Creepy, Meet Sleazy

Some of the items in the news last week were downright creepy. For some reason they’ve brought out my sleazy side. When I tell you what they are, remember that I did not make these up. Therefore, I feel that I shouldn’t bear the full blame for the raunchiness of my reactions. You be the judge. Or not, if you’re easily offended.

Item one was a report on the first successful penis transplant. Or perhaps the first one that those involved decided to distribute to the media. In no way do I mean to minimize the importance of having a functioning member for men who’ve lost their original for some reason. It’s just that—as I’ve already said—I found this story too creepy even for me.

The transplanted penis came from a cadaver, giving new meaning to “a stiff one.” Of course, that makes sense. Finding a living man to part with his own willy out of a spurt of generosity is too remote; it’s not like you come with a spare. By the way, in preparing to write this post, I searched for slang terms for penis. I hate using the same word over and over; it’s boring and bad style. The Online Slang Dictionary gave me well over 100 ways to say schlong, most of which even this raunchy blogger had never heard.

Back to the news. My immediate reaction to the transplant was “Eeeuw!” I told my husband about it on our latest drive to Providence. “As a woman, I can’t imagine letting a man put that thing inside me! It was dead, after all.” Mumbling sounds from Jagdish; I didn’t ask for clarification. I continued. “Nope. I’d say: ‘Look. I’ll just give you a hand job. But wait a minute. First I need to find a latex glove.’” This had both of us laughing so hard, I almost swerved into the lane next to me.

Before I leave this topic, a survey of hands please. How many of you have heard the term ‘zubra’ for said piece of equipment? Who thinks that the person who submitted ‘Russell the love muscle’ to the Online Slang Dictionary was named Russell? Did you know that a ‘chubbie’ is not a fat one; it’s a semi-erect one? Finally, a ‘tallywacker’ is not only slang for a dick; it’s a length of rope that shepherds use to count sheep. Makes you wonder what the shepherds are doing with those sheep in the dead of night.

Moving on to other news. Live with Kelly informed us of a company that’s making beer from bellybutton lint. Double “eeeuw!” It’s the 7 cent Brewery, located in Australia. No surprise there. Apparently, they culture yeast that they glean from the lint harvested in local navel gardens. They unveiled their brew at GABS, the Great Australian Beer Spectacular. Kelly and her guest cohost sampled the beer and proclaimed it drinkable. Yeah, right. Aussie Aussie Aussie Oi Oi Oi.

I told my husband about this on that same drive to Providence where I informed him of the successful winky transplant. Then I wondered out loud. “I hope they don’t get that lint from the same corpses where they get the donor wieners.” Triple “eeeuw!” I know folks often think of hot dogs and beer together at summer barbecues and baseball games. But this is one combination just too gag-inducing to swallow.

Take it easy. I’m already on my way to wash my mouth out with soap. Then I’ll probably have a glass of wine. But it will be awhile before I consider having a beer again.

Fall 2014 Potpourri

This seems like a good week for my Fall potpourri, especially since recent issues of Time magazine (particularly the Oct. 13 one) were full of tidbits that left me scratching my head. I found items that cover everything from crazy animal stories to alcoholic beverages.

Let’s start with animals. A gentleman from Canada was caught sneaking turtles into the U.S.—51 of them, to be exact. According to the magazine, he had them “hidden between his legs and strapped to his body.” I assume they weren’t the snapping turtle variety. Then again, someone stupid enough to do this probably didn’t think it through very well. There was nothing in the report about the status of his family jewels.

All the major networks picked up the story about the pooch that had a thing for socks. The Portland vet who unraveled this found 43 and a half of them in the Great Dane’s stomach. This raises several questions, like: What happened to that other half sock? If 43 ½ is the capacity of a Great Dane, what’s the capacity of a Dachshund? And of course, How do you remove 43 ½ socks from a Great Dane and what do you do with them afterward? I’m thinking it could give new meaning to “Salvation Army.”

And this from Jimmy Fallon: a zoo in Japan just realized that both hyenas they’ve been trying to mate for years are male. You may think this is funny, but for the two hyenas, it’s been no laughing matter. Thanks, Jimmy.

Now let’s talk some beer and wine. Scientists in Spain invented an “electronic tongue” that can tell one variety of beer from another. It’s 82% accurate, which is way better than I would be. You have to wonder how much beer they’ll taste before they find a practical use for such a tongue. Not to be outdone, the Danes came up with a machine that uses nanosensors to measure how dry a wine is. If they need someone to do quality control checks on the machine’s results, I’m their gal.

What is it about Europeans and their wine and beer? Belgium is building a pipeline 3 kilometers long that will chunnel—I mean funnel—beer from a big brewery to its bottling plant. It will mean 500 fewer delivery truck drivers on the roads (and at a rest stops after sampling too much of their cargo). Expect thousands of residents of Bruges to be praying that the conduit springs a leak near their house. Talk about a “pipe dream!”

The media has recounted a considerable number of dumb actions by a variety of humans. Like the postman in Brooklyn who had a hoarding problem. He kept over 40,000 personal letters that he chose not to deliver, who knows why. No word on whether he even read any of them. And then there’s the UPS worker who stole a diamond worth $160,000 and then traded it for some marijuana—$20 worth. Hello? I just can’t make this stuff up.

