Man does not live by fizzy water alone—assuming, of course, that he has any fizzy water. As we have seen, the presence of any particular carbonated beverage cannot be assured.
The human male is fond of trying strange flavors of potato chips. And he has lots of options! If there’s one thing that continues to baffle me about this planet, it’s the propensity of the residents to try to shoehorn the most outlandish, least intuitive flavors into chips.
Here are some of the more daring offerings I’ve noted recently.
Not just chicken, mind you, but chicken sandwich. Complete with essence of dill pickle slice. Urrrrr.
Or how about cocktail-flavored chips?
Or chips with pretensions of being other fried snack foods?
Then there’s these:
I can’t even anymore.
Oh, wait! These! You have to buy and try some of these! They’re not potato chips, but come on! It’s a moral imperative!
I never thought about it before, but now it’s going to keep me up at night: Just what does a chupacabra taste like?
Sigyn, do you know what’s in the gray bag on the kitchen counter?
(peering inside) Ah. This will take a bit of explaining. You see, the human female’s sister loves to wrap and package things. Give her a box, some wrapping paper, and LOTS and LOTS of TAPE and she’s happy and out of mischief for hours. She’s also very good at finding unusual things to use as packaging material. This is some of the fallout from Yule. She gifted the human female a set of apple-shaped canisters, and she padded the box with a whole quilt batt–which can be used for future quilty projects–and with bags and bags of…
It’s an interesting choice. Cushiony, not too expensive, and a helpful reminder to the human female to be mindful of her avoirdupois. And no one said we can’t have any, so I think it might be snack time!
But hold up a moment, beloved. Are we sure all bags are the same? That first one is plain popcorn. But this one looks a little different.
Oooh! Kettle corn! For thirty extra calories you can have some sugar with your gluten-free goodness. Is that what you want, or shall we keep digging?
I know that popcorn is full of fiber and carbs, but I’m not sure I want to know what else is in this bag:
Specially made with multi-ocular, furry blue monsters and only the choicest spider webs? How many calories does that add? And if you are what you eat, what happens when you ingest this stuff? Let us say I am…cautiously concerned.
There’s only one bag of this kind. We must not waste this singular opportunity. I say we force-feed it to the human female and see what happens. If it turns the human female into a furry blue monster, I can sell her to a sideshow and make a ton of money. If we take notes on the process, we can even call it “science” and probably even get a publication out of it.
My mama raised no dummies. Well, all right. She did, but let’s leave Thor out of this.
Finally! The humans have been trying to break free of job, plague, condestruction, and various other entanglements for over a year, in order to go visit the female’s mother who lives in the faaaar western portion of the state. After a very, very long car trip, here we are in another time zone, in a different house, being fed a lot of good food and enjoying some different scenery.
The human female, in order to burn off some of the good food and revel in the different scenery–and the low humidity!–is taking a long walk in order to revisit the neighborhood where she grew up.
It is a very strange place. What is one to make of this inscription on the wall around the school?
Don’t look, Sigyn! There is a dead bovine in the middle of the thoroughfare!
The human female says those are just transitory aberrations and that some things never change. For example, one can still look between the houses and see the desert.
The Franklin Mountains haven’t changed.
They’re still there, at the end of every east-west street.
Ehehehe! Ow! I think I just sprained something laughing. I just asked the human female what their names are–and she doesn’t know. Umpteen years of living there, and she never learned which name goes with which peak. Oh, well. suppose it doesn’t matter. When I take over this planet, I’m naming everything after myself. Except the really pretty bits, which I will name after Sigyn.
Other things have changed. The human female went to elementary school here.
They have torn bits of it down and are rebuilding. Probably to get rid of her cooties.
The junior high school has been completely remodeled:
Likewise the high school, which is totally unrecognizable.
Apparently, as she got older, she left more and more contamination behind, and the only remedy was to tear down and start over.
This is the house where her family lived when she was born. Someone else lives there now.
