History does not record the existence of a single Canadian who has not wished his nation had a bit of tropical diversity.
As chilliness North of Niagara would have it, Ottawa has had an ongoing freeze-on, freeze-off relationship with the relatively trendy Province of Quebec, that charming faux-French survival of the Sun King’s proud misjudgments about the importance of the new world.
Now, Canadian legislators have given voice to the sunny idea, Let’s see if we can swap the independent-minded province for Florida.
The offer comes at a particularly opportune time, as a result of the unusually severe hurricanes that have been selecting the Sunshine State as a favorite destination.
The Bush administration has agreed to consider the proposal but admits that there are certain difficulties. For instance, the President will have to explain to his brother and closet presidential wannabe, Jeb, that he’s now a Canadian and can no longer run for President.
To make the loss of their palm-treed haven more palatable to Americans, the Canadians have volunteered to teach everybody in Florida how to speak French. Once, they reason, Florida is enlivened with the sounds of bon jour and merci beaucoup, the switch will seem as uneventful as just swapping one champagne and brie festooned place for another.
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta funny. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta funny. Mostrar todas las entradas
domingo, 14 de noviembre de 2010
sábado, 13 de noviembre de 2010
Book Of Judas Finds Publisher; Record Wait Took 1700 Years
The Book of Judas, penned by the much maligned apostle himself, has finally found a publisher, at the end of a long search that ended at The National Geographic Society.
No, it’s not Random House or Knopf. But, hey, after a 1700-year wait, any publisher is bound to come as good news.
Now, Judas can at long last be assured that the world will know his side of the story, in which he portrays himself, as author’s are prone to do, in a much more favorable light than tradition has placed him. According to the author, while he was the apostle who betrayed Jesus, he was actually Christ’s favorite apostle and was chosen by Jesus to do the reprehensible deed, so Jesus could fulfill what he considered to be his destiny.
So, as if we didn’t have enough reconsider, now we have to reevaluate our estimate of Judas. Was he really just being Christ’s obedient assistant?
We must sympathize with the most devout adherents to the New Testament. What are they to make of Judas’s revised version of the betrayal?
We assume there will be no shortage of debate.
Nor can we, even if we wish, refuse to acknowledge that a certain reluctance to accept the new author’s version will be due to the unfortunate timing of the publication, since the hopes of the world are presently encumbered by the recent parade of people in the Middle East who seem to think that their destiny requires them to seek their own deaths.
No doubt the author would have preferred a more auspicious time for his book to appear, ideally, of course, way back when it might still have at least have had some chance of getting into The Bible.
No, it’s not Random House or Knopf. But, hey, after a 1700-year wait, any publisher is bound to come as good news.
Now, Judas can at long last be assured that the world will know his side of the story, in which he portrays himself, as author’s are prone to do, in a much more favorable light than tradition has placed him. According to the author, while he was the apostle who betrayed Jesus, he was actually Christ’s favorite apostle and was chosen by Jesus to do the reprehensible deed, so Jesus could fulfill what he considered to be his destiny.
So, as if we didn’t have enough reconsider, now we have to reevaluate our estimate of Judas. Was he really just being Christ’s obedient assistant?
We must sympathize with the most devout adherents to the New Testament. What are they to make of Judas’s revised version of the betrayal?
We assume there will be no shortage of debate.
Nor can we, even if we wish, refuse to acknowledge that a certain reluctance to accept the new author’s version will be due to the unfortunate timing of the publication, since the hopes of the world are presently encumbered by the recent parade of people in the Middle East who seem to think that their destiny requires them to seek their own deaths.
No doubt the author would have preferred a more auspicious time for his book to appear, ideally, of course, way back when it might still have at least have had some chance of getting into The Bible.
viernes, 12 de noviembre de 2010
Basketball For Short People: Basket To Be Lowered
Since the 1950s, when short but fast players had a chance of making it onto a professional court – such as the legendary Bob Cousy of the Boston Celtics, known for startling innovations like dribbling and passing behind the back – the sport has been dominated by ever taller athletes, starting with the arrival of Wilt, The Stilt, Chamberlain.
Now, The National Basketball Association has come to realize that the trend to tall has demoralized people of who fall within the usual range of human height and that it has positively devastated short people.
Compared to the slam-dunking ways of the seven footers, these distressed athletes just can’t get people interested in watching them hoop it up. As a result, interest in the game as a participation sport has waned, and the association is concerned that, as fewer people work up their excitement about playing it, fewer of them will pay to see it.
