Candle Scents that Didn’t Make It

Much Ado about WD-40

My July “Banter from the Burbs” column may look familiar to you longtime Angie’s Humor Blog readers…but you can never review the benefits of WD-40 too many times, is what I say.

So here it is…

MUCH ADO ABOUT WD-40
By Angie Brennan

You may have already seen that e-mail making the rounds proclaiming “2000 uses for WD-40.” I was impressed that someone would have taken the time to discover all these uses, let alone type them out. At first glance, you might think some of these ideas aren’t very practical. You would be right. Here are a few of the more intriguing ones, along with a scenario I pictured for each:

CLEANS VACUUM CLEANER DIALS

“So glad you could stop by for a cup of coffee, Kate.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Sandra. You certainly have a lovely–oh, my.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s your carpet. I don’t like to say it, Sandra, but it looks as if it hasn’t been vacuumed since the Reagan administration.”

“First or second term?”

“The fact is, Sandra, your carpet needs help.”

“I don’t understand, Kate! I’m sure I had the dirt-toleration dial on my vacuum cleaner set to Low.”

“And yet, Sandra, it’s difficult to know for certain when the dial is so filthy. Let’s clean it off using my purse-sized bottle of WD-40 and take a look.”

“Oh, Kate, I’m so embarrassed! Looks like the dirt toleration dial was actually set to Extra-High! What would I do without friends like you?”

“Probably even less housework than you do already, Sandra.”

LUBRICATES WHEELS OF HOMEMADE MONORAIL SYSTEMS

“Billy! BILLY! Get down here!”

“Here I am.”

“I’ve been calling you down to dinner for nearly ten minutes, Billy. What took so long?”

“Sorry, Mom–I had to walk down the stairs.”

“Walk? What about our homemade monorail system?”

“No go. It’s jammed.”

“Oh, no! Guess this means you won’t be able to take out the trash tonight.”

“Not if I can’t get this thing running.”

“Wait a minute, Billy–what if we tried some WD-40?”

“Let me try….hey, it works! Good thinking, Mom!”

“Thanks, Billy. Now go ahead and set the table. I’m going to ride over to the fridge and get the Worcestershire sauce.”

LUBRICATES FLAG ON MAILBOX

“Bob, did you mail the payment for my subscription to ‘The WD-40 Enthusiast?’”

“I couldn’t, Sarah.”

“Why not?”

“The mailbox flag is sticking again. I can’t ask the mail carrier to endure that awful squeak when he pushes the flag back down…I just can’t.”

“Well, of course not, Bob, we’re not monsters. What are we going to do?”

“WD-40–that’s what. Watch this…”

“Incredible! Now the flag moves up and down with nary a peep!”

“Mail away, Sarah. And in the future, I know who won’t keep asking whether your subscription is worth the price!”

And the list goes on…shines outdoor sculptures, protects bayonets from rust while stored in sheaths, protects metal bars on glockenspiels…I think we can all rest easier knowing that, in the midst of life’s little dramas, WD-40 will be there to help. In fact, I think I’ll run down to the store and get a few extra cans. Just as soon as I get my homemade monorail system up and running.

Pirate Parenting

Today Angie’s Humor Blog is hosting a book tour stop for Tim Bete, author of parenting humor book In the Beginning…There Were No Diapers. Tim’s publishing credits also include the Christian Science Monitor, Atlanta Parent, Big Apple Parent, Northwest Family, FathersWorld.com and ParentingHumor.com.

He has another book out now: Guide to Pirate Parenting.

“Book-a-neer” Bete and his piratical colleague, Cap’n Billy “The Butcher” MacDougall, offer advice on turning your little powder monkeys into happy, healthy buccaneers. Among other things, you’ll learn:

• Ten benefits of raising a pirate
• Which offense requires administering The Flying Dutchman Wedgie
• The best place to maroon your disobedient child
• Scurvy and hook injuries—pirate health and safety
• The difference between plundering and pillaging

Outdoor Fun with Sonny Day

Summer is upon us, and that means fun in the great outdoors! We have as our guest today Outdoor Activity Consultant Sonny Day, who will answer a couple of questions.

Dear Mr. Day,

My company sponsors an annual summer picnic that always includes a volleyball game. I’m such an awful player I almost got laughed off the volleyball diamond last year. It’s that time of year again, and I’m just not sure I want to go through that humiliation again. Should I stay home? Go and do my best? What do you think?

