Tag Archives: large smelly boys

Bob Hicks, General, Journalism, Theater, Visual Art

Sweetheart, get me rewrite: We just hit an iceberg!

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The Titanic, proud prowler of the ocean, steaming into history

Above: The Titanic, proud prowler of the ocean, steaming into history. Inset below: The Titanic’s bow, as seen from a Russian MIR I submersible. Wikimedia Commons.

As you may have noticed, American newspapers are in a spot of trouble these days. Bad economy, sinking circulation, this newfangled thing called the Information Superhighway … the troubles just keep piling up.

So I’m always interested in seeing what our best and brightest newspapering minds are doing to stop the bleeding. The New York Times has this thing it cleverly calls The New York Times Store, because it’s, well, it’s run by the New York Times and it’s a store. As in, a place where you can buy merchandise that you probably don’t need but that might be fun to have, anyway. A sort of readers’ boutique.

The haul is tasteful, and handy if you need to score a quick birthday present for a happily retired stockbroker uncle in Montauk. It’s a little New York-centric, but that’s OK: Derek Jeter memorabilia, Yogi Berra signed baseballs, Authentic Yankee Stadium “Freeze-Dried Grass” Sod (!), Babe Ruth baseball jerseys. Looking westward, Edward Curtis prints seem to be a popular item. So are crossword puzzles, executive-desk knickknacks … you get the picture. The store’s a good idea: When the ship’s going down, any little bucket on deck helps.

About that bucket.

The other day I flipped to the back page of the arts section and saw the latest come-on from the Times store.

THE FLEET IS IN

AMAZING SHIP MODELS

the headline screamed, and there at the top was a photo of a splendid-looking model of The Titanic.

Ttitanic bow seenfrom Russian MIR I_submersible/Wikimedia CommonsJust $249 for the 32-inch edition, but let’s go whole hog: You can get the 40-inch model, complete with “accurate crow’s nest, metal propellers and railings, and intricate cranes, ventilators, ladders, funnels, steam pipes, benches and skylights,” for $379. It’ll look great on your mant …

Hold on: A newspaper’s selling a model of The Titanic!

Guys: Have you read your back issues? Is this really the image you want to put out there right now? How about a bronzed commemorative pile of molten debris from the Hindenburg? Have you been too busy rearranging the deck chairs to notice the iceberg out there in the fog?

Just sayin’, this might be a tactical mistake.

But I do like the idea of the company store. Lord knows, even in their current state of disarray the newspapers are raking in more money than this blogospheric whiz-bang buggy we’ve hitched our wagon to here at Art Scatter.

Anybody interested in a Mr. and Mrs. Scatter commemorative coffee mug?

How about a Large Smelly Boys minty air freshener for the car?

Bob Hicks, Food, General

Mule soup: long-eared vindication on a lazy afternoon

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Twenty mule team cargo racing through the desert. Courtesy wpclipart.com

Ah, the workhorses — nay, work-MULES — of the West: A twenty-mule-team outfit rambles through the desert. Photo: wpclipart.com

Sometimes we pioneers in the barren wilderness of the blogosphere think it might all be a lost cause. We throw seeds into the wind and they blow away onto rocky ground, never to flower into the loveliness of a response. So it was with this little country ramble that Art Scatter took way back on Sept. 14, when he spent a summer afternoon at Hells Canyon Mule Days in far northeast Oregon and shot a bloggish missive into silence.

Until — o joy — this warm and funny response arrived from mule gal Eva Willingham, whose comment is so filled with peckish good humor that we hope she writes again:

It cracks me up that you have gotten such a good handle on mules in such a short time. It’s taken some people years to figure them out, which is that you can’t figure them out. On the other hand, once you have ridden a mule, it’s really hard to go back to a horse. I do as much trail riding as possible. Packing, as well. I can ride a mule all day and never feel fatigued. I ride my horse for a few hours and know I’ve been on a horse. Because of the way they are built, they ride like Chevies instead of Fords. Hope you’re not a Ford person. This very weekend at 2:00 in Newberg at Devenwood you can observe a mule competing against some very pricy warmbloods and kicking butt. You want to see a mule at its finest, go watch.