In an effort to return basketball to the widely poplar place it held in the minds and hearts of the American public before it became the exclusive province of players whose mothers are suspected of stretching them as infants, the association is considering legitimizing a court just for people of average height, with a special accommodation for shorter people. The basic plan calls for the basket to be lowered by one foot for players from 5’ 6” to 6’ 6” and two feet for people who are even shorter but still imagine slam-dunking the ball and hanging from the hoop in a celebratory manner.
When the new rules go into effect, virtually everyone will finally be able to play the game in as dramatic a fashion as today’s seven footers.
For now the plan calls for limiting the innovation to amateur players, but the association confides that if fans once again take an interest in watching average-size people play the game, there is the potential to establish an entire new league, made up of speed merchants who are only eye-high to a current pro’s elbows.
Now, The National Basketball Association has come to realize that the trend to tall has demoralized people of who fall within the usual range of human height and that it has positively devastated short people.
Compared to the slam-dunking ways of the seven footers, these distressed athletes just can’t get people interested in watching them hoop it up. As a result, interest in the game as a participation sport has waned, and the association is concerned that, as fewer people work up their excitement about playing it, fewer of them will pay to see it.
In an effort to return basketball to the widely poplar place it held in the minds and hearts of the American public before it became the exclusive province of players whose mothers are suspected of stretching them as infants, the association is considering legitimizing a court just for people of average height, with a special accommodation for shorter people. The basic plan calls for the basket to be lowered by one foot for players from 5’ 6” to 6’ 6” and two feet for people who are even shorter but still imagine slam-dunking the ball and hanging from the hoop in a celebratory manner.
When the new rules go into effect, virtually everyone will finally be able to play the game in as dramatic a fashion as today’s seven footers.
For now the plan calls for limiting the innovation to amateur players, but the association confides that if fans once again take an interest in watching average-size people play the game, there is the potential to establish an entire new league, made up of speed merchants who are only eye-high to a current pro’s elbows.
Baby Boomers Moderate Exercise; Notice Scarcity of Seniors In Marathons
Baby boomers, who exercise more than any generation before them, have been flocking to orthopedic surgeons to tend to their aching tendons and joints.
As news of the growing need for surgical intervention spread, a number of boomers have found the willpower to moderate the intensity of their workout routines.
Personal experience has also confirmed the wisdom of moderation. For example, one inveterate marathoner was shocked by the surprising perception that there were not a lot of senior citizens dashing across the finish line in the New York Marathon.
He began to wonder if at a certain age less strenuous activity might actually be, not only the better part of healthcare, but all that’s generally possible. He also began to ask himself if seniors who persisted in intense physical challenges like the marathon were absent at or near the finish line because they literally dropped by the wayside. He dismissed that possibility, because it really brought into question his hope for up-to-the-last-minute youth.
He shared the possible advisability of moderation with a fellow boomer, who happened to be his girlfriend. She agreed to take it into consideration but required proof of the astonishing comeuppance. So, while working out at her gym, she looked around and noticed, to her amazement, that there were not a lot of seniors sweating along with her, especially on the running track and in the weight room.
Most unsettling of all, she noticed that a confounded lot of the runners looked younger than she did.
She dared to break the stunning revelation to a friend, who told her boyfriend. Since hot news has a way of making it through the boomer vine, soon the bewildered generation was abuzz with the invitation to moderation.
Being serious about their health, many have researched the bone-crushing consequences of persistent over-exercise and have discovered that that they really should take it a little easy on themselves, especially since many of them are flirting with age 60. It seems that if they can persuade themselves of the wisdom at least some moderation they will go a long way toward preserving their knees, ankles, and assorted joints, tendons, and muscles. They could also save on visits to the surgeon.
As expected, however, hard-line boomers are adopting an over-exercise-until-you-drop attitude.
As one recalcitrant member of the group said, “Hey, it’s like exercising came with the genes. I can’t change my routine anymore than I can change my feet, which wake up every morning, ready to run for miles.”
This group is so determined they plan to exercise excessively, even if it means hobbling into old age due to self-inflicted hobbling. As another member of the over-exercise or you’re over-the-hill group stated, ”Look, if I’m going to need a knee replacement or two, I might as well be one of the first in my generation to get one.”
As news of the growing need for surgical intervention spread, a number of boomers have found the willpower to moderate the intensity of their workout routines.
Personal experience has also confirmed the wisdom of moderation. For example, one inveterate marathoner was shocked by the surprising perception that there were not a lot of senior citizens dashing across the finish line in the New York Marathon.
He began to wonder if at a certain age less strenuous activity might actually be, not only the better part of healthcare, but all that’s generally possible. He also began to ask himself if seniors who persisted in intense physical challenges like the marathon were absent at or near the finish line because they literally dropped by the wayside. He dismissed that possibility, because it really brought into question his hope for up-to-the-last-minute youth.
