humor

#GeekyThingsAboutMe.

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I saw the #GeekyThingsAboutMe hashtag on Twitter recently and identified pretty heavily.

Not that I’m into manga or Funko Pop figurines, or that I decorate the kitchen with comic-book themes, or that I organized a party for the 50th anniversary of “Doctor Who” (complete with Dalek bread), or that I was a regional spelling bee finalist* (to name a few examples).

However, I do have some geeky/nerdy tendencies. They say the difference between a geek and a nerd is that geeks or more social and nerds tend to be more introspective.

Both groups can be a bit insufferable, due to their encyclopedic knowledge of Harry Potter/DC Comics/whatever, and due to their frequent need to share that knowledge.

I try not to be too terribly insufferable. However, when someone shares an interesting story or fact, I do often want to say, “Ooohhh, and did you also know that (related fact)?” Sometimes that engenders even more conversation. Sometimes I just get blank stares.

For example, when my daughter was buying ginger beer to make Moscow Mules for a party, I mentioned that “ginger beer” was Cockney rhyming slang for “homosexual.” Blank stares for sure that time.

 

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Ode to the junk drawer.

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During my recent errand of mercy to Phoenix, my daughter streamed some episodes of the dark and frequently hilarious television show “Speechless.” The program focuses on the DiMeos, a working-class family that moved to a dump of a home in a good school district. The goal was for oldest son JJ, who has cerebral palsy, to get the education and services to which he’s entitled.

Money is short and the family is overwhelmed by just the activities of daily living so, yeah, the house remains a dump. In fact, it gets even dumpier because of their casual attitude about home upkeep. (Hint: A blue tarp over part of the roof is not a fashion statement.)

In one episode, JJ’s personal care attendant sings a song* about the DiMeo lifestyle, to the tune of “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl).” Among other things, he notes that while most homes have one junk drawer, the DiMeos have multiples. In fact, pretty much all the drawers – like their house – is full of miscellany.

Which got me to thinking about the junk drawer in my Seattle apartment. It held stuff like safety pins, key rings (ever notice how those things accumulate?), USB cords (ditto), bits of ribbon, a clutch of shoelaces (which I saved when I tossed worn-out shoes), rubber bands and a tube of powdered graphite to squirt into balky locks (I managed the apartment house).

Tape lived there, too: Electrical tape, duct tape and a spare roll of cellophane tape. (Do people still call it that? I do.)

The junk drawer was also crammed with hardware and hand tools. A couple of former cream-cheese containers held nails, screws, bolts, brackets, washers and other bits of metal I couldn’t really identify. That’s also where I kept my six-in-one screwdriver, my hammer and the allen wrench I used on garbage disposal units – my own and those of other tenants. As apartment house manager I regularly got calls or knocks about a disposal that quit** mid-chew. Usually it just needed a few turns of the wrench.

My favorite thing about the junk drawer: It saves money.

 

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Still more s–t my boyfriend says.

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This is the third in a series of posts spotlighting the at-times clever and at-times groaningly awful wordplay in which my partner regularly indulges. When he comes up with another zinger my response (other than laughter and/or eyerolls) is generally, “That’s going on the list.”

Not that I always remember to write them down. And not that all of them are suitable for sharing; some are too obscure and convoluted, and others are just kinda naughty.

Too, some of them aren’t pun-ny – they’re just odd.

About the headline: It spins off the best-selling book (and short-lived TV series), “S#*t My Dad Says.” The author was a guy whose father was given to pithy pronouncements, some of which were definitely NSFW.

The other two posts are linked at the end of this piece. Probably I should beg the readers’ pardon for sharing some of this stuff. But as Dogbert says, “Puns! Never apologize, never explain.”

Here, then is the third list. It almost certainly won’t be the last list.

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More $#*! my boyfriend says.

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While visiting my daughter in Phoenix, I called DF to hear his voice and give him an update. It wasn’t much of an update, since the visit was a lot like every other trip I’ve made.

Doing chores to help out, visiting thrift stores, stopping by The Dollar Tree for odds and ends like a new paring knife and 32 ounces of Silkience shampoo, playing with the dog and binge-watching TV shows Abby thinks I’d enjoy.

Sadly predictable, but it works for me.

At the end of our conversation I told him I’d call again the next day.

“Hoping to report something moderately interesting,” I said.

“Moderate interest is fine,” he replied. “Anything more would be usury.”

A nerdy pun that mentions personal finance: Can’t help lovin’ that man.

