Thursday, November 24, 2016

Budding Picaso's? Mmmm Not So Much

Everybody seems to be an artist these days...or at least they try to be. I'm no exception. Even knowing full well, and completely accepting the fact, that I have absolutely no artistic ability whatsoever, I got sucked into going to a painting class for adults...one that included free wine. Have you been to one of those classes? They're usually held at a bar or restaurant, where they can serve adult beverages. It's a great way to cater to the wannabe artist in all of us. Especially those of us who can't even draw a decent stick figure...that would be me.

I have family members, who shall remain nameless lest they be forever humiliated by having their names associated with yours truly. They decided to take a road trip vacation, driving from Georgia (the state) to Dallas (the city...in a far away state). They're posting their comings and goings on FB and it's fun to see what they're doing on the way. I'll call them R&D, even though they have nothing to do with research and development, which, when I say the letters is the first thing that comes to mind. R is the husband and D's the wife...just in case it needs clarification at some point.

R has been a lifelong Dallas Cowboys fan...since the Staubach days...and that's a long time ago. D, his wife, is a Cowboys fan too. I'm not sure if she's really a true fan, or if it's just her way of surviving life with a Cowboys fan. In any case, she's nothing, if not a good sport...and quite possibly the nicest human being on the planet. No joke... she is the definition of "nice". Always. She's never an asshole.

Sometimes I wonder what that's like? Never being an asshole. Sadly, I'll never know. In an effort to be truthful, I'm really not that sad about it.

Being a really thoughtful husband, R booked a class for he & D at a local paint & sip place in Dallas. It was D's birthday and the class looked to be geared toward couples. I'm just guessin' at this because each of their "paintings" was half of a "Fall In Love" theme...with a fall colored maple leaf on a wood background.

These gigs always have a "theme" picture that everyone paints. Usually, in the area where I live, the class is sponsored by local vineyards and/or restaurants, or a combination of the two. It's good for both businesses, and everybody really does have a good time.

When you sign up, it's billed as a sip & paint complete with wine and snackage. The one I went to provided a tiny plastic cup of wine and dubious snackage...nothing that I would consider proper snackage. You know, like Triscuits or Wheat Thins alongside a cheese and salami tray? Or a big bowl of chips & salsa. No, this one had cheese, but it was weird cheese...the oddly flavored cheese favored by the granola eating crowd...cheese with pieces of "stuff" in it.

When the class starts, the instructor guides you through the creation of your masterpiece. If you finish the thimble sized glass of wine you can buy more, which almost everyone does. What amazed me was how serious everyone was about the painting. I was in the minority thinking that the whole painting thing was just an excuse to eat and drink...kind of like a Bunco game.

People were painstakingly trying to copy the instructors' exact brush strokes. I had to quit looking at my neighboring artist's paintings because they were obviously offended when I laughed. But it was funny...and really hard not to laugh. Here's a bunch of grown assed people thinking that what they were doing was so fabulous that hysterical laughter was verboten! There must be no mirth allowed during masterpiece creation!

When everyone was finished they were all so proud, showing off their paintings. Everyone was complimenting each other on how fabulous their pictures were. Honestly, I'd say 99.9% of the finished masterpieces looked like a kindergartner painted them. No shit.

Everybody thinks as they get older, they get smarter. Nobody gets smarter, they just learn more stuff. You're born smart or you're not. Some people are really, really smart, some people are moderately smart, and some people...are just the low watt bulbs.

There were a lot of pretty smart people in my painting class. All oohing and awwing over their paintings...smart people who should've been able to see with their own fucking eye holes that their painting abilities haven't improved since they were five years old...it's the Stoopidist Thing.

P.S. The class was fun and if you get the chance you should go. Just be sympathetic to oddballs, like me, who find it physically and emotionally impossible to contain their laughter at your toddler-like painting attempts.





Saturday, November 12, 2016

Some Things Just Make Me Laugh

Even when I'm sitting alone in the living room, sometimes I laugh out loud. Tonight, for example, I was watching a comedy show on TV. There were a bunch of different stand-up comics and one guy, Tony Roberts, made me laugh out loud.

Please forgive my eternal immaturity...it was about farting. He was talking about farting while you're sitting and having it come out like a bubble in your jeans. And I've had that happen!!! I started laughing out loud.

