Unimportant updates.

There is nothing important to update, but lots of little things.

Most of you said to shut my yap about jinxing things. You were right. In fact, just by mentioning it, I jinxed it. The appliance in question was my espresso machine that needs a new tank gasket. Which is all of $4 and 30 minutes out of my life, granted, but I was really hoping to avoid this. (It dribbles a little bit, but if left too long to its dribbleage, it soon becomes something requiring a towel.)

File that under "Lessons Learned The Hard Way."

I have found a most excellent source of KFP Coke. The first place I went had a complete run on them, to my dismay. Yesterday, however, I chanced to stop by another place -- they are not that far from each other, incidentally, so the demographics should be the same -- and they had veritable oceans of the stuff, languishing. They even had them in the special Kosher section of the store, with a big sign in Hebrew and English and the imprimatur of some official rabbi. No takers. Either that neighborhood is littered with anti-Semites, is a branch office of the Gaza strip, or it's up to the eyeballs in lapsed Jews. I kid you not. I could have filled the loading bay of my wife's minivan with the KFP Coke thrice over.

Stunned by this stroke of good fortune, I neglected to see if they had them in the small glass bottles, which is the optimal Coke delivery system.

File under "Live and learn."

On the matter of dishes and so forth, my beloved keeps reminding me that, when we married, we put on our bridal registry a certain pattern of "fine china" (in sharp contradistinction to our "everyday" china) and in the almost 16 years of wedded bliss we have not eaten the first crumb off this china. Ditto the sterling, and the crystal. Does that stop me from pouncing when I see a new something in our pattern? No. It does not. Shortly before the world ended, I managed to secure an espresso set in our (discontinued!) china pattern.

File under "How Am I Married?" or "Starting to sense a pattern, here."

And unrelated to anything (again) and with the foreknowledge this will cause an unwelcome spike in my Google numbers, I have to make a comment about sluts.

Yes, sluts.

By this I don't mean the original* Dickensian definition of the term (a slovenly, unkempt woman, IIRC) but the common, everyday definition popularly assigned thereto.

Now, there was a point in my life (ca. 1978 - 1991) when my views on sluts were broadminded and enlightened and -- on this point I took infinite pride -- quite progressive. Sluts migrated throughout the countryside and I said "let them" while still realizing that migration was not the primary activity of the slut. It's not far from the truth that I viewed their doings (migratory and otherwise) with benevolence and kindliness.

The age of [spit]disco[/disco] encouraged slutfulness. Conscripted by the zeitgeist many became sluts, if not in a fully committed sense, at least to one degree or another. Certainly the ├Žsthetic was eagerly adopted. Let's pencil this in as the Golden Age of the Slut. If you are reading this, of course, you are almost certainly a wordly person. Modern, in the best sense of the word. You needn't be given much in the way of detail as to how one may spot someone who, with a great degree of confidence, may be considered to be a 2009 Edition Practicing** Slut.


While my views on slutlery have -- there's no getting around it -- narrowed somewhat noticeably in the last few years, I am still libertarian enough to live-and-let-live. So this whole preamble leads to nothing more than a statement of opinion. Here it is:

If you are going to be a slut -- or at least array yourself in such a way where slutivity will automatically be imputed upon you -- be mindful of your age. Be a slut all you want, just recognize that the calling card, as it were, for a woman, say, in her early 50s who was at the supermarket (studiously avoiding KFP Coke for all I know) is not the same as it would be for the same specimen in her 20s. You can look like an age appropriate*** slut. It's not an oxymoron.

If you don't heed this advice, don't complain when NOS and his friends -- innocently loading KFP Coke into the shopping trolley -- look at you as something a Martian dragged in. And prompting some rather unusual questions.

That is all.


* English, not having a governing body, has a marvelous ability to evolve and morph. As opposed to Spanish or French which are far more rigid.

** There are many former sluts. Which is fine.

*** An awareness of the ever-greater effect of gravity on one's person, for example.


MsCellania said…
A GASKET?! You finagled with fate for a phacking gasket?! I was expecting another infamous score, not a repair job. You are the MAN of the house; repair is your LIFE.
You know the bar-hopping slut look was a backlash from some of us being forced to dress man-ish, with button down shirts, suits and TIES. You know, so we would get the respect of our fellow mailroom-at-the-lawfirm-workers...My sluttish apparel was in the form of skin-tight lycra, leg warmers and scrunchies for the Big Hair. But I wore the above to my daily workout after work--too broke for the bar scene.
We have The Aged Slut Look next door, along with a botched face lift. It's actually sad. You should post some of those young-uns' questions!
Hey - I caught Oldest going for the homeboy look - baggy pants barely hanging on hip bones! I snatched those suckers off him and SEWED the waist smaller. Over My Dead Body, while he's under this roof...
What's the wedding china pattern?
Badger said…
So I should quit shopping at Frederick's of Hollywood and pony up for the fancy Victoria's Secret stuff? Is that what you're saying?
Joke said…
You should not forego foundation garments, definitely. And having a bare midriff with a navel ring attached to a chain heading All Points North is bad.

If your chest cannot be described as "pert" then you may wish to further reconsider obvious nipple rings.

I'm just sayin'.


P.S. The repair had been effected, I was hoping I would be able to get away with the cheap-and-easy.
Joke said…
P.P.S. If an espresso machine repair can be jinxed, be assured I'll STFU about anything else until it's signed, sealed and delivered.
shula said…
my machine drips requiring a towel.

am I to reasonably assume that I need a gasket, then?

I am tolerant of sluts, less so of Slut Fads, and think the pussycat dolls have a lot to answer for. There is nothing groovy about pole-dancing if you're under 15, more than 5 feet wide, or over 50.

That is all.

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