I’m up for trying anything, mostly. As long as it isn’t excessively painful or expensive.
I was retrospective yesterday. Anyone who wants to read yesterday’s retrospectivity conundrum can do so by clicking this here LINK.
Otherwise, let’s see how it goes. This one is a bit complicated for me. It’s a lot of bouncing around in a single week and I tend to get a bit lazy about that, but I’m “game on” trying to thumb my nose of WordPress, the curs.
Today I feel less far less retrospective and more sticky. The temperature has gone way down from yesterday, but the humidity has gone way up. I can’t remember the author who, misunderstanding the word “humidity” substituted “stupidity” and came up with the murderous yet childishly charming line:
“It’s not the heat. It’s the stupidity.”
If you think about all the scurrying around we are doing because WordPress is too freaking lazy to do a bit of work for the money they get paid, it really is the stupidity. Just saying.
May our efforts meet with success and we be less stupid than those who have gone before us!
So here’s what you can expect going forward (today’s prompt is retrospective, and I’m mostly being prospective): A daily prompt should post every morning, starting tomorrow, June 1. Currently, they arrive at 6 am mountain daylight time (which is 12 noon Greenwich mean time), and I’m suggesting that this continue. That said, some of your new prompters live in very different time zones, I think we are from Europe, the US, and Australia, so flexibility may be important. I’m listing the prompters along with their days and their sites below. If you follow each of the prompters, then you will have immediate access to their prompt.
I had a really bizarre dream about dogs and being somewhere else with one of them and realizing I had a cat at home and had not arranged for anyone to take care of him. I called my son and he seemed unsure about that other cat, probably because we don’t currently have any cats but actually have three dogs. Eventually, I woke up because the aforementioned three dogs were throwing themselves at the bedroom door.
Inertia will keep me right where I am. In bed. I don’t really need to get up today. Garry needs to get up, but I don’t have anything urgent to do, not counting what I’m doing right now (writing), starting the coffee up … and giving treats to the dogs.
If I don’t get up and give a cookie to the dogs, they will break through the door and Duke will be standing on Garry’s chest, slobbering on his face. Remarkably, Garry has less sense of humor about this than he did 25 years ago. Back then it was pretty funny.
It was only 8:30 when I woke up screaming. It wasn’t screaming because the dream was so bad. I was screaming because I’d twisted one leg and it really hurt and both my arms were asleep. I had to go to the bathroom which was complicated by two arms that wouldn’t work — dead to the world — and one twisted leg.
Yet I managed to go back to sleep for one more hour. Because 8:30 is too early for me to get up unless someone gives me a good reason. That is no doubt why the phone range promptly at 9:30. Dentist. Monday. Reminder.
I knew there was something on Monday. I thought it was getting Bonnie clipped, but it turned out that’s on Friday and Monday really IS the dentist.
Should I get up? Inertia was mumbling in my ear. “Don’t do it. It’s a cruel trap. You can get at least another hour in bed.”
Between the single bad dream, my twisted body, I’d turned off the A/C and really needed to turn it back on … and anyway, I have a computer next to the bed … I decided to just take a peak at the computer. It’s the secondary part of the morning inertia thing.
At this point, it is already 10:30. Garry showed no signs of stirring. This is not unusual. He used to get up every morning at one or two. For everyone else, that’s the middle of the night. For him, it was the beginning of the day because he was on The Earliest Show and he needed to be curried, combed, and dressed for television. Now, he wears stretchy pants and something on top, depending on weather and if he has plans to do anything beyond petting dogs.
I shouted in his better ear that he had a thing at CVS. He needs to get a meningitis vaccination so he can have his cochlear implant. Apparently when they cut holes in your head, meningitis is a bad thing to get. I have had viral meningitis and I can tell you that it gives you a headache that is like every other headache you have ever had and all the rest you will ever have in the future in a single headache so horrendous that your eyes roll around in your head and can’t focus. Blinking hurts. Did I mention the nausea and the rash?
Anyway, what with the nature of this surgery, he gets vaccinated. I’ve had the disease so I don’t need no stinking vaccination. I’ve got antibodies. Also, no one is cutting holes in my head. At least, no one told me about it.
By now, the door is straining. Bowing. They aren’t huge dogs, but you add them together and they amount to more than 100 pounds of power pup.
