Drink the panda’s ale!
(I guess I had forgotten
That pandas could fly.)
I like it when pancakes happen.
I like it when pancakes don’t.
I could use one to chisel a map in,
But I won’t.
I like it when pancakes steeple.
I like it when pancakes slant.
I’d make pancakes for all of the people,
But I can’t.
I like it when pancakes given.
I like it when pancakes got.
You may think that by pancakes I’m driven,
But I’m not.
No, really. I mean, they’re just pancakes.
Did last year seem to blast by a little too quickly for anyone else?
I wrote The Amber Ring in 2012, and it is now 2014 – this realization makes me feel…less productive than I should like. I suppose I did write a screenplay last year, but it still needs another couple rounds of revisions before it could be considered finished.
I’m not really one for resolutions; they’re prone to be a source of either stress or disappointment (or, more likely, both). But perhaps there’s little harm in simply naming a few things I’d like to accomplish this year. That way, they’re out there, so I’ll feel properly shamed if I don’t live up to the task, but not so burdened with self-loathing as I would were I to say with definitive ardor that they will be done.
There you have it, then. I’d be happy to cross even one or two of these off, really. So we’ll see what happens.
Here’s hoping for a productive and enjoyable year for everyone!
The other week at KFC,
The clerk gave me a cake for free;
It looked so moist and chocolatey,
This ridgy little round.
But when I took it home with me
And set it on my grocery,
It slid off as I turned the key
And smashed against the ground.
Goldfish Mac & Cheese?
Beware, my friends – it’s a trap;
Sadness lives in here.
I suppose I should start by saying that I’m not a big fan of dry-box macaroni and cheese (really, Stouffer’s frozen stuff is the only pre-made kind of any sort I find to be worthwhile). The other day at the grocery, however, I saw that Pepperidge Farm had decided to throw its hat into the game, and at that very moment I was apparently hungry enough to think, “Hey, Pepperidge Farm makes some really good stuff (mmm, Milanos), so this might actually be decent!” It was a long day, and Goldfish Crackers in creamy pasta-y form sounded kind of good, all right?
…stop judging me. (>^-‘)>
Anyway, I was feeling adventurous enough to try the “pizza” kind, so I whipped up a batch thereof. The smell…was frightening.
And then…and then I tasted it.
Now, I don’t know in whose mind this substance could taste like pizza. Or cheese. Or food, for that matter. No, the flavor was more akin to dark, tangy, bitter misery. To wit, if you were to subtractively combine Top Ramen with Totino’s party pizzas, this would taste cheaper still. I tried to drown it out with pepper and garlic, but even so I was only able to stomach a few bites before throwing the rest away – something I am typically loath to do with any food, no matter how inexpensive.
But as those few bites sat upon my tongue, I found myself wondering who “Goldfish Mac & Cheese” could possibly be for, as I was unable to imagine any person who would simultaneously actually exist and enjoy its taste. Even if I were to expand my consideration to theoretical people, and the basis for one such theoretical person (from which all other characteristics were derived) proposes that he is someone who would enjoy “Goldfish Mac & Cheese”, I can only conclude that he would also hate it. It just made me angry at food in general for the rest of the day.
So I guess all I’m really trying to say is that, if you happen to find yourself in a position where you might consider putting Pepperidge Farm’s “Goldfish Mac & Cheese” into your body, well, you’ve just got to not do it, that’s all.
Brownies infused with
Graham crackers and marshmallow
Make a tasty thing
If life hands you lemons, say “Thanks, life!”, ’cause lemons are good!
Somewhere in a field of snow
An ermine scampered to and fro.
She was a small but steady thing,
And Emmy was her name.
With fur as white as table salt
(Her tail-tip the only fault),
She zipped unseen along the ground
Whose color was the same.
Now, Emmy served a magic cat –
But, oh, let’s not get into that.
We’re merely speaking of her quest
To find her favorite fruit.
She’d buried one just months before
Beneath the forest’s earthy floor,
Yet now the turn of weather was
Impeding her pursuit.
She dug right here and dug right there
Until at last a yellow glare
Revealed itself to her within
The endless sea of white.
A squeak of joy escaped the throat
Of Emmy the triumphant stoat;
She snatched the lemon up and couldn’t
Wait to take a bite.
She licked her lips and closed her eyes
And sank her fangs into her prize,
But when the juice beset her tongue,
The ermine was distraught.
Without another sip she frowned
And tossed the fruit back to the ground,
Then turned and sulked away and grumbled,