Wherein I hate on oft-used English phrases

I am so over the term, "Like a fish out of water."

I don't know if all of you have had the extensive icthyologous experience that I have, so I'm just gonna tell you: A fish out of water is dead. It's not "like" anything, except maybe something that flops sadly on its side for a few minutes before expiring.

Really, the only way I can see it working as a simile is:  "He was shot in the stomach, and, for a brief moment, as his life flashed before his eyes, he was like a fish out of water. Then, when he died, he was like a fish who had been out of water for too long. Only his eyes weren't so buggy." Morbid, but possibly effective.

Wherein I demand more horse-punching

When you're in the suburbs and it's raining and you're terribly bored, it sometimes seems like a good idea to go to the movies. The magic of Hollywood will amuse and enrapture you, and you will have two or three fewer hours to try desperately to fill. Such was the thinking when I went to see the latest Planet of the Apes movie last weekend:

our scene opens on L and G slouched on the couch in a coma of inactivity
TV: Planet of the Apes! Watch It! This is a preview voiceover!
G: You think?
L: Eh...
The preview shows what looks like a gorilla punching a horse
L: Yeah, I'd watch that.

Birds

I like birds because they always look pissed off:

Harumph

Hrmm

It's like they think someone is always trying to put one over on them.

Important Life Choices

The laundromat is the heart of any good community.

[sidenote: I’m trying to start posts with words other than “I.” It’s much harder than one might think.]

Being the good community member that I am [as in, member of a good community, not as in being good at it], I was at the laundromat over the weekend. Don’t worry, I was not actually doing laundry because that’s for plebeians; I was merely helping my plebeian boyfriend fold his plebeian underpants. Then, I saw some signs.

These signs were not your usual laundromat signs, instructing me to put three quarters in the machine or to not dye my clothes in their washers (who does that?). These were COMMUNITY signs -- fliers with tear-off phone numbers, entreating various laundromat patrons to put down that lint trap and pick up an oboe for your local reed instrument symphony, or to call Susan [licensed instructor!] for free French lessons on Saturdays.

Those left me nonplussed. Whose community doesn’t have a joint math gang/medieval war reenactors’ club? Yawn.

However, just when I thought folding underpants was going to turn out to be just as boring as it sounds, two very special signs caught my eye. One told me that if I called the number listed on the bottom, I could learn to speak to angels. The one right beneath it told me that if I took their number, I could learn to speak to Animals! OOOOOOO!

The signs gave the distinct impression that they were in competition for willing students. The kind of linguistical genius that can learn to speak the languages of both angels and animals at the same time comes along rarely, and never in a laundromat. These signs were out for blood. Signblood. Interested parties had to make a choice.

So I did what any underpants-folding fool would: squealed, pointed out both, and proceeded to ask the pleb what he would choose. He said animals, which immediately made me think angels were probably a better choice. Animals would just be all up in your business asking for food all day. Angels would have some real shit to talk about because they have weightier things on their minds than, “Who peed here last?”

Then again, angels might be kind of a downer. What if you tried to start a normal conversation, like, “Hey, angelguy, have you seen the latest episode of The Office?” The angel, having weightier things on its mind, would sigh, roll its angelic eyes and expound upon virtues and blahblahblah.

We don’t need those kinds of snobs mucking up our neighborhood.