Small & Big

If Chaucer were writing “The Canterbury Tales” today, “Christmas With a Blowup Doll Named Louise” would fit into it perfectly. Minus the pilgrimage. (Remember that Canterbury tale where one person kisses another’s naked butt, thinking it a face? Treasure!) “Blowup Doll” is reported to be the winning story of the 1999 writing contest for the Louisville Sentinel newspaper. Sadly, according to Truthorfiction.com, there is no Louisville Sentinel, let alone a contest for it. In the interest of spreading ribaldry, and making you feel better about your own get-togethers, here ’tis anywho. Christmas With A Blowup Doll Named Louise By Unknown (Was it you?) As a joke, my brother Jay used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay’s kids’ stockings overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty. One year I decided

A tale composed of tomato varieties advertised in the “2009 Totally Tomatoes” seed catalog . ONCE UPON A TIME, Mr. Stripey and the Mexico Midget lived in the green, Green Zebra. Oh, twas a beauty of a garden, with a Silvery Fir Tree growing right up through the center Sunray, like a Black Prince at a Nebraska Wedding. Twas a right Striped Stuffer of a place, filled with Isis Candy and Sweet Hearts. Twas perfect. Except for the Taxis. And the cussing. You see, each day Mr. Stripey and Midget gulped down a Dinner Plate heaped with Green Sausage, Cream Sausage, and a Mule Team. Plate and all. After the last Nugget, dependable as Orange Bananas, up’d come a mess of Christmas Grapes. (Which is a polite Cherokee Purple way of describing the Tri-Color Variegata.) Mr. Stripey would shout, “Bloody Butcher!” Midget would holler, “Amish Salad!” And Tommy Toe, come to see about the Mortgage Lifter, would stub his Old German Nosegay Stupice and yelp, “Banana Legs!” –THE END.

BOSTON, Massachusetts | Bow wowwow wow. Ruff, ruff. Urrrrrrrr, bowwowwow. Arf arf, arf-arf-arf-arf. Bowwow wow wow, wow. Arf. “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” ruffruff Arfy-arf-arf. Bow wow, bow wow, bow wow, bow wow, bow wow. “Bark bark ow-wow-wow. Grrr-arf! Arf arf arf arf, arf arf. Arf. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Gr. (Pant-pant.)” Bow-ow-ow, ruff. Ruff. Ruff. Ruffruffruffruff! Bow ruff, bow ruff. Bow wowwowwow, wow. Arf. Arf. Arf. Bow-ow-wow-wow-wow. Urrrrrrrrrrrrrr, rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Bark bark bark, ark. Bow wow, bow wow, bow wow, bow wow, bow wow. Bow wowwow wow. Arf arf arf arf. Ruff, ruff. Ruff, ruff. Ruff, ruff, ruffruff arf arf-arf. Arrrrr-oooOOOOO!

And I quote, from official science and writer types: “If you’re feeling great today, you may end up inadvertently spreading the joy to someone you don’t even know.” New research shows that happiness spreads. When you feel happy, a friend of a friend of a friend also has a higher likelihood of feeling happy. This ain’t just any ol’ study, neither. Psychology professor at Harvard University Daniel Gilbert calls it “a stunning paper by two of the most respected scientists in the field.” And—and!—get this: the same study (I have to calm down enough to type), the same study finds that unhappiness isn’t nearly so contagious. Be sure to read about it on CNN.com: Happiness is contagious in social networks . And a nice, spiffy, totally super-duper great day to you and yours! Related smart-boring commentary I don’t understand on the British Medical Journal (BMJ) site: Commentary: Understanding social network analysis . The original study is published by BMJ. Thanks, Brits!

Did you know that C.I.A. stands for Culinary Institute of America? I learned of this recently because they started sending monthly magazines to my home. I haven’t notified them of the mistake, due to obvious reasons. Like the fear I might send the wrong message, or, worse yet, they might know something about me I don’t. Also, the first issue was No. 46: “Choc-OH!-late”. I drooled up the cover, a Federal offense. On the up-side it’s a relief to know the U.S. is in skilled hands. Double-page spreads prove the C.I.A. knows its way around a butcher knife (p.16), a donut (p. 32), and a solid chocolate wooden shoe (p.30).