B-sides, vol. 7

For your leisurely pleasure, some "Takes on Life" quickies not worthy of a full version:

• If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, where are hermaphrodites from?


• I feel sorry for bagels. They so badly want to be a doughnut but end up falling immensely short. They're round, they have a hole, and they even don that fresh tan, all exactly like their enviable breakfast counterpart, the doughnut. But they know good and well that if they're sitting on a table within an arm's reach of a doughnut, they're going to be ignored, shunned, and counted as a shamefully inadequate plan B -- or a plan C if an apple fritter is in the vicinity.


• Anyone who has ever sent an e-mail has sent one with a typo or bad information or the wrong attachment. It's bound to happen. But the worst next course of action you can take is to try recalling that e-mail because, buddy, I'm all over it now. There's a good chance I wouldn't have noticed whatever typographical error or nonsensical ClipArt image you mistakenly included, but with your self-admittance of fault and simple plea to cover it up, you've just sparked my full curiosity in your initial, doomed e-mail. Requesting a message recall is like having a pimple on prom night that may drive you crazy but is likely unnoticeable to most people and yet insisting on wearing a gigantic sandwich board sign that reads, "I HAVE A ZIT ON MY NOSE BUT PLEASE DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO IT." I've actually deleted an e-mail without reading it, received a request to recall, and sifted through my Deleted Items e-mail folder to peruse the credibility-damaging evidence. If it's a small error, let it ride -- most people probably aren't reading it anyway. If it's a major error, follow it up with a self-deprecating joke about how stupid you are and, hey, here's what you meant to send. But don't request to take it back, because, hahaha... no.


• Is it just me or do you find yourself thinking every time you see a person with a turtleneck that there's probably a hickey hidden under there?


• A word we for far too long have taken for granted is landlord. Isn't "landlord" a bit of a pompous title? I mean, lord of the land, really? What are they, a bunch of hobbits on an adventure? Most of the landlords I've had are barely lord of their own grooming, much less a piece of property. So, what, simply owning something and allowing someone else to use it for a period of time grants you lordship? In that case, any future visitors to my apartment can refer to me as "couchlord." And, no, that's not an option.


• Do airlines consider fanny packs as carry-on items? If so, that's ridiculous -- how many valuable things can a person actually stow away in a fanny pack? But if not, I intend on finding out the answer to that last question. Looks like I might be shopping for a leather-bound executive edition.