Of course I’m flattered to have my powers of mulish perspicacity recognized by someone who actually knows what she’s talking about.

bluepintoAnd I like thinking about a mule as a Chevy and a horse as a Ford, although the only time that most of America really focuses on horses — Kentucky Derby weekend — the proper vehicular analog might by the Maserati: It goes really fast, and it’s always breaking down. City slicker that I am, I’m afraid I’m currently pretty much a Honda and Toyota man, although I did once own a Ford Pinto — most uncomfortable car ever created, and let’s not even think about those exploding fuel tanks.

I’m sorry to be missing the spectacle in Newberg, which I’m sure is a fine and lovely thing. But my weekend’s been pretty busy, what with all this writing stuff (some of it for actual money; you don’t get to see the paying pieces on Art Scatter) and gadding about town. Friday night was Portland Opera’s feisty, funny, gorgeously sung La Boheme. Saturday night I spent at Clackamas Repertory Theatre watching a warm production of Alfred Uhry’s play The Last Night of Ballyhoo; a review is supposed to pop up in The Oregonian on Monday morning. Tonight our friend Michele Mariana, who did some voice work and sang a song in the movie version of Neil Gaiman‘s novel Coraline, is dropping over for dinner and bringing a DVD of the movie, which we’ll watch.

img00034In the meantime, Mrs. Scatter has whomped up a tasty-smelling veggie chili for dinner tonight. And as she’s  scampered off with the smaller Large Smelly Boy to some sort of mallish destination in search of pants that actually fit him — update, via Blackerry: “I’m in hell. Stores: 4. Pants: O. Next up: Refreshments. Then more stores. You OK getting Michele? I’ll aim for being home at 5.” — it is my solemn task to monitor, stir, and maybe even subtly alter the soup on the stove.

The soup has sweet onions, garlic, red sweet peppers, Santa Fe chili powder from our friend Penelope, some leftover enchilada sauce, zucchini, soft tomatoes, corn, a nifty soy sausage called Soyrizo that has the spicing and texture of a Spanish chorizo, and a few dashes of Covey Run 2005 cabernet sauvignon, an excellent cooking wine from the Columbia Valley in Washington state that you can get for about five bucks a bottle. Some of the ingredients come from the gardens of our friends Susan and Bonnie.

The chili’s coming along quite well. So’s the Covey Run cab. Wish I could say the same for Mrs. Scatter and the smaller Large Smelly Boy’s pants. Now I really should clean up the house a bit. Company’s coming.

———————————–

Top inset photo: The infamous Ford Pinto. Mine was pumpkin-yellow. This one’s blue. Either way, I’d rather ride a mule. Photo: Wikimedia Commons.

Lower inset photo: Mrs. Scatter’s delicious vegetarian chili, bubbling on the stove. Photo: The wielder of the cell phone gizmo declines to take credit for the photographic result.

General, Laura Grimes, Music, Theater

Now I’ve got that job: a back-breaker before it begins

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The Crooked Man, Project Gutenberg

Bent beneath the weight of sudden responsibilities and an uncooperative lower back, Mrs. Scatter staggers to the first meeting of her Important New Job. Drawing: “The Crooked Man,” from Project Gutenberg.

————————————————

Did you hear I got a new job? If you missed the first two installments, read …

Part 1: The short-lived dream of running for president.
Part 2: The bizarre, twisted tale of how the job found me.

