How 2 Make (and Containerize) PB

Okay, here's a gem. This is in response to my good friend Jacob who posted the Sesame Street how-to-make-orange-crayons clip. I admit, the crayon clip is prime. But so is the peanut butter making. What this particular clip lacks are the little girls in the kitchen spreading peanut butter on bread and licking the knife. I swear she licks the knife. I started licking knives because of this Sesame Street episode. This clip doesn't have that.

But, it does have a sincerely creepy and mind-expanding song-and-dance routine afterward--something that definitely did not show up on Sesame Street the way I remember it--with a tiny Asian girl (the peanut???) who dances on microwaves and kitchen fixtures while all her giant multi-ethnic friends try to eat her. I've never seen this. This is new. This is toe-tappingly bold and sinister. Also, for future final Jeopardy! trivia: the man who wrote the peanut butter song is also apparently the man who wrote the Three's Company theme song. A fine man. "You'll see that life is a frolic and laughter is calling for you....." I love you, John Ritter. John Ritter didn't write the song, that's something different. And this is where I stop.

Angst and Trepidation

Oh, my life! I just want to graduate. But what to do after that? And how will I ever reclaim my dreams of becoming an astronaut and/or animal farmer with a wimpy MA in Literature and Writing from a university with less than reputable ratings? And what of marriage with children? Where does that exist, and does skipping off to Japan equate snubbing my nose at future prospects? OR, if I DO go, maybe there will just happen to be, say, an attractive Mormon Irish lad who gets sent to the same rural neck of the Orient as I do, and things'll just fall into place in an Adam-and-Eve like way. In a post-apocalyptic, we're-the-last-people-on-earth-so-let's-replenish-the-nation kind of way.

Then again, I'll only be 26 when I enter whatever other grad program I'm likely to apply for in 2008. 26-year-old Mormon women getting married is not unheard of, and I have no qualms getting hitched with a kid four or five years younger than me. So really..... And everyone says I look eighteen. I'm still fringing on girlhood. If I wrote an autobiography, it would still be categorized as Bildungsroman.

And what alternatives do I have? I'm not moving to Provo and wearing slinky knee-length skirts made of burgundy pleather. I refuse to stoop to the level of baking brownies for the neighboring apartment of boys and waiting in lip gloss and eye shadow for them to return the plate and suggest dinner and a movie. I'm not desperate yet. I recall that scene from Willow when the lecherous bearded man suggests "WANNA BREED?" to Val Kilmer dressed as a woman. I'm not a lecherous bearded man. It might work for me. But only if I found someone as attractive and exasperatingly charming as Madmartigan to approach. Until then, I just want to graduate.

More men should have long beautiful braided tresses and carry swords.