In the latest Michael Chabon book, Moonglow, there is a beautiful sequence where a mother and a son are looking at a photo album without pictures. It is the old style album with the black tabs on the corners of the pictures, but the pictures had fallen out. The mother describes the pictures to her son and it is a lot like the memory of her childhood, as opposed to an objective record of her childhood.
I saw a tree, a very skinny tree, with bark that peels off in big strips. The strips just pile up at the base of the tree. It is almost as if every day someone comes by, and in their boredom, they peel off a little more the bark. They don’t tear it up into small pieces. They just leave it on the ground. But this seems to happen naturally.
My frozen lunch entree tries to engage their consumers by driving them to their Facebook page and other online content. One of the questions posed – presumably by their target customers – is “How can I find on-trend dishes that I can feel good about eating?” The last thing I am interested in is finding on-trend dishes.
A purveyor of meat snacks has released a breakfast sausage version of their product and they are promoting it on grocery store shelves paired with orange juice. The sign carries the cringe-worthy headline “Meat the Day.”
As website owners have been trying to find the right mix of content – or words that people would actually want to read – for their shopping sites, I encountered an example of this going in the other direction. I saw an in-store display of online content in the teen section of a department store. These short, helpful articles added to the shopping experience, and ideally convinced customers to buy the nearby products.
A single state official has had little luck finding a date online. It seems that her desires do not align with her matches. All they want to do is cuddle and walk on the beach. Apparently she is looking for more than hand holding. “If that’s all I wanted to do, I’d get a dog and a metal detector.”
We went to an escape room and had to solve a mystery in one hour. We were looking for pirate treasure. There were three very different kinds of brains in the room, and my daughter was the most adept at seeing the patterns and applying them. We did not complete the task. We managed to get one magic box with a key inside away.
I never really knew what a pedicure was. I thought it was focused on your toenails. Thanks to my girlfriend and a rainy day at the beach, I got my first pedicure. I had no idea that it involved removing the dead skin from my calloused feet. And now they are smooth. Very smooth.
Whenever someone utters some profanity – almost always words we have heard before – and follows it by “pardon my French,” my first thought is that what they said is not French. Sometimes I even say that. This is not just something that bugs me, but I wanted to know where it came from. It seems to have evolved from a general animosity between the English and the French. The context for this expression is that anything coarse or vulgar is French. But it makes no sense that Americans say this.
I came across a podcast with a name that someone thought was overly clever. It was from a Chamber of Commerce and someone was proud of their slightly punny name. There was one problem. They sacrificed meaning for the joke. A podcast is about sharing information to a broader audience than might otherwise hear from you. And what did they call it? The Echo Chamber.