Spreading my seed

Now really, it is quite tacky to put a suggestive title on a blog just to confuse (and entice) the reader into thinking that we will be talking about sex ... but since we're on the subject, why the hell not?!?

Rest assured- this gardener has done precious little germination in months past, so the seed that I intend to spread has nothing to do with my irrigation system. Oh no friends, we are talking about love here. LOVE.

The 'heart' shape is the ubiquitous symbol of love, and its origins have been debated by historians for years (particularly because it looks nothing like a real heart). The most likely (and sinfully delicious) theory is that the shape comes from the silphium (syphilis?) plant in northern Africa, around 500 B.C.E. Used as a one-stop shop for common ailments and disease (like Windex in My Big Fat Greek Wedding), silphium was also believed to prevent undesired pregnancies. The seeds of the silphium plant are the shape we have adopted as the 'heart'.

Basically, our symbol for love is a prophylactic.

It makes sense ... love meaning we want the pleasure of sex without the pain of raising little shits. But the transition from the symbolic "no baby here" to "oh baby be mine!" is interesting, and further complicates the mysterious dynamic between emotional and physical love, sex and genuine caring. Throw "I 'heart' you mom" into the mix, and it just gets plain gruesome.

But, like many symbols, its present-day meaning has morphed from its original intent. When I see a heart-shape the last thing I think about is birth control. Instead, I think of compassion, intimacy, and sometimes vomiting in my mouth.

Apparently the need to stop popping out little brats overwhelmed the supply of silphium- it is now extinct (hence it was a commodity, quite like the sponge-worthy Seinfeld episodes). Perhaps it is time to reconsider and change this antiquated symbol of love ... why not something more modern ... like a condom?

*Cupid shoots arrow into a Trojan ... extra-large*

So the next time you're strapping on a rubber to hold back the seed, consider the jocular link between the latex and love. And for god's sake, pray that your 'heart' doesn't get broken.

No Cussing??? What the #&%#?!?!?

The pursuit for an adequate definition of "cuss":

cuss: to curse or curse at

curse: to swear

swear: to use profane oaths

profane: to treat with irreverence

irreverence: lack of reverence or due respect

respect: willingness to show consideration or appreciation

OK -- putting this all together, I would propose that "cussing" could be tediously defined as "a lack of due consideration and appreciation in the form of an oath".

Jimminy-Christmas, it is so difficult to get a friggin' handle on what in the tarnation they are talking about! Golly gee!

Well Christmas on a cracker, leave it to the nation's friggin' youth to try and save this gosh darn planet from the viles of freaking cuss words. It means these kids actually give a poopoo about how others are treated! Holy shishkebab!

The No Cussing Club was founded by a 14-year-old son of a biscuit eater in California. The "No Cuss Challenge", necessary to obtain membership in this dang group, states::: "I won't cuss, swear, use bad language, or tell dirty jokes. Clean language is the sign of intelligence and always demands respect. I will use my language to uplift, encourage and motivate. I will Leave People Better Than I Found Them!"

The Internet is full of suggestions on how to clean up our foul potty mouths. My personal favorite: "Instead of ahhh, ****, use "ahhh shuggy duggy quack quack." -- Aside from being hilarious, this quote comes from an ex-military person, which made me think for a minute ... As conservative as the military is (don't ask, don't tell, and burn at the stake), isn't it interesting that expressions like "curse like a sailor" exist? And probably for a good reason?

Research indicates that swear words are "special" in the brain; they are not processed like other words in our vocabulary. Swear words are strongly associated with the limbic system and basal ganglia, which regulate emotions, impulse control, basic behavior, plus a whole lot of other shizzle. They are "lower" brain functions.

As a result, some people who suffer from aphasia (the inability to speak or pronounce words due to brain damage) are still fully able to cuss it up till the cows come home ("Yes, Priscilla, your son is such a handsome young man- such a shame that he is mute." -- "Fucking bitch!!!" -- "Oh dear...").

