Have you ever seen a sign, Dear Reader? One of those harbingers of 'something' that makes your hair stand on end, your chest rattle, your index finger point in rude fashion at some thing in the distance?
Posts from the ‘Random’ Category
Okay, this is a rerun of sorts. But, I haven’t done a post like this one in a while, and it is late. I just spent the evening with a woman I’ve known for ten years who I have tons of things in common with and did not manage to figure this out until just now. So, I spent more time working on that tonight than my blog.
Still, the good Googlers of the world did not fail to disappoint me. It is almost 1AM, and I am rabidly checking my blog stats for yesterday. Because this blog has no consistent theme and is about nothing really, I manage to aggregate some, *ahem,* colorful search terms.
Especially given the title.
So, let’s celebrate the preposterous things people spend their time looking up online.
“What is porn?”
Really? Someone on earth doesn’t know what porn is? REALLY? Did this person put this search term into Google to thwart some spouse or partner, to cover their tracks somehow?
“Gave up porn for Lent“
Wow. That’s commendable. How have you been confessing the whole porn thing the rest of the year? Do you fail to mention that when you go? How does that work, exactly?
“Can you snort Batherapy lavender?”
I suppose you can snort pretty much anything you like. But WHY? WHY?
“Why can’t I just marry myself?”
If you are asking this question – seriously – you are the only person who would have you.
“What is sculpture?”
How does Google know what sculpture is? How does anybody? I mean, I think the piles of paper on my desk have a sculptural element, but no art critic would agree with me.
“Amber Deutsch Law”
Amber, someone is looking to hire you. I wish I could tell you how to find them.
“No bathing during Lent”
Dear God. I hope I don’t know who you are, though I can probably smell you from here.
“My mom and dad doing it”
Oh my stars. Was THAT person disappointed.
Anyone have any interesting/colorful/ridiculous search terms to share?
Too Much is Just Enough: A Good Laugh
My admission today is in no way meant to offend those readers who observe different holidays around this time of year. But, I just have to say it somewhere, and it might as well be here.
I love Christmas music. Love. It. I listen to it. All. Year. Long. I sing silly songs at the top of my voice – in the car; in the shower; while working at my desk; walking down the street. I don’t care what anyone thinks. It all just makes me happy, happy, happy.
We own more Christmas music than any other genre, a whole shelf dedicated to the stuff. Surprisingly, very little of it overlaps. We could likely play tunes for hours without hearing the same one twice.
That’s because a lot of it is weird, admittedly. The Reindeer Room. The Pet Shop Boys. French carols. Medieval music. When many folks visit during the holidays, they wonder when I’m actually going to start playing the Christmas music I crow about so much, even though I’ve been playing it all along.
This song is my latest obsession. I recorded it the other day, and I have no idea what it is called or where to get it. It’s a song that just can’t help but make anyone smile.
So, living up to the responsibility of delivering a new post “Every. Single. Day.” has gotten to our fearless blogger. She lies asleep as this post writes itself, possibly dreaming of the most surreal tweet-up her subconscious can concoct.
As she has had a difficult week of largely sleepless nights, the I Cilantro Cilantro blog’s bete noire—MTM—dare not beckon her from her sleep.
So Monday, the blog will have to write itself. Or, the blog’s readers will have to write it for her….That’s right, you. For one day, I Cilantro Cilantro will become a version of the telephone game, in which the blog post will grow organically within the lines of the comment section. Readers are invited to contribute one line, or many one-liners, building upon what everyone else contributes.
And to keep it interesting, you are asked only to contribute two sentence fragments: the first fragment will be to complete the previous comment’s sentence fragment; and the second will be the beginning of a new sentence, that the subsequent commenter will finish. Make sense?
By way of illustration, building upon a recent fragment “I’m really not a witch…” a commenter might say “…but I would love to be able to cast spells. My first spell would be…” and then the next commenter would pick it up and carry it forward. I hope you will all feel some responsibility for picking it up and running with it. While the topics can range far and wide, remember that it is the I Cilantro Cilantro blog that is writing itself, so you are encouraged to echo back our fearless blogger’s unique voice.
So, to start it off, the Blog Post That Writes Itself begins with the first words from the title of the very first I Cilantro Cilantro:
Why a blog about….
Ah, Autumn. That glorious time of year when we try to ignore the perpetual par-tay going on in our neighborhood, flinging our upstairs door open at night to let the not-watered-down air waft in while we sleep.
WHEN we sleep. It isn’t easy to get much shut-eye when people are talking on the sidewalk in front of the house at 5AM. It sounds more like they’re in bed with us, a particularly creepy sensation when the conversation is being had by two men, one of whom is obviously a cop.
I don’t think I dreamed this up in the wee hours. MTM, who rises earlier than anyone I’ve ever met, confirmed that he heard the mumblings from his drafting table in the front bedroom, too. The conversation was hilarious. It went something like this.
DUDE: Officer, I can’t find my car.
COP: Is this where you parked it, Sir?
DUDE: It was around, um, 2 when I parked it. I THINK I parked it here.
COP: Uh-huh. Pause. Sir, do you believe your car has been stolen?
DUDE: Um, dunno. It just isn’t here anymore.
DUDE sounds like he is peering around frantically, throwing his voice all over the place.
COP: Are you sure this is where you parked it, Sir?
DUDE: It LOOKS familiar.
Another pregnant pause.
DUDE: Um. Yes.
Impatience now creeps into COP’s voice.
COP: Sir, do you know your license plate number so that we can trace the vehicle?
DUDE is clearly taxing his brain here.
DUDE: Nope. Don’t know it.
COP: Sir, why were you parking your car in this neighborhood at 2AM if you don’t live here?
DUDE, instantaneous response: I’mnotbuyingdrugs.
COP, in intimidating “I can arrest you” tone: Sir, who were you visiting in this neighborhood?
COP: Can you point out the house, Sir? Is it on this block? Do you even know WHERE you are, Sir?
DUDE: I, um, can’t remember. I just need to find my car………
COP: Sir, exactly how do you want me to help you?
DUDE, excited: Maybe, um, you can ride me around the neighborhood in your police car? I might, you know, find MY car that way?
COP snickers audibly at this preposterous suggestion.
COP: Oh, I’ll give you a ride in my car, Sir. Why don’t you just follow me now.
And so off they walked, with COP likely cuffing DUDE in the process and carting his drunken and/or high rear-end to the slammer. This whole scene left me wondering….
Why doesn’t everyone want to live in Radcliffeborough?