I guess Baby Human Female didn’t have too many cooties, because it’s still standing and hasn’t changed much at all. It has a lawn, while many of the other houses have desert landscaping.
Except this one, which looks like some fantastic botanic garden run amok. There is not a square inch of unoccupied ground.
Sigyn is in love with it. Perhaps we can stop by again, my love.
It was interesting to see some different landscape plants for a change. We found some small trees busy dropping curious brown fruits all over the sidewalk.
(poke, poke, poke.) I don’t trust it.
The female says it is a jujube and we should taste it. I’m not going to try it, mortal. You want it tasted, YOU taste it.
“Tastes like a date”? I’ll just bet… If you’re still alive in eight hours or so, then we’ll talk.
One of the human female’s techs gifted her with this strange object as a “You’re going; please don’t come back” gift.
I have no idea what it is. It’s an Erlenmeyer flask, with a twig, some pebbles, and a green, furry thing.
Sigyn wants to pet the green, furry thing.
I’ve been staring at it now for twenty minutes, and I still don’t know what it is. It certainly hasn’t done anything.
I don’t trust it.
Ah. This may provide some elucidation.
“Mossball Terrarium.” So this thing is a mossball. A ball, as it were, of moss.
I am unopposed to moss. (It is very comfy to nap upon.) But I think of moss as something land-loving, preferring shady nooks and tree trunks. I’ve never seen any under water.
Oh. What we have here is false advertising. It’s not a moss at all; it’s an alga. And they can live for centuries and be passed down as a family heirloom? Bizarre.
The instructions look simple enough.
It’s cute that someone thinks the human female won’t kill this in a month.
(a bit later)
I’ve been doing a little research. Apparently, these “mossballs” are so popular that there are numerous fakes about. According to my sources, it can be difficult to distinguish the the genuine from the ersatz.
We’ll see how long it takes the human female to notice when I replace hers with a ball of green dryer lint…
The human male gets these tidying fits every now and then. He’ll be looking for something or putting an item away and suddenly decide that the cooling box needs emptying and cleaning or all the CD’s need reorganizing or something, and the next thing you know there is stuff everywhere and it is a Big Project that takes ages and costs lives.
The other day, the humans made ice cream in this weird ball thing they have, and the human male got frustrated when he tried to put it away afterwards. So today he has decided that the Cabinet of Doom up over the stove needs reorganizing!
I will admit, it is a scary place. Not only is it cluttered and disorganized, and likely to drop something on your head when you open it, but it’s also where the finger-slicing mandolin lives, and that thing frightens me.
He is making good progress. All the baskets have been banished to the cabinet over the cooling box. (No one ever goes in there. I predict they will be forgotten and never seen again.)
There is now a collection of things on the counter that need to be discarded if homes can’t be found for them.
“Pot pourri pot”? What even is that?
No one remembers buying this or being given this. Sigyn is intrigued. Probably because, if the picture on the box is to be believed, it has flowers on it.
She thinks it’s very pretty in person.
Oh, but look at the cord, dearest.
It’s brittle–and brown in spots! Not safe! If you can’t find a way to turn this gizmo into a flower pot, my love, out it goes.
What is this do-hickey?
Sigyn says it’s the scoop holder for the electric rice cooker. She could be right. I’ve never seen the humans use it though, so I suspect it’s not long for this world.
Another piece of anonymous plastic:
This I recognize: it’s a piece from the old cooling box, the one that died earlier this year. Some sort of adjustable shelf divider that never got used because why would you want to break up the space in the door shelves? That is prime real estate!
It has a recycle number–out it goes!
Oh, look! A spare stove knob. Now, this could actually be useful.
If it fit the stove, that is. Which it doesn’t. Because the old stovetop, which this did fit, was replaced more than ten years ago! The humans are part pack rat, I’m certain.
So now the right side of the Cabinet of Doom is tidy, with the scale, all the thermometer tools, and the bento box easy to find.
