Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Pause Ponder and Pun #114

Now is that a "duh, winning" smile or what?

This is Charlie Sheen posing for a publicity shot for his new show "Anger Management"

Okay, that's just my take. What's yours?

Leave a caption, or two, or three in the comments.

We'll see who takes a bite out of the competition Saturday.

Monday, 27 February 2012

A Kiss Is Not Just A Kiss

Last week I was tripping around the internet, visiting some of my favourite blogs, and I came across Margaret's little treatise on hugging over at Nanny Goats in Panties. She's a hugger - a real hugmiester. She says some people dive right into hugs, squeezing like all get out. I commented that I was more a tentative huggy type. I wait until I can gauge the strength of the huggee, before I, the hugger, commit.

Now this whole hugging thing got me thinking. In my world we go a bit further. In my world hugging is accompanied by kissing. Now, now, c'mon, we're not all perverts, running around kissing and hugging everyone every chance we get. Especially me. Let me explain.

I'm an Anglophone. I grew up shaking hands and giving the wolf cub three-finger salute. Manly stuff, right? Affection? English people don't demonstrate affection. However in the 10 years my Francophone wife and I have been together I've learned an awful lot about affection. Yes, Mrs D is very affectionate, and no complaints there, but that's not quite where I'm going here.

You see the French are very passionate. After all, they're responsible for the french-kiss, now aren't they? They hug and kiss when they meet, when they part, when they purchase a baguette at the bakery... well you get the idea - a lot. Now this took some getting used to for a mere Anglophone hand-shaker. It was downright daunting. And it wasn't just an "air-kiss" or just a little cheek to cheek action. The French engage in a lusty, if not lascivious, double cheek osculation. I mean they really love to plant a big one on each of your cheeks.

It wasn't so bad with her uncles and male cousins. No, handshakes work for these guys just like they do for me. Which I was relieved to learn. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course, if you're into that sort of thing. But none of her male relatives were into that sort of thing. But when I first met female members of her family I'd stick out my hand and mumble an "enchante". But that just wouldn't do. These women would pull me to their bosoms, hug the life out of me and plant one on each of my unsuspecting virgin cheeks.

You know I've been suffering through these greetings for 10 years now and I still haven't got it right. It's damn awkward. It's the double cheek thing that always throws me for a loop. I never know wether to start with the left cheek or the right cheek. Some greetings are more a dodge and dart effort. I'll go left, they'll go left. Pull back. Go right. Look out. Uh-oh.

Others are kind of sloppy. I'll overshoot right, she'll overshoot left, look out she's nibbling on my ear. And if I kiss women with glasses I usually end up with an eyeball imprint on the inside of mine. And, believe it or not, purely by accident, I'll go one way, and the kissee will go the other and - horror of horror - we'll end up kissing on the lips. Ew! And then we both act like that's exactly what we meant to do. Yeah, right.

You know they say this kind of social greeting is actually a sign of respect and reverence. That may be. But it's not a perfect science. In fact it's a real art. Unfortunately, I just can't draw.

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Pause Ponder and Pedal Ponies

Giddyup guys!

I have no idea where this picture came from or what it purports to represent. But that didn't stop you guys this week from trotting out some great captions...

Alberto Contador will not eat tainted meat at this year's Tour de France. 
He will ride it.

I guess this is what they call the Pony Express.

Am I the only one to notice that they don"t seem to be peddling, but thrusting instead?
It's why you need a trojan for your horse.

And in a rare case of art reflecting reality our winner crossed the finish line with...

I think you can expect the captions to be kind of Spartan this time around.

Way to go, Mike. You be hangin' with dufus this week. Speaking of Spartans, maybe we could go see the 7th place Senators this weekend. They're playing Boston. That'd be much better than watching the basement-dwelling Montreal Canadiens don't you think?

Thanks to everyone for playing. See you all next week.

Thursday, 23 February 2012

Uh, Honey What Smells?

We live in the lap of luxury in the dufus household. We own two cars, watch two TVs, use two laptops and best of all we have two fridges.  It kinda reminds me of that old sign in the window of the barbershop when I was a little kid "Two barbers. No waiting." But I digress.

