Let’s Eat
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about eating. Well, I’m on a cruise ship circling…
The other morning, I was following the posted signs to drop Jeff off at the airport for an early flight. “No, no,” he said pointing toward the up ramp. “You want departures. Not arrivals.” With a quick turn of the wheel, I followed the departure signs, startled by my near error. Which leads me to wonder why a sign that is posted for the benefit of the driver is written from the perspective of the traveler.
After all these years of traveling, you’d think I’d know better. It must be a mental block. But it got me thinking about the way we experience the English language. For instance, we park our car in the driveway. Driveway? And we drive along the Parkway? Which of course brings to mind the restroom. I don’t think that’s really what’s going on in there. Or how about that sidewalk. I don’t know about you, but I walk one foot in front of the other.
Very literal. So there is no apple in a pineapple. Nor is there an egg in eggplant. Hamburgers don’t usually contain ham. Unless it’s that fancy burger with a slice of pineapple—hold the apple. Which gives me pause about the English muffin and French toast. What’s that about? If you know, please don’t tell me. I fear it would be too confusing.
Which brings me to the famous Vaudevillians, George Burns & Gracie Allen. They were masters of highlighting the subtle confusion generated by a well-placed inconsistency. Here’s a sample of one of their bits which kind of tickles the funny bone.
Gracie says to George, “You know I have a niece with three feet.”
George says, “What?”
Gracie says, “Well, I just got a letter from my aunt Sara. She said I wouldn’t recognize little Mary, since the last time you saw her she’s grown another foot.”
So I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. How you experience the world is based on how you interpret the signs around you. I for one, believe that road signs are there for my benefit. Silly me.
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Any reference to Gracie and Allen sparks my smile muscles. Thanks. Back in a time when wit, satire and humor were part of the art of conversation. Now, of course, the art of conversation has suffered a complete and irrevocable death. Lest one start screaming at one that you are a racist or a Communist by even the tiniest entrance of satire into a dull conversation (Aren’t they all dull conversations these days?)
Say “Goodnight” Gracie.
“Goodnight” Gracie.