Some human activity was not just dumb, it was downright bizarre. The U.S. Coast Guard had to rescue a man who was “running” from Florida to Bermuda in a human hamster wheel (aka an inflatable paddle bubble). He was promoting world peace when he got caught up in the Gulf Stream. To his credit, he did ask the Coast Guard for directions to Bermuda earlier in his journey. (“Turn left at that big swell…”) Eventually exhausted (surprise, surprise), Mr. Hamster sent a message for help.

The hamster wheel also inspired the development of a new desk, created by two artists in San Francisco. You stand and pedal while you work. My husband wants one of these; he thinks it will help strengthen his knees. I have no idea if it will work, but if I can watch him going nowhere, I’ll buy one for him. If you’re thinking  “dumb and dumber,” I don’t blame you.

Finally, a tidbit from my mother’s homeland, again via Time. In a move to lower costs, Italy’s Parliament reduced from $172,000 to $125,000 the amount that its in-house hairdressers can get paid. Assumedly those are annual figures. Really? At those rates (even the reduced ones), they should call them estheticians. And along with your haircut and styling, you should get a mani-pedi and a coupon for cappuccino at George Clooney’s villa on Lake Como.

That will do it for this Fall’s potpourri post. Time to start collecting tidbits for Spring.

Retirement Transitions - Times Are A-Changin

I expected that retirement would bring change. My hope was to control the changes that were inevitable and avoid others by planning carefully. It seems that the world is changing in ways that have nothing to do with my retirement. Has it been doing this right along, but I’m newly aware of it? Here are some examples.

You undoubtedly know that after 25 years on TV, Oprah Winfrey is beginning a new chapter in her life. Because I worked full time until my recent retirement, I saw very few of her shows, but it still weighs heavily that she’s going off the air. The musical chairs of morning show co-hosts and evening news anchors roll off my back. They’re reprising ones from just a handful of years ago. But life without a daily dose of Oprah? Unthinkable.

Then there’s Arnold and Maria splitting up. The fact that we’ve now learned why doesn’t minimize the jolt of hearing that yet another long-term marriage has bitten the dust. I have no strong opinions about them as individuals (except for my disgust for Ah-nold the Groper, assuming that was true,) but their separation still spiked my change meter.

This week’s Advertising Age has an article on all sorts of disconcerting changes to beer packaging. Some of you may be surprised that I would pay attention to this, being a baldly proclaimed wine lover. The truth is, there are times when nothing will do but a nice cold brewski.  I’m partial to Sam Adams, but I also enjoy Dos Equis, and I like to try local craft beers, but I’m not enthusiastic about the new packaging.

Take for example the Bud Light bottles that you can write on. Other than “Hands off my brewski!” I can’t imagine what I’d write on my beer. Certainly not anything that I’d expect to be reading later on. My eyesight is less than stellar at its best. After I’ve downed a few, I’d need someone to read my beer to me. Talk about demoralizing!

Heineken cans now feature raised ink that gives them texture and looks like condensation to make us think the beer is nice and cold. For me, the benefit would be that in a dimly lit bar, I wouldn’t have to squint to see which beer was mine. I could just grope for the one with the raised ink. Maybe that’s what Arnold was doing when he got a handful of… never mind.

Then there’s the home draft offered by Miller Lite. It comes with a carbon dioxide system that fits in your refrigerator and will stay fresh for thirty days. Thirty days would never do it for us. We once had half a six-pack in our fridge for more than five months. From the photo in Ad Age, home draft looks a lot like the wine-in-a-box that was introduced some years back. You just might be a redneck if you have home draft in your fridge.

Some craft beers offer variety packs. At first blush, that sounds like a good idea. Then I think about other samplers I’ve tried, like tea and cat food. Typically, at least a third of the varieties are losers. In my efforts to remember the keepers, I collect empties or labels that get sticky and smelly. “Honest, officer, that beer smell is not an open can that I’ve been drinking while driving. It’s empties from the sampler, so I know which ones are worth a six pack.” Yeah, right.

The last and most off-putting packaging change is something called “Canhole.” My first thought was: “If that’s supposed to be a euphemism, it’s worse than the slang it’s replacing.” Then I read the description. It’s cases of Keystone Light where a hole is cut out of the middle so people can toss in bags of beef jerky. Ad Age noted: “Midwesterners might know what cornhole is; the rest of the country… not so much.” Not so much indeed.

This led me to Google “cornhole” (AKA bean bag toss.) I turned up the website for The American Cornhole Association, established by a group of dedicated Cornholers from the west side of Cincinnati. (First prize one week; second prize three.) Wikipedia tells us that the cotton duck bags that get tossed are filled with feed corn. As you can see, Canhole makes the beer drinkers’ necks even redder by having them toss beef jerky.

This gives me new respect for my beverage of choice. Some might have offered wine in a box, and screw tops may now be available; but you’ll never see a case of wine jiggered so you can toss in beef jerky. The most redneck thing wine drinkers would be guilty of is spitting olive pits into empty bottles. And even then, they’d probably be artisanal olives.