Snark on the Side

Wine Not?

Over the weekend, I headed outside the city to attend Raffaldini Vineyards’ Assemblaggio! Grande Riserva Trials. Wine blending? Why not?

For two hours, our group enjoyed the good company, savory wines, beautiful scenery, and lots of the laughter that accompanies untrained, amateur wine blending.

As part of the trial, each group had to invent a name for their new red blend. Although I won’t reveal our final choice, I know that English majors everywhere are cringing at the thought of the puns I kept to myself.

Here are some of the names that did not quite fit the day’s wine creations (wrong grapes, wrong regions, or just plain wrong):

Spamerlot – a bright English red, well-rounded, with a smooth finish.
Gren-and-Barberrit – France and Italy come together in this spicy blend.
Chamber Saint – in this blushing rosé, it’s Chambourcin on the other side of purgatory.
Temprature Controllo – this Spanish and Italian red blend warms you from head to toe.
Raisins d’êtrebbiano* – don’t let this introverted white wine fool you, she’s as metaphysical as they come.
Shakespeare’s Romerlot – a deep ruby wine with heavy tannins enough to pull the life from your lips.

*Not to borrow from the comic book band name.

This is what happens when they give me free roam of the words. All Othello breaks loose.

Scariest of All Pumpkins

This year, I decided to step up my game, so I carved the scariest Halloween pumpkin of all time.

…

The worst part is, They don’t even know…

The horror!

#EnglishMajor

A Whole New Scent

A few weeks ago, I discovered a horrifying fact: local stores have stopped carrying the particular scent of deodorant that I have used for years. And I’m sorry, but I have not yet reached the level of Internetsanity in which I will buy deodorant on Amazon.

No data After searching in vain through multiple stores, I made my selection and headed home, despondent.

Pomegranate and lemon verbana is not the same as grapefruit and lemongrass, Dove. It’s just not. In desperation, I tweeted the following:

But no one stepped up, so the Internet has left me with no choice.

Forgive me. I had to do it. For the lemongrass.

A Whole New Scent

I can show you the smells–
Solids, aerosoles, roll-ons.
Tell me, shopper, now when did
you last let your nose decide?

I can open your nose,
take you fragrance by fragrance,
odor, bouquet, and incense,
on a pheromonic ride

A whole new scent!
A new fantastic whiff of spice!
No more perspiring tell or ling’ring smell
that says I just left Frisbee…

A whole new scent!
A dazzling mist I never knew,
but when I’m shopping here, for Secret clear
I know I’m in a whole new scent, it’s true;
now I’m in a whole new scent with you.

Unbelievably Suave!
Indescribable dryness!
Soaring, tumbling, with arms high
through an endless, sleeveless sky,

A whole new scent!
(Don’t you dare leave white marks.)
A hundred thousand things to smell!
(Hold your breath, it gets better.)

I’m an olfactory star;
I’ve come so far;
I can’t go back
to where I used to be.

A whole new scent,
every whiff a surprise,
with new sense perceptions to pursue,
every moment gets better.

I’ll waft them anywhere;
there’s time to spare;
let me share this whole new scent with you.

A whole new scent–
that’s what I’ll wear–
so moisture-rich,
and anti-itch
for close-shaved hair.

Goals for Fall 2013

Welcome to the world, Fall 2013! I’ve been planning for your arrival, and I’ve got a full to-do list lined up next to your name.

1. Fall down less frequently.

Just because the leaves are doing it, doesn’t mean that I have to. In fact, I should probably let them have their moment of glory all by their lonesomes. It’s only fair.

Speaking of fair…

2. Feast on fair food.

Forget the lessons of the past 20 years. This is the year: my stomach will not hate me for the funnel cake, the giant turkey leg, or the deep-fried Oreos. I can feel it.

3. Finally finish the unread books pile.

I’m behind my game this year. I have read only 14 books so far in 2013. My typical year includes 40-60 new books. It’s time to step it up. (Can anyone recommend some good picture books? Do checkbooks count?)

