Water in bottles is bottled water.
Water that comes out of a faucet is tap water.
Spring water that bubbles up out the ground, put in plastic bottles and sold as magic elixir is spring water.
Water containing minerals and other substances is mineral water.
Mineral water from the French Alps is overpriced water.
Sparkling, soda, and seltzer water is artificially charged with carbon dioxide to make bubbly water.
Glacier water is very old water.
When flavored, water is either a version of Kool-Aid or cola and is flavored water.
Water enhanced with vitamins is vitamins in water.
When enhanced with fruit-flavoring and vitamins, the result is fruit-flavoring and vitamins in water.
Boiling water creates steam – evaporated water.
Ice is solid water.
Solid water in liquid water is ice water.
“Bourbon and branch” is bourbon and water. (Two ounces Bourbon, four ounces water.)
Bourbon (an American form of whiskey) contains corn, wheat and/or rye, malted barley and – water.
The bodies of adult men contain about 60 per cent water.
The bodies of adult women contain abut 55 per cent water.
Water sustains life.
Draw your own conclusions.
Drink up!
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Say What?
Did someone change the meanings of words in the English language last month or am I the only one who – at times – has no idea of what is being said?
What the heck is a “throw down” on the Food Channel? I caught the last half of a program and one of the chefs had just won a burger “throw down.”
Did they throw burger buns at a target? Did they toss hot burgers back and forth until someone dropped one? Did they have a burger eating contest to see how many the winner could “throw down” without “throwing up?”
Are most television programs based on competition and/or violence?
Maybe it’s time to “throw down” my remote control and go find a good book!
Geeze.
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
What the heck is a “throw down” on the Food Channel? I caught the last half of a program and one of the chefs had just won a burger “throw down.”
Did they throw burger buns at a target? Did they toss hot burgers back and forth until someone dropped one? Did they have a burger eating contest to see how many the winner could “throw down” without “throwing up?”
Are most television programs based on competition and/or violence?
Maybe it’s time to “throw down” my remote control and go find a good book!
Geeze.
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Another Decade
It was just a few months ago that I was barely out of my fifties. A few years zoomed by and now I'm turning the corner on another decade. Yikes! Let the serious age exaggeration begin.
How many years can you shave off your age before it becomes obvious? Is it socially acceptable to find a nice age and just stop there? For instance, stop having birthdays in your late sixties.
The only problem I can see is that you would astound medical professionals who think you are in your sixties when you are really in your eighties.
“So, Doc, how am I?"
“Hummm. Well, you say you are 67, but you have the body of an 81-year-old. Perhaps you need a little more exercise and take stronger vitamins.”
Oh, one more problem. You have to learn to appreciate the music of your chosen era. Well, goodbye Elvis, hello Beatles – at least for the next ten years.
By the time I work up, or should I say “back,” a few more decades, I’ll be deaf from the hard rock sound. Ten years or so later and I’ll have to “pimp my ride,” (wheelchair) and make hip-hop grunting sounds and mumble obscenities.
Hey, I can do that!
I may have found a new hobby – driving those smarty-pants young doctors crazy trying to guess my age.
I can do that, too.
So with all the age “extensions,” this could be a pretty good decade.
Look out seventies, here I come.
Happy birthday to me!
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
How many years can you shave off your age before it becomes obvious? Is it socially acceptable to find a nice age and just stop there? For instance, stop having birthdays in your late sixties.
The only problem I can see is that you would astound medical professionals who think you are in your sixties when you are really in your eighties.
“So, Doc, how am I?"
“Hummm. Well, you say you are 67, but you have the body of an 81-year-old. Perhaps you need a little more exercise and take stronger vitamins.”
Oh, one more problem. You have to learn to appreciate the music of your chosen era. Well, goodbye Elvis, hello Beatles – at least for the next ten years.
By the time I work up, or should I say “back,” a few more decades, I’ll be deaf from the hard rock sound. Ten years or so later and I’ll have to “pimp my ride,” (wheelchair) and make hip-hop grunting sounds and mumble obscenities.
Hey, I can do that!
I may have found a new hobby – driving those smarty-pants young doctors crazy trying to guess my age.
I can do that, too.
So with all the age “extensions,” this could be a pretty good decade.
Look out seventies, here I come.
Happy birthday to me!
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Real News – Stupid News
Here’s my variation of the old “Good News – Bad News” routine.