“I’m COMING,” I said. “I’m on my way. Calm your paws, you little furry monsters.” All that did was get them more excited.
“She spoke!” they barked. “She’s ALIVE. She’s coming!”
In retribution for my slow appearance this morning, one of them ate the instructions for the new router. Good I already installed and registered it, eh?
And so our prompt free week begins with a new prompt from Fandango. The word of the day is inertia. It isn’t only a word. It is a lifestyle.
Why do only humans feel getting up is so urgent? Unless you have to report to work, one hour is as good as any other hour, right? The dogs have even less to do than me, unless getting me into the kitchen is their version of a job.
Since this is new, here are instructions and they are pretty simple:
Welcome to June 1, 2018 and the inauguration of Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). It’s designed for those of us who are suffering from withdrawal after WordPress bailed on its daily one-word prompt.
I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (US).
Today’s word is “inertia.” Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.
Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and click on the Mister Linky thingie below and then visit others who have participated. (This is my first time trying Mister Linky and I hope it works. If it doesn’t, let me know in the comments.)
I will be writing my own response to this prompt in a separate post, so be sure to look for that.
We had a fabulous day at Kew, but unless you saw the previews it probably isn’t that obvious from my header nor my square what the theme is this month! Well the theme is ROOFS (or rooves if you prefer!). Your roof can be;
A – any type, any condition, any size, and in any location. B – it could be a shot across rooftops, of one roof like today or even a macro C – you might prefer to spend some time under the eaves and in the attic, or enjoy the view from above as Brian has already done today.
It’s a stunner so do pop across and say hi. Today I’m not above but in front, and not a tile in sight. I thought instead I’d look at a glass roof, and in fact I’ve decided to keep to glass for most of the week ahead.
By the way although I will be posting daily as this is a daily challenge,you are free to post alternate days, once a week or as and when the roof strikes you. My posts will appear early morning with the tag #RoofSquares, and I will do my best to visit your posts daily.
And my, personally, I’m doing a few tunnels. Probably not all week because I don’t think I have enough of them, but let’s give it a go!
This is a blog that’s been bouncing around in my head for I while. Events that happened recently brought it to the forefront. I love comedy. Always have. When I was a child and got a transistor radio, I didn’t care much for all the songs about love and romance. I loved the novelty songs. The silly songs. I grew up worshiping Alan Sherman.
I still can recite the lyrics to most of his songs by heart. He was a genius at parodying old standard songs. His song “Glory, Glory Harry Lewis” is a parody of “Glory, Glory Hallelujah. The hero is Harry Lewis, a clothing worker who worked for Irving Roth.
The best line in the song?
“Harry Lewis perished in the service of his lord. He was trampling through the warehouse, where the Drapes of Roth are stored.”
Genius. Today, his mantle as been taken up by Weird Al Yankovic.
I have always prided myself on my comedic range. By that, I mean I think pretty much all types of humor are funny. I love intellectual humor. For instance, Oscar Wilde:
On God: “I think that God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability.”
Or Dorothy Parker: Use the word “horticulture” in a sentence. “You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.”
I love the comedy of the Three Stooges, The Marx Brothers, Carl Reiner and my comedy God, Mel Brooks.
I love science jokes. “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate.”
I love fifth grade humor: “What is a shark’s favorite game show? Swallow the leader.”
I love lawyer jokes: “Why don’t sharks eat lawyers? Professional courtesy.”
I love elephant jokes: “What game do four elephants in a mini-van play? Squash.”
I love “dumb” jokes. These are jokes that at one time were ethnic jokes. They were German jokes, Irish jokes, Italian jokes, Polish jokes, North Dakota jokes, South Dakota jokes and blonde jokes. “Why did the blonde stare at the orange juice box? Because it said ‘Concentrate.’”
Which brings me to another type of humor I love. Tasteless humor. I have no problem with tasteless humor, as long as it’s funny.
“What’s the difference between an art student and a pizza? A pizza can feed a family of four.” That was the tamest one I could find. Unless you’re an art student, most people would find it funny. Let’s get real. Most art students would laugh the hardest.
I love roasts. Roasts are where you are supposed to be brutally funny and tasteless. You insult your guest as hard as you can. When all the quests are done insulting the subject of the roast, the subject of the roast gets to do a ‘rebuttal’ and insult all the guests right back. It’s fun. Roasts started at the Friars Club in New York City.