4. Free my poetic genius.

The last poem I wrote was…umm…hang on…let me get back to you.

Yeah. It’s time.

…

I could go on, but I think that’s enough for starters. Long to-do lists are overwhelming. I have full confidence that this fall will be free of fealty to failure.

Who’s with me?

Bring it on, fall.

In-desk-ribable

The Snark is back!

(As I have written before, the summertime Snark retracts its claws, curls up on a sunny beach, and purrs for the bulk of July and August. September has just enough bite in the air to stir the Snark back to an active and crotchety state.)

Indeskribable (adj.) – the feeling of uncontrollably bubbling laughter that comes from a combination of personal accomplishment and sugar-and-caffeine overload.

In– (L. not, within) + discus (L. disc, flat surface) + ribb (the tickling of the ribs to produce laughter) or ribose (G. a pentose sugar important as a component of ribonucleic acid) + –abilis (L. capable of, worthy of).

I built a desk this weekend. Granted, the pieces came in a kit and were labelled with letters to match a detailed assembly guide, but I still feel accomplished for having successfully put it together in the correct order and with no major catastrophes other than dropping the whole thing on my toe, once, and on my head, once.

Oh, and I may have unintentionally trapped myself in the room by rearranging all of the furniture and blocking the door—after consuming four cups of coffee. Bad idea.

Oh, and I built the desk inside the room where it is now housed, and I may have to un-build it to get it out.

I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

In the meantime, I am enjoying the opportunity to look up words in a dictionary that fits beside me on the desk. I can answer e-mail, research Renaissance art, read Shakespeare, pay bills (ugh), and drink coffee all at the same time!

Can you tell that I work from home?

Office space is magical.

The Woman Behind the Curtain

Perhaps The Wizard of Oz was on my mind this week because I finally had the opportunity to watch Oz the Great and Powerful (James Franco, Michelle Williams, Mila Kunis) last weekend. At least, that’s what I like to think.

Whatever the reason, last night, a regrettable sequence of events gave new meaning to the famous line, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”

…

It had been a busy week for our heroine—let’s call her ‘Enjay’—and in the course of surviving it, some of her good habits had lapsed: habits such as, you know, well, eating meals at regular times, NOT drinking five cups of coffee in one afternoon, and the like.

On Thursday, when 5:30 rolled around, she set off for Ultimate Frisbee practice, having consumed at least five cups of coffee that day, having drunk very little water, and having not yet eaten dinner. All logical decisions, right?

8:00 rolled around. Practice was over, and she was feeling pretty spent. So what did this smart, Master’s degree-educated woman do? Not, go home and eat dinner like a (relatively) normal person. Not, chug 40 oz. of water to rehydrate. Oh no. She decided to go swing dancing at a local pub.

10:00 rolled around. Her feet hurt, but she had enjoyed reconnecting with friends and bustin’ out a move or two on the dance floor. Heart full, body tired, she headed home, desperately in need of a shower.

10:30. In the process of de-stinkifying. Slightly light-headed, but not too concerned about it. Floor of the shower stall gets soapy. Not paying attention. One foot lands on the base of the overly long shower curtain. Slow motion: “Am I really falling sideways? So tired. I’ll catch my balance here in a second. Nope. Still tumbling. Foot can’t slide any further that direction. Momentum. There goes the shower curtain. @$&*.”

THUD.

Maniacal laughter.

Pay no attention to that woman beneath the shower curtain.

No, really. Just ignore her. Better decisions next week.

Oh Where, Oh Where

Wanted: one brain, of moderate intelligence. Last seen: somewhere in the Sandhills region, not quite a week ago. Reward: the preservation of the unlucky humans who chance to come in contact with its owner.

Oh where, oh where
Has my little brain gone?
Oh where, oh where can it be?
With my pons in strife
leaving sleep lost again,
Oh where, oh where can he be?
I think he went down
By the lake last week
To see just what it could see,
And in the depths
Was a globe so bright,
The occipital lobe fled from me.

