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.
Ah, yes. Life is good and winter will soon be but a memory. A painful memory mind you and one that will haunt me for many moons. But a memory none-the-less.
I spent the morning visiting an orthopedist about the lateral epicondylitis (tennis elbow) I developed in January, the result of running the freaking snow blower!
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.
In
the early 90's during what I like to call The Transitional Years,
it's a period along the timeline of Ed... There are many others.
The Formative Years. The Rebellious Years.
The Religious Years. I found myself residing in the
bedroom where I had grown up. The same bedroom I had left some
years past to make my mark on the world. I returned home,
instead, the world having left it's marks on me.
One
particularly sunny afternoon for some, to this day, still unexplained
reason I decided that a bike ride was in order. I hadn't ridden
in years. But I was tired of studying and needed a change of
scenery. Some exercise. I needed some air and to clear my head. I needed to
get out. I informed my mom of my intentions. My mom who
had settled into her chair in the living room and sat quietly staring
at the television which she had not turned on. Not that that
would have made much of a difference.
The torrential rainstorm that had been trailing them since Austin gradually halted its assault on Interstate 35 as Johnny and Jodie continued north into Waco. The wiper blades on Jodie's Toyota Tercel squeaked and moaned and the rain died as they entered the city limits. Jodie turned her wipers off while Johnny lowered the radio's volume and said in a quirky, fast-paced Latin American accent. "And to think, it all started in Waco," Jodie didn't get it. "Huh? What started in Waco?" He laughed, "Your professional comedy career! It's your first paying gig, right?" She laughed as they pulled into the Waterworks' parking lot. Jodie stood outside of the driver side door, looking at the giant sign above her. "Why would anyone name a comedy club Waterworks?" Johnny, the king of one liners, rapidly fired back, "It's perfect! Waterworks! You'll get your feet wet and I'll be the wetback! Come on! Let's go tell jokes!"
Quirkee Voices 
There are many ways to go green these days. But a paper coffin wouldn't be my first choice.
Ah, yes. Life is good and winter will soon be but a memory. A painful memory mind you and one that will haunt me for many moons. But a memory none-the-less.
I spent the morning visiting an orthopedist about the lateral epicondylitis (tennis elbow) I developed in January, the result of running the freaking snow blower!
The torrential rainstorm that had been trailing them since Austin gradually halted its assault on Interstate 35 as Johnny and Jodie continued north into Waco. The wiper blades on Jodie's Toyota Tercel squeaked and moaned and the rain died as they entered the city limits. Jodie turned her wipers off while Johnny lowered the radio's volume and said in a quirky, fast-paced Latin American accent. "And to think, it all started in Waco," Jodie didn't get it. "Huh? What started in Waco?" He laughed, "Your professional comedy career! It's your first paying gig, right?" She laughed as they pulled into the Waterworks' parking lot. Jodie stood outside of the driver side door, looking at the giant sign above her. "Why would anyone name a comedy club Waterworks?" Johnny, the king of one liners, rapidly fired back, "It's perfect! Waterworks! You'll get your feet wet and I'll be the wetback! Come on! Let's go tell jokes!"
