Comfort Schmomfort

Comfort, Schmomfort. Schmomfort isch my teasching. Eschew Comfort, Choose Schmomfort.

Where hasch Comfort gotten usch? We're lazschy, clinging, never schatisfied, deep in debt, peeking out the blinds, the schades. That's the firscht thing I do, schurely every morning.

Yesch, it'sch scho! When all the time -- in plain schight, no lessch, and open to all -- Schmomfort opens wide thosche schmomforting arms, schaying, pleading, "Schmomfort, Schmomfort my people. Lischten to Schmomfort and rescheive Schmomfort in rische abundance." All the schmomforting Schmomfort you need and more. Schmomfort, scho musch that no one can schmomfortly take it from you. Let 'em try, huh?

Friends, let me schmestify: As I write thisch schmestimony I'm schitting in a broken chair. It'sch wobbly, appears to be on itsch last legs, and it isch. The armreschts, they're schtill a place to rescht my arms -- but there'sch scho much brokennesch that the rescht is schistory. I'm honeschtly nearly provoked to throw thisch chair away and get a new one. Only one thing schtands in my way: Schmomfort!

That's juscht me. What about you? And, no, I'm no one schpecial, just another schmo. But I can't schmomfortably let you go! I would tossch and turn and barely schleep if I tried. Maybe I schould let you go, and schettle myschelf schmomfortably in my own Schmomfort. Who wouldn't, if you know what I know? I'd have it all to myschelf! Can you guessch what'sch holding me back? Schmomfort itschelf, yes, the schame. That's Schmomfort, brother, schister.

Because Schmomfort isch without end. Comfort, too, of coursche, but Comfort takes us to a falls schend. True, huh? You go for Comfort, you getsch a falsche end. A big fat falls schend that you'll be schitting on forever. It's scho true! I've scheen the ravages of Comfort. Schtarts off with schitting a schpell, then on and on. Butt time fails me to schow and tell the whole teasching. Schuffice to schay, when you need a bigger schair, by then it'sch too late, butt time fails you two...

Have you already schlipped away? Are you scho far away you're outta schight? Have you drifted scho far, then hit the rusches of Comfort? Perhaps crasched on the schoals? If scho, what can I schay, go on, take your rescht. Don't let me dischturb you.

Schtill, friends, I have to believe there are schome here today -- schurly many -- who would be able to agree and schay: "Yesch, I hear the voisch of Schmomfort!" And you're ready to take the firscht schtep. Until it'sch schtep after schoothing schtep, all the blessched way on the scherene path to meet for yourschelf and know Schmomfort and Schmomfort's perfect peasche.

Pleasche, schtep out now.

Doctors and Bacon

As everyone knows, there's two things you rarely see in public. Doctors and bacon. I believe I've had an interesting experience with both. First, it occurred to me young that this was so, that there was something mysterious about doctors and bacon. I mentioned it to a teacher once, who said, "Hmm," then she excused herself for further research on the subject and never came back.* I keep thinking the same thing might happen to me, but so far, here I am. But I've taken precautions, mostly prayer and supplication. Besides that, I'm damned brazen. And that also carries weight with the powers that be.

This is a true story. I once saw my doctor in public, riding a bike, no less, and I immediately filed with the Board of Doctors and Bacon to have his credentials removed. Now he's senior breakfast cook at Maude's on 8th Street. Good with bacon but still working on a remedy for popped yolks. Going with the assumption, You can cure bacon, why not eggs? But that's that guy, who couldn't do much with me. His big thing was to give me medicine you couldn't take with grapefruit. Another breakfast favorite. Guess what, stupid, I'd rather eat grapefruit than take the sugar pills you're pushin'! Anyone with me?

These days it's not just grapefruit everyone's against, but bacon. Which is also the fightin' side of meat! And I'm up in arms too. Half my grocery budget goes for bacon, although I'm frugal. I check the price of bacon like it's the stock market, and that's why I go to any one grocery store. I love the $2.99 stuff, but lately it's been more on the $3.30 side of things. But everything goes up, including doctor bills. I've got a doctor, but bacon's got my heart. I start off with a pound for breakfast, and if I'm still hungry I keep eating till it's gone. Then spend the afternoon in the store with a wheelbarrow.

Anyway, I love to stick it to doctors. My current doctor knows me inside and out. He's had his finger up me more often than I care to think of. He's even performed a colonoscopy and a related surgical process** on me. And he's never once mentioned bacon, so he's OK. Now, of course, if I ever see him in public, I'll have to reevaluate, but so far so good. So I'm leaving him -- this one doctor -- out of the following remarks. On comparing and contrasting doctors and bacon.

What's something else besides doctors you never see? Dead pigs. That's damned odd. I've seen every manner of roadkill and carrion, just never dead pigs. Once I even hitchhiked with some guys in a pickup truck. And they went around a corner -- they were carrying a lot of baby pigs -- and the back rails of the truck fell off and the pigs followed. (It was also raining). So instead of standing on the side of the road like I was 5 minutes before, I was with them in the mud and ditches catching pigs. Which were all alive. That's never happened with doctors.

