Noodles: This land is your land, this land is my land...

This is a story about saving the environment.

Or is it?

I’ll let you decide.

A while back, I moved to a house with a sizeable yard. And since there were no parents in the vicinity, I had to mow the lawn myself. That’s what I like to call a “Real Problem” (for all you poverty-stricken, hovel-dwelling, lawn-less, unprivileged folks who don’t understand what trouble is.)

First of all, I knew I wanted to practice kindness to the planet and all the life contained therein by using an old-fashioned manual mower. “It’s so simple!” I exclaimed as I removed it from its heavy packaging and assembled it in my densely overgrown backyard. “Why burn holes in the ozone when there are manual machines like lawn mowers and bikes? I’ll never drive anywhere again and I will only eat three forms of grasses, most of which I can forage within three feet of my door!”

I was ready to do my part in saving the world.

Until I actually had to mow my lawn.

Even then, I tried to maintain a positive attitude.

For a few seconds, that is. Then I had a little change of heart.

And I got a gas mower.

I loved my mower. I tucked it in every night and kissed it good morning. It cut my mowing time in seventy-seventh. I would say it cut my mowing time in half, but that would be a lie. It now took only forty-five minutes to mow, versus 3,479. That’s 2.41597 days. (Please don’t check my math here.)

But something was still wrong. Mowing the lawn was still...hard. Too hard.

I traded in my gas mower.

AND I LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER! (AND I ACCIDENTLY BUMPED THE CAPS LOCK KEY! SO NOW I’M SHOUTING! KILL THE DOLPHINS!)

Comments

Welcome to Weirdness!

Hi, world, and welcome to “The Password’s Lasagna”! One day I’ll share where that name came from - for now, just revel in the wonderful idioticity of the word “Lasagna”. Say it over and over again. Let it flip off your tongue in all its gleeful lasagnaness. Say it until it means nothing, say it ‘til it means everything. Lasagna. It’s a word with many layers. Moving on quickly now... I have to wonder if, in a year, I will regret this first post. I’ll think “what kind of imbecilic idiot was I, to think starting a blog would be a good idea?” As if there aren’t more constructive things to do. Like...fishing. Or hunter-gathering (which is the sport of gathering as many hunters as possible in one weekend and stuffing them all in the back of a closed pickup, preferably with a limb or so hanging out and dripping blood). Or making clay...things. Useful things. Mugs and the like. Or I could be chillin...

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...

Cheese: I think I know what “disconcerting” truly is now.

It’s hearing someone whisper the words “hot and spicy pizza” out of context while your back is turned to them and what they’re saying is literally none of your business and three inch long unidentified bugs are landing in your hair. But that’s beside the point. Today is all about the cartoons, after all. Unfortunately, I don’t have any prepared except one which might possibly be the most subversive cartoon I’ve done to date. Again, most unfortunately, I’m not in the mood to shock and offend at this exact moment, so I’m going to take the easy road and publish this completely unnoffensive little sketch of a cute mushroom-hatted person. (Psst, it’s not funny, it’s just cute and I don’t know why I expect you to want to look at it, but just humor me.)

The Password’s Lasagna.

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