Oh where, oh where
Has my little brain gone?
Oh where, oh where can it be?
Now the axons feel doubt,
leaving thalamus blind.
Oh why, oh why can’t I see?

I last saw it in the south part of town
Where the cerebellum ran free
Now I just can’t stand up to find it again
I keep ending up on the ground
Perhaps my coworkers have some idea
They may have seen it go by
Who knows where
My brain might have chosen to go
But I’ve got to give it a try.

Oh where, oh where
Has my little brain gone?
Oh where, oh where can it be?
With no temporal lobe–
–I was saying, again?
Oh where, oh where can it be?

Have pity, cruel world.

(Original lyrics courtesy of KidSongs.com)

Happy Fourth of Julenteen!

…from Vincent Price.

“I sometimes feel that I’m impersonating the dark unconscious of the whole human race. I know this sounds sick, but I love it.”

“In art, religion, and politics the respect must be mutual, no matter how violent the disagreement.”

“Right now I am thinking of writing another cookbook. All cookbooks have a gimmick, and mine will be that it contains recipes that I have invented and named after famous people.”

‘Merica.

A Bar for All Types

Do you know what this town needs? I do, thanks to the good souls responsible for the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator.

I was driving home from a coffee shop today, musing about an empty building on Fourth Street, when it hit me. What this town needs is a bar that caters to the needs of both extroverts and introverts at the same time.

Yeah. That’s what’s missing.

For lack of a better name, I think I’ll call it Muddled Sprigs.

Let’s see…it will have to be a split-level bar, with quality insulation and sound control between the floors. Upstairs will be the Introverts Level, which will open at happy hour and provide a mug club for regulars. It will feature low lighting, panels that create numerous corners and nooks, and groups of chairs in ones and twos. Music will be quiet enough to permit conversation, but loud enough to prevent awkward silences, and there will be plenty of outlets for recharging iPhones.

There will be a small, selective quantity of books and games on re-purposed oak shelves, as well as plenty of colored bookmarks with a chart explaining that green means, “I’m here to meet people, but you’ll have to start the conversation,” yellow means, “If you know me already, feel free to approach,” and red means “No, seriously, I just want to be left alone.”

Downstairs, the Extroverts Level will open later and attracts a different crowd every night with the help of trivia nights, karaoke, cornhole, and darts. It will have a dance floor and a stage with plenty of room for live bands.

Tables and bar stools will be round and mobile, easily grouped together in various arrangements. The bartenders will be chatty and mingle with the patrons when they’re not pouring drinks. The line for the bathrooms will be right next to the bar, making it easy to strike up a conversation with strangers while you wait.

Now, bear in mind that there are no specific restrictions at Muddled Sprigs: you don’t have to put on an “I” or “E” name tag when you walk in the door (all of the introverts would leave immediately). You can be in an introvert mood one evening and an extrovert mood the next. We cater to the 50-50 Types as well as the 100% introverts.

That being said, signs on the doors of the Introvert Level strongly caution extroverts from attempting to pick up dates there without proper training. Management cannot be responsible for injuries that may accrue in the process, and the resulting lawsuit would ruin a fledgling business, even one born from a fundamental truth such as this one.

I would go there.

How about you? What does your personality type require from the ideal bar?

Violation: Delay of Coffee

Mistake #1 that you should never make on a Thursday: waiting until noon for the first cup of coffee.

Fine motor skills are the first thing to go. By 9:45, typing “the” is more difficult than typing “onomatopoeia.”

Next is the ability to communicate. By 10:30, enunciating the phrase “book of stamps” is more difficult than speaking in ancient Greek.

The final blow occurs when your brain loses the ability to distinguish between human beings and inarticulate felines. By 11:15, you begin to sing “It’s a Fine Life” from Oliver (not the animated version) to the impatient cat, who harmonizes with you on the high notes.

If you take a bow to the mailman after this impromptu duet, you have passed beyond the realm of recovery. May God have mercy on your soul.

Lesson of the day: if you are not a morning person, make coffee. Drink coffee. And revel in the carcinogenic functionality that this wonder-cure provides.