Cheese: A Study of Dogs in their Natural Habitat, Part 1.

Noodles: Just another downside of being a genius.

Since I’ve got a pretty long post in store for you a little later this week (and yeah, it’s Saturday, I know...so that means in about five minutes), I’m gonna make this quick and just share with you one of my finer moments. Possibly the most brilliant highlight of my entire career as a human, if I may say so. Recently I was trying to center a picture on what was supposed to be today’s post. Suddenly, my cursor...is that what the little vertical blinky line is called? If it is, wow, what an intense name for such an innocent little thingy. Anyway, you all know what I mean. We’ll just call it the cursor and hope for the best. Kay. So, my cursor started moving. It was traveling across the page all alone! It had a mind of its own! Because I’m super suspicious, my first thought was that someone had hacked my computer, since I was in a pretty crowded public place. There were some nerdy guys in the corner who looked cap...

Sauce: Bike.

I called about a bike the other day. It was listed in the paper, For Sale, Used Bike, $45, In a Town Near You. I assumed, based on the word “bike” that it had a seat and handlebars, which was all that really mattered to me. The integrity of the brakes was negotiable. I figured I could fix them if I had to, because had I just changed a tail-light in my car and it took only three weeks and two hours and five sets of wrenches of varying sizes, and I’m pretty sure it’s practically back to how it was before I began. “Hello,” a woman answered the phone. “Hi, I’m calling about the bike you listed in the paper?” “Ok.” “Can I ask you a few questions about it?” “Ok.” “Oh...okay. Great! First, is it still available?” “Which one.” “There was only...one? The used bike?” “Ok.” “So is it available?” “It can be.” “Great...So....do the brakes work?” “It’s used.” “I gathered as much from the ad. What kin...

Noodles: It’s autumn, all of you.

Hi world. It’s me, your favorite super sheltered, extremely Scandinavian, strangely endearing pile of soggy, tomato-drenched crinkly noodles! Otherwise known as Baby Swedish Lasagna under an Inadequate Tent. The reason I bring up my origins is this: I grew up without hearing anyone say “y’all”. I believe the contraction never crossed my path outside of a book until middle school, when it became trendy among my equally sheltered, pale-skinned friends. I started saying it often, with little understanding of its pronunciation, spelling, or proper usage. At some point, perhaps in a fit of cultural sensitivity, maybe after the madness of middle school had seeped out of my neurons, I stopped using it. Except in emails. Yes, my friends, I am an email y’aller. It just works for the already-awkward group conversations. There’s honestly no equivalent in northern dialect. Check it out. “You guys.” Offensive to feminists. “You girls.” Offensive...

The Password’s Lasagna.

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