When we renovated our kitchen we bought a new fridge. We got rid of the fridge and the freezer we had in the basement. And we moved the old kitchen fridge to the garage.

A second fridge is great for beer. It's not so good for food. Because what happens is you forget about the food. Outta sight, outta mind as they say. You see we often use that second fridge to store leftovers ad vegetables - two things I'm not so keen on. But don't tell Mrs. Dufus. Don't get me wrong. My wife is quite the cook. She's a regular Chef Ramsey in the kitchen - minus the curse words...well, most of the time. But to me something delicious the first time around sometimes loses it's appeal when chilled or frozen and then re-heated.

And so it sits. And the longer it sits, the more it gets forgotten and the more it gets forgotten the more it starts to go bad and the more it goes bad the more it starts to smell.

We have milk and yogurt months past their due date. We have green peppers that once were red peppers and blue peppers that once were green peppers. We have green hot dogs and mouldy bread. And we have stuff that looks like this...

Who knew my wife was a biologist?

Yes, that's right. We have quite the collection of what I refer to as "high school science experiments". Now I try and do my part. Every once and awhile I'll let Mrs. D know our food has taken a turn for the worse. Isn't that nice of me? I mean, who knows, she might be keeping that stuff for some reason I'm not aware of. She may want to use some of it. I don't know, like, maybe as a unique table centre piece?

Anyway, look what I found to make her life easier. A handy dandy guide of when to throw food away. And you (Mrs. D for example) can print it out and paste it on the fridge door. Just look at this...

click to enlarge

I can be like that from time to time - helpful.

It's how I roll.

No need to thank me, honey.

You're welcome.

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Pause Ponder and Pun #113

I'm not exactly sure what's going on here.

Maybe you do.

Give it a spin and leave a caption in the comments.

We'll see what happens when we cross the finish line Saturday.

Monday, 20 February 2012

Satellite of Golf

Satellite's gone
Up to the skies
Things like that drive me
Out of my mind

I don't think Lou Reed would mind my mashing up the title of his excellent song. You see, that's exactly what happened to me Sunday. Waiting for company to show up for dinner, I turned on the TV to catch some of the Northern Trust Open golf game in which Phil Mickelson, Keegan Bradley and Bill Haas were bumping along exchanging the lead on the final holes. Mickelson had won the week previous so I was pulling for him.

The company arrived and I went to the door to greet them. 'Cause usually when you have company that's what you do. You let them in. My friend, Bernard, was sporting sunglasses and said something to the effect of coming over to see the stars. I joked that must be why he was wearing his sunglasses. Funny, no? No he was talking about stars in the sky. More specifically, the space station.

Turns out the International Space Station was scheduled to pass over my house and because it would be at 6:24pm, shortly after sunset, we'd be able to see it. Cool.

So we chatted. We watched a little golf with the sound down and when 6:20 rolled around we grabbed our drinks, our coats and retreated to the backyard. Lo and behold out of the sky in the northwest a tiny, bright dot moved into view. We followed it's trajectory and after four minutes it was gone.

Amazingly - well to me anyway - that little dot was 370 kilometres up in the sky, carried 6 astronauts and  travelled at 26,000 kilometres an hour. Damn, I didn't even think to wave.

So we trudged back into the house and sat down to dinner. I checked on the golf and Mickelson, Bradley and Haas were going into a three-man, two-hole playoff. Cool.

But dinner called, so off to the dining room we headed. The meal was wonderful and the conversation stimulating and fun.

When dessert arrived I popped up to check on the golf game in the family room. Wha? It was over. Rats. I went looking for my iPad to check on the Golf Channel app to see how things ended. Turned out Haas won.

Poor Phil. He simply wasn't in the winning orbit.

Eye on the ball, Phil, not on the satellite.

Saturday, 18 February 2012

Pause Ponder and Periscope Eyes

I think this guy used to be a submarine commander and spent too much time peering through a periscope. He's now afflicted with that submarine captain malady known as periscope eyes. Unfortunately no amount of saying "up periscope" will fix things. Maybe he just needs some V-eye-agra.

Okay, maybe it's just me. The observation, not the picture. Although I do have an eye out for a winner.

