When something is called "edible", do you expect it to taste super good?

I think Budweiser's new ad campaign is a bit odd. Its "drinkability" is heralded. Is that supposed to make me want some?

I've been making fun of this for as long as the ads have been on. But it only hit home a couple of weeks ago. I was drinking a Slim Fast at work, because since having my wisdom teeth out I can't eat chewable food without "irrigating" my gum holes. This is a fairly embarrassing and disgusting process that involves a syringe full of water and a lot of spitting. I don't have access to a private bathroom at work, which leaves me in the unfortunate position of not being able to actually eat anything between 8-5 Monday - Friday. So...Slim Fast.

I've always hated Slim Fast, except for the Cranberry-Orange soy based stuff they used to make. It doesn't have that awful, chalky, pseudo-dairy texture that the regular stuff does. But they quit making it, for whatever reason, so I was forced to buy the chocolate kind.

SO. As much as I've always disliked it, as I had one the other day, I thought to myself ruefully--"Well, it's drinkable, I guess."

Exactly. You hear that, Cindy McCain?

Something that will make me sad all summer long

When J and I first moved to Georgia, on our short list of first things to do was go to Six Flags. Neither of us had been on a roller coaster for yearz n' yearz.

We had saved a decent amount of money before moving, but we didn't have jobs yet. Funds were tight, but Six Flags was in the budget. We went within days of arriving in Georgia.

When we got there, we approached the ticket window and saw that admission was a little bit more expensive than we'd thought. "OK, we don't have as much money to spend on concessions. No problem."

The woman who sold us our tickets asked first thing, "Do you have a coupon?" When we said no, she looked at us like we were the dumbest SOB's on the face of the earth.

Ever since then, every summer, every time I see a can of Coke, it makes me feel sorry for us--each and every can is a "two for one" Six Flags admission coupon. And every Wendy's cup, and every...just every everything. If only we'd known.

A chance to lock the cats in the bedroom and turn the music up loud

Thanksgiving comes quietly, without a theme song;
earnest, and filling, and not very long.
My very favorite holiday, it's nothing but sweet--
As soon as you're thankful, the celebration's complete.

Sadly, I seldom have access to deer sausage

This morning, I was happy to discover my superhero best friend's blog. She has inspired me to post, though about what I'm not sure...

Oh, I've got one. Hub and I made up a new game--we like to play it while we're going to sleep. We are making up entrees for our trendy new restaurant "FU-Jean" (pronounced French-tastically)

It basically started as a game where we tried to come up with ways to ruin a really beautiful fillet. But we have branched out since then. Here are a couple of our beef entrees:

Handcut beef tenderloin, seared rare and stuffed with a whole preserved lemon, served in a mold of strawberry Jello studded with capers and pickled ginger slices, and topped with a pinwheel of smoked salmon, Miracle Whip, and green peppercorns.

$38

Or if you prefer:

10 oz Princess Cut Filet, charred and served in a House-made sundried-roasted garlic waffle cone, drizzled with bleu cheese butterscotch and cilantro whipped cream, and garnished with a poblano-smoked marischino cherry.

$45

Mmmmm...tempting. Makes me hungry for a nice chewy ground beef and papaya breakfast smoothie!

the golden age of library propaganda

My new favorite blog is the Annoyed Librarian. She's pretty famous... among a certain bored segment of the population that knows what MARC stands for, that is.

(By the way, if you're feeling a little full after lunch and dying for a nice, satisfying emesis, read this. It is already legendary for its complete and utter embarassing lameness.)

I honestly can't tell if the Annoyed Librarian is accessible to civilians or not, even though I haven't been trapped in library world for all that long. I tried reading Hub some of my favorite lines last night--he wasn't exactly rolling in the aisles, but then again reading funny things aloud doesn't always get the message across anyway. A sample passage:

"Thanks to my exhaustive analysis of the data, we have also discovered that rarely did our formative years lead us directly to librarianship. That was certainly true in my case. Had anyone told me in high school I would end up a librarian, I might have cried, and not with joy."

This pretty much sums up her attitude towards the profession. To delightful effect.

All that being said, reading her makes me feel very inadequate as a blogger, even considering the excessively low standard I set for myself.

I am really bad at judging what is clever, or funny, or stinging--there are some websites that I go to from time to time where I habitually leave comments. I will be work a "good one" up, chuckle indulgently at my own wry genius, and post a comment...only to discover it sounds 1000% lame. This is my blogging fear, my utter lack of perspective about my own wit. I know, I know--you're like, "You lack it! Mystery solved! You maxed out the creative juice with your masterpiece, 'Ode to a Black Miniskirt and Tights' in 1995!"

You're probably right. Nap now. I can has it?

Quick, give me a spoon.

Malibu was in town from Memphis this weekend and we had a really good time. Plenty of laughing, drinking, and name-faking. Also, she totally appreciated the earth-shattering ginger dressing. It's a surprisingly good sauce for chicken nuggets at 3 a.m. when you've had just about all of the other kind of delicious sauce that you can handle.

DouchebagTV

Whilst on hold w/ Bell South for the 57th minute today (sorry, boss!) I thought I might try to take my mind off my satellite TV woes by writing a poem about the best sponge that ever existed.



Oh, Hello, O-Cel-O...

Comes in a one-pack, blue and pink,
perched half soaked near my kitchen sink.
So many sponges are hard as bone--
even sopping wet, a stern, soapy stone.

But this lovely little number far surpasses-
it gently cleans my delicate flutes and glasses.
No-scratch scrubber, cheese and eggs don't stick--
My little new sponge knows all the right tricks.