Beware: I Now Own A Camera Phone
[Blog? What blog? What are you talking about? I don’t have one of those things, and if I did, nobody would notice if I neglected to update it for several weeks. Seriously, get real.]
Life, as you may or may not have noticed, is endlessly hilarious. I certainly hope that you have noticed, because if you haven’t, you’re not paying enough attention. I offer the following photographic evidence, gathered thanks to my spectacular new camera phone.
I was wandering through the mall in good old Urbana-Champaign the other day looking for a new pair of sunglasses because the pair I was given three years ago finally fell apart. As a side note, I think that shopping for sunglasses might be one of my least favorite activities, because the process generally goes something like this: 1. Look at row after row of awful sunglasses that you can’t possibly get away with wearing in public. 2. Try on a pair out of desperation. 3. Look into tiny mirror, think, “I look like an idiot in these.” 4. Repeat one thousand times. In the midst of that time-sucking black hole, I stumbled upon the following:
Yes, this is a five foot by two foot canvas of a reproduction of a painting of a lineup of TV’s “Friends,” complete with “This really is a painting” features such as sentiment-inducing smudgy effects in the background. Yes, it can be yours for only $175. Yes, there is an entire kiosk in the mall selling reproductions of paintings of famous moments from television and film. I should have stopped for long enough to see if I could purchase a five foot by two foot reproduction of a painting of Bruce Willis gunning down terrorists in "Die Hard", but I was too disoriented.
Instead, I wandered towards the exit in a cloud of confusion until I noticed the following sign outside of Vitamin World:
Attention, Vitamin World customers: If there is something wrong with you that necessitates the purchase of a product called “No-Xplode,” please call 911 promptly. Also, “Muscle Milk” is slightly troubling.
The following is a photograph of a flat of Sprite purchased at Cost-Co (Motto: Why Buy One When You Can Buy Forty?) and left in the back of my car for several very hot days. Apparently Sprite does not react well to prolonged heat and direct sunlight:
Now, I can understand how the cans might have bulged a little bit from the added pressure caused by cooking in a hot car for a few days, but the total structural failure of one can and the partial fracturing of another took me a bit by surprise. I found the blown-off can top a few feet away in the back of my car. It was suggested to me that Cost-Co might refund my money if I complained, but I don’t think they would believe me if I told them what happened. Probably they would just try to placate me with a complimentary case of five million toothpicks and send me on my way.
And finally, I present to you the contents of the trash can on the second hole of a nearby golf course:
That’s hole number two, folks. As golf is played in foursomes, that comes out to one half of a big plastic bottle of Jim Beam per golfer. And it was a nine-hole course, so these fellows weren’t planning on stretching their drinking out over five hours. As we played through the course, I fully expected to find two overturned golf carts, four dead bodies and fifty-six golf clubs lying in a heap at the bottom of a hill, but had no such luck. Apparently these party-golfers managed to navigate the course without disaster. I guess life can’t be hilarious all of the time.