He shared the possible advisability of moderation with a fellow boomer, who happened to be his girlfriend. She agreed to take it into consideration but required proof of the astonishing comeuppance. So, while working out at her gym, she looked around and noticed, to her amazement, that there were not a lot of seniors sweating along with her, especially on the running track and in the weight room.
Most unsettling of all, she noticed that a confounded lot of the runners looked younger than she did.
She dared to break the stunning revelation to a friend, who told her boyfriend. Since hot news has a way of making it through the boomer vine, soon the bewildered generation was abuzz with the invitation to moderation.
Being serious about their health, many have researched the bone-crushing consequences of persistent over-exercise and have discovered that that they really should take it a little easy on themselves, especially since many of them are flirting with age 60. It seems that if they can persuade themselves of the wisdom at least some moderation they will go a long way toward preserving their knees, ankles, and assorted joints, tendons, and muscles. They could also save on visits to the surgeon.
As expected, however, hard-line boomers are adopting an over-exercise-until-you-drop attitude.
As one recalcitrant member of the group said, “Hey, it’s like exercising came with the genes. I can’t change my routine anymore than I can change my feet, which wake up every morning, ready to run for miles.”
This group is so determined they plan to exercise excessively, even if it means hobbling into old age due to self-inflicted hobbling. As another member of the over-exercise or you’re over-the-hill group stated, ”Look, if I’m going to need a knee replacement or two, I might as well be one of the first in my generation to get one.”
Another Dracula, Another Flop
This week Warner Brothers joined the Walt Disney company in attempting to transform Broadway from a venue with a whisper of hope for social relevance into one that presents works that are the intellectual equivalent of Mickey Mouse caper.
If Disney could do it with, for example, The Lion King, why couldn’t Warner Brothers find a property to achieve Broadway fame and fortune with? Unfortunately, their imaginations never soared higher than redoing the Dracula legend, based on a contemporary author’s odd novelistic take on it.
In order to hew to Disney’s proven path to moronic megabucks, Warner hired the same songwriting team Disney did for The Lion King, Elton John and his comparatively invisible lyricist Bernie Taupin.
Fortunately, the show was a no-go from the start. The word of mouth was devastating and the reviews turned out to make the word of mouth sound brilliant.
The question is, why would anybody, given the entire world of properties to choose from or, on a wild bet, even to create an entirely original one, choose the exhausted and irrelevant legend of Dracula?
As we of say about trying to work with an idea that doesn’t seem to have a life of its own, you can stand up a dead body, but you can’t make it sing and dance, and, once you let go, it’s bound to fall down.
If Disney could do it with, for example, The Lion King, why couldn’t Warner Brothers find a property to achieve Broadway fame and fortune with? Unfortunately, their imaginations never soared higher than redoing the Dracula legend, based on a contemporary author’s odd novelistic take on it.
In order to hew to Disney’s proven path to moronic megabucks, Warner hired the same songwriting team Disney did for The Lion King, Elton John and his comparatively invisible lyricist Bernie Taupin.
Fortunately, the show was a no-go from the start. The word of mouth was devastating and the reviews turned out to make the word of mouth sound brilliant.
The question is, why would anybody, given the entire world of properties to choose from or, on a wild bet, even to create an entirely original one, choose the exhausted and irrelevant legend of Dracula?
As we of say about trying to work with an idea that doesn’t seem to have a life of its own, you can stand up a dead body, but you can’t make it sing and dance, and, once you let go, it’s bound to fall down.
Amazing Trivia Part 1
I admit it .. I LIKE trivia, tho it serves no purpose for me since I can never remember any to bring up in conversation. But still, it is fun, so I've created this list of amazing trivia that I found to be absolutely riveting.
1. Snails can sleep up to 3 years.
Not so amazing actually since I managed to sleep thru 6 years of jr. high and high school. And when you think about it, what do snails have to do all their lives? Sure, they leave great slime trails and make excellent targets for salt shakers and little boys, but other than that there’s not much more to do but sleep after an exhausting run across a sidewalk.
2. American Airlines saved $40,000 in 1987 by eliminating one olive from each salad served in first-class.
Until I read this, I was convinced that there was an olive missing from my salad, yet no one would believe me. Now I am vindicated! I am now searching for proof that the airlines have taken one peanut from each bag .. I'll keep you posted.
3. An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
After reading this, I realized that I know of many people with the same problem! But that’s an article about politicians I'm working on. For me, it's usually that my eyes are bigger than my stomach...
4. Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour.
Well, I'd like to see anyone keep this up long enough to actually lose 150 calories. Now that I think about it, I DON'T want to see...
5. Donald Duck comics were banned in Finland because he doesn't wear pants.
This is completely understandable.. I mean, who wants to look at a duck with no pants on? Besides, I understand that it is the law for all birds to wear pants in the city limits of Finland.
