Posted in Music
Congrats to the lovely Yasminay, Mr. Yasminay, and Lil Lemon (not to be confused with Liz Lemon) on their wedding! 
I might have included this book in your wedding present collection except, you know, you already have an advanced copy since you wrote one of the pieces in it. May you share a blessed life together full of sunshine, laughter, squeezy hugs, yazcream sodas, chapli kebab, gelato, and a full brace of stabby utensils.
Ahhh, lovely. Oh. And, you too, Gojira! It’s tomorrow over there, right?
Posted in Birthdays
In a pathetic attempt to stay abreast of fashion phenomena, I was perusing Zappos to learn what, exactly, was so special about Frye boots. When I heard it discussed among a group of friends, some of whom are crawfish broil/boil/bake/whateveryoudowithcrawfish experts, my immediate assumption was that “fry boots” were specialized footwear one wore while frying. Clearly I watch too much Spongebob.
Mr. Krabs: Ordinary boots? These are the only official fry cook boots! Only the finest fry cooks in the world are permitted to wear them! Part of a tradition. And these boots were given to me by the most famous fry cook in the sea.
SpongeBob: Who’s that?
Mr. Krabs: Oh, uhh, oh, well, his name’s not important, but he was famous all right, don’t you worry.
Anyway. My research complete, I started looking for a new pair of athletic shoes for myself and filtering by price brought me these.
Capezio Foot Undeez. Yeah, I can read the product description as well as anyone but still. The hell?
It is freezing cold and even the paltry inch of snow is enough to make me want to burrow under a fortress blankets with something to read, something to watch, and something hot to drink. Enter, stage right, Starbucks® Salted Caramel Hot Cocoa Mix. 
Not as cloying as some hot chocolate drinks and not as insulting as some mixes which offer the choice of adding hot water, this magical blend of sweet and salt and heat warms the cockles of my belly. Oh, sure, I’ve had some Maxim’s de Paris cocoa mix imported by my friend. And Oprah/Pam has some interesting recommendations that I’d like to try some day. But this mix is conveniently offered in the grocery store a stone’s throw away from my front door. Sold.
Posted in Food
It has been a while since I have engaged in small talk. Winter is here and there is none of the ‘getting to know you but really your kids’ chat bandied about in the playground because we scurry home before the sun sets and the temperature drops to below freezing in a blink. I never socialized much before I was married-with-kids and now do so even less. Apparently, small talk is a skill that rusts over when it is not used frequently. Sort of like the head waggle (which I tried to teach ZP yesterday) or sleeping through the night.
I attended a friend’s reception by myself the other night (sans hubby and kids) and met a whole bunch of new folks – a whole bunch of very young, very familiar with each other, very sprightly folks. I had forgotten how to answer simple questions such as “what do you do?” (old answer: “I’m an attorney with the US Patent and Trademark Office”; new answer: “petty bureaucrat”), “where do you live?” (DC. No, not the one in Virginia. Nope, not in Maryland either. The other one.), “where are you from originally?” (Jeffersonville/Louisville/St. Louis but I’ve been here for fifteen frakkin’ years now!), “who are you?” (nobody, really, let me eat my walnut-stuffed dates and drink my chai and go!). Even harder were the on-the-spot questions that require a lengthy response which I have not yet learned to tailor.
Example: “So, how do you know [the bride]?” Real answer: “Well, I had a blog and another girl had a blog and we became blogging buddies and then we became flickr buddies and she “introduced” me to one of her flickr buddies and one day, that buddy sent an email out to everyone asking if anyone could help out her sister who was moving to DC. I said, ‘yes’.” New answer: “It’s a long story.”
Example: (after the invariable discussion about the differences between patents and trademarks) “Do you have any cool trademark applications you can talk about?” Real answer: “I have been dubbed “The Cheese Queen” for my ability to draw cheese-related marks and for my stellar and persuasive cheese-related briefs I wrote for the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board.” New answer: “Hunger Games”.