It's almost like cussing fulfills a basic and instinctual need in the brain. It arouses emotions, effects behavior- and it is almost always the first thing you want to learn about another language. Asking for cuss words in French or Italian isn't offensive to the language- we're trying to build our vocabulary from the bottom up!

Weird- I never speak Italian anymore on a regular basis, but if I'm driving in traffic and some A-hole pulls a crappy maneuver in front of me ... Italian cuss words fly out of my mouth like a bat out of Hades.

So cuss words pack quite an emotional punch! Because they are so powerful, should their use be encouraged because swearing can successfully articulate the depth of emotion in our language? Or should they be saved, used sparingly and held only for the times we really mean what we are saying?

Eh ... I don't really give a shit.

Leapin' Lizards !!!

It's weird-- Leap Year Day is one of those "special" occasions, where you say "Oh my gosh -- it's Leap Year Day! Yay!!!!.... *cough* ... " - and that's about the end of it. It's just like the Olympics; it cycles in and out of our lives every 4 years and afterwards we wonder "now why the hell do we do that, anyway?"

Well the human race has not really come to a consensus about what to do with this pesky equinox solar rotation blah blah insert astronomy here dilemma. In fact, the approaches at trying to adequately quantify the number of days in a year is as varied as the languages we speak and the currencies we squander. For a variety of religions and countries there are distinctive calendars, all periodically revised and altered for this or that purpose.

According to the Islamic tradition, it is actually immoral to add a leap day because it is a violation of what Allah has created as sacred (Allah: "12 months and that's it, bitches!!!"). Holy crap! So in America we've got it all wrong!!! We've focused so much energy on chastising abortion and homosexuality that we have neglected to reject that nettlesome and vile 29th of February! Everywhere I turn I see sin and debauchery, all those immoral calendars flaunting their leap day lifestyle in my face! 666?!? Oh no friends, it's all about the 29 ...

Do not fear, children of the Gregorian, because there is plenty of other folklore afoot to entertain and confound. For example (if the folklore is true ... and it generally is of course)- in the 13th century it was an accepted practice for women to have the right to propose marriage to a man-- but only during a Leap Year (and the penalties for the man's refusal were stiff - or un-stiff? He paid the price of a "kiss" or he had to buy the damsel in distress a nice pretty gown- damn that's harsh). Apparently they were running out of kisses or gowns so some changed the rule so that it was only on the Leap Day itself that women could propose.

Revered or feared (in Greece it's bad luck to marry during a leap year), there's even a special name for leap years- "intercalary years". However this special name comes at a price- the non-leap year years are dispassionately referred to as "common years" (I guess leap years are like the Prodigal Son - "It's February 29th, kill the fatted calf!!!!" *moooooooo*)

There is an intricate set of rules that go into our current Gregorian calendar. We're used to the fact that leap years come every 4 years, however-- Years which are divisible by 100 are not leap years, unless they are also divisible by 400, in which case they are leap years.

What? What?? What person is sitting around making up all this stuff?!? "Yes, it is not a leap year if you can divide the year by 100, unless of course your sister was born on a Tuesday and the groundhog saw his shadow. In that case, but only if mauve is your favorite color and the words "diaper rash" make you cringe, then divide the year by the square root of your neighbor's insolent son's age and add your weight- in kilograms. Um ... yeah that'll about do it."

Well it could be a hard knock life for those calendared systems that do not align with the monopolizing Gregorian calendar; nevertheless, they are an indication of each group's individual cultural perspective on time- and I think that's pretty darn cool.

So I have to wonder... if a gay man proposes marriage on the 29th, he's doubly doomed according to the Islamic faith and the Bush administration. Yikes!!!!! And as we all know, two wrongs don't make a right ...

Indeed- I have never liked the right. I shall always be a left-y.

