Passive Aggressive Punning

Once again, Stacey was repeatedly spritzing her lunch with her bright yellow bottle of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter brand spray butter, and-- once again-- I was complaining about her repeated spraying-- because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's the sound of butter substitute being sprayed . . . and if there's one thing Stacey loves, it's dousing her food with multiple iterations of moist and oily butter substitute (we even had an intervention about this habit on The Test) and while I've resigned myself to the fact that Stacey and I share a lunch period this year and the spray butter fetish is the only truly annoying thing about Stacey and it's also her right, as a red-blooded American citizen, to apply as much butter substitute to her lunch as she pleases and so I'd best just get used to it and live and let live (plus, I tend to chew too loudly and with my mouth agape so who am I to talk?) and so I was quite proud today when-- after four spray butter sequences-- I didn't freak out and rant and rave . . . instead I tried to lighten things up (while still conveying my disgust at the sound of her aqueous condiment) and so I said to her, "Okay, enough butter already . . . let's call it a spray."

Poetry Birthday Week!

Yesterday, we went to happy hour at the Golden Lion in Milltown to celebrate my birthday and the gang from work gave me some lovely presents, including a laminated original poem in my honor which contains all my favorite allusions . . .  I have hyperlinked them for your perusal:

All who know you, know you've got grit,
you always try your best to stay fit;
you teach your students with cunning and wit,
even Brady admits that your podcast is lit;
and even though you're hairy as shit
some might say you look like a homeless Brad Pitt--

so when you're old and grumbling about the difference between lie and lay
just comfort yourself with the butter you spray!

and they also presented me with my very own bottle of spray butter and a framed photo of faceswap Dave and Stacey where we look like Brad Pitt . . . the best gift was going to the Golden Lion in Milltown for the first time-- it's quite the dive, and has darts, two full sized shuffleboard tables, a nice back room pool table, and fantastic wings . . . I also learned an interesting piece of information: I knew the wings at the Golden Lion were fantastic because years ago, a regular used to bring them to the Park Pub all the time and we would feast on them-- I said as much to the bartender at the Golden Lion and she said, "Yeah, he was stealing those wings . . . that's why he got fired" and then she gave me a high five because I had eaten so many of those stolen wings; anyway, I'd like to thank all that attended, I had a great time and obviously left with my wife at the right moment: I was happily lubricated but not sloshed, and so Alex, Cat and I watched Fargo and went to bed early . . . meanwhile, the ladies closed the place (and we got there at 3 PM) but I guess once you turn 48, if you haven't learned something about alcohol consumption, then you're in serious trouble (the other thing I learned is the worst place to keep a valuable jewel is on a drunk woman's finger . . . why is that a thing?)

The Test 102: Superstitious Spray Butter Intervention

This week on our podcast The Test, things get real . . . grievances are aired, alliances are formed, and amidst the chaos, I manage to administer a quiz on superstitions and their origin stories; so tune in, take sides, keep score, and if you don't learn something, I give you permission to key Stacey's Jeep.

Dave Gives it the Ol' Viticulture Try

Over two decades ago, Calvin Trillin explained that in a blind taste test, most people can't tell the difference between red and white wine, and this is true for me-- I am certainly no super-taster, nor do I have a particularly sensitive nose (except when it comes to my wife's deer repellent spray-- that shit makes me gag) so I really tried to channel this knowledge last night and drink a glass of Bread and Butter chardonnay (which I purchased by accident at Costco, it was lurking in a case of pinot noir) but I could not do it-- and so maybe visual clues do produce flavors, and a deep dark red color makes my brain taste one thing and light golden urine-like color makes my brain taste another. 

Sometimes You've Got to Use Force When You're a Man

This morning, my wife wanted to bike down to the ocean for beach yoga, but her bike lock was jammed (I was also planning on attending beach yoga, but the Moccios showed up last night and I overindulged, so fuck that) and so she drove her car down to the beach for yoga, leaving me with the project of unjamming her bike lock; I googled the problem and the internet told me to lubricate the lock and then try to feel the tumblers falling into place—they might be out of whack—and gently pull the lock apart- with the force that you use to open a refrigerator door . . . same with the YouTube video I watched, the guy said the important thing was NOT to use too much force, so I greased up the lock with some Pam cooking spray and tried to gently prize it apart but no dice, so then I grabbed a variety of tools and implements from the kitchen and tried to gently pry it apart—a bottle opener, a fork, a butter knife, etc.-- and then I noticed the plastic combination rings were starting ot crack and decided to apply a bit more force—perhaps if I could see what was going on under the plastic?--and I cracked one of the rings, and it did not help; there was no little button under the plastic that said "Press Me To Open a Jammed Lock," and so I went back inside and—BINGO! -- I found a screwdriver, and so first I ordered Catherine a new lock from Amazon, and then I took the screwdriver and went at the stupid lock, ripping apart the plastic rings and jamming the screwdriver in the device and leveraging the metal, cutting my hand in the process, but I finally got the screwdriver somewhere fatal and ripped the lock apart—and I was very satisfied when it slid open, despite the fact that I ignored all the advice on the internet, because-- like Kenny Rogers said-- sometimes you've got ot use force when you're a man.