Pasta Hoarding.


In our house, there is a delicate balance between not having enough pasta, and having way too much pasta.
I’m not a list maker . . . Sort of a maverick when it comes to shopping. . . So at the grocery store, while staring at the rows of pasta, I try to remember if I was last angry because we didn’t have enough of the right kind of pasta, or angry because the supply of pasta was enough for the whole county.
When in doubt, buy pasta . . . Although it can lead to a cupboard that looks like this.


As I surf through the blogosphere, I’ve noticed there seems to be quite a few poetry blogs. I have never really given poetry much thought, but reading some of the posts on these blogs has inspired me.

So here is my first attempt at a poem other than being forced to write a haiku in sixth grade:

My Blogging Poem

I wish that I didn’t
have to work every day
I wish that my blog
would earn me my pay

I’d wake up at noon
and eat a Pop Tart
Then sit down and write
my daily brain fart

Every post that I’d write
would make people cheer
In the mail the next day
a check would appear

To realize this dream
I think that the key
is seven million readers
devoted to me

So please do your part
and insist to your friends
that they all become
my means to an end

Signs of Middle Age . . . . sigh.

Some unexpected events and signs that I have now reached middle age:

1. I don’t know why or how, but at some point after reaching the age of forty, I began to catch myself walking around with my zipper down. It’s not like it never happened in my youth, but the frequency it happens now is alarming. I don’t know if it is the onset of dementia, or perhaps the jeans that I so proudly buy at the thrift store for pennies on the dollar are there in the first place because of mechanical failure.

2. I nearly got into a fist fight with a friend who casually mentioned that it had been 31 years since Van Halen released their album 1984. I argued that his statement was ridiculous and that it didn’t seem that long ago that the cassette had arrived in the mail with my other eleven albums that I had purchased for one penny. It wasn’t until I actually did the math that I had to apologize for my insolence:

“If that album was 31 years old, it would have had to have been released in nineteeeeen eighteeeee. . . . . four.”

1984. Just like it says right their on the cover.

3. The last two times that I caught a woman staring at me like she thought I was attractive, I later found out that one time I had a booger hanging, and the second time I had forgotten to finish shaving the left side of my face.

4. This morning when I woke up and began walking to the bathroom, I realized that I was walking the same way I used to walk when I was making fun of old people.

5. And finally, an embarrassing and personal one that I can’t figure out how it could be caused by middle age, but I can’t deny the onset around the age forty.

When I wake up and go to the bathroom for the first time in the morning, what normally used to be one stream, is now sometimes two streams that end up on either side of the toilet. It happens enough that I know that by quickly turning slightly to the left, I can adjust my aim so that one stream lands in the toilet, and the other lands in the bathtub which is next to the toilet.

Trying new things.

I woke up this morning and decided that today I would try something new, something bold and adventuresome. I was going to break from the norm.

So I put Cranberry juice in the Keurig instead of water . . . .

Sometimes trying something new and bold and adventuresome doesn’t turn out very well. There is obviously a reason that coffee is made with water.

Luckily, I gave the first cup to my wife.