Unanswered Questions in Who-ville

Who can forget?
The Grinch and the Whos
A Christmas tale of redemption
With no Jesus, just truths

Remember the story?
I’m sure that you must
The Grinch steals the toys
And makes Christmas a bust

But then something happens
A small miracle they say
His heart grows three sizes
Three whole sizes that day!

Just like that, he’s a new Grinch
Still green, but now free
No longer miserable
He joins the Whos by the tree

It’s a wonderful tale
Full of both tears and laughter
But I’m beginning to wonder
What happens after?

Does the Grinch move to Who-ville
And start a new life?
Does he remain celibate
Or does he take a Who-wife?

Is that even legal in Who-ville?
Who even knows?
What about his new big great heart?
Does it continue to grow?

I can just see it
Beating and pounding real slow
Swelling right through his rib cage
Ready to blow

No one can live with a heart
Three times its original size
Dr. Suess would have us believe differently
The man’s full of lies

Or I guess you could argue
That Grinches are unique
Their bodies could be boneless
That would explain his physique

Ok, so then what about New Years?
Do the Whos sing and shout?
Or is just Christmas
Where they rock out with their Whos out?

Or maybe in Who-ville
There is another huge draw
And you can find good ole Grinchy throwing beads
At the Who-ville Mardi Gras!

I don’t mean to be rude
I’m just asking questions
My puzzler is puzzled
By all these suggestions

What happens when the snow melts
And all the presents are empty?
Does the gift-wrap get recycled
By some homeless Who-dude for a measly buck fifty?

It’s reality people
There are other factors to be considered
How come no one asks
How the Whos despose of their litter?

And the Grinch’s poor dog
What becomes of it?
I’m sure the staples in its head
Scab over real quick

But perhaps the biggest riddle of them all
Is not answered in the least
How many hours in the oven
Do you cook a roast beast?

So I’m patiently pondering
My mind in a stew
Waiting and wanting
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas: Part Two

Author’s note: Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all you Zillionaires out there! 2006 has been a great year and I have no doubt that 2007 will be even better!

The Art of Wandering a Supermarket

Open my lunch-meat-less, barren refrigerator and you would have no clue who I once was. Today’s empty shelves and dried-up Brita water pitcher give no hint to the crown I once wore proudly. But, if you crack the freezer door just a hair, close your eyes, and listen quietly as the cold air escapes, the unfilled ice-trays will tell you a marvelous, magical fairy tale about my forgotten past.

Once upon a time I was the king of suburbia and the supermarket was my castle. My queen was the voluptuous baker who made the warm, fresh donuts every morning. My army, the hundreds of stock boys and girls who replenished the shelves while I slept. I had tax collectors at every checkout stand, not to mention a butcher, a florist, and a full custodial staff who rode their floor polishers and waxers up and down the aisles like jousting knights wanting nothing more than to earn the favor of their king.

Yes, I was a good king and loved my land, it’s citizens, and the vast array of deli cheeses. To stay abreast of the latest in grocery dominion, I spearheaded fact-finding expeditions to explore, chart, and map every corner of my fortress. But today, a million miles removed from that realm, I am left with only memories and copious amounts of supermarket knowledge. As my bones grow weary, I understand the responsibility I have to share my scholarly pursuits with those who will carry on after I expire like 2% percent milk left out at room temperature. And thus I pen my opus, my final Act, my life’s mission: The Art of Wandering a Supermarket.

Your journey begins at the front of the store, in between the two sets of automatic doors, surrounded by an armada of impossible Claw machines and temporary tattoo dispensers. Heed my warnings, travelers, and do not fall for these booby traps. They are the equivalent of lottery tickets for pre-teens, a waste of your hard-earned paper route or baby-sitting money. Besides, there is a boundless treasure chest inside overflowing with candy cigarettes, Big League chew, and bags of tootsie-pop wrappers with the stars on them. But in this room, you will find your chariot, your horse, your motorized shopping cart. Mount it with dignity. Ahoy, your journey has begun!

Once inside the cavernous walls of the supermarket head straight for the bulk foods section, or as I like to call it, the “all-you-can-eat buffet and trading post.” Eat your fill immediately, sampling all the flavors and spices of the world, but you will also need to stockpile all manner of supplies for the night’s meanderings. A good rule of thumb is to bag up a pound of Swedish fish (or other gummy) for every member in your party. This will ensure you have ample goods, enough to barter should you encounter any other wanderers.

Now that you are rescued from starvation, the possibilities are endless. You might head off to the library, where you can indulge yourself in the latest semi-pornographic romance novel or Lowrider magazine. If you want to enrich your mind, might I suggest something a little more scientific such as the latest Brangelina, TomKat, or Bennifer biographies. These wondrous tales show us all what is possible when two amazing people’s DNA is fused into one. If science is not your cup of tea, don’t fret, as the library is overflowing with paperbacks, coloring books, and magazines that are sure to suit all tastes. Just don’t spend the whole night here because there is so much more to see. Onward!

A sailor once asked me if I had ever seen the ocean. I told him yes, of course, because inside my castle there is a whole icy seafood coastline that stretches from sea to shining sea. All manner of crustaceans, fish, and exotic sea life wash up on it’s shores daily. “Oh bugger!” he said, “you are nothing but a dumb old fool. That’s just the seafood section of the meat department.” But, dear reader, I dare you to venture to that counter and tell me you do not feel the sting of the salty ocean air up in your nostrils! And don’t forget your bathing suit, snorkel gear, and harpoon because it’s as deep, plentiful, and diverse as any ocean I’ve ever swam in before!

