Royal Nipples and Other Stories

Random thoughts on random knots:

Did anyone question whether Kate Middleton had breasts and nipples? What’s the big deal about the photos? And why did I Google it?

If the Super Bowl can’t be the Game of the Century because they’re going to have another one next year, why does everyone absolutely HAVE to have an iPhone 5?

If Muslims kill people and riot in 50 cities because of a bad American film, do we dare show them “Christmas with the Kranks?”

True story: In July, Mozart Morris of Virginia received forms in the mail so he could register to vote. Perhaps he would have registered, except he’s a poodle, and he’s been dead for two years. The forms came from the Voter Participation Center, which tries to register minorities, young people and unmarried women. No word from Mozart’s former master on whether the pooch leaned toward Obama or Romney.

Also a true story: A 69-year-old man got on a train in San Fransisco Wednesday, and when it arrived in Chicago, his luggage, cell phone and medication were on the train, but the man was gone. CNN said he had “disappeared.” I think that’s the way I’d like to go. One minute I’m there, and the next I have simply vanished.

New test results from the National Assessment of Educational Progress show that high skool girlz are much bedder wriders than boyz.

 

Murderers, Traitors and Underachievers

Turns out, I’m related to Lizzie Borden and Benedict Arnold. A hatchet murderer and a traitor. Allegedly. But I’m also related to Susan B. Anthony (of silver dollar fame) and James Sanborn, who co-founded Chase & Sanborn Coffee (but sold his share before it got really big). And I’m related to several other famous and infamous people whose names I have forgotten because none of it matters. Does it really matter to you what heroes and villains reside in your family tree?

I think I’d rather not know. It’s like your IQ number. I never wanted to know mine because if it’s high, I’d feel like an underachiever, and if it’s low, I’d feel ashamed.

I’m not proud of Susan B. Anthony, and I’m not embarrassed by Lizzie Borden. I didn’t adviseĀ  either one of them. One of my forebears sailed to America on the Mayflower, and another was King of England (I’m not sure which one, but I think it was King Arthur, who I’m pretty sure was a fictional character).

Thanks to their mother, our two children are direct descendants of Arthur Flegenheimer, aka Dutch Schultz, the notorious mobster of the 1920s and 30s. This, I have to admit, interests me. After Schultz was gunned down in a New Jersey restaurant in 1935, it was said he left $7 million in cash, buried or hidden somewhere. Seems to me, our children ought to have a rightful claim to part of that … if it ever turns up.

Oh, and I finally found out what my IQ is. I agreed to have it tested for someone else’s master’s degree project in psychology. Turns out, I’m an underachiever after all.