A brief recap:

  • Blissful summer.
  • No job and no plans for a job.
  • Alvin and the Chipmunks.
  • A mysterious Jane nominates me for president.
  • White House hopes dashed.
  • Two Large Smelly Liabilities.
  • Love Jane.
  • Love Third Angle.
  • Love Ron.
  • Earflap hats.
  • Flying rockets.
  • Killer water fights.
  • Trick-or-treat.
  • Urinating dog.
  • FaceBook.
  • Frozen Music – City Dance.
  • Date night.
  • Sunny beach.
  • Typing into phone.
  • Junior Rose Parade.
  • Auto parts store.
  • Pickles!

I made the big announcement on FaceBook:

Say hello to the new managing director of Third Angle New Music Ensemble! I’m excited to work with my old friend Ron Blessinger. It’s the one job that could have lured me back to the work world before I had planned.

And then I had a little exchange with one of my “friends.”


Mighty Toy Cannon: “Hey congratulations. Welcome to the arts administrators’ club.”

Miss Laura: “Will you show me the secret handshake?”

MTC: “Once I’ve learned the handshake for the League of Tough-Guy Arts Observers! I’d also be happy to pass along the code book and the secret map to hidden treasures.”

Miss Laura: “I hope finding the secret treasures doesn’t involve dark passageways filled with giant spiders and booby-trapped blades that take heads off.”

OK, so I didn’t fully disclose on my resume that I had once worked as a clerk in an auto parts store.

I really don’t think that’s any excuse not to be up front about the booby-trapped blades.

Everything amazingly clicked into place. My grand scheme was to take the summer off, then come up with a whole new career. So I went on vacation, drove home on Labor Day and went to a meeting that night.

It was to be my first job duty. My first impression. My first official act of my Whole New Career.

But first … the day before my big debut I woke up in a nice cottage in Ashland, walked across the hall, stepped on the cold tile floor of the bathroom and suddenly went HOLY MOTHER OF GOD I’M SORRY I WAS BORN WITH LEGS!

My entire lower back seized up and wouldn’t let go. I could hardly walk.

I thought a nice warm shower would take care of it. No such luck. I took a couple of ibuprofen. Mildly better.
Continue reading Now I’ve got that job: a back-breaker before it begins →

Dance, General, Laura Grimes, Music

How did I get that job? Alvin and the Chipmunks (Part 2)

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Frozen Music II: The City Dance of Lawrence & Anna Halprin. Photo: Alicia J. RoseSo sorry. Art Scatter has been experiencing technical difficulties. Mr. Scatter was in the far-flung parts of the state hanging with people who raise peacocks and donkeys. His absence meant he couldn’t run interference with the Large Smelly Boys, who at times can be chihuahuas for attention.

Then Mr. Scatter got back and wrote about mules (note a trend?) and other thinky things like the League of Tough-Guy Arts Observers. There’s just no way I’m going to get in the middle of that, especially when I have upper respiratory yuck and I’m busy hamstering to get out front of my new job.

Oh, did I tell you I got a new job? How did I get it, you wonder? Let’s see … the story so far, posted way last week:

  • Blissful summer.
  • No job and no plans for a job.
  • Alvin and the Chipmunks.
  • A mysterious Jane nominates me for president.
  • White House hopes dashed.
  • Two Large Smelly Liabilities.

At this point in the story, the mysterious Jane didn’t know this (and I didn’t know her), but I now considered her my new best friend.

In the meantime … on Aug. 13, Mr. Scatter posted something brainy about the National Endowment for the Arts and its new leader, Rocco Landesman. The post got a lot of thoughtful comments and then the mysterious Jane popped up again.

She said, “I think we should invite Chairman Landesman out to the provinces for a look-see. I’d be delighted to have him hear a Third Angle concert.”

I immediately put on my Sherlock Holmes hat, went to the website for Third Angle New Music Ensemble and checked out its list of board members. Sure enough, there was a Jane.

This is the point of the story where I should divulge Jane’s last name, but I think I’ve dropped enough clues that you can put on your own fancy earflaps and find out for yourself. You don’t even have to light your pipe, because I’ll make it easy for you. Here’s a link.