Sincerely,

Bad Sport

Dear Sport,

When it comes right down to it, it doesn’t matter what athletic skills you may or may not have. What’s really important is that you have a hat with the company logo. Never let the scorn and mockery of others define who you are–even if it is deserved, which may well be the case in your situation. Perhaps I should mention that it’s called a volleyball “court,” not a volleyball “diamond.” Tell me, Sport, don’t you love playing baseball, swinging at the ball with the “club?” Ever tried golf? You know–the game where you try to “bonk” the “golf globe” into the “caves?” And then there’s football…nothing quite like the exhilaration of watching the “quartermaster” race down the “course” to score a “home run,” is there? I suggest you come down with a cold the day before the picnic, lest you risk being “court jester” again.

* * * * * * *

Dear Sonny,

Do you have any suggestions for camping activities the pre-school crowd can enjoy?

Thanks,

Totally In-Tents

Dear In-Tents,

It’s never too early to introduce your little ones to the joys of camping. Unfortunately, there aren’t any. Just kidding–of course there are joys. Lots of joys! For instance, the joy of driving away from the campsite to head back home. But let’s get back to your question….here are some ways to involve young children in the camping experience:

Play a game of “No, no! Don’t touch that!” Observing an astonishing variety of wildlife is one of the thrills of camping (notice I didn’t call it a “joy.”) This can be particularly exciting for young children, whose natural wonder and curiosity have not yet been stripped away by the ability to identify poisonous snakes.

Increase their outdoor vocabulary. Just because your family is recreating doesn’t mean you can’t sneak in a little educating. Camping will provide many opportunities for your child to learn the names of plants, animals, and leading brands of poison ivy medication. Your children will also be introduced to new words as they watch you struggle to assemble the tent.

Let them enjoy some grandparent time. Since you’ll probably want to abandon the campsite after 24 hours, drop the kids off at Grandma’s house while you and your spouse finish your vacation at the Hilton.

Have fun, campers, and don’t forget to make those hotel reservations before you leave!

—————-

“Banter from the Burbs” from June 2008 issue of Suburban Scene magazine. Copyright 2008 Angie Brennan.

Getting Even with Phone Solicitors…

Mallet Mechanic

A malfunctioning fuel pump. A rubber mallet. A true story.

It’s Mallet Mechanic, my May Suburban Scene column…

“You can hit it with a mallet,” he said. “Here–I’ll show you.”

The setting: an auto repair shop in Anne Arundel County
The characters: me, a mechanic with many years of car repair experience under his fingernails, and my ailing minivan
The situation: I knew it was time for an auto checkup after my van suddenly died one day while cruising down the road. I mean, one minute I’m doing 45 (or whatever the posted speed limit was on that particular road. Really, officer!), and the next minute, I’m struggling to maneuver a comatose, power-steering-less van to the shoulder.

I had a couple of choices, said the mechanic: one was to spend a bundle on a fuel pump repair. The other option was simply to wait until it died again. Then I could hit a certain spot under the van using a rubber mallet which would, according to Mr. Mechanic, make it start right up again. Eager to save money and even more eager to have an excuse to wallop my misbehaving minivan, I opted for the mallet approach.

Apparently aware that threats of spankings loomed near, the van operated normally for awhile. It wasn’t too long, however, until it decided the time had come to test me. Of course it was a carpool day–I was shuttling several kids home after school in addition to my own–and of course it decided to die as I turned onto a narrow two-lane road with no shoulder.

I wrestled the van as far to the right as possible. Checking for oncoming cars, I grabbed my mallet, told the kids I’d be back in a jiffy, hopped outside. I found the right spot and gave the van a good, sound whack. It was very satisfying. I got back inside, switched on the ignition, and, just as the mechanic had predicted, the engine roared to life. Hey, nothing to this car repair stuff! I’d probably be rebuilding carburetors before long.

We continued on our merry way–for all of three blocks. The engine cut out, I wrenched the steering wheel to the right once again as we glided to a stop and, not so cheerfully this time, retrieved my mallet.

I had just dropped to my knees beside the van in pounding position with my upraised mallet when I noticed a nearby car slow way down. A fellow school mom peered at me from the driver’s seat; the look on her face indicated that she wasn’t sure whether to call a tow truck or the department of mental health. I gave her a friendly “ha, ha…just here in the middle of the road whacking the van–good to see you!” kind of wave and proceeded to let the van feel the full brunt of my frustration and embarrassment.

That fix lasted long enough for me to drop off the carpool kids (I wondered what their version of the story sounded like). Then I had to endure one more steel-driving-Mom maneuver before we finally arrived home. Needless to say, we ended up forking out the dough for the fuel pump repair.

