Here’s something I’m glad I haven’t seen in years and years: lawn darts.
Here’s something I’m glad I haven’t seen in years and years: lawn darts. When I was a kid some relatives had lawn darts, giant versions of the ones you’d throw at a dart board — complete with needle-sharp steel point. At the time, I thought they were the coolest toys ever. We’d stand in the neighbor’s yard, toss them high up into the air, and watch them fall back to stick into the grass. Now I look at them and think, “What was someone thinking?!?” . . . . . When I was the mayor in the Redwood Area Theatre’s production of “The Music Man”, a running gag was me starting to recite Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, but never getting to finish. Since it was never guaranteed how far I’d get saying it before another actor interrupted me, I continued the speech in my mind past what the script said, just in case I had to keep reciting. For people who attended the performances and want to know how the mayor would have finished it, here’s are some highlights of the mock version of the Gettysburg Address I would have said if allowed to continue: “Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this condiment a new nation, deceived in libraries, and desecrated to the preposition that all Finns are created mackerel. “Now we’s enraged in a great civilian war, testin’ weather. That nation, nor any other nation so deceived and desecrated, can long ordure....” “But we can not dedicrate, we can not commiserate, we can not hollow out this ground....” “The world will little note this unfinished work what we say here. It’s from them honored dead that government of the people, of the people, and of the people, shan’t parish from the Earth.” . . . . . Would the person who kept butt-dialing me on Wednesday afternoon please answer your phone when I try replying? It got old after the fourth time I answered and just heard voices talking off in the distance. If it happens again, I’ll publish your phone number so everyone to see and call back themselves. . . . . . Most people don’t realize Gorgonzola cheese was actually invented in ancient Greece by that lady with snakes for hair, and that if you eat too much of it you’ll lie around the house feeling bloated, as if you’ve turned to stone. . . . . . If I could choose a super power, I used to think I’d go with the ability to make time stop. If I wanted an ice cream cone, I could just stop time, wander into the nearest convenience store, take one from a cooler, and leave without anyone spotting me or even knowing an ice cream cone was missing. Then it occurred to me for the super power to work, time would have to stop for everything except me, of course. Me, I’d still be able to move around like normal. Two reasons: 1) I didn’t want to be frozen in the same position forever, and 2) who would say the magic words to unfreeze time again and set everyone free? Other problems suggested themselves. If the air molecules are frozen in time, would I be able to breathe? To move around? Could I walk on water if it’s frozen in time? Would I be able open doors, or move anything around at all? What happens when I say “allla-kazam” or whatever, and time starts again? What would happen to those things I moved? Would they just instantly jump to their new position like a jump-cut in a movie? How disorienting would that be to everyone else? No, it’s probably better for everyone else in the universe I don’t have that super power after all.