Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
Smells Like Andy Warhol

Well, first off I have discovered that my previous little bit of nowhere was not in fact rendered "textus caput". Instead, the operating blog mechanism behind it all just decided to let me think the entry had been wiped out, and let me hastily stitch together some half-assed recap...only to showcase the two of them back-to-back a few hours later for all to see.

Ergo, I'm calling that operating blog mechanism "Hellblog." Ideally we won't see much else of Hellblog in the future.

But enough about him. Let's talk about soup. Glorious "contains fortified meat chunks" soup in all it's Campbell's labelled splendour! I'll admit it: while I'm not fond of hot beverages (on account that I have a cat's tongue) I do enjoy a piping hot bowl of soup. Soup is good. Soup is a healthy facet of human existence.

Even still, I see no reason why the western stairwell in our apartment complex has to smell like soup all the time. And it's not the entire stairwell either; just the landing for the third floor. At least once or twice a day, I will discover that there's a new flavour of soup permeating the air.

Yesterday it was tomato soup. Day before that, I'm not entirely sure, but it smelled like it had a lot of vegetables. And the day before the day before, I am absolutely certain it was the scent of chicken noodle soup I detected. Today there is not yet a third-floor soup smell. I shall keep the general public updated whenever it is discovered.

I am still slightly bewildered at this, however. I enjoy soup. Soup is good. But soup everyday--and at that, a soup so powerful that its scent carries across the entire floor and into the stairwell--seems a little too much. Is there a soup fanatic on the third floor? Do they obssess about soup all day long? If I were to open their cupboards, would I see only rows upon rows of soup cans, which would make me slowly back out of the apartment, knowing full well the owner would be able to smell my fear? (Which would be impressive considering how much their apartment itself must smell like soup.)

I suppose it could be worse. It could smell like burnt sugar instead. Or alternately, a Parisean whore's pet gerbil.

Soup du Jour: unknown.


posted by Phillip at 8:31 AM