 

And as I pointed out in a previous article, “$#*! my boyfriend says,” it’s just his way. Our conversations are often weird and never boring.

 

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Heat wave? It’s all relative.

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The mercury edged over 80 degrees yesterday, the second or third day of the heat wave. Anchorage residents moaned and sighed and even jumped into local lakes. For my great-nephews that meant Jewel Lake, whose waters are somewhere between 50 and 54 degrees.

By comparison, the water off Cape May, NJ, averages 73 degrees in July. No swimmer’s itch, either, although there might be jellyfish from time to time.

I grew up in a hot, humid place, and remember lying awake wishing that the box fan in the window would magically find cool air and send it my way. My jobs in that region – a commercial greenhouse, a bakery and a glass factory – were not terribly comfortable, either.

In hot-and-humid Oak Park, Ill., our place had two air conditioners: one in the bedroom and one to cool the rest of the apartment. The bedroom cooled off just fine when the door was closed. The other rooms were never really cool, though. They were just a little less hot.

When I lived in Seattle the temperatures went over 100 from time to time (and my south- and west-facing windows grabbed every available ray). I’ve spent time in Phoenix in the summer, and last year encountered both dehydration and, I believe, a touch of heat stroke. (Thank goodness for air conditioning, tile floors and that jug of iced tea.)

I’ve even been in Death Valley in the summer. On purpose. Even so, I have to admit that an Alaska “heat wave” is startlingly uncomfortable.

 

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Six good things.

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Jana from the Jana Says blog recently wrote about half a dozen good things happening in her life. The post was an antidote to a previous article in which she screamed rather primally about a whole lot of bad, frustrating stuff.

I hear her on both counts. Now I’m going to steal her format, and share half a dozen decent occurrences of my own.

(Got six good things – or even one – of your own? Do share, in the comments.)

We’ll start with something sweet:

 

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$#*! my boyfriend says.

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This morning DF cut five pounds of pork loin (99 cents a pound!) into one-inch chunks that he dredged in flour and spices and then seared in hot oil. They went into the slow cooker along with green enchilada sauce, salsa verde, green chiles, and sautéed onion and pickled jalapeno.

Not all the meat went in; the chile verde recipe called for five pounds but the pork loin he’d bought was 5.38 pounds. He brought a chunk down the hall for me to taste.

The meat was tender and flavorful, slightly zingy with spice but not overwhelmingly so.

“Well done you!” I said.

“That’s the name of my cooking school: Well Done U,” he replied.

DF is known for his love of charred foods, from blackened salmon to burned toast. He is also known for his puns, which means I’ve found the man of my dreams: Someone whose mind is wont to take the same slightly twisted paths that my own brain favors.

 

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Random observations.

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Instead of writing one long column, I’m doing a handful of random short takes.

Local boys make good: Portugal. The Man took a Grammy for best pop duo/group performance. Still giddy over this, even though I don’t know them. At one point I may have met Eric Howk, the guitarist, because I used to work with his mom.

Point being, it was a band that originated in the Last Frontier and has worked hard since the oughties. It’s great to have something Alaskan other than oil fields and giant cabbages being celebrated nationally (and internationally).

Rock on, guys – and I say that as someone who listens exclusively to the classical music station.

Winter-ish: We got a little snow, and the temperature has dropped below zero at night so it’s sorta-kinda-winter. On the whole, the season has been a disappointment, especially for Nordic skiers and the guys and gals who plow driveways as a side hustle.

Dear Lower 48: Please give back our snow. We miss it.

 

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Talk nerdy to me.

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Last night I participated in Nerd Nite, Anchorage-style. Which is probably like Nerd Nite across the nation and in some other countries: Three speakers get 20 minutes each to talk about whatever subject geeks them out the most.

Also, there’s beer.

You can probably guess what I talked about.

Yep: personal finance. Specifically, why we lose our damn minds at Christmas and how to go about breaking the cycle. I was the second speaker, following a retired judge who spoke about Alaska judicial selection, which was a lot more interesting than it sounds. Then again, I’m nerdy.

 

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Vanilla finances.

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Many LOLs were LOLed once I discovered a post called “Vanilla sex: Here, have another helping” on the How To Write Better website.

Writer, coach and humorist Suzan St Maur posted the piece as a way of poking fun at the idea of “vanilla sex,” i.e., conventional, ordinary (subtext: boring) physical love.

St Maur (not a typo – she doesn’t use the period after “St”) wondered if the adjective could be used for other things.

Apparently it can. A few of her examples:

 

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