Blog #376                                         May 23, 2024

 

Carol and I were out to dinner with friends, and we started to talk about when we were younger (when were we not younger?).  And there was some rock ‘n roll music playing and we reminisced about the jitterbug.  I got up, grabbed my wife’s hand and we began to jitterbug.  Nobody in the restaurant applauded.  Of course, other than our group, there were only two guys in the place.  You see, we were at Hardee’s.  Every two weeks, we have Garbage Night.  Each time, we pick a different fast-food restaurant and pig out on delicious, greasy crap.  I liked the idea of dancing so I began to think of other fast-food places where we could dance.

 

·        First, of course, was the Party Hardee Jitterbug we had just performed

·        We could boogie at Boogie King

·        Do the Funky Chick-fil-A

·        Or the Steak ‘n Shake a Tail Feather

·        How about the twist at Auntie Anne’s  (pretzels; get it?)

·        Do some rhythm and blues at Arby’s   (R&B=RB=Arby)

·        The hora at TwoJay’s Deli                   (pretty obvious)

·        The square dance at White Castle        (square burgers)

·        Or the Hokey Pokey at an In-N-Out Burger (you might have to think about that one)

Message from Shakespeare:  For you and I are past our dancing days (Romeo and Juliet).  I wish I could dance with Pops.  I like Hip-Hop, but with my three legs, I can only do the Hop.  Purr.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well.  It’s the season for graduations – high schools, colleges, law schools, even confirmation classes.  This week, my local 16-year-old granddaughter, Charley, graduated with her Confirmation Class from our Temple.  It was a touching and loving ceremony that I enjoyed very much.  Charley looked beautiful; my wife looked beautiful; my daughter looked beautiful.  Even I looked beautiful.  The Rabbi ended the service by acknowledging that we all might be worried about the future in a world teeming with war and hatred and dysfunction, but that we should not worry.  We should instead feel comfort in turning over the world to this dedicated, intelligent and committed group of young people we saw before us.  I hope he’s right.

 

I hope the new generation will put an end to this Defund the Police garbage.  That phrase ranks right up there with, “Let them eat cake” and “Let’s call it an Edsel”.  No police?  Who’s a young woman going to call when her ex-boyfriend is banging on the door threatening to beat the crap out of her?  Benjamin Crump?  Who are you going to call when your car is stolen?  Uber?  If there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call?  I’ll bet you know.

 

And the “Cancel Culture” set.  Now, they want to get rid of Rice Krispies because Snap, Crackle and whatshisname are all white.  We can’t have Uncle Ben’s Rice because there’s a black guy on the box and we can’t have Rice Krispies because there are white people on the box.  No Eskimo Pies either.  And Aunt Jemima syrup is now called Pearl Milling.  Jeesh!  When I heard that, I got so over-excited that my pacemaker opened the garage door.

 

And while I’m angry, tell me this: why is there a “d” in fridge but not in refrigerator?

 

We had dinner one night this week with some friends.  We ate outdoors.  The weather was gorgeous; the outdoor patio at the restaurant was delightful; the food and the service were impeccable.  But there was a problem.  Here’s what we ate:

 

A salad of heirloom to-may-tas

Some chicken with garlic po-tay-tas

Then after we ate

They served us a plate

Of choc-o-late covered cicadas.

 

Of course that’s not true.  We did not eat the cicadas, but the rhyme possibilities were irresistible.  We are, however, in a historical cicada outbreak in the Midwest, and the overly-loud, primeval little bastards are everywhere. Well, as I always say, if you can’t beat-em, eat-em.  And yes, the internet is full of cicada recipes.  In an epic stretching of the truth, they say that cicadas are related to lobsters and have a nutty flavor.  I’ll take their word for that, although I have eaten kangaroo, octopus, wart-hog, eland, and ostrich at one time or another.

 

Primeval is a good Weekly Word.  It means from the earliest ages of world history.  Kind of like me.

 

What else happened this week?  Well, we were invited to a preview of a mentalist show put on by the son of a very close friend.  A mentalist does not perform magic tricks.  He makes you concentrate on certain numbers or words and then seems to read your thoughts.  It was a very entertaining show and performed very well.  The mentalist’s name is Rick Silver and he operates out of Atlanta.  I’m sure you can find him on Google.  Did I believe he could read minds?  Did I believe there were no tricks?  That’s not the point.  The point is whether I was entertained.  I was.

 

I’m pretty sure I can read your mind.  Right now, you’re about as depressed as Kristi Noem’s campaign manager and wondering, “When is this old man going to say something funny?”

 

I know something funny – my golf game.  We went out to play last week.  The weather was beautiful, the course was fine, the other couple was fun.  My golf was dreadful.  I can play golf about as well as Lori Loughlin’s daughters can row.  Watching me play golf is like watching a snake trying to knit.  Maybe next time will be better.

 

One of my readers notified me this week that my last blog had been labeled Spam by their email.  It’s happened before.  Now, I have been called many names in my life.  I’ve been called argumentative.  I am definitely not argumentative, and I challenge you to prove it to my face.  I’ve been called repetitive.  I am not repetitive.  I have never been repetitive.  I am not repetitive.  I’m not.  I’ve been called stubborn.  Maybe.  But I have never been called SPAM.  I don’t even know what it stands for – Small Pesky Aggravating Missourian?  Stubborn Poppy’s Argumentative Mail?  Well, even if I am spamish, please come back to me next week.  Meanwhile, stay well, count your blessings and come back to me next week.  Did I say that already?  Maybe I am repetitive.

 

Michael, Michael                               Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com