I See London, I See France

Queen Victoria is probably having a party in her grave right about now.

Atlanta, Georgia is considering adding an amendment
to its indecency laws that would ban exposure of undergarmets in public. The point is to discourage kids dressing in hip hop style clothing, including baggy pants that sag low enough to show a hint of skivvies. Thong sightings would be a big no-no, too.

But then the proposed amendment takes it even further. No form of undies, including bra straps and sports bras, can be exposed at any time. Give me a break. Bra straps? Jogbras? There are swimsuits that reveal more than most jogbras.

And on a hot day, there's nothing more freeing (well, naked would actually be more freeing, but that's a whole other legal issue) than exercising in as little as possible, and for women that usually means a jogbra and a pair of shorts.

Plus, what's even worse, Atlanta lesbians would lose an entire summer wardrobe.

Me-ga-Dik: Truth Or Phallusy?

I don't mean to focus on the phallus, but I couldn't help but share this bit of spam I received today:

"Dames always giggled at me and even chaps did in the urban lavatory! Well, now I laugh at them, because I took Me-ga-Dik for 4 months and now my shaft is truly more than national."

So, how does one's shaft go national? He must have done really well in the regionals.

No Hos At This Hoedown

I watch a lot of baseball, and when you watch sports on television, you're subjected to ads for three things: trucks, beer, and erectile dysfunction remedies.

This commercial, showing five down home men a-pickin' and a-grinnin' as they sing about the joys of Viagra, made me wonder if it was produced by the people at Saturday Night Live.

Apparently - amid, er, stiff competition - the Little Blue Pill is trying its hand at a different approach to advertising - there are no women in the spot. Just a bunch of middle-aged guys in flannel shirts having a jam session.

And, weirdest of all, they're singing about how Viagra keeps them from straying. Now that I've got good wood on-demand, it's all just for you, baby.

Right. And the dog ate my homework.

The Frying Pan, the Sandwich and the Smoke Alarm

Relax all you Narnians; this isn't a sequel to "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." It's the Chronicles of Grilled Cheese Part 2. (For Part 1, see January 12, 2007 entry.)

After nearly burning down the neighborhood during my last attempt, this afternoon I successfully made myself a grilled cheese sandwich. And I didn't hear a peep from the smoke alarm.

Being a big geek, I looked up the recipe online (yeah, I know - only the lamest of the lame need a recipe for grilled cheese) and added one little touch. Canola oil spray, which made it taste kind of weird, but at least this time I was able to actually remove the sandwich from the pan.

Tomorrow paella!

The 3-Ounce Brain Rule

I didn't have time to buy decent snacks before going to the airport, so just prior to boarding my six-hour flight from Boston to San Diego, I stopped at a Wolfgang Puck sandwich kiosk located right outside the security checkpoint.

I knew that if I opted to fly without food, my in-flight choices would be a limp, tasteless and still-frozen sandwich for $5 and a snack box consisting of such healthy items as potato chips, a candy bar, cookies, and pork rinds for $3. So instead, I purchased a turkey sandwich on focaccia bread (which, despite its supposed lineage, wouldn't even pass as Wolfgang Puck's step-child) and a very overpriced bottle of water.

I'm well aware of the three-ounce liquids in a Ziplock bag rule. But I figured that because the sandwich stand is within spitting distance of the security checkpoint, and subject to airport and TSA scrutiny, my unopened bottle of water would be safe. And there were no signs indicating passengers must consume beverages purchased at this kiosk prior to going through security.

Silly, silly me. Once my carry-on bag reached the bowels of the X-ray machine, an alarm went off and one of the TSA agents screamed, "Bag check!" My potentially life-threatening water was whisked away to an undisclosed location, and I had to go find another kiosk inside the secure area in order to purchase a terror-free bottle.

You know what really terrifies me about air travel? I think the TSA shares one brain, and you never know which airport has it.

Wayward Word Nerds Unite!

Last week while I was vacationing on Cape Cod, I heard that one of my favorite shows on public radio had been canceled. "A Way With Words" produced at KPBS in San Diego, had aired in several cities across the U.S. for eight years, and was a font of knowledge for word nerds like me.

Taking a moment to put down my 18th lobster roll, I exchanged a few emails with my good friend "A Way With Words" co-host, Martha Barnette, to find out the scoop. The show might be experiencing a temporary hiccup right now, but it'll be airing again at some point from somewhere else. You can bet on that!

If you want to know more, visit Martha's blog.

If you're a word nerd and don't know about the show, you can visit their new website to find out about past episodes and podcasts, and to track the new show's progress. And tell all your word nerd pals, too.