Example: “Why are you leaving so early?” Real answer: “I’ve been up since before dawn, getting my family organized and out the door, working, doing laundry, getting groceries, paying the bills, ordering stuff, cancelling stuff, cooking, cleaning, and maintaining a household.” New answer: “I have two kids.”
Posted in Comedy, Conversations
I am finally descaling my Nespresso Essenza and am comfortable with the fact that I am doing so after six years 
rather than the recommended six months.
Posted in One-Liner
TP had to give a speech to some American University law students the other day and was lamenting the fact that he couldn’t update his one joke* that he uses in each of his immigration lectures by calling up the sorely-missed family joke-encyclopedia, Nanaji. With him in mind, I perused some of his old articles and came across this one which made me smirk. Enjoy.
Our Indigenous Paan Gun by N.A. Bhatti
January 28, 2000
Almost all inventions, constructive or destructive have had very modest beginnings. Over a thousand years ago, some unknown Chinese got hold of a bamboo pole, stuffed it with powdered charcoal, sulphur and saltpeter and lighted the mixture with a crude fuse. WHOOOOOSH! Up, up, up soared the first rocket in history. The onlookers clapped delightedly, never dreaming that they had just witnessed the birth of the ancestor of the V-2 rocket bomb used by Hilter against England during World War II or the Saturn-V booster that would done day generate 157 million horsepower to land Neil Armstrong on the moon. Or, Allah forbid, place a deadly nuclear payload of an Inter Continental Ballistic Missile thousands of miles away on a country as a token of international love.
Several years ago, the British applied a similar principle to a gadget they marketed: The Stinking Red Avenger, priced at £5.99. The aerosol, fitting snugly into a lady’s handbag, was extremely handy in case any goonda eyed her with malicious intent. If, like the Texan Six-Gun Pete, she was quick on the draw, the unsuccessful Romeo would be sprayed with an indelible red dye that would stink powerfully enough to put a skunk to shame, and the cop would arrive in time to make an arrest.
I have been thinking about the matter and doing some research as to how we can develop a deadly weapon for self-defense by our womenfolk: the indigenous Paan Gun. I visited a government office block for the purpose. When I climbed the concrete staircase, I noticed a young man with his jaws grinding away like a buffalo chewing cud. When he reached the landing and was about the ascend to the next flight of stairs, he got ready to launch the missile he had been preparing in his mouth.
Spitting distance depends on the quality of salivation, absence of cross-wind and complete coordination of the neck and tongue muscles. Since there was no cross-wind in a narrow staircase, weather conditions for the test-firing were ideal. The young man squinted at his target with a determined expression on his face. The countdown began. Five, four, three, two, one … FIRE!
With a sickening pilch! a viscous blob of fiery red fluid flew out of his mouth, propelled by the compressed air in his powerful lungs. I wish I had the necessary monitoring equipment to measure the effect of the prototype Paan Gun but as I hadn’t, the accompanying photograph will give you some idea. A circle of 1 foot diameter has an area of approximately one-fifth of a square foot. So if your aim is reasonably accurate and your target is of really posh material, I dare say no dhobi will volunteer to do a dry-cleaning job on a moving target’s jacket or vaasket.
It may surprise some readers to know that in the United States there is an Annual Tobacco Chewing Contest in which distances of 50 feet have been achieved. I have given readers only a brief idea on which the more brilliant ones can work and develop Pakistan’s very own lethal close-range weapons. No licence needed at all. If we don’t produce the few simple raw materials needed, we can import them from Bangladesh or Sri Lanka, both friendly countries. If needed, we can enter into joint ventures with them and develop very potent weapons. One day, perhaps in the year Y3K, we can become a trio of the Big-3, who knows? After all, a thousand-mile journey begins with tiny steps.
_____________________________________________
*TP’s joke inherited from Nanaji:
Momma mouse was getting food in the kitchen with her baby when the cat pounced in. Snatching up the baby, Momma ran for the mousehole but it was obvious she wasn’t going to make it. Finally, in desperation, she whipped around and shouted “Bark, Bark” at the cat. The cat skidded to a halt and ran away. Momma mouse turned to her baby and said, “You see how important it is to learn a foreign language!”
Posted in Family
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