1. An in-depth discussion about the rings around Uranus.
2. How creationists evolved from formerly rational thinkers - a theory of mutation.
3. The story of an otherwise obscure scientist who set out to prove the Theory of Predictability but ended up discovering Irony instead.
I’ve developed a show that’s the exact opposite of The Voice. Attractive contestants come out while the celebrity judges stare directly at them.
Then the contestants begin singing really poorly and the celebrity judges’ chairs swivel around while the judges put their fingers in their ears.
I don’t know what happens next but the show will be called “The Price Is Right” or something cool like that.
I live in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. The neighborhood has become a lot more integrated of late, with a large number of Asian and Russian families moving in. However, in some places it is still an Italian enclave, and at times, can appear like an outtake of Goodfellas.
Today, I was dispatched by my wife and her friend to buy them a prosciutto and mozzarella (or “mutz” in the local parlance) sandwich on Italian bread. I entered a local delicatessen (or salumeria, for you traditionalists) and placed my order, which was nicknamed “The Frank Sinatra” on the large menu that hung over the counter.
After the sandwich was prepared, I took it to the register to pay. A short, stout middle-aged man (OK, let’s call him Vinnie) stood behind the register. The sandwich was $13 dollars (I know it’s expensive, but hey, it’s fresh mutz) but I only had 12. I did have a credit card, but the minimum for charging food was $15.
I looked at Vinnie sheepishly. I asked if he could make an exception on the minimum for credit card orders and he just waved me off and took the cash I had. I headed home with the sandwich feeling guilty. And a little worried.
When I got home, I gave my wife and her friend their food, asked for a dollar and headed back to the delicatessen. I went up to the register and handed Vinnie the bill. He didn’t seem shocked that I had returned. In fact, he appeared as if he expected it.
I left the delicatessen feeling more than a little relieved. I know it’s not right to perpetuate stereotypes, but I couldn’t risk winding up on someone else’s sandwich under a layer of fresh mutz.
A couple of blocks from my house, on the far end of 13th Avenue, is a corner store location.
In the past couple of years, it has been a restaurant, a wedding video company, another restaurant and, yes, another restaurant. And yet, a month or 2 after opening, each establishment would close, ostensibly because it didn’t make any money. To be truthful, my neighborhood does not need another restaurant, wedding video company or even another restaurant.
Well, I was walking past the location today and I noticed that a new establishment was opening soon.
It’s going to be a small business development office. I think we need one of those.
So I see they’re installing 2 new saints today. That brings the total number to something like 823. Man, that’s a lot of righteous people. I would have guessed the number wasn’t much higher than 16.
According to scripture, in order to become Saint, one has to perform at least 1 verifiable miracle. Between you and me, the fact that I haven’t been audited by the IRS in 30 years should qualify, given my suspect math. But thankfully, this cannot be verified by anyone. Um, I mean until now.
It seems that the quality of miracles being performed by would-be saints has dropped in recent times. Back in the good ol’ days, people would part red seas, raise the dead, and feed a large group of people with a single loaf of bread.
Nowadays, not hitting or cursing at someone on the morning train commute qualifies.
I think the best part of being a saint would be being named the Patron Saint of something. When I become a saint—notice how I didn’t say, if—I will be named the Patron Saint of Humility. It’s only fitting.
Interestingly, the Jewish faith does not mention much about saints. We’re more into prophets, it appears. Jewish scripture mentions both major and minor prophets. Major prophets would predict 40 years of famine or that some miscreants will build a heinous Idol of a calf right in God’s own backyard. The minor prophets were prone to state things like, “I knew you were going to say that!” and “Looks like it’s going to rain soon.”
Anyway, a big hosanna to the new saints in the Roman Catholic faith. I’m sure you were both great guys and we sure need more of them to offset the doofuses, douchebags and tools that abound on this Earth.
I’m looking at you, Guy Fiery, if you haven’t already burst into flames by this time.
In order to reduce my intake of processed food products, I decided to have honey in my tea tonight instead of sugar.
Then it hit me.
I was eating something THAT WAS MADE BY BUGS.
It’s like I’m on an episode of ‘Survivor’ here.
On Cosmos, Neil DeGrasse Tyson stated that when we look at stars in the sky we are not seeing them as they are in the present. Nay, due to the time that light takes to reach our eyes from the stars’ great distances, we are actually seeing what they were like millions of years ago.
By extension, when we look at each other we are not seeing what the other person looks like at the present moment, but at some moment in the past.
All I have to say to all of you is, man, you have really let yourself go.
Planning to watch Cosmos tonight in order to learn what sort of evolutionary mutation is responsible for a sentient subset of rabbits bearing eggs in baskets.