Small & Big

“I asked my son what his favorite color was,” says the woman in the tiny French cafe. She’s polished, dyed, and leaning over a double espresso into her friend’s face. “And he said pink. Pink. I told him, ‘You’d better not let your father hear that.’” Instead of a 1950’s type brown-Jello-meatloaf ambush, letting the boy think there’s no wrong answer to his personal opinion and then pouncing, it would have been more effective to approach the topic as a teaching moment. Mom could have prefaced her question with: “Here are the six colors you’re allowed to like, because you’re a boy: brown, black, blue, navy blue, grey, and camouflage,” and then ask, “Which is your favorite?” See, ’cuz that gives the lad a chance to grab the camouflage and run, run for the hills!, where he’s free to enjoy any and every color. Plus, in the 21st Century, where some of us live, camouflage is available in pink.

Here’s thee Craigslist link. Below is the actual ad. Do extra chores around the house and save up that allowance! Combined, we can easily put $36 down. . . . . . . . . . . 4 SALE: BARELY-USED LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW – MAKE ME AN OFFER!!! (Universal Studios) Date: 2010-01-13, 3:48PM PST Reply to: sale-tntdd-1551463643@craigslist.org This is a chance of a lifetime to own your very own late night talk show--guaranteed to last for up to seven months!! Really must see to appreciate. Information for potential buyers: - Measures 100’ x 100’ x 32’ – plenty of room for a futon! - Designed for 11:35 but can be easily moved - Band can be sold separately - Buyer must honor Barry Manilow booking next Thursday MAKE ME YOUR BEST OFFER!!!!! (Also willing to trade for Coldplay tickets.)

The following was taken from the 124th sutta of the 1,417 page book “The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha: A Translation of the Majjhima Nikaya” by Bhikkhu Nanomoli and Bhikkhu Bodhi and helpful commentary by me. Names below have been changed to protect privacy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . THUS HAVE I HEARD. On one occasion the venerable Bubba was living in Rajagaha in the Bamboo Grove, the Squirrels’ Sanctuary. (Ooh, squirrels!) Then Ace, a former companion of the venerable Bubba in his lay life, went to the venerable Bubba and exchanged greetings with him. (“Bubba, dude, how are you?” “This morning I had a fine sit.”) When this courteous and amiable talk was finished, he sat down at one side and asked the venerable Bubba: “Friend Bubba, how long is it since you went forth?” (“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it.”) “It is 80 years since I went forth, friend.” (“80 years. In squirrel years, 800.”) “Friend Bubba, in these 80 years how many times have you engaged in sexual

...and his killer 37-second scream. If you’re watching from work, turn the sound down low or it’ll scramble your eggs.

Ted Danson is the un-sunburned one. Hell, where everybody knows your name.

Once, when my spouse came home, I told him about the disgusting litter-encrusted turd the dog ate today. He was silent a good long time, staring at me. Finally he asked, “What are you EATING?” I looked. I was munching on one of those oatmeal-encrusted date bars like what you get at the health food store. If you know the stuff, you know what it looks exactly like, this: A moment on the lip, of kissing there is zip. Image from Organic Road . They look to sell lots of yummy stuff there in Australia.

Gray winter clouds heaved over the trash landscape. Santa lay within his cardboard box, awaiting adoption with his usual cheer. He couldn’t live with me any more. I’d taken him to the town dump, the Transfer Station, where they have a Take It Or Leave It section. You know the place. I looked into his eyes. For five years he had been the only Santa for me. Then one day a friend whispered that Santa was, “Ah, a bit of a caricature.” “That’s Santa,” I chuckled. “Santa is a caricature.” “Still,” he said. “Maybe if you had Santa displayed in multiple races, it wouldn’t seem so... well, not racist exactly but—” “Racist? You think my Santa is racist?” I looked at the jolly foot-tall man, admiring his artistic detail: a frolicking puppy at his boots and a dolly in his bag, his flowing crimson robe, his walking stick, his thick red tongue. “No, just, some might find it offensive.” “Offensive? But I like him. How could I be fond of something offensive? That’s the opposite of... what.

Dirt Rich Her first business was a little worming operation. A green business with no overhead. Kaitlin Herringtrotter ran it out of the garden owned by the people she lived with, the Parents. Well, not ran it but biked it from the Parents’ garden to the little store down the road, because wormses won’t be herded you know. Anyway, Kaitlin was a child, about seven, and she had money on her mind and her mind on her money. And that dollar-a-week allowance wasn’t cutting it. (Readers: Dollars were something like knarnacks , only 500,000% smaller. This was back in the 20th Century.) In the beginning, before the business venture, worms were intimidating to Kaitlin. Scary even. Like scary little brown scary snakes. And snakes were like little brown inner tubes that had broken and had a hissing hole and could quicken themselves, and you wouldn’t want to float on the lake on one of those, would you? The Parents explained that worms don’t hurt, that “they help the dirt and the grass and they

"But really, when you come right down to it, there are only four basic prayers. Gimme! Thanks! Oops! and Wow!” says Rabbi Gellman. “That’s it?” “Yep. Wow! are prayers of praise and wonder at the creation. Oops! is asking for forgiveness. Gimme! is a request or a petition. Thanks! is expressing gratitude. That’s the entire Judeo-Christian doxology. That’s what we teach our kids in religious school.” From “The Right Way to Pray?”, posted in the New York Times.

If the English language made any sense at all, grave and gravy would be closely related words. Gravy would be a cute nicknamey sister of grave . As in, “Grampa’s gone gravy.” or “That vampire just isn’t gravy enough for me. Gimme that pointy stick.” And gravel would be the stuff used to fill in a grave, like it is, but you’d pronounce it with a long a , like navel : GRAVE-el. Way cuter. So now we come to graven . That would be the visiting part. Instead of “going to visit” Grandpa or the deceased vampire you’d say you’re “goin’ graven.” It’s sportier, like an Olympic event. The downside to all this is that Eatin’ Gravy would be renamed animal oil juice . But you shouldn't be consuming that stuff anyway, unless you want the early gravy. Get your free tombstone generator .

Wishing you a playful, enlightening 2010, full of love, healing, and joy. May your bounty increase as you uplift, and are uplifted by, others. If you choose, remember this year that sharing an honest smile or kind word with someone who’s experienced a bad day, or a bad life, is a holy gift. Kindness rocks. I am so grateful that you’re there, sharing in my endeavor to become a humor writer, or humor draw-er, or something. Thank you. And, since it wouldn’t be Small & Big without a little something extra, here’s an ugly pile of mushrooms: Happy new year. May peace be unto you and yours.