6. If you pass gas consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb.
I tried to prove or disprove this, but two things stopped me ... I couldn't stand to look at a bowl of chili after the third day, and my girlfriend threatened to leave me ... although it was kinda hard to tell what she was really saying with that gasmask on.
7. In ancient Egypt, priests plucked EVERY hair from their bodies, including their eyebrows and eyelashes.
Now, this piece of trivia leaves ALOT to the imagination, which is probably a good thing. BUT, I would like to point out, you'd have to be pretty limber to get some on those hairs .. nuff said.
8. The ant always falls over on its right side when intoxicated.
I know this trivia fact isn't true 'cause I've gone drinking with my ants several times and I've watched them fall over in several different directions... usually they tend to fall on my uncles tho.
9. The average human eats eight spiders in their lifetime at night.
I don't know about this fact ... I've seen several spiders at night and never once felt compelled to eat one. Though I hear that spider is tasty if barbequed correctly.
10. And now for our final fun trivia fact:
Some lions mate over 50 times a day... No wonder the females do all the work.
1. Snails can sleep up to 3 years.
Not so amazing actually since I managed to sleep thru 6 years of jr. high and high school. And when you think about it, what do snails have to do all their lives? Sure, they leave great slime trails and make excellent targets for salt shakers and little boys, but other than that there’s not much more to do but sleep after an exhausting run across a sidewalk.
2. American Airlines saved $40,000 in 1987 by eliminating one olive from each salad served in first-class.
Until I read this, I was convinced that there was an olive missing from my salad, yet no one would believe me. Now I am vindicated! I am now searching for proof that the airlines have taken one peanut from each bag .. I'll keep you posted.
3. An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
After reading this, I realized that I know of many people with the same problem! But that’s an article about politicians I'm working on. For me, it's usually that my eyes are bigger than my stomach...
4. Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour.
Well, I'd like to see anyone keep this up long enough to actually lose 150 calories. Now that I think about it, I DON'T want to see...
5. Donald Duck comics were banned in Finland because he doesn't wear pants.
This is completely understandable.. I mean, who wants to look at a duck with no pants on? Besides, I understand that it is the law for all birds to wear pants in the city limits of Finland.
6. If you pass gas consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb.
I tried to prove or disprove this, but two things stopped me ... I couldn't stand to look at a bowl of chili after the third day, and my girlfriend threatened to leave me ... although it was kinda hard to tell what she was really saying with that gasmask on.
7. In ancient Egypt, priests plucked EVERY hair from their bodies, including their eyebrows and eyelashes.
Now, this piece of trivia leaves ALOT to the imagination, which is probably a good thing. BUT, I would like to point out, you'd have to be pretty limber to get some on those hairs .. nuff said.
8. The ant always falls over on its right side when intoxicated.
I know this trivia fact isn't true 'cause I've gone drinking with my ants several times and I've watched them fall over in several different directions... usually they tend to fall on my uncles tho.
9. The average human eats eight spiders in their lifetime at night.
I don't know about this fact ... I've seen several spiders at night and never once felt compelled to eat one. Though I hear that spider is tasty if barbequed correctly.
10. And now for our final fun trivia fact:
Some lions mate over 50 times a day... No wonder the females do all the work.
jueves, 11 de noviembre de 2010
A Revised History Of Pasta
While Marco Polo, a Venetian, is generally given credit for discovering noodles in China, recent research suggests that Italian pasta in all its glorious varieties was actually discovered in Rome nearly a century earlier, and quite by accident, by a remarkably unlikely epicurean named Julius Amplonius, with the able assistance of an invading barbarian named Klunk, The Great.
The momentous event occurred one afternoon when this portly patrician was dining at a chic restaurant just off the Roman Forum. He was savoring a sip of red wine from Tuscany when a group of alarmed citizens came running by, screeching, “The barbarians are coming! The barbarians are coming!”
Amplonius had witnessed their arrival before, and by now he had made peace with the ancient wisdom, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may be out of food and wine.” It was by such Stoicism that the wise were able to witness the destruction of the Roman Empire while preserving a somewhat peaceful life. So, with a knowing smile, Julius simply raised his glass toward the fleeing crowd.
“What are you going to do, Julie, just sit there and eat?” a citizen who knew him quite well asked.
“Why not?” he replied. “I’m thirsty. Not to mention hungry.” With that, he indulged in another taste of the Tuscan red.
“You’re crazy!” a speeding friend called. “Run, Julie! Run!”
