Why do people keep cutting me in half to see if my insides are green?

In my quest to find a daily topic to write about, I have decided to select the first thing that pops in to my mind–a rather risky method as evidenced by yesterday’s foray into the world of armpit hair.  Today, however, a more polite (although equally random) subject has emerged from my cranium.  Kiwi birds.

"Damn, I'm cute."

“Damn, I’m cute.”

First of all, I have to put this out there.  It sucks to be a kiwi. Forget feeling sorry for the IQ-challenged dodo.  And don’t waste your pity on the ostrich with his head in the sand.  The unfortunate kiwi is the feathered friend truly deserving of your sympathy. To begin with, he cannot fly.  His bones aren’t hollow like other bird bones and his wings are short and stubby–making him the T-Rex of birds.

Secondly, they lay the largest eggs in relation to their body size out of any bird in the world.  Mama Kiwi is the size of a chicken, but she lays eggs the size of an ostrich’s.  If you thought childbirth was a bitch, be glad you didn’t have to lay an egg the size of your pillow.  And that’s one of those big puffy pillows–not your old down-filled one that has been flattened to a crepe.  You know, the yellowed, drool-riddled Obusform that, as Jerry Seinfeld would say “looks more like a Civil War bandage.”

Kiwi egg

But, they do have nostrils on their beaks.  I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.  It all depends on whether or not he’s planning on visiting my husband after bean night.

“Beak” the Kiwi Beanie Baby was produced for only one year and sadly can now be purchased for a cent online.  Yes, even the plush versions of our little New Zealander have it rough.  Ironically, New Zealanders of the human kind are referred to as “Kiwis.”  But what about the green fuzzy fruit?

Meet Beak.

Meet Beak.

The kiwi bird has had its name hijacked by that odd-looking furry fruit.  The fruit is actually called a “kiwifruit” and is not, in fact, a “kiwi” at all.  A kiwi smoothie, therefore, is not what you think it is.  Ack.

Kiwi_VS_Kiwi_Bird_by_shibbynempahcold

This little bird, however, has enjoyed fame thanks to a manufacturer of shoe polish.  Yes, since 1906, KIWI’s name and image has been splashed across the front of this product that is now available worldwide.  The company’s founder chose the name “KIWI” in honour of his New Zealand-born wife.  Plus, he thought the bird looked nice on his small round tins.

A retro Kiwi tin.

A retro Kiwi tin.

I’m not sure if being the star of the “laces and polishes” racks in stores across the world makes up for the stubby arms, giant egg-laying, and low value in the Beanie Baby trade.  If you see a kiwi, give it a hug.  Odds are that the poor bugger has been through a lot.

If it’s any consolation to the kiwi community, people are blogging about you:

Conservation blog: http://blog.doc.govt.nz/2013/08/27/kaipara-kiwi/

Factotum of Arts: http://factotum-of-arts.com/2013/08/12/weekend-finishes-12-08-2013/

Infinite Sadness…or Hope?  http://infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com/tag/kiwi-bird/

B (heart) D: http://baileyolivia.wordpress.com/2013/07/06/when-i-say-kiwi-you-think/

Do you call the kiwifruit a kiwi?  

kiwi prep

Images courtesy of:  cute kiwi (http://pinterest.com/pin/553168766700624424/), Kiwi egg (http://misswrightenglish.blogspot.ca/2012/09/kiwis.html), Beak (http://stuffedanimaltoys.guidestobuy.com/ty-beanie-baby-kiwi#chitika_close_button), kiwi vs kiwi (http://shibbynempahcold.deviantart.com/art/Kiwi-VS-Kiwi-Bird-21535732), polish (http://longwhitekid.wordpress.com/category/kiwi-boot-polish-co/), kiwi prep (http://kevinw.de/greenbird/2010/04/26/how-to-prepare-a-kiwi/).

Ink on my feet, Froot Loops in my eyes, and a Handful of Vomit

My husband has been looking for a pair of reasonably priced black sandals for much of the summer.  He’s a tad bit picky.  And he has big feet.  Like skin-coloured scuba flippers.  With hair.  Well, he finally found a pair of affordable and massive footwear and bought a pair of spongy, comfy, and (hopefully successful) odour-eating insoles.  The insoles, however, were an unsightly loud colour and stood out like a sore thumb (or should I say toe) against the black.

Now, my husband is a very resourceful type.  No conundrum is too great for his mental prowess.  Don’t like the colour of your insoles?  No problem.  That’s what black permanent markers are for.  Well, after covering the obnoxious orange with flat black he modelled his fancy feet for me.  I was impressed.  “Very nice,” I probably said.  Or something like that.

The next morning, I entered the shower and was dismayed by the charcoal briquette-coloured footprints on the usually shiny porcelain.  Was there a giant licorice baby on the prowl?  Mm.  Licorice.

No.  No mutant snack foods around here.  Apparently, permanent marker is no match for a pair of sweaty size 13s.

1)  Yesterday was National Mustard Day.  If any condiment deserved a day of its very own, I would say its mustard.  So I suppose you are wondering why the heck I have a picture of broccoli (yup, that’s broccoli) on a post dedicated to mustard.  Or maybe you’re not wondering at all, but let’s just pretend you are.

According to the British Journal of Nutrition, we should be dousing our cooked broccoli spears with the yellow condiment.  Cooking broccoli kills its myrosinase–an enzyme that enables us to absorb the cancer-fighting and anti-diabetic compound, sulforaphane.  Mustard is high in myrosinase, so problem solved.

