A spoonful of knowledge.

Well, probably a little more inanity than knowledge, but, that's neither here nor there. Apparently 2008 is the year of the footnote, and rumor has it there might be a thing or twelve that I say that causes a little confusification for my BFF, the reader. I guess thanks to Patrillo / McCain 2008 and the Straight Talk Express, mystery is a thing of the past.

So, pals, at the behest of the masses (ahem), here are some Occasionally Asked Questions and their oh-so enlightening solutions.

The name of this fair blog: Is it "this blog is eggsalady" or "this blog is eggs a lady"? Well, reader, I'd say that's open to interpretation. Originally, this blog was intended to epitomize all that eggsalady stands for. I guess I was under the impression that everyone had seen the breathtaking cinematic masterpiece that was robbed of the 1988 Academy Award, Big Top Pee Wee (whatever, Rain Man). Not to give the plot of the powerful film away or anything, but Pee Wee's suitor is trying to impress our stud by making him a picnic lunch, including (but not limited to) an eggsalad sandwich. How's it taste, PW? "Mmm. Eggsalady." To me, eggsalady is, I guess, just pretty sweet. You know what else, though, I realize is pretty frickin sweet? Egging a lady. In my head, that seems like it would be hilarious. So, you know, your choice.


Your name seems a little dumb. What is What's a Donzer supposed to mean? Sigh. This one is, I guess, a little weird to hold on to twenty three years or so later, but Ramona Quimby was always kind of my hero growing up. If you don't know who Ramona is, then you have some serious literature reading to do. Anyhoozle, here comes the pepperjack: I always thought the following story was really endearing (awwwww). You see, in my favorite Ramona book, Ramona the Pest, five year old Ramona gets a little mixed up. I'll let the omniscient answerdeity Wikipedia explain this one to you, as it does a pretty good short and sweet job, and I am not feeling like using the mindpower to paraprase at the moment. Here she is: "[Ramona]decides to impress everyone with what knowledge she [has] and tells her older sister Beezus to get a "dawn-zer" to provide "a lee light" to help Beezus read. This confuses sister and, eventually mom and dad, until they all realize that Ramona has misunderstood the opening lyric to the Star-Spangled Banner: 'Oh say, can you see, by the dawn's early light.' Pretty great, huh?



Did you really name your poor kid Cornflake? Well, that does seem like something I would do, but, no; I didn't name her Cornflake. It's Suri Apple. She kind of issued forth from my womb looking a little like a flake o' corn, and when it's time to awaken, "Wakey wakey, Cornflakey" she doth hear. Hence, Cornflake.



Did you really name your poor dog Timmy? Yes.





Why aren't there pictures of you on this blog? How do I know you aren't a thirty nine year old world-weary convict named Lonnie who is suffering from a case of the doldrums? Hmmm. You're weird, reader. I dunno. It feels a little Jerky Jerksmith being all la la la look at me. Besides, the guys in cell block four would be even more feelsies than normal if I started posting my Glamour Shots all over the information superhighway.


Who and what are the "BSGs"? Good question. Here's a clicky to bring you back to their introduction. If you're lazy and don't feel in the mood to get your click on, in short, the BSGs are part of my core fanbase. They are first-rate computer gurus; they are Battlestar Galactica Gangstas, they are BSGs. They just so happen to be my muses for Sexy Programmer Thursdays, which can be found here and here , if all of a sudden you are ready to let clicking back in your good graces again.


Speaking of Sexy Programmer Thursdays, from where are the SPT candidates plucked? That's easy. Heaven.




How you're not chewing and all: break it down for me. This subject is still a little embryo-ish not to sting. So, I'll explain in haiku, entitled A Dentist Sliced my Lingual Nerve and Diced My Heart.


A Dentist Sliced my Lingual Nerve and Diced My Heart
Goodbye, wisdom teeth
Mygod you just shivved two nerves
Thanks a lot, asshole




What does "there's an ass over my shoulder" mean? It's basic perfection. It's Eden in your backyard. It's a jaunt on a tugboat and a disembarkment at the promiseland. Succinctly, it's Wolf Blitzer. Aaaaahhh.

Well, I'm sure there's more, but I am distracted by Kim Kardashian's heinie at the moment and I can't seem to concentrate on this task at hand. If there's anything else I can clear up, let me know. I'll open up my brainfile of Afterschool Specials and see if I can produce an answer for it. Because, to me, you're worth it. Kisses!

Travel down the road and back again, won't you?

Oh, hi there, reader. I'm glad you're here. Sit down for a second. I want to tell you how I feel about you. I can tell that your heart is true; to me, you really are not only a pal, but also a confidant. Because I thank you for being a friend, I want to make sure I am here for all of your needs. And right now, I can't help but notice that you can't help but notice that there is a little bit of the old politicking going on in the US of A. "What does all of this mean?"; "These candidates - why, it's all so tricky - how will I ever decide which one is the candidate for me?"; "How is it that just when I thought Wolf Blitzer couldn't get any sexier, he goes and lobs a come-hither look in my direction and my kinkometer explodes, yet again?"

