What's the catch

We were in Saratoga, Wyoming for the holidays a couple of years ago. When Matt went to the Doughnut Ranch to buy some breakfast, he had a peculiar exchange with the Doughnut Ranch pasty associate .

(Have you noticed that everyone is an "associate" these days? Weird.)

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MATT: Hi, I'd like to get a dozen doughnuts.

PASTRY ASSOCIATE : Okay. Would you like fresh doughnuts or day-olds?

MATT: What is the difference in cost?

PASTRY ASSOCIATE: They're the same price?

MATT: Does anyone ever get the day-olds?

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(That's not the kind of logic that will help her make Pastry Partner)

Fun with pharmaceutical brand names

I like it when medications sound like what they are. Cuts down on confusion. The names are catchy, easy to remember, and make our medicine cabinets safer places.

For example: Flonase. Just by taking a look at the label, you can guess that you are dealing with a product that restores normal nasal function and, perhaps, nasal flo?

Then there's Herpicin. This product is medicine for your icky little herpes vesicles. Nice.

Should be pretty easy to avoid confusion regarding the use of Anusol. (Which is -- by the way -- easily the funniest sounding medicine I can think of.)

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HOWEVER. I do take exception with Boniva -- which is not, I REPEAT, is not a medication for E.D. Make a note of it.

Sex, drugs, and ...um... bagpipes?

Here's a nifty sticker we spotted in the mall parking lot:

KILT !

Bumper sticker for Scottish hippies?

I don't know, but I find it very compelling.

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It's genetic

I came across a story this morning about a woman who died on her own plot at the cemetery.

Woman Dies Next to Own Grave

That story made me me think fondly about a visit home I had a couple of years ago. I was in the car with my parents when my mom turned excitedly to me and said, "Hey! Wanna stop by the cemetery and see the plots your father and I just bought ourselves?!"

She was excited because a number of plots in the oldest portions of the cemetery had escheated back to the cemetery because those who had purchased them many, many, many years ago never got around to using them. Given the amount of time that had passed, it was safe to assume that the original owners must have made other arrangements by now. Anyway, being in the oldest part of the cemetery means being laid to rest amongst huge established trees and other scenic amenities.

We pulled into the cemetery, and I have to admit, the folks had scored themselves some prime real estate.

There was a brief moment of awkwardness when the three of us fell silent, thinking about the sad days that would eventually bring us to this spot out of solemn obligation.

My mom spoke up, "well this is kind of depressing, isn't it?" Then she grinned, leaned forward, and suggested, "We should dance on our graves!"

My dad and I needed no encouragement, and for the next 30 seconds the three of us laughed, and danced with our arms in the air.

We finished up and got back into the car, still chuckling. My mom sighed, and said "Now won't that be a funny memory when you come back here to bury us?!"

That's right. The silliness runs deep in this kid's veins.