Blog #420 March 27, 2025
Yes,
it’s Thursday morning once again and time to read another inimitable Limerick
Oyster. How do I do it every week? I wonder myself. But somehow, through travail and hardship,
misery and loneliness, sleet and snow, bread and butter, starsky and hutch,
gloom and doom – somehow, I get it done.
Let’s start.
Let’s start with the Weekly
Word, which is inimitable, meaning not capable of being imitated; matchless. And so I am.
So inimitable, in fact, that I have something named after me. It’s a cake. My grandkids call me Poppy and the eponymous
cake is called a Poppy Cake. No,
“eponymous” does not mean delicious; it means “named after someone”. The cake is alternating layers of chocolate
wafer cookies and Cool Whip Lite. My
mother used to make it and it was a favorite for me and my daughters. Back then
it was called an ice-box cake and used real whipped cream, but times have
changed.
The
first thing that changed was the whipped cream.
It has too much fat and too much cholesterol and too much cream and too
much whip and is banned from all foods except mocha Frappuccinos. So now, instead of wholesome natural cream,
we use an industrial paste mixed with air bubbles and sugar. It’s delicious. And we use the “Lite” variety to convince
ourselves that chocolate cookies surrounded by some Noxzema-looking slime is
good for your diet. And they can’t even
spell lite rite.
The
next thing that changed was the name.
You can’t serve something called “ice-box cake” to a generation who
thinks that “ice-box” is a Swedish martial art form. No, the ice-box is a thing of the past, as
dead as the rotary phone, the typewriter and Gene Hackman. On my birthday I always ask for this
delicious cake instead of a standard birthday cake, and somehow my grandkids
started calling it Poppy Cake and asking for it on their birthdays. Now I know for a certainty that fifty years
from now, my grandchildren will be making Poppy Cake for their
grandchildren and telling them who Poppy was, and each time they do, I will
smile. So go ahead, get eponymous, name
something after yourself – Grandma’s cookies, Uncle George’s Secret Handshake,
Sally’s Pajamas. But don’t use the
chocolate cookie and Cool Whip cake.
That one’s mine!
Message
from Shakespeare: Good name in
man and woman, dear my lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls
(Othello). They named some silly poet after me. I’m sure I had the name Shakespeare first,
although Pops usually calls me Pooch. I
sent that Shakespeare dude two plays that I wrote – Taming of the Mew
and Purrchant of Venice. I
think he stole them. Purr.
In
other news, Spring did not arrive last Friday, which was March 21st. Apparently, it was not sufficient to make
life easy for everyone and allow the seasons to begin on the 21st of
March, June, September and December.
Now, some busybody scientist has determined that the actual Vernal
Equinox (stay with me here, people) occurred on Thursday, the 20th. So Vernal this, you uppity scientists and let
us poor beggars enjoy our simple, orderly world where:
·
The
seasons start on the 21st
·
There
are nine planets
·
There’s
only one Spiderman
·
It’s
the Gulf of Mexico
Hi
there and welcome back. I hope you’re
feeling well. Have you looked at the
stock market lately? Holy Nasdaq,
Batman. The markets have had more highs
and lows than a barbershop quartet, and it’s impossible to plan for the future.
Each
day as I watch the stock ticker
My
stomach gets sicker and sicker
I
just learned today
From
my 401K
That
I have to die three years quicker.
Just
another worry that comes with growing old.
Every day I receive cartoons on
the internet depicting old men and women with distended paunches, sagging
breasts, drooping jowls and vanishing hair.
None of my friends looks like these exaggerated cartoon characters. Well, maybe one or two. And what are these characters doing? Forgetting things, losing things, tripping
over things and using the wrong words.
And what do we old people do? We
laugh. The cartoons are funny. We can take it; we can laugh at
ourselves. Keep laughing at
yourselves. The world’s too serious as
it is.
Besides, we have the Olympics to worry about. Specifically, the Old-lympics, the games specially created for us oldies and goodies. They have Pickle-Ball this year and
Synchronized Napping and a new event called Sprint-Sprint. Contestants start in a sitting position with
their cellphones on their laps. The
winner is the first to reach his or her internet provider and speak to a live
person. The World Record is currently 47
minutes. My wife is entering the
Pentathlon where contestants must read a book, watch Netflix, play bridge
online, talk on the phone and exercise at the same time. She’s a shoo-in.
And, of course, I try to lend a hand to my busy wife. Retirement gives me plenty of time and I
don’t mind doing errands for my wife, whose busy schedule of bridge and canasta
and happy hours does not allow her the freedom that my schedule (or lack
thereof) allows. Today she needed three
bananas. Now that may sound simple to
you, and if it does it only means you have never purchased bananas before. You see, the first one has to be 80% yellow,
the second 50% yellow and the third 30% yellow, and that causes me a good deal
of anxiety. I don’t want to come home
with bad bananas. So I went and I bought
and was so happy with my selection that I held the three yellow and green
beauties up next to my face and took a Selfie.
I think they call that a Fruitie.
I texted the pic to my wife so she would know what a great job I did and
immediately got this response: “Thanks, but I only wanted three, not
four.” I texted back, “That’s my nose.”
And now that prodigious nose has sniffed out the
fact that it’s time to go. Stay well,
count your blessings and have a nice weekend.
And don’t forget that Monday is April Fool’s Day. Ha, I got you. April Fools!
It’s really Tuesday. See you next
week.
Michael Send
comments to mfox1746@gmail.com
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