Perhaps the oceanic waters don’t call your name. Perhaps you want to see the latest in agricultural technology. Head over to the produce section and be amazed. Every fruit, vegetable, and jicama from all over the world are grown right there. Without soil. Without natural sunlight. Individually. And in amazing geometric piles. Just a small daily spritzing of miracle water and a watchful gardener’s eye make this hydroponic cornucopia one of the mankind’s greatest feats. Don’t even get me started on the udder-less, cow-less, milk producing dairy wall in the back. It’s straight out of a science fiction novel!

For the adventurous among you, I’ll send you deep into the frozen Arctic aisle. Make sure you have plenty of rations to spare because the trek can be quite an exhausting mental and physical drain. You’ll want to trade with the natives in this region to supplant your high fructose Swedish fish diet with something a little more fatty to hold in the warmth. Luckily, the Eskimos are expecting you and have prepared many pies that they are willing to exchange. But no matter how desperate times might get in this freezing region of the supermarket, be warned that there are strict laws against clubbing an Otter Pop, Mom or Baby. (The natives are allowed under tribal rule, however, to scissor off their heads and drink their blood, in accordance with their ancient religious custom.)

Alas, we come to my favorite corner of my castle. Hidden away from the throngs of shoppers and seekers, it is my private sanctuary when I need a much needed rest. It’s entrance is shabby, two large black flaps with a small see-through plastic window that serve as doors, but these curtains belie the enchanting world behind them. Where else can you find a forklift with the keys in the ignition!

While there is much more to see and do inside the supermarket, I have decided I can’t share everything I know. There is beauty in mystery. And the real joy of wandering the supermarket is in finding your own unique path, machete-ing your own way through the jungle of cheap roses, carnation bouquets and hunky-male-in-a-thong greeting cards. I wish you luck, love, honor and may your reign be as prosperous as mine.

A Tale Of Two Body Hairs

Essentially, they both have the same purpose. They are designed to keep dirt, debris, germs and other pathogens out of our sensory organs. They are rigid black hairs, about a centimeter in length, located on our face. And though they may look and function the same, they are by no means equal.

One is an eyelash. The other is a nose hair.

One is beautiful. The other is disgusting.

My son was blessed with long eyelashes. I, on the other hand, am cursed with abnormally long nose hair.

When people meet my son, they often comment on his beautiful eyelashes. When people meet me, they generally douse me with holy water.

And there is really no reason for it. They are basically the same type of hair. The deck has just been stacked against nose hair. For starters, look at the name. Certainly, “noselashes” would be a much more positive term. Instead, it’s called nose hair. And everyone knows that hair is something you cut, trim or shave.

In my son’s case, the longer his eyelashes are, the cuter he becomes. He will never asked to trim them, or receive subtler messages like getting eye-hair grooming kits in his stocking.

Unfortunately, “society” has arbitrarily decided that long eye hairs are desirable. Consequently, women wear makeup to make their eyelashes look longer. Some even take it a step further, and buy completely fake eyelashes and adhere them to their eyelids. Conversely, you simply don’t see Revlon putting out makeup to make nose hairs appear more lustrous. And I doubt I’ll ever see a woman attaching fake nose hair to her nostrils. It’s a shame too, because I think it would be rather alluring.

That’s just the way it is. But you can be sure of one thing: The next time I lose a nose hair I’ll blow on it and cast a wish for body hair equality.

The Grocery-Getter II

As I mentioned last week, the Centaur household is in need of a new grocery-getter. And once it came time to find a new family car, I had only one concern weighing on my mind: My own personal comfort.

Therefore, I initially focused my car search on used limousines. I really liked the aspect of privacy glass and the abundance of luxurious amenities. Also, the option of being able to raise a barrier walling off the driver at the passengers’ discretion was particularly desirable. I was all set to buy one, actually. Unfortunately, my wife refused to wear a chauffeur’s outfit, which ultimately killed the allure for me.

My next choice was a giant motor home. Obviously, the ability to run errands in a fully functioning home on wheels was enticing. I even found a really fuel-efficient model that got upwards of six miles to the gallon, highway. It all seemed like a great deal until I realized I couldn’t find a motor home with a basement, thus making it impossible to include a mobile Zillionaire’s Lounge as well. No thanks.

Finally, I arrived at the next best choice: A minivan.

Now, put your prejudices aside and please keep in mind the following:

1. I don’t ever plan on driving the van.
2. I don’t ever plan on riding in the passenger seat either.

No, I will reside solely in the way back. While traveling, I will be sitting in one of several leather seats that fully recline and offer ottomans to rest my feet on. I will be enjoying ample legroom, headroom and armrests. I will be utilizing the many cupholders and adjusting my own climate settings in the back. I will be watching DVD’s, playing video games or sleeping comfortably. And I will be doing all of these things while my wife does the driving. I only wish the van had a fireplace option, just so it would create the experience of riding around in a living room on wheels.

Are you ready for the icing on the minivan purchase? I asked for a vibrating/heat massage pad that plugs into a cigarette lighter for Christmas. Ideally, I will be doing all of the above while simultaneously getting a Swedish massage.

Surprisingly, my wife is completely in favor of this arrangement. Let’s examine how a minivan purchase benefits her:

With me isolated in the back, she has complete control of the radio and thermostat, luxuries as yet unknown to her.
2. Disengaged in the back, I will be unable to critique her driving, or that of other motorists.
3. Provided I am awake, I’ll be able to keep a semi-watchful eye on our son while we travel.

As you can see, the minivan truly makes everyone happy. It is roomy and comfortable like a motor home. It is even black, with privacy windows, closely resembling a limousine. And to be on the safe side, just in case she changes her mind, I got my wife a chauffeur’s outfit for Christmas.

If you’d like to see pictures of the Grocery-Getter II, check out my wife’s blog.