While it isn’t exactly unprecedented in my blogging career – I think I did it once before, about a year and a half ago – it is certainly a rarity in the annuls of this particular poster.
I’m talking about two posts on the same day.
Normally, I’d just write up the second one and save it for another time.
But I couldn’t let this one go by unremarked.
I’ve just learned that today is the birthday of absolutely one of my all-time favorite authors.
Not for the depth of his intelligent analysis of the thornier issues of the day.
Not for quality of the subject material he takes as a starting point for his commentary.
For the sheer, utter ridiculousness of the man’s sense of humor.
This writer was a syndicated columnist for the Miami Herald, a Pulitzer Prize winner for commentary, and a founding member of that band known The Rock Bottom Remainders; along with such other literary luminaries as Steven King, Roy Blount, Jr., Amy Tan and Matt Groening.
(Motto: We’re not good, but we’re loud…)
He’s published over 50 books, had a television show based on his life and movies based on his books.
Dave Barry, born on this date in 1947, has said:
I believe it was Shakespeare, or possibly Howard Cosell, who first observed that marriage is very much like a birthday candle, in that ‘the flames of passion burn brightest when the wick of intimacy is first ignited by the disposable butane lighter of physical attraction, but sooner or later the heat of familiarity causes the wax of boredom to drip all over the vanilla frosting of novelty and the shredded coconut of romance.’ I could not have phrased it better myself.
It is a well-documented fact that guys will not ask for directions. This is a biological thing. This is why it takes several million sperm cells to locate a female egg, despite the fact that the egg is, relative to them, the size of Wisconsin.
It is inhumane, in my opinion, to force people who have a genuine medical need for coffee to wait in line behind people who apparently view it as some kind of recreational activity.
Violence and smut are of course everywhere on the airwaves. You cannot turn on your television without seeing them, although sometimes you have to hunt around.
The problem with winter sports is that – follow me closely here – they generally take place in winter.
…when the armed robber of unhappiness knocks over the Keebler cookie display of our complacency, and bangs the samurai sword of negativity on the checkout counter of our dreams, we must not be afraid to hurl the fruit cocktail can of hope.
Your hand and your mouth agreed many years ago that, as far as chocolate is concerned, there is no need to involve your brain.
In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it ‘Christmas’ and went to church; the Jews called it ‘Hanukkah’ and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say ‘Merry Christmas!’ or ‘Happy Hanukkah!’ or (to the atheists) ‘Look out for the wall!
As you get older; you’ve probably noticed that you tend to forget things. You’ll be talking with somebody at a party, and you’ll know that you know this person, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t remember his or her name. This can be very embarassing, especially if he or she turns out to be your spouse.
Happy birthday, Dave.
May boogers ever remain your beat…
Image found here.