I suppose the van had the last laugh on that one. I would suggest, however, that it not laugh too loudly…I still have that rubber mallet.

A Voice from the Past

Twilight spreads over Central Park to the distant sound of honking horns. A policeman on his evening beat saunters down the path. As the sun sinks behind the trees, the atmosphere grows tense and charged. The policeman stops abruptly, peers into the shadows, then rushes forward. A wild scream pierces the stillness.

For a brief moment, the city seems to hold its breath.

Suddenly, the policeman emerges from the trees, grinning, and resumes his jaunty stroll. The release of tension causes a ripple of surprised laughter from the crowd.

No, the laughter doesn’t come from New Yorkers hurrying to catch the subway after a long day of work. It comes from a group of parents seated in a school auditorium in suburban Houston. The music that evoked this dramatic scene: courtesy of my junior high band playing a song called “Night Beat” that evoked the various regions of New York City. The scream: courtesy of me.

And thus began the abuse of my vocal cords.

It wasn’t the only time I filled the role of designated screamer. A few years later, my high school band performed a piece that called for an onstage scream. Naturally, I got the part. I think I can say without bragging that I had achieved some distinction in that area.

As a teenager, I never had particularly strong feelings about the outcome of our high school football games, but I took great delight, nevertheless, in shouting–no, screaming–encouragement to our team. And sometimes I played “bus clown” by belting out The National Anthem, in a loud, exaggerated operatic soprano voice, on the ride home.

By the time I was in college, I was experiencing intermittent problems with my voice.

Most of the time I could speak normally. But occasionally, when enunciating a sound that required the back of my throat to be open, my poor, abused vocal cords slammed shut, causing my voice to strangle to a stop. Short “a” and short “o” sounds were particularly problematic.
I went through a period where I dreaded social events, knowing that I would end up in conversations like this:

Joe: Well, summer is here, that’s for sure. Did you hear it got up to 99 degrees today?
Me: I know. Houston gets so unbelievably h—ah—aughh—(sound of strangling)
Joe: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah. I was just saying that Houston is so h—aughh…Houston is certainly far from cold.
Joe: Right. Hey, I think I’ll go get a refill. See you around.

I don’t think we fully appreciate how ubiquitous short vowel sounds are until we begin trying to avoid them. I’ve found it helpful to come up with some suitable replacements for short-vowel-intensive phrases:

Avoid: An apple makes a fantastic afternoon snack.
Better: I’ll take two scoops of cookies and cream, please.

Avoid: I need to stop at the mall to shop for a good quality wallet.
Better: Would you mind paying for dinner? I don’t carry money.

Avoid: Did you catch that basketball match last Saturday?
Better: Oh, if only teachers were paid like sports heroes!

Avoid: Ah! I think I’ll get a shot of that Amish farmer with my new Nikon.
Better: I don’t want to capture this idyllic Pennsylvania Dutch scene on film.

The louder I speak, the harder I have to work to squeeze out the short vowels. Shouting my order at fast-food drive-thrus is particularly frustrating:

Me: I’ll have a Big Ma—aaa—(sound of strangling)
Employee: Excuse me?
Me: A Big Ma—
Employee: Hello?
Me: Chicken McNuggets, please.

If only I could turn back the clock and tell that twelve-year-old girl sitting in the trumpet section to treat her voice with the same care she treated her instrument. If only I could convince the sixteen-year-old that screaming at the ref wouldn’t have much of an effect on the outcome of the game (not that she cared about the outcome of the game).

Of course, there’s always vocal cord surgery or Botox shots through the throat into the vocal cords…Yikes. I think I’ll stick with the occasional strangled voice. At least until I get really tired of McNuggets.

Getting Angie’s Humor Blog Set Up

Greetings, humor lovers!

I’ve just imported my blog from Blogger to WordPress because of problems I’ve had with Blogger. Sorry for the appalling variety of fonts going on down there, but I’m just not sure I have it in me to go through all my old posts and change them to make them nice and matching.

If you have Angie’s Humor Blog in your blogroll (thanks!) please set the new URL to: http://angiebrennan.wordpress.com/

New feed URL: http://angiebrennan.wordpress.com/feed/

E-mail subscribers: If you’d like to continue receiving my blog updates via e-mail, please click here (there is also a link for e-mail subscriptions on the sidebar). Sorry for the inconvenience–you will automatically be unsubscribed from the old one in a week or two.

