what a strange morning.
perhaps brought upon by a seemingly nondescript mixture of a late night of work, a handful of strawberries from yesterday's farmers' market, and an increasingly overwhelming pile of work responsibilities, i couldn't help giggling uncontrollably at paul krugman's nytimes article published last week, found here.
despite my familiarity with kennedy's commonly understood and easily forgivable mistake, the story managed to resonate this morning. the idea that our president would call himself a pastry is indisputably hilarious. if he had called himself a belt buckle or a telephone, the situation would be exponentially less remarkable, let alone comical. moreover, i personally find the imagery of a person somehow BEING a donut to be so undeniably strange and wonderful that it compelled me to emerge from my proverbial blogging slump and actually write something down.
proof that i am, to borrow my own phrase, straddling the threshold of insanity. once again. perhaps forever.
About _
- FastTrakStatus
- New York, New York, United States
- I take myself too seriously most of the time and I am trying to do that less. I remind some people of Woody Allen. I occationally indulge in the weekend camping trip. I adamantly support the Kansas City Royals baseball club. My identity is wrapped up in a few simple things, most of which are continuously displayed on this here blog.
2 comments:
Just imagine how difficult it must be to tell your parents.
here's a fun tale of another statement that was lost in translation...
once upon a time, i was taking some language classes in a small school in ronda, spain.
one particular day, in a roundtable exercise, we were asked to describe the food that was being served by our host families.
in my household, rabbit was a regular dish, and it was delicious. conejo is the spanish word for rabbit. it is also a spanish slang term for a certain anatomical part of the female.
when it came to my turn and i began to fumble over my words, i enthusiastically expressed how much i loved to eat conejo, which unbeknownst to me, meant something else to regular folks.
my instructor began to giggle uncontrollably for a few minutes. after regaining her composure, she explained in broken english in front of the whole class how an everyday spaniard in our town would have interpreted my sentence:
i love to eat the delicious p***y that my host mother gives me.
it was the most embarrassing classroom moment. ever.
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