A few questions I've wondered about for awhile.

Please, share your thoughts.

People say that when it thunders, that the angels are bowling. When it rains, that God is crying. When it hails, did someone loose some marbles?

Why is it that our salad is so naked that we have to "dress" it? Why is good salad dressing made with extra virgin olive oil? Is dressing a naked salad with extra virgin olive oil wrong on some level?

How can the olive oil be extra virgin to begin with? No, it really REALLY hasn't had sex yet. That must be it.

Why do so many foods have human body parts? Why do lettuce and cabbage have a head? Why does corn have ears? Why do potatoes have eyes?

From a language perspective, why is there a difference between grapes and grapefruit? If I were learning English, I think I would be a bit confused.

Why does putting sugar in a cup of coffee make it no longer black?

Why is Mister abbreviated Mr. but Missus abbreviated Mrs. but Miss has no abbreviation? What is the written out word equivalent to Ms.?

Why do pants have legs, shirts have arms, shoes have tongues, socks have toes, but neither socks nor pants have ankles?

Why, with all the technology that we have, do we still have a date on the calendar devoted to a furry little animal predicting how many more weeks of winter we'll have?

If the appetizer is the first course, and dessert is the last course, why isn't the entree called the intercourse?

I know what peas look like and taste like. I know what nuts (you know, the things that grow on trees) look like and taste like. Why are peanuts like neither of these?

Dried grapes are raisins. Dried plums are prunes. Why don't dried apples, pears, bananas, papaya etc. get their own name?

I know the answer to the next one, but still find it strange that hamburger isn't made out of ham.

What is the purpose of red turn arrows on traffic lights?

Why are pancakes considered a meal or side dish and not dessert?

Are woolly mammoths and sheep related in any way?

Grapenuts. Why on earth are they called Grapenuts?

Why is frosting normally served on a cake at room temperature?

At what point are undergarments called panties and not underwear? What do they have to have or not have to cross that line?

Pits are holes that things can fall into. As in, "Sorry I was late for this meeting, I accidentally drove my car into a huge pit." So, why do I have armpits? What ever gets stuck there?

Puppies are cute little animals that drool and chew things up. Why are those fried round things that I get at Long John Silvers called hush puppies?

Why is the place I park called a driveway and not a parkway?

In a pre-arranged marriage, do they serve cantaloupe at the reception?

Why are some guns called shot guns? Isn't that the point?

Silly Mood Today

I'm in a silly mood today. This is the story I wrote just to be goofy. I had no other reason than to chuckle a bit.

Mr. Caveman hunted a mammoth and brought home lots of meat for his family. Mrs. Cavewoman diligently prepared mammoth stew for supper that evening. Mr. Caveman loved the stew, but complained that he needed something with which to eat the feast. He wasn't very suave about how he said this. What he meant was, "I wish somebody would invent a spoon and fork so that we could partake of your wonderful feast, honey." What he actually said was, "Why'd you make that for supper?"

After sleeping on the rock-couch that night, Mr. Caveman decided to keep a journal so that he could learn from his mistakes with his wife. His advice to himself was very limited, however, because he didn't yet have many tools. Number two on his list of things to pass on to his son was, "Don't tell your wife you're keeping a journal of things not to say to her. She'll think you need to invent paper because these stone tablets won't hold all of the things there are to learn about women."

Mr. Caveman was eaten by the brother of the mammoth that he killed for supper the previous night.

Many centuries later, archaeologists discover the oldest writing on record. They think it is some sort of picture writing. The only part of the drawing they are able to decipher is a man sleeping on a rock by himself. "Man began as a very antisocial being," one young grad student named Charlie deciphered.

Charlie, being an overly ambitious grad student, decided to bring the picture writing home to further study it. He placed the slab of rock on the kitchen table before he entered his bedroom to change out of his luxurious grad school clothes. Meanwhile, his wife came home and saw the slab of rock on the table. She yelled to her husband through a few walls, "You better not expect me to cook mammoth stew for dinner tonight, Charlie."

What Charlie heard through the walls was, "You better expect me to give you mammoth nookie tonight, Charlie."

Charlie came dashing through the living room with his pants around his ankles, eager to make sure he heard correctly. When he saw his wife's hands on her hips, he realized he must have misunderstood. The saddened man said to his wife, "What are we having for dinner tonight, honey?"

She replied, "I don't know. What do YOU plan on cooking?"

Charlie thought for a moment before saying, "Well, I wasn't planning on cooking anything. Isn't that your job?"

As Charlie slept on the sofa that evening, the meaning of the cave drawing suddenly occurred to him.

Ideas for Novels

I often wonder how other writers find ideas to write their novels. When does the idea for a novel or character form for many writers? I've read that for some people, a lot of plotting and research happenes before any prose is written. For others, perhaps mad brainstorming sessions occur.

For me, the ideas almost always keep me awake at night. Usually, the next day something really important is going to take place. A good night's sleep is essential to whatever I will be doing the next day. The idea eats at me for hours while I try to sleep. I fight off the urge to rise out of bed to write the my ideas. I'm always afraid that if I walk up the stairs to me office from my bedroom, that the hope of falling back asleep will be futile after tackling the stairs.

Last night was one such night. I lay down at nine thirty, right at women's gymnastics in was to begin on TV for the Olympics. By twelve thirty, I fell victim to my ideas knocking on my imagination's door. So, I finally wrote down the entire plot to novel. There were no subplots, but the basic plot is now sitting in my email box for later use. I'm sure the idea will change and morph before I actually write that story, but for now I have an idea!

If you are a writer or other artistic type, how do you create? Do you set aside creative time on a regular basis for your craft? Are you simply struck with an idea at random times? I would love to hear how creativity affects you.