Just then a waitress who doubled as a temptress arrived with Julie’s lunch, which might be described as a plate of proto-pasta. It consisted of a flat, round piece of dough that hung just a bit over the margins of the plate. It had a baked tomato sitting in the middle of it, with a single chunk of parmesan cheese next to it, and around both was a wreath of fragrant basil leaves.
“Enjoy your plano,” she said, putting down the dish, for that is the name the proto-pasta was known by.
“Thank you, gorgeous,” Julius told her, and gave her a pinch.
“Oh, you silly man,” she replied, and, looking about, seemed nervous. “Can you do me a favor, love, and close out your bill now?”
“No problem, you sex kitten,” he said, and reached for his purse. He took out enough Roman coinage to include a generous tip. “Keep the change,” he told her, and pursed his lips expectantly.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she said, and gave him a luscious but ever-so-brief kiss. Then she hurried off after the other fleeing citizens.
Julius calmly picked up a knife and fork and began to eat his proto-pasta.
Just as he cut off and savored his first bite, in rushed a huge, fur-covered barbarian, with a leather shield and the fateful sword with which he would help Julius discover pasta in many of the varieties we enjoy to this day, from lasagna to angel hair.
“Uh!” he grunted, and raised his sword.
Julius continued to dine. “Uh! Uh!” the barbarian raged, for the sound “uh” comprised much of the everyday range of his proto-language. To attract the attention of the unperturbed diner, he swung his sword in a circle and just happened to whack off the head of a statue of the great Augustus. It crashed to the marble floor.
Julius couldn’t help but notice the decapitation and, placing a leaf of basil on his tongue, said, “That wasn’t very nice. I kind of liked that statue.”
The barbarian could not, of course, understand a word. In an effort to establish a bit of good will, at least long enough to allow him to finish his meal, Julius held up his bottle of wine. “Like some vino?”
“Huh-Uh!” the barbarian managed to say.
“Suit yourself,” Julie told him. “Got a name?”
The barbarian stared at him without comprehension.
“Name?” Julius repeated, pointing to himself and then at the barbarian to illustrate the point of his question.
“Klunk,” the barbarian said.
“I might have guessed,” Julius commented.
“Klunk, The Great,” the barbarian continued, with some intellectual effort.
“Good for you,” Julius told him, and put out his hand. “I’m Julius, The Roman, also known as Julie, The Ample. Have a seat.”
“Huh-uh! I am conqueror – conqueror of Rome!” Klunk managed to say.
“Good for you!” Julie told him, and couldn’t resist asking the most challenging question. “Are you sure you can afford the upkeep? It’s an expensive city to maintain.”
“What is upkeep?” Klunk wanted to know.
“You’ll find out,” Julius advised him. “Now, come on. Have a seat. You’ve had a hard day.” Then he pointed to his dish and indicated a reluctant willingness to share some of his food. “And enjoy some plano.”
Klunk looked down at the plate, and asked, “What is plano?”
“You don't know?” Julie inquired. “Where have you been?”
“Other side of the Alps,” Klunk managed to get out.
“Oh, no wonder,” Julie replied, and decided to educate the deprived soul. “See. This is a plate. Ever hear of a plate?”
“Plate?”
“Instead of eating off the table, or the ground, you eat off of a plate.”
“Uh,” Klunk said, with apparent understanding.
“Now, on the plate we put a flat piece of boiled dough, called plano,” Julius continued, lifting up the edge with his fork to demonstrate. “Then we put all kinds of goodies on top of it. In this case, a tomato, a piece of cheese, and basil leaves.”
“Uh-huh.” Klunk acknowledged.
“All you do is take a knife and fork,” Julius explained, picking the utensils up slowly, so Klunk wouldn’t mistake his intentions and send his head rolling the way of the great Augustus’s marble head. “Then you cut off a piece.” He went through the process and took a bite. “Ah, delicious! Sure you won’t have any?”
“Uh-huh,” Klunk said, holding his ground, and repeated with some effort, “Plano.”
“Excellent!” Julius exclaimed. “You'll be a true Roman in no time!”
“Klunk – a Roman?” the barbarian responded, visibly insulted, and raised his sword high above Julius. Then, unexpectedly, he brought the sword down on the plate and cut the plano right in half. “Now, what do you call it?” he was somehow able to ask.
Julius looked down at the two half-moons, and said, “I think I’ll call that one big agnolotti.” Then he took another sip of wine and smiled at Klunk.
Incensed at his inability to frighten Julius, he raised his sword again and whacked the plate three or four times. “What do you call it now?”
Julius examined it, and said, “This I’ll call lasagne.” With that, he took a bite and savored it.
Now furious, Klunk attacked the plate repeatedly, and demanded, “What do you call it now?”
Julius, despite his indifference to fate, was a bit shaken by all the clatter, and said, “I will name it linguine.”