Thanks for visiting my new blog home!

April, Thy Name is Fickle

If you’re like many Americans, you view the month of April with a mixture of anticipation and dread. On one hand, April begins to loosen the icy clutch of winter, ushering in the first tender blooms of springtime. But with the other hand, April reaches for your checkbook, hurls it down in front of you, and pointing at a Form 1040, offers a friendly reminder that Uncle Sam wants YOU (to write him a hefty check).

And yet the focus of this month isn’t only on tulips and taxes. For example, April is also:

FOOT HEALTH AWARENESS MONTH

Sorting through receipts and filling out vaguely-worded forms is no reason to ignore what’s going on inside your shoe. So go ahead and file your returns and your toenails! If you plan to take a deduction for medical expenses, be sure to read IRS Publication 268419, “Pedicure Deductions: Up to and including Bunion Removal and Pumice Treatment.”

WELDING MONTH

Far too few of us take the time to do proper homage to the art of welding. Oh sure, we may exchange greeting cards with ditties such as this:

“Happy, happy welding month! I’m sure you will agree
That joining metals with high heat is great for you and me.
Look around and you will see how welding fills our lives:
From home decor to engine valves, from grills to Ginsu knives.
Welded stuff is all around, so let’s send up a cheer!
Though April may be Welding Month, it ought to last all year.”

Or for the more romantically-inclined:

“Like welded steel we’re fused together,
Never shall we part!
Like torches of acetylene
You’ve melted, dear, my heart.”

And yet each of us should consider whether we’re simply giving in to the commercialism of Welding Month or truly honoring its meaning, which escapes me at the moment.

ANXIETY MONTH

That’s right–Anxiety Month is observed around the same time returns are due. Coincidence? Not a very taxing question.So whether you’re trimming your toenails, taking a class on flux-cored arc welding, or setting aside some extra time to experience a panic attack, enjoy the many moods of April.

Just don’t forget that Uncle Sam is waiting for that check. Happy Anxiety Month, everyone!

Life a la Carte

My April Suburban Scene humor column:

Life a la Carte
by Angie Brennan

We live in an age of niche gone nuts. Consider television….the old days of a handful of channels is only a vague memory. With cable TV you can watch practically anything; search long enough and you’ll probably come across such stations as the Dangle-Earrings Home Shopping Network or the X-treme Nine-Ball Billiards Channel.

Then there’s the book store. You want fiction–okay, so what’ll it be? Mystery? Romance? Health? (You know, health fiction–books with titles like “Losing Weight the Quick and Easy Way,” or “The Secret Revealed: Eat Cheesecake Twice a Day and Watch the Pounds Melt Away!”)

Awhile back I discovered a website that features a collection of internet-based radio stations. It offers a mind-boggling variety of music. In the mood for some jazz? You can choose from Blues, Salsa, Bossa Nova, “Smooth, but not too Smooth,” Weimar Rundfunk (Beats me. Sounds intriguing.), and even all-Christmas jazz.

I clicked around and explored the classical stations. Besides the usual “Tortured Love Songs Screeched in Italian” station or the “Mozart, Mozart, and More Mozart” station, there were a number of offerings that defied classification…

How about this one: “Contemporary music of all genres, choir, chamber, orchestra, organ, by Swedish composer—All music you need!” [sic] Yes, I would imagine that after about ten minutes, my contemporary Swedish choir music needs would have been fully met. And then some.

And what about food? Even shopping for popcorn can be overwhelming for the sheer number of choices. Do you want Lightly Buttered, Purposefully Buttered, or Great Glopping Gobs of Butter? Or maybe you’re looking for one that’s sweet and salty…should you get “Sweet ‘n Sorta Salty,” or “Subtly Sweet Swimming in Salt?” Besides buttered and salted, there’s a whole host of flavored popcorn varieties. Some make up for their fairly unadventurous flavor by using alternate spellings: Karoline’s Karmel Pop Korn. The health conscious have their choices, too, such as Light ‘n Fit Packin’ Peanut flavored popcorn. And there are flavors that are downright revolting–Smell o’ Seaweed Brine Shrimp flavored popcorn.

Well, it could happen. I can see it now…one evening the vice president of Orville Redenbacher is dining at his favorite seafood restaurant. Suddenly he pauses, fork in midair, and stares at his plate full of popcorn shrimp. “Why not?” he thinks. “Shrimp-flavored popcorn…somebody out there will buy it.”

And he’s right. It’ll probably be the person at home watching the Simply Shrimp Cooking Channel.