Head hurts.  Too many big words.

But seriously, mustard on broccoli?  Gack.  Just threw up in my mouth a bit over that one.

2) Speaking of throwing up–meet the Guinness Book of World Records‘ oldest vomit.

I don’t know quite what to say about this other than, “Ick.  Who the hell would want to hold a chunk of puke?”  Which is immediately followed by, “And who the hell would want a picture of them holding a chunk of puke?”  I’m sure this guy is a hero among his archaeologist friends.  This could be why I don’t have any archaeologist friends.  Some things should remain buried in dirt.

Well, back to the vomit.  Found in Peterborough, UK, it is believed to be 160 million years old.  What has something got to eat to have its barf last millions of decades?  Definitely not the cereal I had this morning.  Even if it was Fibre 1.  But that’s a whole other story.

3)  When I was a kid, I was taught it was wrong to play with my food.  I wonder if my failure to succeed as a cereal artist can be traced back to this rule?  Yes, I said CEREAL artist.  If I had been allowed to play with my Froot Loops (mm.  Froot Loops), I could have been the one to create one of these masterpieces.

My apologies to all the archaeologists out there.  I am sure you are quite interesting people.  No, really.

Photo Credits:  broccoli head (www.watson.org), vomit (www.newscientist.com), Larry King (www.metro.co.uk), Obama (www.buzzfeed.com), Pamela Anderson (www.metro.co.uk), Jerry Seinfeld (www.fakedpotatoes.com), Rice Krispie goose (http://sweetandunsavoury.blogspot.ca/),

The Top Banana, The Monikers, and A Strange Phobia

“I wonder if illiterate people get the full effect of alphabet soup.”  Jerry Seinfeld.  

I will never grasp evolution.  The idea that mankind is simply a single-celled organism that decided to evolve into something else and so on sounds bizarre to me.  I don’t believe that I have any amoebas in my family  tree…although some of us do appear to function on a single brain cell.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I have nothing against amoebas.  I just don’t see how one can sprout arms and legs and a beard, no matter how many billions of years you give them.

I do admit that apes do have human-like qualities.  Some apes are smarter than some humans, in fact.  And some humans are hairier.  But if man evolved from apes, why are there still apes?  Were those ones too stupid to evolve?

Darwin and his cohorts would have me believe that there was a huge explosion in the blackness that is space.  This explosion supposedly came from nothing.  From that, the universe was created and life appeared on earth–simple life like plankton.  And over millions of years, this plankton turned into all the different species we have today–kangaroos, lizards, elephants, and man.  This sounds awfully random.  And, again, why is there still plankton?

I think it is much easier to believe that we were designed and created by someone who has an endless imagination, masterful artistry skills, and a much firmer grasp on “science” than any human could ever imagine.  I did not “evolve.”  I was created by God.

Of course, I’d love to hear your comments on my little early morning rant. lol.

1) The banana is a neat fruit–it comes with it’s own easy-to-peel packaging, eating one before bed is supposed to help you sleep, and they are just plain funny looking.  And they taste good.

Plus, they come with a built-in practical joke maker…a sticker.  I love affixing it to someone’s forehead and then, distracting them until they forget it’s there.  If you’re really good, your victim will go out in public with the banana sticker smack dab between the eyes.

The best stickers were the face stickers put out by Chiquita a few years ago.  My hubby and I collected them–yes, we selected our bananas based on what faces they wore.  Sometimes, we would take faces off other bunches and come away with a sticker on each yellow fruit.  Those were the days.  I know…it doesn’t take much to make me happy. lol.

If you are a banana fanatic, you may want to visit Mecca, California–home to The International Banana Club Museum, the world’s largest museum dedicated to bananas.  Since it’s creation in 1976, it has collected over 17,000 banana “artifacts” including a banana couch, a Michael Jackson banana, musical bananas, and more.  What the heck is a banana warmer?  The museum also claims that no lewd or crude bananas are allowed–except they spelled lewd “lude.”  This spelling mistake drove me bananas.

2)  A little while ago, we learned that the most common names in 1912 were John and Mary.  So, I wonder what Americans were naming their babies in the 1950s.  Fonzie or Richie?  Laverne or Shirley?

Nope.  According the to U.S. Social Security Administration, the favourite boy’s name of the decade was James, with Michael being the runner-up.  The winning girl’s name was Mary (which was also the leading name in 1912), with Linda coming in second.

3)  I recently encountered a fact that is funny, but a little sadistic.  Lots of people have phobias–some of them are understandable like the fear of snakes or heights.  I like snakes, but I can see how some people would find them unnerving.  I’m not a fan of heights.  It’s a good thing I’m short.  I stood on a stool once to see what it felt like to be my husband’s height and I got nauseated.

Some phobias, however, are a wee bit on the strange side.  For example,  arachibutyrophobia is the fear of peanut butter becoming stuck to the roof of one’s mouth.  I could see this being problematic for people without hands or tongues, but why would they put peanut butter on the roof of their mouths, anyway.  Euphobia is the fear of good news.  My head just exploded.  Seriously, you hate “good” news?  This is not someone that I want to spend a lot of time with–talk about a downer.

This brings me to the sadistic.  Imagine that your phobia is a fear of long words.  Now imagine that someone has asked you what your phobia is called and rather than answering the question you have run out of the room screaming.  Why?  Because some sadistic bastard with a sick sense of humour named your phobia “hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.”  Nice, eh?