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Posts Tagged ‘Signs’

Dear Santa,

I’m running a bit late on this letter and I apologize. Clearly, I need plenty of help this year. I wish I could have given you more notice; I don’t think the elves can whip up the things on this list.

To borrow from Dr. Seuss and his Grinch:

Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!

Here’s what I want for Christmas:

1. Some freakin’ patience. I’ve been with my children almost nonstop for weeks and there’s more to come as school is out. I’m trying to limit the “no more wire hangers” moments, but it’s rough.

2. A good, old-fashioned smiting. I know that’s usually God’s area, but I thought maybe you could help out a little with the hypocrites screaming that Phil Robertson‘s Freedom of Speech was violated. A&E isn’t the government, Freedom of Speech does not equal Freedom from Consequences, and weren’t these the same people calling the Dixie Chicks traitors?

3. Awareness of others for certain people. They clamor for attention daily (especially on Facebook) but cannot be bothered to remember other people’s birthdays or other important events.

4. Relief from some of the holiday trappings. Call me Scrooge, but I despise the Elf on the Shelf, “The Nutcracker,” and Christmas cards that start arriving right after Thanksgiving. (I hate them because that means the senders have their shit together. I don’t, especially when it come to cards. I’m thinking New Year’s cards sound good. In 2015.)

5. An end to the ridiculous “Merry Christmas” flap. Look, some people are sensitive to the fact that many people don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s not an attack against Christianity to say “Happy Holidays.” Is there NOTHING else to worry about? Oh wait … see No. 2.

6. The chance for Jack Kingston to live within a poor person’s means for a week. Maybe then he will understand that we are not all born equal. Low-income families certainly don’t choose to be low income. To suggest that children sweep floors to earn their subsidized lunches is beyond crass. He’s a real-life Mr. Potter!

7. Blake Shelton.

8. A silencer for anyone who wants to talk about Crossfit. It works. It’s great. Now shut up. It’s like this:

religion-is-like-a-penis

9. Some cold weather. It doesn’t feel like Christmas when it is 77. Does Mrs. Claus need to make another appeal to the Miser Brothers? (My tropical husband disagrees, but whatever.)

10. A return to robustness for the aforementioned tropical husband. He’s been in bed with a fever since Friday. It means I don’t have to worry about No. 8, but that’s sad for him.

Oh yeah, and peace on earth and goodwill to men (which I’d like to include marriage equality and an end to racism and classism, but maybe that’s just me). Also, an end to poverty.

You may not be able to deliver. If not, I understand. It’s short notice, plus it’s a tall order. I know. And we regular humans should really be doing a better job of walking the walk of loving and understanding our neighbors. (Uh oh. Didn’t I just ask for a smiting? All right. I’ll take the coal.)

Thanks anyway. See you tomorrow night!

Still a believer,
Beth

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Dear Apostrophe:

You really need a vacation. You clearly are overworked. I’ve lost track of all the times you’ve had to show up unnecessarily on a sign.

Here’s an example of what I mean:

"Sunday's"

I guess the sign’s writer thought the S would be lonely without you. You and I both know that the letter can get by on its own. No need to call you in.

I wish you could assert yourself. Just say “no” to incorrect possessives. I wish I could do something to help beyond calling attention to your situation with this blog.

Take some of your friends — the quotation marks for example — and run away for a while to rest up. They need a vacation too:

There's more wrong here than just quotation mark overuse. (Photo courtesy of Karla Knudsen)

There’s more wrong here than just quotation mark overuse. (Photo courtesy of Karla Knudsen)

I hear the Maici River in Brazil is lovely this time of year. You’d get a welcome respite among the Pirahã.

Just know I’ll only request you in an emergency. You know, one of the following situations: showing possession (“Is that Gideon’s dirty sock?”),  making contractions (“No, it’s Dominic’s dirty sock.”), and indicating when a letter is deliberately left out (“Did Eddie just call me a dirty ol’ ‘ho’?”). And you never have to worry that I’ll mistake you for your doppelgänger, the single quotation mark.

Wishing you a happy vacation,
Beth

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Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be.

— John Mellencamp

Dear Citizens of Ringgold, Georgia:

I am totally impressed with you. Small towns often get a bad rap — targeted as intolerant communities. And maybe some (many) are.

