Scrambled Scribblings from a Scattered Scribe

Sometimes an idea doesn’t work when trying to pen a 500-word column. It’s like trying to make a skirt when you only have enough material for the front. That doesn’t mean that ideas can’t be stitched together in what George Carlin used to call “brain droppings.”

Here’s what’s dropped out of my brain lately. You might want to put on some rubber gloves.

Why, oh why is it a rule that real estate ads must include a photo of the agent? I don’t care what the agent looked like 15 years ago – show me pictures of the house. There are some agencies that even put the agent’s photo on the “for sale” sign. According to one such sign on my street, there will be an open house next Sunday, hosted by a big-haired lady who will be time-traveling from the ‘80s to earn her commission. Either that, or flying in from Texas.

I’m not from Texas, I’m from San Carlos, and Facebook knows this all too well. It’s creeping me out that the ads that show up in the right sidebar are so specific to my profile. Check this one out: “58-year-old San Carlos mom has lost 27 pounds on the new Knitting diet!” Wait, is that me? Very disturbing.

I also get offers for an astonishing array of wrinkle creams. In a lovely bit of irony, while I was writing this paragraph, I got a Facebook friend request from someone named Debbie Dawson, who’s written a book called ‘Do-it-yourself Facelift.” I hope it doesn’t involve a scalpel.

A 40-something friend was insulted that Facebook marketers assumed she would be interested in finding single men over 50. She prefers to be a cougar while she can get away with it. Perhaps if she updated her profile to include the words “I like them young and hot” she would get more targeted results.

Speaking of young and hot (how’s that for a smooth segue?), whenever we see a particularly hunky guy on TV, Keeper likes to ask me, “Who’s sexier, me or that guy?”

Ladies, if this happens to you, remember that the correct answer is never “That other guy.” Just like the correct answer to your question, “Do these jeans make my butt look big?” is never “Yes.”

In contrast, the answer to the question “Wanna meet me for lunch?” is always “yes.” I said just that last week when my son Jason called. (OK, I had to ask him first; he was just setting the date.)

Jason has just returned from a business trip to India, and I asked him to tell me the moat surprising thing he saw. He told me that story of his flight from Dubai to Bangalore. When the Emirates jet was about to land, the crew announced that the plane could not land in India unless it was “disinfected,” Then in a stunning move, the flights attendants walked up and down the aisles, misting passengers and cabin with something from large aerosol canisters. The cabin was full of fog, passengers were coughing and sputtering, and Jason got his first clue that he wasn’t in California anymore.

That concludes the Randomness Report for Friday, March 26. See you next time.