Jolly Old Saint Valentine, Lean Your Heart This Way

Well the day is here! Valentine's Day! Anti-Valentine's Day! Singles Awareness Day! (abbreviated S.A.D.) But honestly people, is it so terrible to be single? And aware?

And much to the hearty disapproval of the corporate conglomerates that would prefer us to shell out millions on chocolates and heart-shaped sugar candies, many people have snubbed this holiday and called it a glorified commercialization and mockery of the true experience of love- which is shared between 2 people on every single day of the year. Indeed, for some of us every day is a single day.

Perhaps if we look back at history then we can begin to appreciate the true origins of this heartfelt day. Scholars debate on the actual identity of St. Valentine himself- some even believe he is the "combination" of two or more persons, or two or more persons with the same name. What is known, however, is that some time way back when some random Roman dead dude was put in the ground on February 14th, inaugurating the feast and festival that has evolved into our modern Valentine's Day.

So in reality we are actually celebrating someone's funeral (well love is dead, right? *wink*) with our Werther's and "be mine"s and flowers galore. And just like the deceased St. Valentine himself, what we often bring to the metaphoric casket is a heart that has stopped beating in some way. Either the heart is suspended mid-beat and frozen in some foggy rose-tinted dreamland ... or it's been broken.

Another interesting historical note is the link between Valentine's Day and romanticism. In the 14th century Geoffrey Chaucer and his gang in England began to associate the two together, creating the celebration of love in shades of pink (blush and bashful), red, and white.

Romanticism- ahh, an idea that for some of us has taken a journey 6 feet under (a.k.a. cynicism). After all, if you are dressed in only allegorical black then a bleeding heart can't leave any stains. Still, we usually manage to eventually change out of those dreary funeral frocks and give that bright white suit another chance. Just make sure you bring some Shout or bleach to the funeral.

But should the white suit be blotched and blemished again, don't worry-- like most things, in the end everything turns up roses ;-)

Bacon and Scrapple

I was enjoying a bowl of tepid tomato soup (that was in dire need of flavor) and a hearty biscuit (with that Bisquick aftertaste) at a small diner in Philadelphia when I came across a wealth of blog material printed on small cards for patrons to read at their leisure.

The first bit was a comment on "bacon", the staple food of any good diner: "Bacon is not a euphemism for money; rather, the phrase has its roots in 12th century England. A church in the town of Dunmow promised a side of bacon to any married man who could swear before the congregation and God that he had not quarreled with his wife for a year and a day."

Wow! Bacon must have been quite a commodity in those times! Now you can get a side of bacon at IHOP for a lot less than a vow of peace with your partner (although it might result in a war in the bathroom). And what's with that year and a day? Lord … a man who brings home the bacon in Dunmow does more than just bread-winning and promising harmony; he's probably a lying pig.

The next item for my reading pleasure was a discussion on "scrapple", a popular concoction of vomit and intestines that is ravished by northeasterners and gutter rats alike. "Scrapple: The Pennsylvania Dutch call it Panhas, southerners call it Poor-do, and in Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina it's called Liver-mush. Scrapple is a medieval word for leftovers mixed up with the German word Panhaskreppel and the Netherlands Dutch word Schrapelkoekeje."

So not only is scrapple itself a mush of shit and gravy, but so are its semantic origins.

Scrapple wrappers in the grocery store are at least honest about the contents of this scrapple-diddle-ee-umptious delight (usually pig brain, whale carcass, sheep toe-jam), but this Philly diner challenged the commercialized version of scrapple to provide a more wholesome, healthier alternative: cornmeal, buckwheat flour, seasonings and meat broth cooked until thickened, sliced thin and fried until brown, good with ketchup or syrup. Now that doesn't sound too bad.

I paid my $4.50, wished I had spent it elsewhere, gathered my belongs, and finally gave into the desire to buy a local "Eat more scrapple" shirt at the register. I'm a schmuck from Delaware, what can I say? Table scraps are part of my blood.

