Wordfoodz

yum + pumped = yumped (adjective) aka hyped/eager to eat/consume something yummy such as cheesecake, poutine, fish & chips, waffles with maple syrup, pumpkin pie, Stewart's root-beer, a big veggie burger, a deep-fried chocolate bar, ice cream, my Grandma's chocolate cupcakes or fill-in-your-own-blank here. Which foods get you yumped?

Things that deserve the stink eye:

Okay. First an apology: if you work in a fast-food drive-thru, I'm sorry. Well kinda. 

Yeah, I know, I know. You deal with low-blood sugar vipers all day. Your wage is unfair. So I need to be calm. I need to be patient. And no, I don’t want to be the voice-recorded quality control bad example used to train your security staff. My intention is not to add to your burden BUT I STILL NEED TO RANT!

Sure. The whole concept of a drive-thru is commendable: convenience, efficiency, speed. However, I tend to experience this: confusion, delay and RAGE.

Have you ever seen the closing credits of the Flintstones? Fred gets his brontosaurus ribs at the drive-thru in less than a second and sure they're so big his car tips over but a split second later the happy family is home and that was in like, 200 B.C! ♫AND THEY ALL HAD A GAY OLD TIME!♫ Yet consistently, my drive thru-experiences are not so uh, happy and the problems begin the moment I attempt to communicate with that cheap Scifi-inspired movie prop aka the place-your-order-here-doodad. 

1. I CANNOT understand what you are saying. You sound like Darth Vader on an old record played backwards filtered through a tin can attached to a string while a screaming cat plays the accordion. All I hear is “fries” and Charlie Brown's parents. So to compensate I repeat myself veeeerrrry sloooooowly and very LOUDLY. Yes I know this makes me sound like I am vaguely foreign and quite likely a few Timbits short of a snack pack. Oh and 90 too.
2. Stop asking RIDICULOUS questions. "Do you want the meal deal? Do you want to super-size that?" No. Have you seen Supersize Me? 
3. After my wife or one of my kids interprets and eventually helps me place the order, I am informed (at least this is what I think I hear): “I am sorry; we are temporarily out of whatever the idiot who can’t understand what I’m saying wants to eat.”  *Barely muffled mocking teen-laughter ensues, mostly from my own teens in the backseat who no doubt will someday use this anecdote as the punch line for a gathering where they and their friends discuss various ways "old people act like old people."*

And what good would it do to talk to the manager? HE'S 12!

What's Little Red Riding Hood got to do with it?

Did you know that Little Red Riding Hood's first name was likely Blanchette? I didn't know that. I assumed it was "Little." Although a few sources confirm this, I can't really prove it and that is precisely my point. How much do we really know about what we think we really know?

Socrates said, "The only real wisdom is knowing you know nothing."

The older I get, I wonder sometimes, why do I know less and less? Shouldn't I have the answers for everything by now instead of more questions? I just don't know what I know anymore. Can anyone ever know anything with absolute certainty?

I guess there are a few things I still know with all my heart and soul.

1. Poutine should not be consumed by humans.
2. Poutine is delicious.

Drat! Yet again, I've established I know nothing.