Needless to say, Klunk swung his sword at the plate with an unprecedented volley of strokes. “What is it now?”
Julius examined the mishmash on his plate. By now, the plano was cut into thin strips, the tomato was diced, and the cheese was grated. After some deliberation, Julius announced, “You made what I will call spaghetti.” Still remaining remarkably calm, at least on the exterior, Julius took his fork and wound some spaghetti around it. Then he took a bite. “Delicious! And fun, too,” he told Klunk.
Enraged at his seemingly imperturbable true Roman, the barbarian now slashed at the contents of the plate until his arms were a veritable blur. Then, short of breath, he sighed, “Tell me what you name that.”
Julius looked closely at the mayhem in his plate. Now, the pasta was as thin as he could imagine it, and the tomato sauce, cheese, and basil were all mixed together. “It is so thin I think I will name it angel hair.”
Klunk became unexpectedly curious and bent toward Julius. “Angel hair? What for? You no angel. You fat Roman.”
Considering how finely the plano was now sliced, Julius could not imagine how much longer it could invite the attentions of Klunk and imagined that his own neck might well be the next object of the barbarian’s fury. Ever the clever Roman, he noticed that, as a result of Klunk’s exertion, his tummy was showing a bit.
Julie was, of course, also aware of the legendary weakness of the barbarian shield, as opposed to the metal shield that accounted for much of the impenetrability of the storied Roman phalanx.
So he pretended to move his knife toward the last remaining decent-size piece of tomato, saying, “No, my friend, I am not an angel.” With that, he quickly stabbed the somewhat exhausted Klunk, and added, “But you’re about to become one.”
Klunk looked down at his sudden, fatal wound with shock and fell to the ground with a thud. His head knocked the table and, if Julius’s hands weren’t so quick, the movement would have upset his glass of wine.
Leaning back and enjoying a sip, he said, “I think I’m gonna call all these things I discovered after my beautiful girlfriend, Pastina.” Then he rolled a bit on his fork and indulged in another mouthful, musing, “I just love Pastina.”
All the names Julius invented that day, with the undoubted help of the ill-fated barbarian Klunk, have come down through the centuries without alteration, except for the categorical appellation, which usage would eventually abbreviate to the more familiar word “pasta.”
The momentous event occurred one afternoon when this portly patrician was dining at a chic restaurant just off the Roman Forum. He was savoring a sip of red wine from Tuscany when a group of alarmed citizens came running by, screeching, “The barbarians are coming! The barbarians are coming!”
Amplonius had witnessed their arrival before, and by now he had made peace with the ancient wisdom, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may be out of food and wine.” It was by such Stoicism that the wise were able to witness the destruction of the Roman Empire while preserving a somewhat peaceful life. So, with a knowing smile, Julius simply raised his glass toward the fleeing crowd.
“What are you going to do, Julie, just sit there and eat?” a citizen who knew him quite well asked.
“Why not?” he replied. “I’m thirsty. Not to mention hungry.” With that, he indulged in another taste of the Tuscan red.
“You’re crazy!” a speeding friend called. “Run, Julie! Run!”
Just then a waitress who doubled as a temptress arrived with Julie’s lunch, which might be described as a plate of proto-pasta. It consisted of a flat, round piece of dough that hung just a bit over the margins of the plate. It had a baked tomato sitting in the middle of it, with a single chunk of parmesan cheese next to it, and around both was a wreath of fragrant basil leaves.
“Enjoy your plano,” she said, putting down the dish, for that is the name the proto-pasta was known by.
“Thank you, gorgeous,” Julius told her, and gave her a pinch.
“Oh, you silly man,” she replied, and, looking about, seemed nervous. “Can you do me a favor, love, and close out your bill now?”
“No problem, you sex kitten,” he said, and reached for his purse. He took out enough Roman coinage to include a generous tip. “Keep the change,” he told her, and pursed his lips expectantly.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she said, and gave him a luscious but ever-so-brief kiss. Then she hurried off after the other fleeing citizens.
Julius calmly picked up a knife and fork and began to eat his proto-pasta.
Just as he cut off and savored his first bite, in rushed a huge, fur-covered barbarian, with a leather shield and the fateful sword with which he would help Julius discover pasta in many of the varieties we enjoy to this day, from lasagna to angel hair.
“Uh!” he grunted, and raised his sword.
Julius continued to dine. “Uh! Uh!” the barbarian raged, for the sound “uh” comprised much of the everyday range of his proto-language. To attract the attention of the unperturbed diner, he swung his sword in a circle and just happened to whack off the head of a statue of the great Augustus. It crashed to the marble floor.
Julius couldn’t help but notice the decapitation and, placing a leaf of basil on his tongue, said, “That wasn’t very nice. I kind of liked that statue.”
