I'm Just Saying

It’s not the sort of thing one brags about, but I sort of look forward to going to my local gas station/mini-mart around this time of year.

They have one of those ubiquitous cappuccino machines that you stick a Styrofoam cup beneath and press a button for it to be filled to the top.

It’s taken ten days of determined attack, but I am glad to report the watermelon has been finished.

From time to time I am asked if I miss performing stand-up, miss the touring, the traveling both domestically and internationally.

Oh, heck no.

However, during those twenty years I would quote George Carlin who liked to say the money he earned was for lugging a suitcase, traveling and living in hotels.

What on earth is that?” I asked Paul, who, coming in from the garden, was carrying what looked to be an enormous, curved yellow club.

“It’s an Armenian cucumber,” he said, depositing it with a thud on the kitchen island.

Sometimes it’s difficult to bring the funny to a weekly column when the life surrounding you isn’t always funny.

And sometimes it’s possible to mine the funny in the not-so-funny and absurd.

A dear friend, in a fit of giggles, was relaying to me the account of seeing her doctor for her annual physical, completely forgetting she had added a fourth tattoo to her subtle collection of cartoon characters and meaningful symbols.

I’m a little jealous of Jena.

This is the time of year when Paul’s carefully tended vegetable garden begins to explode with tomatoes.