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Saturday, March 19, 2011


(Author's note: Due to the fact that I frequently consume my breakfast [two chocolate chip & peanut butter granola bars] on my way to work, on Friday I got melted chocolate [courtesy of my car's ass-warmers] on my trousers today. My wife is doing laundry now and, consequently, I am now typing this blog in my underwear. I just thought, in the interest of full disclosure, you ought to know. Thanks.)

Mrs. Apron and I do our best to attend cultural events whenever possible. And by "cultural events" I do not necessarily mean Puerto Rican Pride Day parades, Oktoberfest, Leukemia walks or epileptic orgies. We typically go to folk music concerts, plays, operas, dance concerts and the odd synagogue service. And I do mean odd. The last one we went to there were people wearing shorts and sandals. We didn't go back.

In honor of the date my wife and I met, I took her to see "Romeo & Juliet," as set to music by Charles Gounod, at the Academy of Music. The cost of the tickets made my ass bleed just a little, but it was well worth it-- an astoundingly beautiful and visually arresting show. And I'm not just saying that because a lot of the performers were hot, though I am hardly above such sentiments and observations.

Because I'm a technological man-of-the-world, I ordered the tickets online and printed them out at home, and they had that cool little barcode on them, which was scanned by some leathery, burgundy-jacketed troll at the Academy with a hand-scanner. We were authorized. That little scanner's *blip!* solidified our right to be at this venue, at this time, on this date, even though my trousers were purchased at a thrift shop.

I think scanners are sweet-azz. I love them. At the library where my mother works, they have scanners at the desk, obviously, to check in books that patrons return, usually late, because they're irresponsible jit-stains. When I was a boy, I used to go to the library all the time because I was, in fact, epoxyed to my mother's hip, and they had just procured these nifty hand scanners. I used to like to pick one up-- holding it in both hands with my arms outstretched-- when nobody was looking and say, in a scream-whisper, "DROP THE KNIFE, ASSHOLE!"

Ah, those were the days.

"Put that down!" my mother would hiss, "you're going to blind somebody."

"Ah, most of these old jerks in here are already half blind anyway," I once remarked. The overwhelming quantity of books-on-tape and large-print Agatha Christie offerings seemed to provide ample proof of this disposition.

When my wife and I dutifully registered for our wedding at Macy's and Crate & Barrel, we went totally bullshit. Out of control. We were completely stupid, signifying, without doubt, that we were ready to engage in the holy act of matrimony.

I was reminded of scanners once again when I printed out tickets for a craft festival that my wife and I will be attending today. Again, the tickets are the print-at-home, we-scan-you-in style. And I just think that's so cool. Gone are the days of stupid little tear-off tickets and elderly ladies holding little Dorothy Gale baskets full of stubs. It's ZAP! I like zapping. Zapping is very modern. So is Zappos, which I also like, despite being a heterosexual male.

In fact, I like scanning and zapping so much that I think, as the world turns, there ought to be more things we can zap.

Such as...


Would it not be THE FUCKING BOMB if you had a little laser scanner that you could point at a pair of milk-pillows and it would give you a digital readout of their cup-size and whether or not they contained any silicone or other non-natural substances?

Keep in mind, this wouldn't JUST be a tool for perverts/mammary afficianados. Border patrol agents could use this technology to see if the breasts of possible "mules" contained any hidden cocaine packets. Bra sales associates would no longer have to futz with fussy measuring tapes, they could be certain of getting the size right before you could say, "Hello, Bombshell!" Oncologists could utilize the technology to test for unwelcomed lumps.

I like tits.


You should be able, within the next century or two, to zap someone's head to determine a relatively precise measurement of their intelligence quotient. This would be especially helpful to people engaged in the painful and emotionally fraught circumstance of the blind date or the college admissions process.


You should definitely be able to zap your potential sex-mate's gennies to see if they have any STDs lurking around in there. It would also be especially helpful if the zapping of another's privates gave you the names, contact info, and sexual histories of every other person whose fluids have come into contact with those of your possible thud-partner.


If only we could scan apples to tell us, in advance of taking a bite, if they're going to taste like a fucking potato. Because, really, is there anything in life more disappointing than picking up what looks like a crisp, wet, sweet, delicious apple only to find out, after the first bite, that it tastes like a motherfucking tuber?

I rest my case.

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