is a long ways from this chicken house and she is probably in the house listening to those tapes that say you’re an OK person so I don’t think she would hear us”.

But Mike and I tried screaming for his mom sense it was our only hope. We started both screaming together but Mike said that we needed to save our energy so we started taking turns screaming at Mike’s mom. Mike would scream “MOM! MOM! MOM!” as loud as he could, then I would scream “MIKES MOM! WE ARE IN A HOLE OUT IN THE CHICKEN HOUSE AND WE NEED YOU TO COME HELP US GET OUT!” as loud as I could scream. Accept no matter how much we screamed Mike’s mom never came to get us out of the hole.

It was starting to get dark and me and Mike had been screaming for a long time and Mike looked very sad and said “There is no hope, we are never going to get out of here. They will come out here to get eggs and find the skeletons of two boys” and Mike looked very sad, and he had tears in his eye when he said this, and his lips was kind of curling up.

“I gotta go” I replied. And I did have to go, and not number one neither. I had to go really bad, except we was stuck in the hole. It always hits you at the worse time!

Then, like the voice of an angel we heard the screechy voice of Mike’s mom say “Mike! Mike! It is supper time, please come in the house!” Me and Mike started screaming, Mike was saying “MOM!” and I was just screaming I was so excited.

Then we heard Mike’s mom’s voice get closer and say “Mike, where are you?”

We both screamed “In the chicken house!”

Then right away we heard the chicken house door open and Mike’s mom said “Is you boys playing tricks on me, because I don’t see you?”

“WE’RE IN THE GROUND!” I screamed as loud as I could, accept that wasn’t very loud because I was horse from all the screaming I did that day. Then Mike’s mom came over to the hole and looked down upon us.

“What are you silly boys doing down there?” Mike’s mom asked us. Mike had a tear of joy he was so glad to see his mom.

I said “Could you please help us get out because I really gotta go”. Mike’s mom tied the rope to the bored, and I climbed out first since I had to go so bad. I ran to the house as fast as I could run and when I got to the house I did not have time to take my shoes off so I left muddy tracks all over the house, accept I did make it to the bathroom in time.

Later on Mike’s dad yelled at us for digging a whole in the chicken house. Also Mike’s mom was not happy about the tracks in the house, but we lived and that was the important thing.

About the Author

A recovering moron. I know this isn’t everyone’s style of humor, but if you got a kick out of it, feel free to drop me a line at gboethin@yahoo.com.