Red-ee? If you are watching Olympic Speed Skating, this is the last thing you will hear before a loud beep prompts tiny men and women, wearing skin-suits that would make Luey Lemmings (that’s the name of the yoga pants lady, right?) herself blush and electric-Kool-Aid-colored goggles, to dig their heels into shoes attached to what look like dull butter knives and accelerate on a sheet of ice in a circle, until they either crash into padding or glide across the finish line or both. Oh, and one more thing: the results of each race are not final until the times are cross-referenced with a frame-by-frame photo finish, which means that it’s not altogether uncommon to announce a winner and then a few moments later say, “Oops, we take it back. The other skater won.” So, wuddya think, parents of future Olympians? There are literally hundreds of events that your child could specialize in. Which one will you force them into under threat of No TV And Candy? What’s that? The one that looks like a bad 1970’s science fiction movie starring Michael York and has a seemingly arbitrary scoring system? Oh. You meant Speed skating. For a minute there I thought you were talking about the one where you ski and shoot – it’s actually more like a bad 1970’s spy movie starring Roger Moore – which would be the less bizarre of the two events in question. To each their own, I guess. First things first: start perfecting your creepy robotic “Red-ee?” in the mirror. You’re going to be saying that to your kid, like, every day.
There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who can make pancakes, and those who fill the house with smoke and get raw batter on the ceiling. Guess which one I am? If you guessed B…you’re WRONG! Shame on you for doubting me. Actually, it’s Wife who can’t make pancakes to save her life (Can you imagine having to make pancakes to save your life? I’m picturing an aproned James Bond with a luger trained on him as he frantically whisks Bisquick in an evil villain’s stainless steel kitchen. Plot twist: the evil villain is Martha Stewart.) The funny thing is that Wife is great at making the batter, getting the pan ready, and ladling the perfect sized pancake. So what’s her achilles heel? The flip. Once she gets to the flip, all bets are off. It’s like watching a talented gymnast have a complete breakdown in the middle of a brilliant performance. Luckily, I am an expert when it comes to rehabilitating pancakes after they have suffered a botched flip. Sure, they may not look like a pancake now, but after hundreds of hours of physical therapy, psychological evaluations, and motivational speeches that are liberally sprinkled with promises of one day making it to the big show (IHOP), they get back on that spatula and do what they were born to do. Drown in syrup and get shoveled into my mouth.