Real News: Iraq and Afghanistan
Stupid News: Rosie and Elisabeth
Real News: Recovery of Missing Child
Stupid News: Rehab of Brittany
Real News: Nations Agree on Global Warming Solutions
Stupid News: Anything to do with Paris Hilton
Real News: DNA Breakthrough Leads to Disease Cure
Stupid News: Plastic Surgery for Boob Enhancement
Real News: Immigration reform
Stupid News: How to enter US Illegally
Real News: Feeding Children and Elderly in the United States
Stupid News: Nicole Richie’s Eating Disorder
Real News: Cure for ANY Disease
Stupid News: Concealing Signs of Aging
Real News: Capture of Osama Bin Laden
Stupid News: Glorification of Bin Laden’s Actions
Real News: Solution to Energy Problems
Stupid News: Celebrities Mansions and Autos
Real News: Honoring any American Military Service Man or Woman
Real News: Iraq and Afghanistan
Stupid News: Rosie and Elisabeth
Real News: Recovery of Missing Child
Stupid News: Rehab of Brittany
Real News: Nations Agree on Global Warming Solutions
Stupid News: Anything to do with Paris Hilton
Real News: DNA Breakthrough Leads to Disease Cure
Stupid News: Plastic Surgery for Boob Enhancement
Real News: Immigration reform
Stupid News: How to enter US Illegally
Real News: Feeding Children and Elderly in the United States
Stupid News: Nicole Richie’s Eating Disorder
Real News: Cure for ANY Disease
Stupid News: Concealing Signs of Aging
Real News: Capture of Osama Bin Laden
Stupid News: Glorification of Bin Laden’s Actions
Real News: Solution to Energy Problems
Stupid News: Celebrities Mansions and Autos
Real News: Honoring any American Military Service Man or Woman
Stupid News: Exalting winners of Top Model / Chef / Designer / Survivor / Singer / Dancer / any "Challenge" television program
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Summertime Dating in the ‘50s
Window air-conditioners were just becoming affordable in the early 1950s, making the ritual of Saturday night date preparation much more comfortable for us Southern young ladies who were of dating age. Prior to the installation of the mammoth metal monsters hanging from the window, we took cold showers, pointed every fan in the house in our direction and prayed the sticky anti-perspirant held until we got to the air-conditioned movie theatre.
Our attire was much different than what is worn in public today. No shorts and halters for our “hot” dates in August (yes, I said that on purpose). We wore “peasant” blouses and “circle” skirts underlined with several layers of starched crinolines. Nylon hose were worn to show off our new Capezio “flats.” We accented our dainty little necks with brightly colored silk scarves. Screw-back pearl earrings set off our Prell-washed hair. Our dates wore sports jackets or even suits, but mostly in the summer just starched and ironed white dress shirts or short-sleeve plaid shirts, ties optional, and slacks. No jeans for date night unless the date rode a motorcycle, but that’s a different story.
Since most of our dates drove un-air-conditioned cars (yes, the times were indeed primitive), we had two choices. Insist on windows up or shellac our hair with so much spray that not even gale-force winds would move a single hair. One problem. Humidity increased the stickiness of the spray causing hair to droop from the weight and/or catch every leaf, bit of paper or tine of comb, and refuse to let go. Any young man with more than an hour's experience, knew NOT to touch his date’s hair.
Summer drive-in theater dating during July and August was not even an option. In addition to hot and humid air, the mosquitoes were voracious, pouncing on every bit of exposed skin. Even with a mosquito coil burning on the dashboard, the tiny pests flocked into the car, got high on the camphor aroma, then danced around exposed skin looking for a tasty treat. So much for our Midnight in Paris, Channel No. 5 or Tigress cologne; within five minutes of lighting that coil, we were bathed in eau de citronella or camphor.
The only relief was the air-conditioned snack bar, usually crowded with sweating teens trying to look “cool.” (Yep, meant that one, too.) As soon as the lights came on between double features and the dancing popcorn boxes strutted across the screen, teens popped out of Fords and Chevys to line up for snow cones and large Cokes with extra ice.
As much fun as it was in the other seasons, the neighborhood drive-in was just not the place for a Saturday night date in August, no matter how good the “Monster from the Black Lagoon” was said to be.
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
Our attire was much different than what is worn in public today. No shorts and halters for our “hot” dates in August (yes, I said that on purpose). We wore “peasant” blouses and “circle” skirts underlined with several layers of starched crinolines. Nylon hose were worn to show off our new Capezio “flats.” We accented our dainty little necks with brightly colored silk scarves. Screw-back pearl earrings set off our Prell-washed hair. Our dates wore sports jackets or even suits, but mostly in the summer just starched and ironed white dress shirts or short-sleeve plaid shirts, ties optional, and slacks. No jeans for date night unless the date rode a motorcycle, but that’s a different story.
Since most of our dates drove un-air-conditioned cars (yes, the times were indeed primitive), we had two choices. Insist on windows up or shellac our hair with so much spray that not even gale-force winds would move a single hair. One problem. Humidity increased the stickiness of the spray causing hair to droop from the weight and/or catch every leaf, bit of paper or tine of comb, and refuse to let go. Any young man with more than an hour's experience, knew NOT to touch his date’s hair.
Summer drive-in theater dating during July and August was not even an option. In addition to hot and humid air, the mosquitoes were voracious, pouncing on every bit of exposed skin. Even with a mosquito coil burning on the dashboard, the tiny pests flocked into the car, got high on the camphor aroma, then danced around exposed skin looking for a tasty treat. So much for our Midnight in Paris, Channel No. 5 or Tigress cologne; within five minutes of lighting that coil, we were bathed in eau de citronella or camphor.
The only relief was the air-conditioned snack bar, usually crowded with sweating teens trying to look “cool.” (Yep, meant that one, too.) As soon as the lights came on between double features and the dancing popcorn boxes strutted across the screen, teens popped out of Fords and Chevys to line up for snow cones and large Cokes with extra ice.
As much fun as it was in the other seasons, the neighborhood drive-in was just not the place for a Saturday night date in August, no matter how good the “Monster from the Black Lagoon” was said to be.
© Copyright 2007 Suzzwords
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