On the left are the a Jello-mold that makes jigglers or ice cubes that look like the University’s logo, the cookie press, and the bag of cookie cutters, just in case Sigyn wants to make cut-out cookies.
It’s a good afternoon’s work, and the best part about it was that Ididn‘t lift a finger!!
It is getting to bet the time of year again when all the markets seem to overflow with Eater Bunny-themed merchandise, and the Red Bullseye Market is no exception.
Some of it is quite bizarre.
This one has the same texture, but a very different shape. A most corpulent coney indeed!
Careful, Sigyn! This one doesn’t look well.
Best not pet it. I don’t know if human-Aesir hybrids can get myxomatosis, but I’d rather not find out the hard way.
There seem to be rather a lot of pink lagomorphs about, which is odd, because I do not think any of them come in this shade in nature.
Sigyn says this fellow can do tricks.
Really? What does he do? Great Frigga’s Hairpins! Rabbits should not be able to do this. Come away from the spastic bunny, my love, and stop trying to pet things. I swear, you are going to get get space rabbit rabies or something before we even make it out of this part of the market.
This pink bunny has nothing to hide. He is, in fact quite transparent.
We’re not doing very well on the no-petting thing, though.
Sigyn says she thinks she has found where all the pink bunnies are coming from and would I like to go to a dance?
Clever deduction, and NO.
Sigyn has suddenly been seized by the desire to see just how many pink rabbits there are in this market. Would it be possible, she wonders, to decorate a whole room in pink bunnies?
Leaving the season displays for the home good section of the market, I’m seeing things which make me believe the answer to that question is “yes.”
A fairly innocuous figurine.
There are sheets for snuggling down in…
…a pillow that seems to be some sort of rabbit-yeti cross…
…and this chair…thing.
Which I am very glad to say is way up high on a top shelf because Sigyn would try to sit in it and get absolutely lost. And I don’t care for its expression.
I don’t trust it.
I think I have had enough pink bunnies for one day…
Munch, chat, munch, chat, make kitchen mess, munch, clean up kitchen mess, chat. The humans have been snacking all day. They never got around to playing games, or inking up all the fountain pens, or watching a movie, or reading a book to the littles. Nope, nope, nope.
Aha! This is more like it! After so much inactivity, they have energized themselves to go DO something! What will it be? A walk in the neighborhood? Gaming with friends. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But, no!
They are going out to eat.
There is a Greek Restaurant that the Knittery Friend’s family says is pretty good. The human female, having once dated someone of an Attic persuasion, knows a thing or two about Greek cuisine, and I, being a god, have been invited to more than one banquet on Olympus, so let’s just say that judgment is being reserved…
Here’s the menu.
I find the quotes worrisome…
There appears to be a selection of appetizers.
Sigyn is not a fan of eating octopi (except the candy sort), because they are smart, so we may have to try something else.
Hmm. What to choose, what to choose? Pastitsio is nice, if done well.
I am considering ordering the Spinach, Walnut, and Raspberry salad for the human female, just so I can see her swell up and wheeze.
There’s a separate menu of specials.
I sincerely hope that “Half-baked Lemon Chicken” is a typo, or Salmonella, here we come.
The human male has ordered some fried calamari for the table.
Sigyn adores calamari. I’ve convinced her that calamari is a type of squash so she won’t feel bad about enjoying it. No one clue her in, all right?
Here is the human female’s chicken gyro. She is deducting five points for the onions being raw, rather than grilled, as advertised.
I am adding five points for the fun of watching the human female deconstruct her meal to pick them out.
The “rice casserole” side dish is simply rice and spinach with a little onion. I’m not sure I trust it.
Fortunately, it tastes better than it looks.
The Knittery Friend has ordered the stuffed grape leaves. Usually, these are dainty little morsels.
Λένε ότι όλα είναι μεγαλύτερα στο Τέξας και δεν αστείο!
The human female has hoovered all of hers, but the Knittery Friend is going home with round, greenleftovers.