The barbarian could not, of course, understand a word. In an effort to establish a bit of good will, at least long enough to allow him to finish his meal, Julius held up his bottle of wine. “Like some vino?”
“Huh-Uh!” the barbarian managed to say.
“Suit yourself,” Julie told him. “Got a name?”
The barbarian stared at him without comprehension.
“Name?” Julius repeated, pointing to himself and then at the barbarian to illustrate the point of his question.
“Klunk,” the barbarian said.
“I might have guessed,” Julius commented.
“Klunk, The Great,” the barbarian continued, with some intellectual effort.
“Good for you,” Julius told him, and put out his hand. “I’m Julius, The Roman, also known as Julie, The Ample. Have a seat.”
“Huh-uh! I am conqueror – conqueror of Rome!” Klunk managed to say.
“Good for you!” Julie told him, and couldn’t resist asking the most challenging question. “Are you sure you can afford the upkeep? It’s an expensive city to maintain.”
“What is upkeep?” Klunk wanted to know.
“You’ll find out,” Julius advised him. “Now, come on. Have a seat. You’ve had a hard day.” Then he pointed to his dish and indicated a reluctant willingness to share some of his food. “And enjoy some plano.”
Klunk looked down at the plate, and asked, “What is plano?”
“You don't know?” Julie inquired. “Where have you been?”
“Other side of the Alps,” Klunk managed to get out.
“Oh, no wonder,” Julie replied, and decided to educate the deprived soul. “See. This is a plate. Ever hear of a plate?”
“Plate?”
“Instead of eating off the table, or the ground, you eat off of a plate.”
“Uh,” Klunk said, with apparent understanding.
“Now, on the plate we put a flat piece of boiled dough, called plano,” Julius continued, lifting up the edge with his fork to demonstrate. “Then we put all kinds of goodies on top of it. In this case, a tomato, a piece of cheese, and basil leaves.”
“Uh-huh.” Klunk acknowledged.
“All you do is take a knife and fork,” Julius explained, picking the utensils up slowly, so Klunk wouldn’t mistake his intentions and send his head rolling the way of the great Augustus’s marble head. “Then you cut off a piece.” He went through the process and took a bite. “Ah, delicious! Sure you won’t have any?”
“Uh-huh,” Klunk said, holding his ground, and repeated with some effort, “Plano.”
“Excellent!” Julius exclaimed. “You'll be a true Roman in no time!”
“Klunk – a Roman?” the barbarian responded, visibly insulted, and raised his sword high above Julius. Then, unexpectedly, he brought the sword down on the plate and cut the plano right in half. “Now, what do you call it?” he was somehow able to ask.
Julius looked down at the two half-moons, and said, “I think I’ll call that one big agnolotti.” Then he took another sip of wine and smiled at Klunk.
Incensed at his inability to frighten Julius, he raised his sword again and whacked the plate three or four times. “What do you call it now?”
Julius examined it, and said, “This I’ll call lasagne.” With that, he took a bite and savored it.
Now furious, Klunk attacked the plate repeatedly, and demanded, “What do you call it now?”
Julius, despite his indifference to fate, was a bit shaken by all the clatter, and said, “I will name it linguine.”
Needless to say, Klunk swung his sword at the plate with an unprecedented volley of strokes. “What is it now?”
Julius examined the mishmash on his plate. By now, the plano was cut into thin strips, the tomato was diced, and the cheese was grated. After some deliberation, Julius announced, “You made what I will call spaghetti.” Still remaining remarkably calm, at least on the exterior, Julius took his fork and wound some spaghetti around it. Then he took a bite. “Delicious! And fun, too,” he told Klunk.
Enraged at his seemingly imperturbable true Roman, the barbarian now slashed at the contents of the plate until his arms were a veritable blur. Then, short of breath, he sighed, “Tell me what you name that.”
Julius looked closely at the mayhem in his plate. Now, the pasta was as thin as he could imagine it, and the tomato sauce, cheese, and basil were all mixed together. “It is so thin I think I will name it angel hair.”
Klunk became unexpectedly curious and bent toward Julius. “Angel hair? What for? You no angel. You fat Roman.”
Considering how finely the plano was now sliced, Julius could not imagine how much longer it could invite the attentions of Klunk and imagined that his own neck might well be the next object of the barbarian’s fury. Ever the clever Roman, he noticed that, as a result of Klunk’s exertion, his tummy was showing a bit.
Julie was, of course, also aware of the legendary weakness of the barbarian shield, as opposed to the metal shield that accounted for much of the impenetrability of the storied Roman phalanx.
