There are many ways to go green these days. But a paper coffin wouldn't be my first choice.
There are many ways to go green these days. But a paper coffin wouldn't
be my first choice.
In my hometown of Eugene, Oregon, a local funeral home is now offering
eco-friendly funerals that include coffins made of biodegradable
materials such as bamboo or cardboard, preparation without chemical
preservatives, and delivery of the body to the grave site via
three-wheeled bicycle. I'm completely on board with cutting out the
preservatives -- most people these days have enough of those in their
systems -- but I'm wary of a final resting place made of cardboard.
I had lunch with an intelligent friend the other day. And by
intelligent I don't mean he knows who Lindsay Lohan is sleeping with
either. Although maybe he does. He's that smart.
I'll call my friend "J" because it sounds hip and cool, and intelligent
people are rarely considered either.
I got the flu for Valentine’s Day and so far it’s lasted far longer
than a box of chocolates ever would.
When Cupid arrived at my front door wearing scrubs and a surgical mask,
I should have known something was up, but I’m the trusting type.
Someone knocks and I skip to the door wondering what kind of joyful
opportunity awaits on the other side. Perhaps there will be Girl Scout
cookies or children peddling magazines so they can go to summer camp in
the Wal-Mart parking lot closest to their home (times are tough all
over).
It’s almost time
to start thinking about doing my taxes, so let me say how happy I am at all the
recent news of politicians who have “forgotten” to pay theirs. The usual
hair-pulling, stomach-churning, eye-twitching anxiety I suffer while sharing my
money with the government has all but disappeared. This tax season, I’m feeling
relaxed and even a little giddy and I’d like to thank Tom Daschle, Timothy
Geithner, Nancy Killefer, and all the other tax scofflaws who haven’t yet
‘fessed up for my peace of mind.
Just give me some salmonella-free peanut butter and no one gets hurt!
I mean it. I may be mumbledy-something years old,
but peanut butter is as much a staple of my diet as it is for most five
year-olds. It is literally the glue that holds together my arteries. And if I
have to go one more day without the rich, creamy, salty, sweet, smooth, nutty
flavor, someone is going to have to pay. Since I am unwilling to travel all the
way to Georgia to kick the CEO of the Peanut
Corporation of America
(snazzy name, don't ya think?), it's going to have to be someone nearby. Maybe
the first person I see wearing a top hat and carrying a cane.
A friend of mine just had her first child this year and
is already talking about adding a second to the family. She is fairly
certain, however, that she will stop at two. Unlike Michelle and Jim Bob
(yes, that's his real name, if I were making it up, I would have gone with
Joe Bob) Duggar, who just welcomed child number eighteen into the clan this
month, who, when added to the two adopted kids, makes twenty in all for the
couple. They - of course - have a new book out called, Someone Please Tie My
Tubes! No, I meant, The Duggars: 20 and Counting!
Enclosed please find a bill for
$4375.71 to be applied against my taxes for Fiscal Year 2008.
The
amount due from you represents the portion of the bank, auto, insurance, and
other corporate bailout funded by me (without my advance written permission,
might I add) and was calculated using the following data:
Total
bailout expenditures thus far: 898.4 billion
Total number of taxpaying
Americans: 4.7 million
Estimated number who will still be employed by
April 15: 3.5 million
Anticipated additional bailout funds paid to
bigshot whiners: 633.1 billion* by April
15
Total bailout: 1.53 trillion
Total bailout divided by
remaining taxpayers: 4375.71
*This number was arrived at by
tossing dice while drinking margaritas and reflects my best
estimate.
I wonder if it's too late to become a plumber?
Plumbers always have work - sinks get stopped up, pipes break, someone
tries to flush a bad toupee down the toilet... It's different when you're a
comedian. No one calls at 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday begging you to make time for
them on your schedule. They don't wake up to find their sense of humor has burst
because of a cold snap and frantically start dialing your number. And no one
dares get all liquored up and yell at you, "I can unclog toilets better than you
in my sleep!"
Sure, a plumber has to wade in some crap, but we
comedians are used to that.
Usually I don't bad mouth myself behind my back,
but when it comes to the holidays, I'm a real Scrooge, so I deserve to be
publicly chastised.
Just a quick look around my office shows how
little holiday spirit there is at my place of employment. Not only does my boss
not let me put up a any kind of decorations for fear that I might offend myself,
she's also confiscated my red, green, gold, and silver Sharpies to make sure I
don't write a festive note to tuck in with my monthly letter to Verizon
inquiring why they continue to charge me for text-messaging when I have assured
them repeatedly that my thumbs aren't really opposable.
Well, the holidays are officially here. Although
WHAT HOLIDAYS is not as clear now as when I was, say, eleven. Back then I
assumed everyone except my two Jewish friends had a Christmas tree, a nativity
scene on the mantel, and a crazy uncle who got liquored up and rearranged the
lawn reindeer into sexually-suggestive poses.
Things are way more complicated these days. And I
don't just mean because parents can't decorate the house with spun glass angel
hair like my dad used to, at least not without Child Protective Services getting
a phone call. You can still buy the stuff on eBay and it doesn't even come with
the usual warning: "Touching this decoration will leave you with shards of glass
in your fingers for years and may result in one or more trips to the Emergency
Room before the holidays are over."
Quirkee Voices 
There are many ways to go green these days. But a paper coffin wouldn't be my first choice.