Sherlock Holmes statue in Edinburgh, Scotland. Photo: Siddharth Krish/Wikimedia CommonsWhen I spied Third Angle in mysterious Jane’s comments, my ears pricked up. Or at least they would have if I hadn’t been wearing the fancy earflaps. I love Third Angle. And I love Ron Blessinger, the company’s artistic director, who happens to be an old friend. We used to live a few houses apart. Our kids used to swing around in trees together.

Ron once wandered down to our house to check on his two kids and they were lined up with my two in the side yard. As I aimed a plastic hose, the four of them were taking turns jumping on an air pad that would send a plastic rocket sailing down the end of our driveway where I had parked the van sideways and opened the door. Ron looked at us and his eyes followed another flying rocket down to the van. He asked if we were trying to hit it through the door. We all nodded and grinned as another kid jumped on the air pad with both feet.

Our kids went swimming together, played on the beach together, watched parades together, had killer water fights together. Ron and I have trailed behind our trick-or-treating kids on Halloween drinking bad red wine. When he and his family were out of town, I occasionally watched their dog. She once urinated in our basement. So Ron and I were like that.

In fact, we were so close we recently became FaceBook friends.

A few days after the now-not-so-mysterious Jane weighed in on the NEA post on Art Scatter, Ron posted a status update on FaceBook that he was “wrapping up a grant while on vacation … how stupid.”

I almost posted a comment saying that he needed me. And I meant it.

Continue reading How did I get that job? Alvin and the Chipmunks (Part 2) →

General, Laura Grimes

How did I get that job? Alvin and the Chipmunks

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Seriously. That’s how it all started.

I was minding my own business, blissfully enjoying the summer sunshine and occasionally writing goofy off-topic stuff for a blog that isn’t even mine.

The little choristers who stated me on my musical career.Sure, I had plans. Big plans. I had planned to apply for unemployment benefits just as soon as summer ended.

But before then I was going to be on the road, lapping up low tides, making pickles and hitting all the plays in Ashland.

I had mapped out my summer weeks ago and it didn’t involve getting a new job. No resume to fill out. No cover letter to write. No strategic plan whatsoever that didn’t involve swimming or hunting for agates.

But then the weirdest little chain of events started – events that were so perfect in their orderliness and happenstance that it was as if every tumbler in a vault lock had magically clicked into place.

How weird? Remember that post about Alvin and the Chipmunks?

Innocuous. Silly.

But someone named Jane made this comment: “First, I’d like to nominate Laura Grimes for president.”

Mr. Scatter and I briefly considered this exciting possibility. We imagined lining up push-polls and flying all over the country. We imagined using political party money to buy whole new wardrobes.

What’s not to like?

We imagined Art Scatter as the Mouthpiece of America to get the Good Word out about how art is, like, a really great thing, you know? We would stump on the Cultah Platform and hone sharp talking points using clever mottoes like:

Make art, not war.

By George: Mrs. Scatter plots to move the LSBs into the White HouseAs Mr. Scatter reached for his BlackBerry to call the League of Tough-Guy Arts Observers for a recommendation about a campaign manager, a hairy head poked around the corner and said, “What’s for dinner?” Followed closely by, “We’re outta milk.”

Mr. Scatter and I looked at each other and suddenly realized we had a slight liability. Two, actually.

And let’s just come straight out with it and say they’re really not very slight. Because they’re Large. And Smelly. And they happen to be our Boys.

When Mr. Scatter said months ago that he didn’t mind if the boys shagged out for the summer, I said, “Please tell me you’re talking about their hair.” Fortunately, he was. I wasn’t keen on the idea, but, alas, I consented. The boys now look like total mopheads. How were we to know they might have to be paraded before the adoring American public?

But then I realized that chauffeured limousines and a security detail would mean our sons wouldn’t need driver’s licenses for several years, and I immediately picked up my BlackBerry and punched in “barber” as my brain started running through which significant cultural site would make the best photo op to make the big announcement. The Portland Center for the Performing Arts? The Armory? Portlandia? That really nifty sculpture of Three Groins in a Fountain in front of the Standard Insurance building?

