This post is part of my
2022 Word Project. You can read what that’s about here.
Monday, March 27, 2023
I have questions.
Like, why do people push their carts down the aisle at the grocery store like they’re strolling the Champs Elysee after a zombie apocalypse? I’m sure the can of peas will still be there if you move over just enough for someone to sidestep by.
Like, what, exactly, is the physics behind the sauce spurting up out of the pot and directly into my eyeball every time?
The problem is they usually only occur to me one at a time, on whatever occasion inspires them. And I rarely have a pen at hand.
But today as I was browsing my photo library in search of a photo for one of my blogs, it sparked SO MANY questions that it inspired this blog about questions.
This is not, by far, an exhaustive list. It’s not even scratching the surface. I have 12,000-plus photos, and that only counts the ones on my phone.
So here’s some food for thought based on a glance through a decade of iPhone photos. Nay, crumbs! Mere crumbs. Perhaps you have some of the same questions.
Do some pants quit after half a day?
Why is there a crockpot in the middle of the sidewalk? Was someone hoping a neighbor would have pity on it and adopt it? Was it the second cousin twice removed of the Ikea lamp?
Will I EVER get chocolate chip cookies right? Honestly. Wasn’t the invention of this cookie an accident to begin with? If someone could get a chocolate chip cookie by accident, why can’t I get one on purpose?
Two questions: why would you want water from a can? And moreover, who decided we’d get excited about drinking liquid death?
Why is this pretzel shaped like a… never mind.
How weird is it that Nashville Road is in Bethel, Connecticut? I actually took a second to look this one up, figuring there had to be a Mr. Nashville or something, and there sort of was. Francis Nash was a general in the army during the American Revolution. Fort Nashborough, located where present day Nashville is, was named after him. But he was from North Carolina. He made it as far as Pennsylvania before he was killed. No mention of Connecticut.
If a tree can make these, why can’t we cure cancer? Or grow a new limb? Or walk down the grocery store aisle as if other people exist in the world?
I looked this one up, too, when I found a billion of them lying on the ground. They are osage oranges, though not related to actual oranges in any way. They’re not orange, either, which begs the corollary question, why are they called oranges?
They’re not edible but the wood that comes from this tree is some of the most durable anywhere. It was used to make railroad ties and fences. It’s used for furniture, archery bows and musical instruments. It’s so hard, apparently you can’t even nail into it.
Here’s a question I can answer: no, you do not want to be sitting under one of these trees when the fruit falls.
Who the heck spends thirteen bucks on cranberry juice??
Do you really need a new pair of sneakers as long as you have enough tape?
Why does this bacon look like a… never mind.
I spent four miserable years of my life in Fulmar Road School. I had attended Catholic school in the Bronx where I had friends and family until we moved and I got transplanted into public school where I was bullied relentlessly for egregious things, like not wearing Jordache jeans.
Question: is it just coincidence that the word “Fulmar” is embedded in the word “Harmful?”
Was it just too much to walk the three extra steps to the front door?
I can take home? (My cousin begged to differ.)
Did someone fundamentally misunderstand marketing?
Why are so many things shaped like a… never mind.
What would you wish for?
Photo: a super weird and creepy shot of my eyeballs because Ralph likes to take super weird and creepy photos of me. It makes me laugh. Probably could have Photoshopped some of those wrinkles, but once you’re weird and creepy, it’s all the same.