Now they are done on Comedy Central. Another example of a roast is The White House Correspondent’s Dinner. It’s supposed to be a roast of the President and the press. Then the President gets to roast everybody back. Steven Colbert made history when he roasted George W. Bush. It was an amazing example of speaking truth to power.
Here’s my favorite line from the roast. “Critics of the President Bush say his administration is sinking. They’re just re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. I say no. His administration isn’t sinking. It’s soaring! They’re re-arranging the deck chairs on the Hindenburg!”
Our current so-called President will not even show up to this dinner because he can’t stand being made fun of. Two years in a row now. There’s a popular theory that the only reason Colt-45 ran for President is because of how President Obama took him down in the 2012 Correspondents dinner. “People say Trump is running as a Republican. I thought he was running as a joke.”
Actually, Seth Meyers said that, but you get the point.
A “burn,” or a “roast” is done out of affection. You “bust balls” on your friends because you like them. You do “Your Mama jokes.”
“Your Mama’s so stupid she puts lipstick on her forehead to make up her mind.”
My family was famous for “busting balls”. If we goofed on you, it was because we liked you. If we didn’t like you, we were very polite around you and said nothing. We would never dream of saying anything that was actually hurtful. Because, well, that would be hurtful.
Oddly, most people can dish it out, but can’t take it, the current so-called-president being a prime example.
I am one of those people who can take a joke. Because of this I get goofed on a lot. I don’t mind. If the joke on me is good, I appreciate it. Sadly, most of the time I don’t get to fire back. I’d hurt people’s feelings. My step son is a great example. He is a great joke teller. He knows them all. All the good ones, the bad ones and the ones that makes his Mom leave the room. He also loves busting my chops. All of his burns are funny and on point. I always laugh. But if I wanted to get him back, all I’d have to do is say “yeah, but I fuck your Mom.” I can’t do that because he’d go into a catatonic state.
Everybody has a line where something isn’t funny anymore. I remember going to see Mel Brooks’ “The History of The World Part One” when it first came out.
It was hysterical. There is a scene where he turns the Spanish Inquisition into an Esther Williams musical number. It was tasteless and funny as hell.
The whole audience was laughing their asses off. Then the next skit came on. Mel Brooks was a waiter at the Last Supper. Also hysterical. Jesus would say “Before this night is over, one of you will betray me.”
And Brooks immediately says “Judas!” Everybody stops and stares at him in stunned silence. Then he says “Would you like a salad?
It was then I noticed I was the only one in the audience laughing. I thought “Wow, torturing Jews was hilarious, but making fun of the Last Supper, not so much.”
Everybody has a line that once crossed, isn’t funny. So, I wondered, where is my line? Do I have one?
It turns out I do. My line is racism. Right wing “humor.” That offends me. Why? Because it’s mean, racist and it’s NOT FUNNY. It’s merely racist and mean. At this point you can say “Hey, YOU, don’t think it’s funny. That doesn’t mean it’s not funny.”
OK, fair enough. But let’s look at this ‘Joke’ tweeted by Rosanne Barr.
VJ refers to Valerie Jarrett, a former adviser to the Obama Administration who is not white and was born in Iran. Both of her parents are Americans. Roseanne “apologized” for her “joke.”
Was that a joke? Hell no. Just racist and mean.
Think about this. How many right-wing comics are there? Name one. I dare you, because I can’t.
A joke can be tasteless, sophomoric, silly, stupid, and dumb, yet still funny. On the other hand, saying something mean and racist, then defending yourself by saying “It was just a joke” is not funny.
That was Rosanne Barr’s defense. That’s the excuse our Racist-in-Chief and his staff use every time he makes a racist statement or tweet.
Finally, why aren’t there any right-wing comedians? Bottom line? The right-wing doesn’t have a sense of humor.
And racism is not funny.
I hate ending on a down note. So, I’ll leave you with some 16th Century humor.
“Henry the Eighth was so fat when he sat around the castle, he sat AROUND the castle.”
Actually, June 14th is Flag Day this year. Most people forget about the day. It was a big deal when I was in school and we remember it because it was Garry’s mom’s birthday. Otherwise, it has mostly been forgotten. Another lost holiday.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!