Relax, reader. I am here to take your hand and help you through all of your mental pickles, for together we will select the candidate for you by breaking it down with our handy Which Golden Girl is My Candidate? Guide.

It's only polite to start with ladies first, but we'll go ahead and begin with Dorothy, anyway. Our resident feminist, Ms. Zbornak married a ladies man back in the day who did a little bit o' stepping out on our heroine. But a teensy complication like an adultering ladies' man who refuses to accept a little thing called aging and can't ever seem to keep his self-serving trap shut ain't gonna stop our Dorothy. Often wordy and long-winded, our "gal" Dot is bloody intelligent and clearly has a case of the booksmarts. Highly ambitious, she tends to overpower others with her forceful opinions and dominating personality, often coming off as cold compared to her softer, friendlier housemates. Does Dorothy sound like she'd do a kickass job ruling the Free World? If so, then, cast your ballot for her political counterpart, Hillary Clinton. It doesn't take a village to realize that Hilly and Dotty are like the Bobbsey Twins, co-valedictorians of Gloria Steinem U. In the senior "predictions" from Senator Clinton's high school newspaper, classmates predicted that Miss Rodham was destined to become a nun named “Sister Frigidaire." Aaah. I'm sure Mother Superior Dorothy would be right there in that convent, too, frolicking with our possible Commandress in Chief down the icy path to righteousness.

Well reader, maybe your ideal CEO of the nation is a little more seasoned, perhaps a little more gray in the curtains, if you will. Our girl Sophia Petrillo is certainly a little more chargrilled, and, as she reminds us often, she's seen some real hardships in her life. Some may view Old Lady P as somewhat crotchety, a tiddly-tad curmudgeony, a smidgety-smidge quick to snap back in the face of some hemmorhoid yammering in her direction. While she garners respect from most, still it's not hard to see glimmers of a little of the crazy left over from our favorite geezer's Shady Pines days. Often our cherished great grandmother drew the ire of her Ice Queen daughter, and frequently Sophia got in some hot water because she just was not conservative enough for everyone's taste. Well, Sophia is her own person, and she'd say to hell with your judgments! Is Sophia 's brand of ballbusting sass your dream leader o' America? Then Good OLD Johnny McCain is the man for you. Tough and dauntless, Senator McCain sure seems like he could kick a terrorist in the nards and never look back, just like our fireball Sophia. So, if you go for age before beauty, go McCain in '08.

What's that, reader? Enough with the sanity, you say? Well, alrighty-roo. Why don't I offer you up a little bite of kooky, maybe a sip of some unhinged? So, your ultimate leader is a little endearingly batshit, I hear. Then you need a little bit of Rose Nylund running around 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Our Rosie just won't conform to a pre-set mold. She's a mold of a whole different flavor - perhaps the little green jiggly squares of jello you're so tempted to place on your tray at the Piccadilly. She's a friend of the environment, she's a friend of soft, cuddly puppies, and she's a friend of oldy old people. Often, fair Rose causes some serrrrrious shenanigans with her rainbow sized dreams and unicorny ideas. These dreams and ideas have been known to rock the boat of some others in her path in the past, but she won't apologize for her dingy outside-the-mainstream mindset. Readers, are you up for a little bit of Nylund-like outside the box thinking, maybe a leader who's a little greener than the competition? Then our boy Ralph Nader is the kook for you. He may be the ultimate party crasher, but he's sure to show you a good time. A vote for Nader is a vote for Wooo Woooo!

All this political-jabberjawing making you feel a little randy? You need a smokin' head honcho with a little sex appeal? Then grab a glass of Kool Aid and turn the car around: it's time for us to veer down the Blanche Devereaux path. Our smooth-talking, velvet-tongued lady is animal magnetism through and through. She'll draw you in with her luxuriously mesmerizing words and charm you as she evangelizes you with her hopes and her dreams. When Blanche whispers in your ear, you believe, dammit! Yes, we can, Blanche! Yes, we can! She has the brains and beauty to capture the crown in any pageant, and just because sometimes she's a little light on the substance, well, who cares? She's got charm! She'll hold your hand when you need a little compassion, and you'll wish it wasn't only your hand she was holding. Is the Divine Ms. D. the cat on a hot tin roof for you? Then Barack Obama is your man. Wow, what a man. Why don't you let him preach to you? I bet you won't regret it.

Friend, I hope that you now feel a little more confident in your decision. The way I see it, you can't really go wrong with any one of our Miami ladies in office. Oh, and about Monsieur Blitzer...all I can say is, when you've got it, you've got it. And man, does that Wolf got it.