(for a complete list of diner-ese phrase-ology, visit http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A890589)

little of this, little of that

Last week I was in Murky Coffee when a sudden pang of urgent hunger came over me. Although I was well aware that the nearby Starbucks offers tasty breakfast treats (including a low-fat sandwich), I thought that my hypocritical bitch-then-buy attitude with the conglomerate must come to an end, and that I would purchase a freshly-baked goody from the Murky folk.

To my pleasant surprise, I found that my bagel (the "everything bagel" ... is that like a black hole of random crap that's fallen into the batter?) was conveniently priced at $0.91, making it an even $1.00 after DC's exorbitant food tax and eliminating the need for the penny exchange.

And yes, we are often quite hard on our dear penny in our fast-paced world. We mock it, calling it "worthless", a "petty penny", and altogether "senseless" (hehe).

In fact, some people have gone to such great lengths that they have set up an entire organization devoted solely to the demise of our beloved Lincoln coin. www.retirethepenny.org is a website that has promised to bring about certain doom to our coppered friend (or fiend, is it???)

According to the website, this metallic menace costs $0.014 to manufacture, making it more expensive to make that its actual value (Um.... isn't that like any Britney Spears CD?). Apparently the zinc industries are lobbying to keep the penny in our piggy banks at all costs (hehe), requiring approximately $33 million every year from the US Mint.

This is atrocious!!! Why wasn't this brought to my attention sooner???!!!??? The website lists these reasons for the justified eradication of the penny: (1) waste of money, and (2) waste of time.

Hmm ... war in Iraq, and the penny. I see a similarity! Other than that both can be used to get oil.

Starbucks Statistics and Charity

It's just like an annoying partner that dishes out really good sex; despite the irritation, you always end up coming back for more.

And so it goes with Starbucks.

There are a total of 127 Starbucks chains in the DC Metro area, and so the petulant partner peddles its addictive devices at every turn, corner, and fork in the road of the District.

Starbucks appeals to the American ideals of convenience and choice. Convenience because you can't take two steps without seeing the all-too-familiar rotund green sign, and choice because of the unending ways you can order a drink.

According to the Guide to Starbucks Beverages, "barista-speak" consists of 5 steps: the cup, the shots and size, syrup, milk and other modifiers (what) and the drink itself. There are 4 cup options, 5 types of espresso choices, 12 syrups, 6 types of milk, and 6 modifiers ... all of which can be ordered using the 36 vocabulary items printed in the front of the Guide.

In the "Giving Back" section of the brochure, Starbucks details how it goes to great lengths to help its local communities. "Each Starbucks store chooses a charity to receive its leftover pastries and past-date coffee". WHAT???

First of all, Starbucks is further contributing to the fattening of America with its butter-enriched pastries (another American ideal?) by donating high-fat and unhealthy foods to charities which probably serve an under-fed population. To add insult to injury, they are giving them stale coffee.

If it is past-date for the consumer, how is it still safe to give to charity? That's like donating expired condoms to a family-planning center.

Besides, I've seen the size of some Starbucks employees and I seriously doubt that many of the pastries make it to the "leftover" phase.

Sodium (photos) may increase blood pressure

How times have changed!!! In just 100 years we've gone from horse and buggy to segues and golf carts. It seems our laziness is ever increasing, as is our tolerance for ostentatious displays of human flesh consumed by the mass public.

Don't believe me? Take the Morton's salt girl, for example (and no, this umbrellaed sex goddess is nameless ... although Sodium Chloride-ina has quite a ring to it). When initially introduced to consumers in 1914 she was an innocent curly-haired gal just shy of 10 years or so, skirt to her knees and clutching her oversized umbrella (incidentally, did you know that Mortons is responsible for the phrase "When it rains, it pours" ?)

In the 54 years to follow, our Iodine princess' skirt has raised considerably to Marilyn-Monroe status, hair straightened and pixie-like, and she is staring prodigiously at the generous hook of her umbrella (I kid you not!!!).