But I'm actually kinda curious about where it goes. I mean you can feel the bubble and it goes up or down the ol' butt crack. Does it pop? I've never heard the pop, and now that I think about it, I'm not really sure I've ever felt the pop either.  When I accidentally blow spit bubbles, there's a definite pop...which usually results in little spitlette droplettes going unplanned places. This is always embarrassing.

Fortunately, I've never had anyone around when this sort of fart bubble thing happened...and until I heard this guy joking about it, never really gave it much thought. Now that I know it's happening to other people, though, I'm gonna have to start asking some questions. Old Chix beware...

Like, for instance, if the bubble never popped, would there be no fart stink? Or, is the entire bubble composed of fart stink? If it's the latter, would that make it spread eau de flatulence all along its path? Would it be better to move a little in an effort to try to pop it and let things air out more quickly?

What if your jeans are too tight? Would that make an eterna-bubble that would never pop until you took your pants off? I mean, it would be okay if there was no stinkum until poppage had occurred. Of course, then you'd probably walk funny, like a penguin, trying to prevent poppage. Other bubble farters would probably recognize this poppage preventing gait and laugh, secretly, behind your back...or butt...thankful it wasn't them doing the penguin walk.

Do you think this is how the term "bubble butt" got started?

Obviously,I have way too much time on my hands...it's the Stoopidist Thing.

Saturday, November 5, 2016

Food Rubes

Have you ever had a friend who made you feel like an idiot? Maybe it was intentional or maybe it was completely unintentional. It happens. I'm sure I'm guilty too. I guess we probably all are at one time or another.

My friend, Char, who is famous for having undesirable snackage, likes Thai food. Not long ago she took one of her friends to a Thai restaurant where she thought the food was really good. Her friend was not impressed with the cuisine and made it clear that the food in the restaurant Char liked was sub-standard. In a nutshell, this friend told Char that if she ate Thai food at the place where the friend ate, Char would then know what "good" Thai food was.

"It was some Thai restaurant in Boise," Char said.

"Boise"? Unable to keep the WTF tone out of my voice as my head jerked around to look at her.

"Idaho?" thinking that maybe, just maybe, there could be a Boise somewhere in Thailand.

I mean, I might have been able to understand it if she'd said the best Thai food was in Bangkok, but Boise, Ida-fucking-ho??? Which is pretty much what I said.

"I know, huh," said Char, we were both laughing at this point, "It made me feel like such a rube".

I started laughing even more because "rube" isn't generally a term that's widely used these days.

"You're a Food Rube" I said, realizing that I, too, had similar experiences. "We're both Food Rubes."

Who would've thought that Boise Idaho was the Mecca of Thai cuisine? Certainly not Food Rubes like us. But then, we Food Rubes aren't generally known for our sophisticated palates, now, are we? If we were, we wouldn't be such a thing as Food Rubedom, would there?

Not to wax philosophical or anything like that, because, in addition to our unsophisticated palates, we Food Rubes aren't generally sought out for our philosophical genius, but it seems that good food is an individual palate matter.

Most people have preferences, spicy, mild, sweet, sour, hot, cold. It's kinda freeing having the unsophisticated palate of a Food Rube, and just be able to shove everything in the ol' pie hole at once, and call it good.

Living in the land of Food Rubedom allows one the freedom to think that KFC is the absolute "best" fried chicken in the world, or that a double Quarter Pounder with cheese is at the top of the burger ladder. Only a true Food Rube would think that peanut butter, lettuce...iceberg, of course...and mayonnaise on bread is a truly wonderful sandwich.

I'm always surprised by people who, when they were kids, loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or bologna sandwiches and then when they become adults, think they're inedible. When you ask them if they want one, they look at you like you just asked them to eat a dog shit sammie. Why is that? And they always make that scrunchy face...like they just smelled a fart or something really gross. All of us true Food Rubes know that face well, don't we? Or they do that ultra sophisticated "universal barf gesture" where they pretend they're sticking a finger down their throat and gag themselves.

Happily, one of the benefits of getting old is that you don't care so much what other people think. I mean, there are way worse things you could be than a Food Rube. You know, like a rapist, murderer, pedophile, or even, God forbid, a Food Snob...it's the Stoopidist Thing.