Category Archives: Is That So Strange?

Weird but somewhat weird.

Omega D-Cup











Georgy Girl is not a bad song. It is not even the worst song that features whistling. That of course, is Winchester Cathedral.

In fact I thought Windy by The Association was an annoying song with whistling.

I based this theory on the fact that I hate the song Windy. I find it chirpy and clinging. (And whistle-y — only salmon can hear this whistling and it drives them to madness: that is, in fact, why they say not to eat that farm-raised salmon).

Georgy is a beautiful song; it soars, it lifts in all the right places like the Cross-My-Heart-Bra. (Wonder where the wrong places are, in this context.)

  Continue reading Omega D-Cup


4438_1_hamster wheelJust another Sunday on the South lawn of Lake Daffodil Droop Sanatarium.
It’s visiting day and where is everyone? I mean I’ve been out here for hours.

I thought Aunt Freida was coming to bring me some of those Appletts and Cottletts. Horace and Min said they’d try to drop by with the kids.

I mean I’m just here at the sanatarium for a much needed rest; since when is needing a rest a contagious condition? You’d think I wander around here in a bathrobe all day with my sleeves stuffed with used Kleenex.

Continue reading Wheels

…showin’ off their silver leaves


We must, we are told, think of the things we cherish. These things are not infinite. We must not take these things for granted. And that is true especially for the aged hippie spin-dancer.

I speak of course — of the wooly-sock in August (paired with gauzy lavender skirt) wearing,1,000-mile-stare possessing, intermittent elbow jerking, inner-ear balance disorder suffering, hands flapping through the air; searching, ever searching (for the most desirable pocket of air?) — Super Hippie Spin-dancer.

Wherever you are right now, I want you to stop what you’re doing and find a venue for viewing this collective specimen. I happen to live in an area that is rich in semi-ancient hippie-ore: pockets of super strength swirlers dot the landscape. In fact there are neighborhoods where one can hardly stand on a street corner unwrapping an ice cream sandwich without someone appearing and grooving along.

Continue reading …showin’ off their silver leaves

Hoggy at Mitzi’s


Fresh off his acclaimed run at the Sons of Immigrant Nut-Hullers Club, Hoggy Carmichael wows the gang at Mitzi’s.


This just in: Strangely enough, Hoggy and the gang at Mitzi’s seem wholly unaware that they have been drugged and shanghaied on Pan American Flight 642 to Amsterdam as part of a prisoner exchange for CIA agents posing as international mung bean brokers.

The Big Turtle


Sure there's the bad things to be said about the Volstead Act of 1919. Yeah, yeah, the crime both organized and otherwise, an increase in alcoholism and people were forced to drink furniture polish mixed with grenadine and home-boiled creme de mushroom and all that.

But look on the bright side, look what it did for the English language. 

The mysterious one here is To pull a Daniel Boone. I have been forced to read about Daniel Boone to try and unravel this mystery. 

Daniel Boone was born in Pennsylvania to Quaker parents. Could that be it? How many times have you been slopped to the ears and thought "Man, am I in Pennsylvania with Quakers? 

Yeah, that's what I thought. 

 Continue reading The Big Turtle 

Helping, always helping.

FessParkerDear Min,

All right, yeah you’ve got your troubles,  whatever. But I just went to that Coldstone Ice Cream and had crap cream!

First of all, it’s ridiculously complicated, and like Starbucks they have absurd names for the sizes. Small is called “Like It”, medium is “Love It” and large is” Gotta Have it.”

I screamed “Gotta Have It!” then commenced humping an ice cream cake.

Then when they pulled me off — (don’t worry my Little Tangerine Dream, they can’t keep us apart forever) I ordered banana ice cream with strawberries in a waffle cup with hot fudge — you know, for a light treat.

The banana ice cream tasted like nothing! The hot fudge was thin and double-blah and the waffle cup cone, cone cup, cone bowl cup, cup of cone of whatever tasted hideous!

They didn’t mention that it tasted terrible during the tutorial on the cone vs. cup cone vs. cyanide pill I had to endure.

This Introduction to Cone Cups vs. Regular Cones was as stupefyingly long and boring as the “So You’ve Been Selected For Jury Duty” video staring Fess Parker I once had to watch, but at least I got to sit in a dark room for that and didn’t have to feign comprehension as someone made a live presentation of all things cone-y except of course for the cone of silence.

Deanna Durbin in It's a Date, 1940That is one cone they don’t have and of course I refer to the hanging terror that they might break out in song at any moment which I didn’t worry about with Fess, or at least, it didn’t occur to me to worry about.

Because they sing you know. At least they did last time I went in there ten years ago. However, this was just one Cold Stone maybe-singer working on her own so what are the chances that she would start warbling away a la sturdy Deanna Durbin mid-scoop? I think the odds would be low but who knows, maybe this sudden singing thing is on a timer.

Should everything have a cute name, should everything be complicated( cone-plicated) when dealing with a product that melts?

I don’t think so.

Okay missy, I think I’ve made you feel small, mighty small about whining about your pesky little problems with your mother in the hospital and all.