These are all places I have lived near (or in).
I am of the belief that people intentionally pronounce their local place names in a totally ridiculous manner so as to highlight and pick off the people around them who aren’t local. Sort of a tag-and-shoot kind of thing.
Just sayin’.
Are you from someplace unpronounceable? Let us in on it. It’ll help us blend in.
I’m afraid I have a hard time taking anyone painted blue very seriously. Even Mel Gibson. No, especially Mel Gibson. No, especially especially Mel Gibson with a Scottish accent. And a kilt. Jeez, who approved that movie anyway?
Well, it's that time of year again folks. Yep. The Fourth of July. Independence Day. The day we celebrate throwing down the shackles of monarchial tyranny; we cheer casting off the chains of colonialist oppression; we raise our fists in triumph at our utter escape from having to eat things like marmite and kidney pie and kippers.
Unfortunately, this year I won't be celebrating this glorious freedom from fish-and-chips and lorries with a massive, crazily-expensive display of fireworks. Because of course this year we're in a drought. A bad drought. A really really bad drought. Everything around us is so dry that just thinking about matches or lighters or sparks is illegal. The grass in my backyard is so dry that yesterday I was afraid I might start it on fire with the lasers coming out of my eyes. Fortunately, I remembered that the lasers that come out of my eyes only have power to burn the Evil Monkeys and the Husband.
Still. No fireworks. Rather uncharacteristically I was sort of looking forward to them this year… mostly as an opportunity to get the Evil Monkeys out of the house for two hours since the Husband will in fact be working that night. And the Monkeys and I will be home together all day. And by 4 or 5 pm they'll be higher than a kite on the mounds of cheap, nasty candy they scavenged that morning at the Fourth of July parade. Because of course the only reason you go to a parade in our town is to be pelted by candy thrown by minor government officials and Shriners.
Damn. Now I'll have to interact with them and stuff. Sheesh. What next? Food and clothing? Shelter? The teaching of skills so as to become self-sufficient, productive human beings? Good grief.
Happy flippin' Independence Day. Don't mind me. I'll just be the person buried under a pile of crazed, sugar-ridden Evil Monkeys. Good thing I have lasers in my eyes.
Right. So due to the seasonal outbreak of math-geek fist-fighting, name-calling and general rowdiness, I'm sure you're all well aware (because I mean really, who isn't?) that this past Tuesday was once again Tau Day.
You were aware of this, right?
What. Do you live under a rock?
Tau? Pi doubled? You know... tau.
See, March 14 is Pi Day. June 28 is Tau Day. Get it? 3.14? 6.28?
Damn, those mathematicians are clever.
Anyway, I've decided that from now on all our holidays should be numerical puns. Unfortunately, this means they all have to revolve around math.
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I got nuthin'.
Still. Geeks fist-fighting over whether to use 3.14 or 6.28. That's pretty funny, right? Because it's just so super-hard to add "x2" to an equation. When you're, y'know… an astrophysicist.
I think we should all start a movement to use 1.57 instead. Um. That means we have to change the calendar so there's a January 57th. Let's see.... "Thirty days hath September, April, June and November. All the rest have thirty-one, excepting February... and January, which has 57."
I'm good with that.