My index finger was poised to hit SEND when I realized we had even bigger trouble on our hands. It wasn’t just the hair. It wasn’t just because the Large Smelly Boys occasionally need reminders to brush their teeth and shampoo their hair.

Our high hopes for the White House were dashed when I realized that not one, but both of our sons have the great misfortune of not being pregnant.

But the real clincher? The one that made us put aside our BlackBerries and rethink our dreams of sticking an Eames chair in the Lincoln Bedroom? We could not imagine the Large Smelly Boys standing on stage at the inauguration wearing adorable coats from J. Crew.

Colorful ribbons in their hair? Matching socks that haven’t been shredded? Not gonna happen.

Mr. Scatter and I sighed. I got up to rummage in the cheese bin in the fridge to figure out a dinner plan while Mr. Scatter picked up his car keys to go buy milk. As he opened the front door, I called after him, “Who’s this Jane person?”

He hollered back, “I dunno. Beats me. How many gallons should I buy? Three or four?”

TO BE CONTINUED …

Next time: The weird happenstances and who is this mysterious Jane?

— Laura Grimes

General, Laura Grimes

De Gaulle was a rock. But probably not a wolf eel.

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Wolf eel, Alaska Fisheries Science Center/Wikimedia Commons

Mrs. Scatter is feeling a little high on the Google Glue. Hence, the third person. She did a search for “Large Smelly Boys” to find art for her last post and the bra story came up as the No. 1 hit. The Alvin and the Chipmunks post was a close second.

WWII portrait of General Charles de Gaulle, about 1942/Wikimedia CommonsJust imagine, if you will, bras and Alvin and the Chipmunks.

I thought as much.

So back to our regularly scheduled mis-programming …

Today we leave behind the bay where we come for a week every summer. We rent a small condo and visit with family who live close by.

Crab pots scuttle back and forth on butt-busting boats at the changing of the tide. Fruit flies are thick on the bananas on the counter. The small gratuity hair-cleaning products say “Hello Hydration.”

Most nights, Mr. Scatter and I pour a little wine and traipse out to sit on logs to watch the sunset. On the last night, it was just cloud cover. Little boats bobbed on the water. I picked up rocks that were flat on one side and lined them up next to me on the log. I imagined how they.d look in mosaics.

Mr. Scatter picked up a rock …

Mr. Scatter: It looks like Charles de Gaulle.

Mrs. Scatter: How’s that?

Mr. Scatter (pointing to pin-dot holes): See. Here are the eyes. And here’s the long nose.

Mrs. Scatter: It looks like a wolf eel to me.

Mr. Scatter: Well, De Gaulle sort of looked like a wolf eel.

If the man can lead the Free French Forces during World War II and have an airport named after him, he can look any way he wants.

Whadya think? Separated at birth?

Language, Laura Grimes

Ludicrous Stinkin’ Bottom-fill: A call for help!

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The Smellovision machine!

The Large Smelly Boys hit the road again, this time with technological diversion.

——————————–

Someone told us in all seriousness (hard to believe, we know) that word games are good for Large Smelly Boys and their ilk. We know all about ilk. We go through gallons (many plurals) of it every week.

So as a little surprise for the Large Smelly Boys and their many gallons of ilk, we have a new word game. Tired of them yet? Sorry if you are, but the truth is we need another cargo hold game. We’ll be on the road again tomorrow.

We’ll be the Scatter/Condiment Family Plus One. No, the Plus One won’t be an Extra Large Smelly Boy, part of our warped parenting mentality to keep the peace in the backseat. It’ll be a Doting Aunt who’s a veteran at traveling with us: Her iPod is always just an earbud away.

We’ll also have a new weapon this time: A working car stereo system. Ours conked out years ago, and I told Mr. Scatter that I wasn’t going one more mile with the bickering boys without an audio salve. We made sure to squeeze in a trip to the cartoy store last week between pickle preparations. Audio books are da bomb! We’re finally making our way through Lloyd Alexander‘s Prydain Chronicles.

