• The great cough-drop debate

    In my book it is written: “no menthol-less cough drop shall come before me.” Come on, it’s the menthol that makes it go, I dare you to say it isn’t so!

    I was sitting in my office, my throat in perfect operating condition, when I decided I wanted some menthol. Release the Halls! Nay, instead I got a poor, sugared up substitute. I got a luden’s. Don’t get me wrong, it tasted swell; but I don’t think it would have done a thing for my cough, if I had one. It tasted like, well, rather like a piece of candy. Is sugar a home remedy for the common cough? (Why yes, it is, but don’t stop me now.) Then I happened to notice the manufacturer, the Hershey Foods Corporation. That’s right; it’s THAT Hershey. That wacky Pennsylvania chocolatier thinks he’s got the drop on your cough!

    Now take Halls; a serious drop for serious people, made by Cadbury, of cr’me egg fame? Is this a conspiracy? Are the sugar barons taking over the world? When will this madness end?

    Methinks when I stop typing.

  • Poor little kid

    Introducing the amazing Adam and his stupefying feats of physical misfortune.

    Why is it that we take so much joy from an infant’s struggles with motor coordination? Why just the other day we were chuckling over Adam’s latest attempts to sit up unassisted. His poor little head was ducking and weaving like a wanna-be on The Contender. (The author feels compelled to advise you that he has never actually seen an episode of The Contender.)

  • More misplaced pride

    Once upon a time, I went miniature golfing with a mixed group of friends (both adult and child sized). I was putting along, having a grand time, when I noticed the uneven pour of the concrete sidewalk. With full knowledge of it’s unpredictability, I decided to bounce my ball on said sidewalk. Just as I predicted, the ball went shooting off on a path skewed from gravity’s well. Thanks to my cat-like reflexes, I was able to snatch the ball out of the air before it bounced off into oblivion.

    As it turns out, I also own this bridge that I’d be willing to part with – for a very reasonable price.

    No, it wasn’t my cat-like reflexes that failed me, it was my human length arms. You see; a golf ball has a relatively small diameter – as balls go. This relatively small diameter lends itself to a whole heapin’ helpin’ of bad bounces on an uneven surface – like a hastily poured concrete sidewalk. So while my reaction was easily sufficient to grab the ball – the darn thing shot off nearly parallel to the ground. I’d need the reflexes of a cat (check) and the arms of an orangutan (Houston, we have a problem).

    So it was that I was the first person in our motley crew to lose my ball. While I was close to the median age for our group, two of us were under eight – and I don’t mean that in a good way. And yet, strangely I felt this was a badge of honor. Not just anyone can lose a golf ball waiting in line. I takes someone special, dare I say truly gifted, to lose his ball waiting in line – and manage to have said ball leave the course altogether. Damn, I am good.