Ever notice that the people who boastfully proclaim that “They’ll sleep when they’re dead” are exactly the kind of grumpy malcontents who are most obviously in need of a good night’s rest?
Whenever a recipe says it’ll make six servings, I always cut it in half; whenever it says it’ll take thirty minutes to make, I always double it to an hour. In this way recipes are my friends, but I wonder where the tribe of people live where recipe estimates actually work for them.
I’m thinking of going to Ireland in a few months, but whenever people ask me why I simply say “Because I hear the Guinness tastes better.” I probably need an answer like “to enjoy the windswept cliffs of Moher” or whatever, but you know what? Screw it. If people from all over the world can travel to Mecca to see a rock, I can damn well fly 19 hours to visit a pub.
The Beatles asked “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?” Paul McCartney turns 64 on Sunday, and his wife has filed for divorce. However, don’t worry that there’s no more mystique in regards to classic Beatles songs; people are still wondering exactly how Lady Madonna manages to make ends meet.