But before we click on the dial, cue up the cargo hold game …

Oh, but wait! The game has a new twist this time. I’ve written only the top of the post. I need help with the bottom-fill.

Could you please? We need words that start with … LSB!

Lucky Sons a Britches
Luxurious Slimy Bananas
Laughing Silly Belches

Get the picture? C’mon and surprise the Large Smelly Boys. Provide some bottom-fill.

Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain

— Laura Grimes, without the LSBs

General, Language, Laura Grimes

Venti Smelly Boys go wild: Mysterious Unruly Whinings

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Circus Parade, Albany, NY, ca. 1910

The Scatter Family hits the road, Mostly Unaware of Wrinkles.

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The Scatter/Condiment Family is on the move again. The pickles have been stacked in the pantry and the beach toys have been packed in the cargo hold.

This week: Points North.

Next week: Points South.

To get from here to there: Get on I-5, go south, drive 10 hours, turn right.

Special instructions: Time trip to drive through Seattle at 3 a.m.

Special aside: When driving through Seattle, Large Smelly Boys mysteriously morph into Venti Smelly Boys.

Parenting tips: Remove sharp implements from cargo hold. Soundproof. Stock with water, snacks and car games. Toss in Large Smelly Boys. Toss in tree air freshener. Lock tight.

Tell Large/Venti Smelly Boys the cargo hold will be unlocked if they produce a blog post. Not surprisingly, they obligingly spill the bounty from their latest car game (cargo hold game?) … coming up with words that start with MUW. They take over the keyboard …

Mystery Under Wear
Mighty Underpants Woman
Merry Uppity Weasel

muw-2Mousy Undulating Waves
Mini Upstanding Wafer
Minor Unthinking Whuppass

Masterfully Uppity Women
Mayonnaise Usually Withers
Most Unusual Week

muw-1Missing Ugly Whale
Misanthropic Unruly Witch
Morbid Urpish Whittler

Malicious Uneasy Win
Men’s Underwear Weekly
Making Urban Weirdness

muw-3Malevolent Ugly Wench
Magnificent Ursine Whiskers
Making Ursula Whimper

Morticians Usually Win
Mainly Upsetting Wigs
Masticating Uncooperative Worms

Martha’s Uncle Whistles
Mighty Uncouth World
Munching Unusual Weed

Merry Urologists of Windsor
Making Unlikely Whoopie
Mighty Useless Winnebago

They typed nearly letter-perfect! I made only one change: I added the “S” in “Ursine.”

— Laura Grimes and the Venti Smelly Boys

General, Language, Laura Grimes

Why did the Scatter family hit the road? Alvin and the Chipmunks (Car Game, Act 2)

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Oregon Trail reenactment, 1961. South Bluff National Monument, Nebraska. National Park Service/Wikimedia Commons.

The Scatter family embarks on a trail fraught with singing rodents.

———————————————–

While Mr. and Mrs. Scatter pack the Conestoga wagon and nurse our nonexistent hangovers, the Large Smelly Boys have taken over blogging duty.

In the spirit of reading sayings from fortune cookies and adding the words “in bed” at the end, we come up with questions that can always be answered with “Alvin and the Chipmunks.” The Large Smelly Boys themselves typed many of these very words (and I’m impressed at what a careful job they did).

To wit:

What’s for lunch?
What is Victoria’s Secret?
Who’s got veto power?

What’s that smell?
Who signed the Declaration of Independence?
6abc Boscov's Thanksgiving Parade. Wikimedia CommonsWhere have all the flowers gone?

Where does all the helium go?
Who were your foster parents?
Who’s doing your heart transplant?

Who shot JFK?
Who killed Roger Rabbit?
Who was Hitler’s right-hand man?

