Spring Cleaning the Brain

 
 As some of you know, it’s periodically required that I clean out the old brain case. I’m firmly convinced that it can hold only so much, so I purge the files so to speak from time to time, lest it overfill and seize up. I’m not sure if that happens that it can be rectified. God knows I’ve been receiving enough bilge lately to get me worried.

Additionally it’s, Holy Week, and I think it well to refrain from a lot of political ranting, or religious for that matter. Just to be polite to the Lord and all. So, we’ll keep it light and silly this week. Well, at least not mean.

So, anyway, I was minding my own business, when out of the blue (it’s always out the blue, never gray, though there are plenty of gray days). I digress ( you can see that things are already starting to reach a log jam).

As I was saying, I was minding my own business, when the Contrarian up and announces, “Norm taught me how to make a wood steaming unit.” “Mmmm, I see,” I replied. “And what are you planning on making that requires steamed wood?” “Nothin’.” He looked at me with some consternation, figuring I was about to be snotty now. He was right.

“So what is the reason for wasting time learning something you don’t intend ever to use?” I had just that look of self-satisfied superiority as you can image. “Because it was neat! Isn’t that enough? I mean he used PVC pipe, and….” “Stop!!!!! I don’t need to know this!”

It was all down hill from there. A few minutes later he chuckled, and looked at me slyly, “I watched that show about 50 weird things about animals, while you were in church today.” “I figured you would,” I sighed.

“Did you know that a pig’s orgasm is 15 minutes long? Imagine that!” “Well that’s some compensation for being fat and ugly I guess,” I replied. “And a lion only has sex for six seconds, but does it every 15 minutes for days, at least as long as he is awake,” he cooed.

“Uhuh, and I suppose you are trying to decide which you would rather have, right?” “Yep.” he nodded. “Well, the first will kill you and the second me, so forgetaboutit.” He pursed his lips. “Hmmmmph.”

Just as I settled back into some sort of Sunday evening reverie, again…”Did you know there is a bird called a Great Tit? I suppose that means there’s a Lesser Tit.” Now he’s snickering…..”You’re just like a 10 year old kid, ya know, thinking you can get away with saying naughty words. Your mother was a saint.” “What do ya mean by that?” he growled.

You see what I have to contend with around here? You can see why I have to periodically blow the dust out of the head, hook the vacuum hose to my ear and suck it clean? I mean, wouldn’t you are go plainly nuts?

We’ve been watching a PBS show, a rerun actually on art history. It’s really good, until they get to the modern art section. I don’t mind modern art, for the most part. If the colors are right, I’d buy a piece to color coordinate with my sofa. I’d go maybe $30 or so. Not much more.

Painters, art critics, and galleries are in a conspiracy to convince you that this crap is art. It’s not. It’s just ugly or pretty colors and shapes. If I can do it, it ain’t art. Don’t tell me that this square of red, surrounded by a border of white (nothing else mind you) reflects painter NOtalent’s great angst regarding the decline of the bourgeoisie in pre-World War II Germany. Who do you think you’re talking to anyhow? It’s nothing more than the ultra arrogance of folks who live in certain cities and think that that makes them superior to other people.

What is the point of all those soaps like Tide? They say they are supposed to clean my clothes. But I have to add bleach boosters, for both colored clothes and white. And that’s not enough either. I still am supposed to look at every freakin’ piece of clothes and put some other cleanser on “spots.” Spots are dirt, and the damn detergent is supposed to clean the dirt. If I gotta have the spot remover, why do I need the others? Which is why most of my every day clothes have spots on them. I have only so much time to spare you know.

I’m still puzzled why ads for Cialis (penis erector), have those claw foot tubs sitting out in fields. Do they come with the prescription?

It’s depressing to watch depression ads for medications. Did you know that depressed persons depress everyone around them including the household pet? It makes them too depressing to watch.

Alex Trebec gets on my nerves a lot. He corrects people a lot about their French pronunciation in answers on Jeopardy. I suspect he doesn’t know many of the answers himself, but he has the cheat sheet.   You can tell when he thinks a contestant has really given a stupid answer too. Most Canucks aren’t snooty like that. I suspect he’s a closet Montrealite.

I wonder what makes anyone decide, I want to be a meteorologist? I mean it’s not much of a science. If it were, I wouldn’t look out the window every morning to see if they were right. They usually aren’t.

Ditto for electrical engineer. How boring has that got to be? I mean, imagine your husband coming home, “Gee honey, did I have a day. I set up a closed circuit!!!!” Yeah, and I flipped the switch too bud, ta da, the light came on.

Well, I think I have a bit more space now, so have a good one!

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