IT'S STILL NICER THAN BROCCOLI

There is nothing worse than corn. Well, except for bloggers who post only once or twice a month.

Seriously, though, corn is evil.

Sure, it's supposed to be this nice, healthy vegetable -- sweet to the taste when properly prepared.

But your stomach won't digest it.

Put your Orville's in the microwave too long and you'll be left with a permastench that would almost make halitosis a welcome intervention.

And it's this so-called saviour to the environment that when converted makes a fuel that nobody can afford to buy.

And that's just the recent stuff.

What about all those Children of the Corn movies? Did we ask for them? Again and again and again?

And what about M. Night Shyamalan's Signs? Where else are you gonna find malevolent aliens except in someone's corn field?

Yeah, I know there was corn in that nicey-nice Field of Dreams, too. But some of the ballplayers that came out of that corn were New York Yankees. Hello, Evil Empire?

Sure, I know the movie industry is to blame for those, but aren't movie studios owned by conglomerates?

And aren't all conglomerates evil?

See where I'm going with this?

You don't?

Yeah, me neither. But I'm sticking to peas and carrots all the same.

Stay tuned...

TRY ME

Where's the remote?

Actually, this would make a pretty good rant, especially coming from a family of five. Nobody ever puts the remote control back in the same spot so if you want to change a channel (or adjust the volume... or look at the TV listing... or beat someone silly with it) you have to do it the hard way, which is get off your butt (or move your ass... or get off your can... or make a fist and swing, but not after a manicure).

In some houses remote controls are never found in the same spot twice. I've heard of cat people finding it in the litter box. But then that's what happens when you make your cat watch Full House reruns.

Under the couch is another popular spot, as is beneath the cushions. Beneath the cushions is cool because you can always scrape up enough for a coffee by the time you're done. But under the couch is dangerous because you just never know what's living under there.

I mean, you ever see Poltergeist? Yeah, I know, that clown was under a bed. Well, nowadays everybody has a sofabed, so it counts.

Almost makes me wish for the old days of console TV's and external, wired converter boxes. But that was back in the seventies. And let's face it -- I want to find the seventies much less than I want to find the remote.

Polyester makes me itch.

Stay tuned...

L IS FOR LAWNMOWER... AND LADDER

So there's this guy who lives on my street. I've never met him, only seen him from afar. This is about his lawn. Simply put, I wish I had it.

His grass is smokin' (if you'll pardon the D.E.A. not-so approved pun). It's plainly obvious that he takes great care of it. He must mow it almost daily, because I don't think I've ever seen it grow. This is a guy who obviously is so passionate about his lawn he'd do Hank Hill proud. He has to have an endless supply of energy, unless he's paying a team of kids to keep things so neat and tidy.

And so comes the rub of the piece: his lawn is unbelievably nice (those recently mentioned dandelions wouldn't dare plant a root beneath it), and yet -- AND YET, I SAY -- he still has his Christmas lights hanging above the garage.

Not one set of lights, mind you, but two -- COUNT 'EM, TWO -- sets of lights. One is the "it was trendy ten years ago" icicle variety, and the other is the traditional energy draining bulb variety.

Maybe if he turned them on once in awhile -- and angled them into the garage -- he'd find his ladder.

If he really wants to impress me, the lawn is a good first step. A step upwards would be a good second.

Stay tuned...

THE LITTLE YELLOW MENACE

It's an invasion.

No, the martians haven't landed, although some of this country's politicians are really out there.

What I'm talking about is the yearly crop of dandelions, or dandylions as some people like to spell it.

Let me tell you: there ain't a damn thing dandy about 'em.

And what's worse, they seem to be more prevalent this year than ever before. The wife disagrees with me, saying it's always been like this. But the deal breaker for me is the fact that the community baseball diamonds, which are hallowed ground (okay, not hallowed, but they are generally weed free), are starting to succumb to this most virulent of weeds.

It will be a sad day, but pretty soon there's going to be more dandelions than American Idol winners with failed careers.

A tragedy of unspeakable volumes to be sure.

Sigh.

Stay tuned...

THE BIG YELLOW MENACE

They drive with reckless abandon, whipping up and down the street with hardly a care. Sometimes you hear them coming, when they drive the big boats with the bigger engines. But more often than not, they're driving smaller vehicles, which are quieter. Sometimes you don't realize they're a threat until they're almost running you over. So sad. Crossing the street should not be a hazard, especially on a smaller residential street, but that doesn't seem to be the case where I live. At least twice a day it's dangerous to cross the street because one never knows how lead-footed these lunatics are. It almost makes you want to stay indoors, but sometimes you just have to go out and do your duty.

I wrote that in January 0f 2006 on this very page. The subject of the rant was (believe it or not) school bus drivers. Not all, mind you. Most are the safe (read: slow), conscientious creatures they should be while shepherding the younger generation to and from the fortress of knowledge. But some are more dangerous behind the wheel than the neighbourhood teens in their souped-up Hondas.

Sadly, nothing has changed in the last three years.

One driver in a particular, a woman of about 50 driving a microbus, rockets down my street at an unbelievable pace on a daily basis. She has no kids on board, which leads me to think she's on the way home.

The law says we regular car folk have to stop our vehicles for a school bus that has stopped with lights flashing and stop sign extended in order to protect its former passengers as they cross the street. And so it should.

But I say an amendment is necessary to protect the majority of humanity, driver or pedestrian, that don't want to become pizza ingredients. The buses with the lead-footed drivers should be forced to have the lights flashing and the sign extended constantly, in order to warn the foolhardy and the slow of foot that they better get the hell out of the way or else get pepperonied.

That's drastic, you say? Yeah, um, okay. But let's face it, there's nothing flattering about being flattened.

Stay tuned...