“What are you giggling at Ruth?”
“I was just remembering this silly television commercial.”
“Weren’t they all silly?”
“Well yes but this one wasn’t that silly, it was just the acting. It was for this computer pad, or e-reader or something, and this guy pushes the help button and a real person appears on the screen.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember that one.”
“And both the guy’s reaction and her laugh at his reaction were just so fake.”
“I don’t really remember that.”
“Well it doesn’t matter, it just made me think about how you could always tell the real people on Earth from the ones that were fake by stuff like that. You know, a fake laugh or smile or compliment.”
“Yeah, it’s nice that everyone here is so happy and joyous. No reason to be phony.”
“That’s just it—what if they’re all faking it?”
Weekly random thoughts. Since I’m self-employed it’s my version of water cooler talk: no one to talk to so it goes out to cyberspace.
It seems like a Hero sandwich should contain less calories.
I wonder if the bird that went “cuckoo for cocoa puffs” ever got therapy or medication?
I’ll bet cacti have gentle souls.
I think it would be great, even if only for a day, if when someone took to Twitter the only thing that came out, for anyone, would be the real tweeting sound of a bird.
I wonder if aliens haven’t landed yet because they really were ‘little green men’ and they’re waiting for evolution to change that, since the surprise is ruined.
Late last night I read with a flashlight under my blanket, but without someone telling me to go to bed it was just really sad.
I’m so old I thought the World Cup was some kind of decorative holder for the globe.
The creators of the movie Frozen must be really glad they didn’t listen to the studios that wanted a beach theme.
Jesus must be mad like every kid whose birthday is Christmas.
I bet octopi hate that other animals think they should be more productive.
Today is my brother’s birthday. Although some might say “would be,” he truly is with me all the time. I think of him laughing and think of what he might say, the only thing missing is the punch in the arm.
I decided I wanted to write something that I knew would make him laugh. He was not a fan of rap music, so I present…
It began in a small town near Madison, Wisconsin when Camp Missawaka’s musical director reported that all of the kids that came for the summer from nearby wealthy Illinois suburbs suddenly wanted to play the tuba. By the time that he had visited all the possible music stores in the immediate area the news had spread and the local news was interviewing them for their evening broadcast. The kids were well behaved and Mr. Schmechel kept merely throwing his arms in the air and shaking his head.
The effect spread quickly, like some alien invasion in the movies. Boys turned around their ball caps and lined up outside the Gap for belts to keep their pants up. Girls traded in their and their boyfriend’s gold chains for money for college. And girls suddenly, and would never again, tweak and boys stopped saying “yo, yo.”
And it was because, for no apparent reason, no one wanted to listen to rap music anymore. They just didn’t want to swear and they didn’t want to yell, and they didn’t want to pretend to understand the lyrics to look cool. Suddenly guys in their 40s were trying to be rap stars and act young and collectively their entire audience realized that was fu—excuse me, messed up.
Kids started to sing. They clapped a rhythm instead of sampling one. They rode with the car radio turned to NPR.
And although their parents were relieved to not have to listen to the music, they were worried. Counselors, therapists, politicians all wanted to know. But all the former fans could say was “That’s a rap.”
“I just realized I haven’t gotten a tweet, haven’t read a blog or internet magazine, haven’t turned on the news in two weeks.”
“Feels good doesn’t it?”
“Fantastic. Everything I thought mattered doesn’t. I don’t have to know what’s going on.”
“Nope, you just be.”
“Wow, does that ever get old…I mean not knowing?”
“I miss the site weather girls.”