From frumpy to chic this savory sister has made quite a transformation. Although there have not been any revisions to Ms. NaCl since 1968, one can only imagine how she would appear were she to be re-drawn in 2006.

Inspired by the swimsuit beach models of Sports Illustrated, our Morton's containers would probably bear the image of some pubescent siren barely concealing her personals with damp patches of salt.

Check out the drawings from 1914-1968 at: http://www.mortonsalt.com/consumer/about_us/history/mug.htm

Bother of the bride

Why do brides always stand on the left in wedding ceremonies?

According to a reputable source, brides in Medieval times were often stolen from neighboring cities (gentlemen, I have an alternative strategy for what happens when there aren't enough ladies in town ... what are you doing tonight???).

Therefore, the groom (or one of his 6 brothers, sobbin' sobbin') had to always be on the lookout for some angry father on a rampage because he didn't get a dowry. By having his blushing (or bleeding) bride on his left side, the groom had his right hand available to extract his sword should he need to ward off any person attempting to slit his thieving throat.

I can't imagine a time when women were in such short supply. Now women are everywhere: on buses, in public parks, and even in the bathrooms at Omega.

The only comparable situation I can think of in modern times is the extreme shortage of straight men in the District. Therefore, straight boys of DC be forewarned!!! Should a woman approach you, pretending she's interested in football and the revolting way you keep your toenails, be on the alert!!! The only reason most girls even enter sports bars is because of the low lighting, you know.

Although I don't suppose it would be that incredibly difficult to kidnap a straight man. Simply wave a soft, rotund piece of exposed flesh in front of his eyes and there'll be enough drool to take on the Hoover Dam. Second, entice him with chili-cheese dogs and the promise of a beer gut before he turns 30 and trust me, the straight boys will come a-runnin'. Throw in your tolerance of his bad manners and really poor taste in clothes, and that straight boy will be all over you like white on rice.

But while racing to the altar, girls, make sure to have the groom on your left with his right hand occupied. Should he resist the vows and attempt to fight, we all know that a boy's left hand is weaker ... perhaps from too much time extracting that damned sword.

Grubb's Pharmacy

The pharmacy is a nasty, cold, and bitter place to do business. It is where humiliation meets frustration, embarrassment and expense collide, and you constantly wonder to yourself "What the hell has brought all these people here?!"

Grubb's Care Pharmacy on East Capitol and 4th is not your typical pharmacy. It's crammed into an old-style white-walled building that has the faded air of some once impressive pharmaceutical giant.

It feels like a community center. Everyone bursts through the door and is greeted with instantaneous shouts of recognition (I swear I heard someone yell "Norm!") – well, except for me, that is (and I don't aspire to become a regular).

Everyone is warm and friendly, bustling about with their precious parcels of pills, having a laugh over Metamucil, snickering about that time when Barbara got the hemorrhoids or when Danny's rash prevented him from having his daily bike ride.

Even the staff violates the pharmacists' "must be an asshole to work here" code; they seem thrilled to be giving away drugs. It feels like an expensive candy store (please leave the distasteful suppository jokes at the door). The only exception to this was the woman behind the counter who was sporting a mask and abruptly spraying patients in the face with Lysol when they approached.

And now for today's medical trivia: Does anyone know how much a "walker" costs?

You see, Grubb's is not only entertaining, it is also informative. Today I learned that walkers come in all shapes and sizes, and with prices to match. It all depends on the style you would like to accompany your afternoon saunter.

There is the standard "just get me to the bingo hall" walker, which will cost you about $140. If you upgrade to the sleek dark-gray Turbo Roller (estimated time crossing the street: 3 minutes), you can expect to pay about $175. For the elderly on the run (*ahem*) and in need of convenience, there is a Super Turbo Roller that comes with a basket to carry all of your personal belongings ("Look, Ethel, I can even put my oxygen tank in it!"). That puppy will cost you the big bucks - $200.

Come people, it's 2006!!! Why not just get a segway?!