But you are showing via AMC’s new show, “Small Town Security,” that you are accepting of different kinds of people, including transgendered “lieutenant” Dennis Croft.

I admit I didn’t really see that coming in the first episode. I thought Croft might be gay, but the truth was more surprising and interesting. What’s more, Croft is in love with his married boss, Joan Koplan, otherwise known as “The Chief.” She owns JJK Security with her husband Irwin, who seems to be accepting of this situation and enjoys the meals Croft cooks for them on a regular basis. Fascinating. Truth really is stranger than fiction.

Croft (second from left), Koplan (center) and the cast of “Small Town Security”

And you, citizens of Ringgold, don’t appear to be fazed at all. At least, not according to Croft. Good for you!

You certainly aren’t like these punctuation- and spelling-challenged people:

(My favorite is “high fullutent.” Yes, I think they meant “highfaluting.” And I think I’m about 12 things on that list.)

Anyway, thanks for showing that “small town” doesn’t always mean “small-minded.”

Slack-jawed in awe,
Beth

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Dear Louis Miller,

Congratulations on opening the new international terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. As general manager, you must be very proud.

I’m sure it took the involvement and commitment of many people to make the new terminal a reality.

May I recommend adding one more person to that team? Perhaps a proofreader?

Photo courtesy of Steve Barnes

I mean, Atlanta and the airlines sunk $1.4 billion into the four-year project. Surely, everyone could have spent just a little more money and time making sure to spell “transportation” correctly. Really, it’s not spelled the way many Atlantans pronounce it. I promise.

The South already battles the reputation that it is the Land of IdiotsRecent behavior doesn’t help. Please don’t add fuel to this fire. Please fix the sign.

Congratulations again on the fine achievement, and I look forward to using the new terminal.

Sincerely,
Beth

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Thinking of going to Vegas? Looking for something other (cheaper) than Celine and casinos? Check out Beth’s Vegas Guide for Weirdos Like Her.

1. Take a sweet limo from the airport.

2. Get married (remarried, renewed, whatever) in the cheesiest way possible.

3. Play a round of miniature golf with KISS (replicas, of course).

4. Enjoy an evening of “Absinthe” — a mix of comedy and Cirque du Soleil.

These two are on roller skates.

5. Listen to a band like Squeeze at the House of Blues.

6. Watch the dancing fountain at the Bellagio.

7. Show your love for your friends outside their hotel room door. (Thanks, Royce and Sarah!)

8. Eat at delightfully tacky restaurants such as the Peppermill.

9. Go to one of the billion sex shops and marvel at the wares.

10. Wait for an hour for the shuttle back to your hotel because someone doesn’t want to walk. Watch people walk up and down the strip.

11. Take pictures of all the entrepreneurs in their get-ups.

12. Take photos of your friends in front of interesting signs.

13. Copyedit signs.

Is spelling it that way supposed to be a joke?

Should be "girls who want to meet you."

14. Bask in the glow of the city’s neon.

15. Keep your mouth shut about all your adventures. (I have, more or less.)

Safe travels!

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Let’s take a break from the sideshow that is politics, and enjoy a slideshow of textual assaults.

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Cracker Barrel is to me is like catnip is to our cat Reggie (who seems to have left us for a neighbor). I cannot get enough of the Sunday homestyle chicken with a side of dumplings. Before entering the Starch Consumption Plaza, though, guests have to navigate the maze of rooster quilts, Oak Ridge Boys CDs and ceramic birdhouses. I can’t ever get past the “Good Old Days” food section. (Cracker Barrel calls this the “assortment of nostalgic and classic products that evoke memories of the way things used to be.”)

While I have been known to plunk down the debit card for chocolate mints and Jordan almonds, I usually pay more attention to the packaging of other consumables. I want to help the people who create these labels.

Shouldn't "old-fashioned" be the adjective here?

Besides the fact that I hate the ampersand, "tips" doesn't sound like anything tasty.

The soda isn't possessing anything. Lose the apostrophe!

Again, no apostrophe needed as there is no possession in place.

Cracker Barrel isn’t the only restaurant with advertising issues, though.

I don't want to jump into these items. I'm not sure I even want to eat anything that is "twisted."

Am I the only one who pays attention to things like this? Clearly not. Here’s something from my friend Shane Marshall Brown.

What the HECK is going on with the "Tatamagouche" and "Hurricane Harbor" entries?

 

SIGH.

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