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!

 
You've Got Male

It's Valentine's Day: whose severed heart did you present to your significant other to show them your love? Or if you have an unsignificant other, whose severed liver did you present to them? Bear in mind that, according to many old religions, the liver was considered to be one of the centres for the human will or soul. So the liver is very much a viable secondary gift, in a pinch.

But for those of you grumbling about being single on such a glorious day being milked with both hands like the cash cow of love it is, here's something to consider: the ancient Romans had a very simple solution for you. Though it may not be so simple if the woman you snag is not as amicable with the idea as you are.

Once again, history repeats itself. Think about those reality TV shows of today, like The Bachelor or Mr. Personality or Married By America. Inventive? Ingenius? Nope. Those wacky ancient Romans had the network executives and thinktanks beat by roughly eighteen hundred to two thousand years.

How, you ask? Well, on the day of the Lupercalia festival (remember the last little bit of nowhere? Slapping women and plants with goat hide? Very good.), as the legends go, the Romans would also have what could be construed as a lottery. Later on after the running of the goat hides, all the young women in the city would place their names in a big urn.

No, I don't know how big.

Anyhoo, you have all these names of eligible women sitting in this urn. The eligible bachelors in turn would then each choose a name out of the urn. And what of the lucky winners from that draw? Well, the eligible guy would be paired for the year with his chosen woman. Often these matches would end in marriage.

Note the use of the word 'often'. So if your name happened to get drawn by Leon the pig farmer, you might not be so cheery about spending the rest of year with him, let alone the rest of your life.

So to those of you who are decrying this day as cruel and unusual to singles everywhere; to those of you , consider this: alternatively, you could wake up February 15th, freshly slapped by strips of goat's hide and sleeping next to a complete stranger who drew your name in a marriage lottery the night before.

Come to think of it, this could very well describe the mornings after that some single people experience after getting absolutely smashed at a bar on Valentine's Day. I guess some things never do change as the centuries go by....

Today's Lesson: a piggie on the bookshelf is worth a dozen roses and a box of chocolates.


posted by Phillip at 5:32 PM

 
It's All About The Love (But Mostly The Sex)

Valentine's Day is upon us. Where else in the world can we celebrate a day named after a martyr who was killed for defying a Roman Emperor by giving people inspid greetings cards that only show how much we panicked at the last minute, wilting flowers that will more than anything remind them of the fleeting transience of life, and candy that they will probably blame for making them look and/or feel fat from eating a week later?

Mel would like to add that that was a very long sentence.

I can only cackle with glee at knowing how, despite its ridiculous length, it conforms to all the rules of English grammar and thusly renders it near bulletproof from any English teacher's criticism. Ha, take that grammar!

And not surprisingly, Valentine's Day was more than likely another attempt to Christianize the Roman Lupercalia festival taking place on that day. Lupercalia was meant to celebrate purification and fertility. So in light of the whole "love" concept behind Valentine's Day, the fertility part seems amusingly/disturbingly appropriate. I wonder if most Christians have realized this.

Probably not. If you happen to meet one tomorrow, feel free to remind them on my behalf. Though you may not want to do the authentic Lupercalia thing, and run through the streets with strips of goat's hide that were dipped in sacrificial blood, and slap all the women and plants you happened to encounter on the way.

The police would probably frown severely on that. And I'm pretty sure that the women you just slapped with blood and goat's hide won't feel comforted by your claims that they will now be more fertile this coming year.

The plants might not complain, though.

Today's Lesson: on Valentine's Day, it's all about the sex. Be honest and admit it. But on the other days of the year, it's all about the love (and sex is just a great benefit thereof).




posted by Phillip at 7:49 PM

 
All The Colours Of A Rainbow Brite Doll!

This evening, Mel and I were running some errands at a few stores. It was somewhere close to the shampoo aisles that Mel suddenly noticed something was going horribly awry; that an ominous portense of terrible things to come had manifested itself in our presence, and we were powerless to escape it.

Namely, that the world was suddenly a whole lot pinker than it had been a week ago.

Yes, if you haven't already noticed, Valentine's Day in all its unrequited chocolate-and-greeting-card glory is fast approaching. All in all, it's an important day where we commemorate how the fastest way to any man or woman's heart is through the ribcage. And like all good commercial enterprises, when you've got a cash cow to milk, you might as well squeeze those udders with both hands.

Somehow I don't think this concept will ever make it as a milk commercial for TV.

This got Mel and I talking about the respective seasons and their big-name (holi)days. Let's face it: each holiday has its own unique colour scheme. We symbolically associate the colours with the day, and vice versa. I mention the colours orange and black, and suddenly images of Halloween are conjured up. I ask you what colours come to mind when you think about Christmas, and I get in any order: white, red and green.