So he pretended to move his knife toward the last remaining decent-size piece of tomato, saying, “No, my friend, I am not an angel.” With that, he quickly stabbed the somewhat exhausted Klunk, and added, “But you’re about to become one.”
Klunk looked down at his sudden, fatal wound with shock and fell to the ground with a thud. His head knocked the table and, if Julius’s hands weren’t so quick, the movement would have upset his glass of wine.
Leaning back and enjoying a sip, he said, “I think I’m gonna call all these things I discovered after my beautiful girlfriend, Pastina.” Then he rolled a bit on his fork and indulged in another mouthful, musing, “I just love Pastina.”
All the names Julius invented that day, with the undoubted help of the ill-fated barbarian Klunk, have come down through the centuries without alteration, except for the categorical appellation, which usage would eventually abbreviate to the more familiar word “pasta.”
A Funny Joke and The Man without Humor
April fool’s day is a favorite day for some, because there are many funny jokes that can be played. But when you are working for ‘The Man’ humor can be unacceptable. The workplace has become a controversial place for funny jokes, because what is funny to one person can be considered an attack by another. Finding humor at another person’s expense can cause many stressful days at work or even many lawsuits.
Many companies hold informational meeting on not practicing office humor, because they don’t want any of there workers to be offended. However, at time companies can cross the line on what is acceptable and not acceptable. Part of the problem with telling a person that funny jokes or humor is not acceptable is that if a person can not enjoy themselves at work the workplace will become uninviting and the workers unhappy.
‘Night Court’ was a sitcom that came out quite a few years ago. The judge on the show was always having fun, but playing practical jokes occasionally got him in trouble. However, most of the time the judge’s antics allowed him to see a larger scope of the people he met and he was able to help them to better their lives. A saying that many companies need to learn is the ‘a little levity never hurt’. Allowing personnel the opportunity to send jokes through email and find humor in some of the bad things that may happen in the office can help to handle stress and bring a better camaraderie between the workers.
Where the line needs to be drawn on funny jokes and humor is if the joke shows a racial or gender bias or if the joke is intended to harm another or cause a person to be made to look bad (especially in the eyes of their superiors). Harmful jokes or humor should never be acceptable in the workplace. Every individual should be responsible for their actions and take steps to know what is acceptable and will be found as a funny joke. If a joke is questionable the individual should recognize that that type of humor should be refrained from.
A company does have the responsibility to uphold its reputation and should educate its employees on acceptable humor and what would be considered a not so funny joke. However, companies should also take steps to allow their employees a fun work place. Part of this may include allowing a worker to use email to send jokes to people they know. One suggestion for the workplace may be to have a ‘no joke’ list and if people do not want to receive jokes through email they can place themselves on the list.
Humor and jokes should be allowed in the work place to allow a happier and more jovial work environment. A funny joke can cheer up a person’s day and a little humor can relieve stress. If an individual is responsible to not offend a person and the company encourages their work force to be happy working for ‘The Man’ wouldn’t be so bad.
Many companies hold informational meeting on not practicing office humor, because they don’t want any of there workers to be offended. However, at time companies can cross the line on what is acceptable and not acceptable. Part of the problem with telling a person that funny jokes or humor is not acceptable is that if a person can not enjoy themselves at work the workplace will become uninviting and the workers unhappy.
‘Night Court’ was a sitcom that came out quite a few years ago. The judge on the show was always having fun, but playing practical jokes occasionally got him in trouble. However, most of the time the judge’s antics allowed him to see a larger scope of the people he met and he was able to help them to better their lives. A saying that many companies need to learn is the ‘a little levity never hurt’. Allowing personnel the opportunity to send jokes through email and find humor in some of the bad things that may happen in the office can help to handle stress and bring a better camaraderie between the workers.
Where the line needs to be drawn on funny jokes and humor is if the joke shows a racial or gender bias or if the joke is intended to harm another or cause a person to be made to look bad (especially in the eyes of their superiors). Harmful jokes or humor should never be acceptable in the workplace. Every individual should be responsible for their actions and take steps to know what is acceptable and will be found as a funny joke. If a joke is questionable the individual should recognize that that type of humor should be refrained from.
A company does have the responsibility to uphold its reputation and should educate its employees on acceptable humor and what would be considered a not so funny joke. However, companies should also take steps to allow their employees a fun work place. Part of this may include allowing a worker to use email to send jokes to people they know. One suggestion for the workplace may be to have a ‘no joke’ list and if people do not want to receive jokes through email they can place themselves on the list.
Humor and jokes should be allowed in the work place to allow a happier and more jovial work environment. A funny joke can cheer up a person’s day and a little humor can relieve stress. If an individual is responsible to not offend a person and the company encourages their work force to be happy working for ‘The Man’ wouldn’t be so bad.
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