Where did all the GIT's git to? This will wake you up...
eastsidejournal.com
Mentions Paul Allen buys tainted Port Quendall site for redevelopment...
Microsoft raises feds' past arguments against breakup
CEO summit gathers stars for dinner (a business brainstorm with Bill Gates and heads of organizations from all over the country here this week)
and other local things
BUT also wanted you to know about this VERY FUNNY and quite pertinent article by Pat Cashman...(I've met both he and his wife, and both are amazingly funny...and don't even try...) The article is particularly good with R's article about lightbulbs and PMS....
eastsidejournal.com
Pillow talk proves rude awakening
2000-05-22
by Pat Cashman
Journal Columnist
A couple of nights ago, I was soaring high over the majestic beauty of the Eastside. It was a bright, moonlit night, and it felt incredible to be flying so effortlessly -- without the need of an airplane or even a jet-pack. I didn't even need to flap my arms. It was easy and natural.
Then, down below in a grassy meadow, I spotted the entire contingent of the Victoria's Secret supermodels calling and waving for me to come down and join them. I grinned happily and waved back.
And suddenly I thudded to the ground.
I had been thrust from my little dream world by a woman I have lived with for more than two decades. And while I was in the midst of REM sleep (which stands for Really Excellent Mojo), my wife had suddenly -- and viciously -- pulled the pillow from beneath my groggy noggin.
As I came to sudden, unwilling wakefulness, I said to her: ``My goodness! What seems to be the problem, my dear?'' But actually the words came out: ``What the #%!?*&! did you do that for?''
She calmly replied: ``I was simply trying to rearrange your sleeping posture for greater comfort, my darling.'' But actually the words came out: ``I've told you a million times not to put your stupid, greasy head on the decorative pillow shams!''
Wait a minute here. Aren't the bedroom pillows where a man has traditionally always placed his stupid, greasy head? I mean, where should a stupid, greasy head be placed, if not in the bedroom?
On the kitchen counter, face down in a plate of cornmeal waffles? No!
In the garden shed, hanging off a wall hook between the weed-whacker and the Garden Weasel? No!
Or in the bathroom, hanging over the rim of the toilet bowl? No! Unless you belong to a college fraternity, of course.
But as it turns out, in my home -- and undoubtedly in thousands of others around these parts -- there are two kinds of pillows in the bedroom: the functional kind -- and the decorative kind. And in my home, you better not put your stupid, greasy head on the wrong kind. (By the way, just for the record, my head is not that greasy).
I looked up the word ``sham'' in the dictionary, which in my opinion is the best book in which to look up words: Sham (sham) n. 1. Something false or empty purporting to be genuine. Something that is fake, pretended or counterfeit. 2. A decorative cover made to simulate an article of household linen and used over or in place of it: a pillow sham.
I read the definition aloud to my wife and then said: ``So let me get this straight. You are telling me that you do not want me to put my s., g. head on something that is false and counterfeit because I might get the phony item dirty?''
``That's correct,'' she said.
End of discussion.
And that's just the way it is, I guess. In most households, there is the ornamental finery -- and then, the regular stuff. There are the frilly guest towels -- and the gnarly ones the family uses. The fancy plates and fine flatware are kept high on the shelf -- while most of the time, everybody eats with the cheap silverware and the philistine dishes -- and drinks juice out of glasses with Mayor McCheese on them.
I will concede that it makes a certain kind of sense. Especially in a house with growing, rambunctious kids. And stupid, greasy-headed dads. But sometimes, it goes too far. For example, everybody knows people who cover all their nice furniture and hall rugs in plastic -- sort of a prophylactic approach to home decorating. How can anybody enjoy living like that?
Better yet, why not just bring in ropes and stanchions to cordon off every room in the house like they do in museums? Or go a step further and just vacuum-pack the whole place? That way, 60 or 70 years from now, all the furniture will look like new. Ridiculously out of style -- but new.
What's coming next?
``That's not a real car. That's our decorative Taurus.''
``Don't put Grandpa in there! That's the decorative urn.''
``All right, who's been nibbling on the decorative liver sausage?''
``Not so fast, governor! That's the decorative gallows!''
Meanwhile, I will definitely watch where I lay my head from now on. And the other night, after the pillow incident, I apologized as quickly as I could to my wife. After all, I wanted to get back to sleep as soon as possible, in hopes of getting back to that great flying dream I'd been having. But that's always the trouble with dreams -- once they're interrupted, you can almost never return to the exact one.
That's why, shortly after resuming my dream state (now on the correct pillow, by the way) the Victoria Secret models had been replaced by the Seafair Pirates. And, for some reason, I was flying over them strapped to the belly of a huge, gaseous pelican.
Damn that sham! |