Who really wrote Shakespeare’s plays?
Who discovered E=MC2?
What’s the soup of the day?

What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?
Who’s going to star in the next James Bond film?
Who’s going to be the bad guy in the next Indiana Jones movie?

What scent is your candle?
What’s your sign?
Who’s your anger management counselor?

What’s the meaning of life?
How do you brush your teeth?
What stuffed animal do you sleep with?

What’s really behind the economic crisis?
Who’s in charge?
What kind of cereal do you like?

Who does your hair?
Why are newspapers going to sleep?
What’s really in a Dirty Little Secret Martini?

Who are the people in your neighborhood?
How are babies made?
Do these pants make me look fat?

Who are Santa’s little helpers?
Who canceled Christmas?
What’s your middle name?

Who did Lassie save from the well?
Can you recommend a good tax consultant?
What’s in YOUR wallet?

Who took all our toaster waffles?
Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?
Who’s that monster in the closet?

Who walks on the wild side?
What’s growing in the fridge?
What kind of milk do you drink?

Cloudy with a chance of what?
Who’s your daddy?
Who were the three wise men?

Who were the three Stooges?
What makes your roses grow?
What are the real identities of the Large Smelly Boys?

Feel free to add to the list.

*******

— Laura Grimes and the Large Smelly Boys (that’s a band name, right?)


General, Language, Laura Grimes

While We Are Filling the Ice Bucket, The Large Smelly Boys Take Over the World (Act 1)

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Martini makin's. Wikimedia Commons

Here at Art Scatter World Headquarters we’re madly preparing for a Gathering of the Blogbreaths by stocking up on two essential ingredients:

Gin

and

Vermouth.

Rose City Reader is out of the running, celebrating her dad’s 70th birthday and entertaining The Bavarians. Mead Hunter of Blogorrhea fame is busy being all important at the Willamette Writers Conference.

We boldly (BOLDLY!) admit we’ve been caught with our pants down in full frontal nudity.

What to do but pour a strong one with some of our favorite compatriots: Barry “Remember Him?” Johnson (Portland Arts Watch), Martha Ullman “Superb As Always” West (frequent Art Scatter correspondent and probably the most highly paid) and Mighty Toy “Can’t Say Enough” Cannon (nee Mamet, of Culture Shock).

In the spirit of No, We Don’t Have Jobs But Can They Be Saved Anyway? we’re planning a little cocktail party, a blog summit, a throw-an-extra-olive-in-the Dirty-Little-Secret-Martini scheme of things. We know we get but a few comments per post. We assume No One will read What the Heck We Write. And yet we labor on with blind ambition and happy thoughts. The upside? Because we know no one cares, we free ourselves of self-conscious restraints and party merrily.

Today we drink. Tomorrow we drive.

So we offer these car games that have a HIGH LSB* rating.

While we’re busy being irresponsible, we’ve given over the blog reigns to one of the Large Smelly Boys (not to be confused with the Soggy Bottom Boys).

CAR GAME, ACT 1:

When we’re not playing What’s That Smell?** in the car, we take letters (often ripped right from license plates) and make up words to go with ’em. Most recently, we’ve come up with words for … MTC:

Mighty Terrible Contractions
Mo’ Tasty Cornbits
Marmalade Tooth Candies
Meat Thermometer Canal
Merry Ticklish Cows
My Teeny Chickadee
My Tiny Cockatoo
Moon Truck Chocolates
Mistaken Twin Cousin
Masculine Teen Car
Massage Therapist Candles
Monster Toasty Crayons
Mr. Two Cheeks
Morbid Toe Cheese
Mighty Tasty Chipmunks

Which conveniently brings us to …

CAR GAME, ACT 2: Stay tuned for tomorrow.

What crazy words do you think MTC stands for?

— Laura Grimes and Large Large Smelly Boy

****************

*Large Smelly Boys

**Another game the LSBs like to play in the car is to take off their shoes and see how long it takes us to notice. The longest has been 5 seconds.