One of the most obvious similarities of doctors and pigs, pigs are cured meat and doctors presumably cure sick folk.*** All praise to the Lord above, though, who my grandma said does the true curing. It's just these bastard doctors that stick you with the bill. Taking credit for the Lord above's work.

This is one you have to think about: Doctors are hams, bacon's related to ham. This would be another good place for a religious joke. Shem, Ham, and Japheth. You see ham, you eat it. Bit of a stretch, but nothing like our doctor-ham friends. They're all good cheer when they come in, shaking your ham, -- hand, smiling. Next thing the business office and insurance company's got you on the grill for everything you're worth.

Can't think of much else. You always see bacon in strips. The doctor makes you strip. You separate bacon with greasy hands. The doctor separates hams with greasy fingers. The longest three seconds in history, you're bacon him to stop. Bacon comes in slices. Doctors also have sex.

*There's a penalty for delving too deeply into life's mysteries.
**That reminds me: When you're young, you get Pull-Ups. When you're old, polyps.
***I know, I already used the 'cure' line, but wanted to get the grandma story in.

If Your Name Was Judd

Of course I know there's lots of people named Judd. There's not going to be anything here to take offense at. I'm keeping it on the up and up.

I saw a guy the other name whose name was Judd, so it's no big deal. In fact, seeing Judd was what got me thinking about it. His last name was Judd, and there's people whose first name is Judd, too.

We had the country duo, mom and daughter, The Judds. And there's Ashley Judd. And I remember, though I didn't watch it, a TV show called Judd for the Defense. A lawyer show.

The word "Judd" is a very heavy word. It's got the weight of the two Ds. It reminds me of  "Bass," which we think of as the bottom of music. Judd's like that. Plus, once it's down, it just sits there like a Judd balloon. You can hardly budge Judd. Take a look at the final D. It'd fit snug in the corner. A piece of dust couldn't squeeze between the wall and it. The U's got a good bottom too, curved like a bottom, as is the J. A tight little word, Judd. It's also got that note of finality, like Thud. "Here I sit, I can do no other." And maybe that's why they chose it for Judd for the Defense. It's more determined and stable than Will 'o the Wisp for the Defense.

My purpose in writing about Judd is not just to pay it appropriate tribute as a word and name. In addition, I want to play around with it, interchanging it for judge, jugs, and who knows what else.

A judge is a stern character, usually, even Judd Judy. But we have fun with judges, always messing with them (when they're not around), saying, "Your honor," like we really mean it. Remember Pigmeat Markham, "Order in the courtroom, Here come the Judd!"

Even Jesus got in on the act: "Judd not, lest ye be Judd." To whom I say, "Who am I to Judd? I deserve to be Judd, I've no place to mete it out." Which is true. If you Judd someone else, that's bad. But in the end no man will be your Judd. Whatever Judd you face will be from above.

It's weird that way back we had a guy like Pigmeat Markham, but he was a big star for a while. I always saw him a novelty act, thanks to the record, "Here Comes the Judd." And there were others sort of in the same category, like Moms Mabley. Now there were some Judds, wasn't there? With a name like Moms, you'd expect it. That's Moms as a plural. (I just googled her and her dress was so loose, I can't tell her Judd size.) But I found a quick recording of Moms, which clocks in at just over a minute, about a man buying a bra for his wife. In that case her Judds were the size of fried eggs! So there you've got Mother, Judds, Speed.

I thought I had more than this, but if that's it I'll Judd have to accept it. Or sleep on it. (I'm writing this in the evening, Judd about the time I start getting sleepy.) Earlier in the day, there's Judd no stopping me. Which is Judd how it is, like it or not, but not Judd as it should be.

Of course we all have greater energy when we're fresh, it's Judd common sense. The draggy feeling is Judd what happens. It's like walking, you can go fast on the sidewalk, but if you slip in the Judd, of course it's going to slow you down.

Speaking of slow, Judd is a slow word, very slow, as compared, say, to Jazz, a fellow J. Nothing like the bounce of Jazz. It'd be tough to hear Fats Waller telling the old lady what Judd is: "If you gotta ask, you don't wanna know!" What are you, some kind of Juddhead? Juddin' and jivin'? I'm Judding too many balls in the air now. Made the mistake of going for the Juddular. From here it's just a Hop, Skip, and Judd to the reader's Juddment.

I'll get up in the morning and be ready for something better. I hope. A little Aunt Juddmimah on my pancakes. Get down to the Juddnasium for some exercise. See some chick on the elliptical and start singing, "Judd the two of us, we can make it if we try..." Come back home and watch Andy Griffith, Goober going, "Juddy, Juddy, Juddy."

If you're name is Judd, Judd smile. And please spare me my Judd desserts.