And there will no doubt be someone who, when asked about Christmas colours, will respond with, "Oh no, quit trying to avoid the subject and tell me just why you decided to wear a dress to the restaurant."

But I digress...and digest too. Dinner was happy and hearty tonight. (Mel makes a great dip, which seems only appropriate since most people would also add she married one.)

Getting back to the colour schemes of holidays, we arrive upon Valentine's Day. It's hard to miss, what with all the pinks and (especially) shades of red. Should I find it darkly amusing that the colour we use to commemorate a day of love and romance is also typically seen as the carnage colour of fire and blood?

We now must shift and ask about Easter. "What colours come with Easter?" I asked Mel as we traversed down towards the shampoo aisle.

"Purple," came the reply of a young woman who just happened to be passing us by. (Laugh all you want, I didn't make her or her comment up.)

Mel argues that Easter is all pastel-coloured, filled with soft shades of pink, blue, green and yellow. This admittedly confuses me. Easter is generally associated with chocolate if you're atheist, agnostic or just going about your day-to-day life; blood, darkness and light if you're Christian. (Easter is, after all, a predominantly Christian memorial day.)

How pastel ever came into play defies all logic and common sense. I am baffled and confounded by the presence of pastels in the Easter colour scheme. Why pastels? "Who would be so ludicrously deranged as to make pastels the unofficial colours of Easter?" I decried.

To which Mel replied, "Americans."

She's probably right too, but you didn't hear that from me. For that matter, it's probably better that Mel doesn't hear that from me either. She's American, so she can get away with such remarks. I usually earn myself a smack upside the back of the head whenever I pull a verbal stunt like that.

Today's Lesson: spontaneous sex is a great idea, but sometimes it means your food gets cold on you.


posted by Phillip at 8:22 PM

 
It's Like 'Purple Monkey Dishwasher', Only Not...

I've heard a lot of strange if not snicker-inducing nicknames for the male gentials before. But (and I quote the Pron spam on this one) Purple-Headed Yogurt Thrower is a new one. It really does make me wonder if somewhere out there on the Net, there's some sort of generator that takes a lot of random words loaded with sexual innuendo, and just rearranges them in something that makes sense only when you're half-drunk or mostly delusional.

Though this has proven to be the cleverest pron-spam I've seen in a long time. These days, most of them are telling me I don't have to settle for having such a flat chest, and something about horses and the badgers who love them. I'm not asking, I'm not clicking. The last time curiousity took hold, I discovered that there are some orifices you just weren't meant to stick a human head into.

As for clever pron-spam, as oxymoronic as it sounds, I'm starting to think that the spammers are just getting lazy. Colourful analogies for sex are becoming endangered, and ridiculous claims of a sexual nature are being (pardon the phrasing) too blunt & blase to make me laugh. I may not be one to relish the idea of my Inbox being riddled with pron-spam each and every day, but at the rate they're going I think I'll have to finally admit the truth to them: I've faked every click to their site.

In other news of a not so double ententre nature, our store finally got in its new computer system today. I had to show up an hour before anything opened to help set it up, but it's always nice to have a District Manager who's just as equally disgruntled at having to be there far too early to set everything up. I'm actually impressed with the new computer for a few reasons, and the first two I sadly can't take home with me as souvenirs--that being the flatscreen monitor and the Inkjet printer.

What impresses me the most is that using the programs seems to be able to fend off 9 out of 10 idiots. And so far I haven't been that 10th idiot. Though there was that little incident where I pressed a button and the computer cheerfully announced, "You have now armed this system."

I subsequently took my lunch break, and when I returned helped my manager stuff the bodies of the unfortunate customers who came into the store (and thusly into the kill zone) into some of the suitcases in the storeroom that will never see the light of day. Now I know some of you are saying right now, "But you fool! Won't those bodies smell after a few days?"

Ah, but there's the brilliance of my plan, for I have thought ahead! All we have to do is transfer the coffins--er, suitcases out of our store, and ship them to another store. It gets rid of the smell and the problem. And if anyone at the other store complains about finding a corpse inside, we can just say, "Hey! The suitcases came like that to us; we were just following Head Office's orders to send 'em to you guys!"

No doubt a number of you are shaking your heads at either my macabre sense of humour, or my flagrant disregard for the preciousness of human lives. I suppose now this wouldn't be the best time for me to talk about my latest idea: Soilent Weed, where we smoke the dead....

Today's Lesson: restful quiet can be found in the most unexpected of places, in the most unexpected of times, and it never fails to make you feel guilty for having discovered and enjoyed it.


posted by Phillip at 6:36 PM