Okay, read the last two titles together: The 40 Year Old Virgin, Unwanted Woman. It seems like the second line might explain the first…
(On a side note, this is the second post with pictures from my new camera phone. The image quality is pathetic compared to the good camera—640×480 vs. 5 megapixels—but it’s a lot more convenient to carry around, and quite adequate for this type of photo. And it’s much better than the expendable camera was, especially at the end of its life.)
It’s always strange when you throw out wacky ideas, then see them turn into reality. About four years ago, a bunch of us were sitting around talking, and someone uttered the remark, “Diet Spite.” From there we filled an entire page with culinary brand names made from abstract concepts, not unlike the Wheat-Free Chaos we found a month ago.
One exchange went like this:
Kelson: “Diet Red.”
Daniel: “Sure, that’s red.”
So it was a surprise to find this can at Trader Joe’s:
Truth is stranger than fiction. It just takes time to catch up.
I’m sure every English-speaking chemistry student has joked about “Avocado’s Number” (the number of particles in a guaca-mole). Now the joke has gone professional, with this package we found at Trader Joe’s.
The back has a bit about Avogadro’s number, and admits that “there aren’t 6.0221367×10²³ avocados in here, but 5 plus avo’s isn’t bad!”
Our friend Jason spotted this partial sign over the weekend:
As you may or may not be aware, an alien foodstuff called spoo was a running joke in Babylon 5. The first time it was mentioned in the show, someone asked what it was, and JMS replied with a long, humorous explanation.
(Thanks to Wayne for taking the photo.)
At the market today, we discovered that you can buy a bag of Chaos. Not only that, but you can buy a bag of wheat-free Chaos.
In actuality it’s a brand of chips from the makers of Pirate’s Booty, but the name reminded us both of a time we and a bunch of friends started coming up with lists of product names based on abstract concepts. It started with a pun, “Diet Spite,” and eventually filled an entire sheet of paper. I think Jason ended up with the sheet, and may even have HTMLized it, but from there it fades into legend.
The member benefits section in the latest Golden Key newsletter features an announcement of a business partnership. Take a look at the first paragraph and see if you can figure out what the company does:
Owens Corning is a company with an unwavering commitment to delivering solutions, transforming markets and enhancing lives. It’s who we are. It’s why we are here. We do it by fully engaging our employees in support of growing our customer’s businesses. And when we do, we grow ours as well.
The second paragraph explains that they manufacture building supplies and provide construction services. The third contains a brief summary of the company’s history.
Now, tell me, what that hell is the point of the first paragraph? As best as I can tell its purpose is to make readers tune out before they actually get to the informative stuff.
Whenever I see this sign, I always think of the story about P.T. Barnum trying to get his visitors out of an exhibit so that new customers could come in. He eventually put up a sign saying “This way to the egress,” figuring most people wouldn’t know the word just meant “exit.” According to the legend, it worked.
Now, given that every other freeway sign I’ve seen says “exit,” I have to wonder why they phrased this one the way they did. My best guess is that it’s because it’s marking an exit from the carpool lane (it’s on the Santa Ana Freeway, heading north between the 55 and 22) instead of an exit to surface streets or directly to another freeway—but even that doesn’t make sense, because every place where you’re allowed to leave a carpool lane is marked as “exit!”