Let's see what this week brought us, shall we.

Still better looking than Sarah Jessica Parker

One of the rare but possible dangers of LASIK eye surgery.

All in favour? OK. The "eyes" have it - that is officially gross

Our winner this week is a dear friend who knows a little bit about me and my passions. Woah, woah, woah. Not my passion. That's passions with an "s". Yeah.

The tragic results of Dufus' attempt to follow the golf pro's advice
"keep your eyes on the ball" 

Ha, ha, Nicky, you've actually been reading my blog and keeping up to date on my adventures in golf land.  Congratulations. You're hangin' with dufus this week. Waddaya say we traipse on over to the optical store and we can make a spectacle of ourselves?

You guys should drop by these folks'  blogs. They're pretty funny people in their own write, right? And visit Nicky's blog We Work for Cheese where she and Mike have just redecorated over there. The new design is absolutely eye catching. Don't worry, though. I'm sure you won't end up like our friend up there.

Thursday, 16 February 2012

Golfing With Dufus

Went golfing yesterday morning with my son. I say golfing but it's really hitting a golf ball into a huge video screen. It's just not the same as the real thing. But with several feet of snow on the ground here, it's the only option...unless I go golfing with a snow shovel.

So the way it works is you get to choose from a number of courses, ranked in order of difficulty. I think I must have accidentally chosen the most difficult course there was. It was called Devil's Island. The name should have been my first clue. I tell you if this course exists in real life I'm never going there. I came away with a score of worst game ever.

Maybe I lacked the drive.

After missed shots and mulligans I was feeling pretty green.

To my mind this was not a fair way to play golf.

It was downright rough.

In fact, I was so ticked off being around me was a real hazard.

It was as if I had a chip on my shoulder.

But I refused to lie down.

However, the exertion I put into hitting that damn ball just about gave me a stroke.

Well it gave me ten actually, and that was just the first hole.

But I haven't given up on my golf game. Nope. In fact, I'm going back today.

I wonder if there's a course called Birdie Heaven?

Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Pause Ponder and Pun #112

Eye-yie-yei that's one gross pic.

Pupils of Pause Ponder and Pun sure haven't seen anything else like this before.

Leave a caption in the comments.

We'll keep an eye out for a winner Saturday.

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

It's All About Me!

I'm facing a dilemma. (That's dilemma, not dill enema.) My darling wife doesn't want to do anything special for Valentine's Day. I asked her if she'd like to go out for dinner. Thoughtful, right? Actually a tapas restaurant sent me an e-mail suggesting I make a reservation for Valentine's. Some years I'll completely forget about the day of love until it's too late. Thanks to that tapas restaurant, though, this year I was way ahead of myself. But no, my beloved isn't interested in going out.

Okay. So I'll save some money on skipping a romantic dinner. And besides, when you think about it what is Valentine's Day all about anyway. The guy - or guys - it was named after was killed. Yep. There were 3 guys all named Valentine and they were martyred. So, like, we're celebrating their deaths? No, well, history tells us one of them started this whole lovey-dovey day business by sending his jailer's daughter a note - now get this - "from your Valentine". Clever, right? It didn't go over very well with the girl's father, though. No. It all ended rather badly. Surprising how far one has to go to be considered a saint.

Over the years this guy's death, and that of his namesakes, has made Hallmark, Cadbury and FTD all filthy rich. That's right. Every year, the entire guy population around the world spend their hard earned money on cards, chocolates and flowers. All in the name of love. Ha! All in the name of guilt, I say. They're worried that if they don't buy these gifts to demonstrate their undying love - their attestations of amour, if you will - their wives, girlfriends and significant others will be hurt. And where will that lead? No sex for you!

No fear of that in my house. That's because I show my love everyday in every way. Well that's it, isn't it? Why else would my wife want to skip a fancy dinner?

I know. I know.

Because I'm so romantic the other 364 days of the year, she wants to spend a quiet evening at home with me where she's going to shower me with affection and love and a whole bunch of other stuff I won't mention here. That's it, right? Now it's going to be my turn, huh?

Hey. A guy can dream can't he?

Happy Valentine's Day, honey.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...