Week 88: The Cold New Trend

What would be an even sillier new fad than decorator refrigerator shelves? Plus a hamster named Shaquille O'Wheel, and other great monikers for pets.

A “fridgescape” by Lynzi Judish.

Hello.  We direct your attention today to this recent feature article from CNN.com, reporting what is purported to be a new fad called “fridgescaping,” in which you decorate the inside of your refrigerator with framed portraiture, floral arrangements, porcelain figurines, and so forth.   News sites are thirsty for such scented fluff to distract people from the day’s usual politics and ordinary mayhem; one gets the impression that these stories are perhaps not checked all that strenuously to verify they are really, you know, a thing. (The impracticality of this one is adorable: In one of the fridge photos, there appears to be a single, unwrapped, congealing sliced-in-half PB&J on white bread, sandwiched forlornly among crockery, candles, and so forth.)

For Invitational Week 88: What supposed fad would be even stupider than fridgescaping, and might particularly appeal to gullible media outlets on a hunt for froth? The key is happy, lightweight so-called trends you invent. They can be about interior design, food, fashion, or any other fad-worthy behaviors. More examples:

Wigs for your fingers!  A different one for each digit! 

Wearing a second, nicer pair of shoes around your neck for better visibility and no sole-scuffing. 

Brocaded window treatments for your car. 

Bathroom chandeliers!

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Formatting this week: As usual, we ask only that you write each of your entries in a single line (i.e., don’t push Enter in the middle of the entry).

Deadline is Saturday, Sept. 14, 2024, at 9 p.m. ET. Results will run here in The Gene Pool on Thursday, Sept. 19. As usual, you may submit up to 25 entries for this week’s contest, preferably all on the same form. 

Click here for this week’s entry form, or go to tinyURL.com/inv-form-88.

This week’s winner receives this pair of grumpy gray socks. Back in Week 79 we offered the cheerier version, but come on, how do you really feel in the morning when you’re putting your socks on?

ANGSTLE SOCKS: This week’s prize.

Runners-up get autographed fake money featuring the Czar or Empress, in one of eight nifty designs. Honorable mentions get bupkis, except for a personal email from the E, plus the Fir Stink for First Ink for First Offenders.

Meanwhile, send us questions or observations, which Gene hopes to deal with in real time today. You do this, as always, by sending them to this here button:

Animal Zingdom: The pet names of Week 86

In Invitational Week 86 we asked for some funny names for pets. We were delighted to discover that few of the entries on our shortlist were widespread online (sorry, cat named Meow Zedong, the dachshunds named Frank and Longfellow, and Fleas Navidad the Chihuahua) — and some were even actual Googlenopes, with no other mention until now.

Third runner-up:
Beagle: Anna Shmear (Jon Gearhart, Des Moines)   

Second runner-up:
Hamster: Shaquille O’Wheel (Jesse Frankovich, Laingsburg, Mich.)

First runner-up:
Beaver: Mulva (Jon Ketzner, Cumberland, Md.)  

And the winner of the googly-eyes glasses:
Centipede: Imelda (Craig Dykstra, Centreville, Va.)   

As always, if you think the best among today’s inking entries were unjustly buried in the honorable mentions, shout out your favorites in the comments.

At a Farm Upstate: Honorable mentions

Crab: Hans Crustacean Andersen (Jeff Contompasis, Ashburn, Va.)

Dog: G.R.R. Tolkien (Jesse Frankovich) 

Pet rock:  Cary Granite (Judy Freed, Deerfield Beach, Fla.)  

Donkey: Jóte  (David Muhlbaum, Bethesda, Md., a First Offender) 

Baltimore L’Oréal: A bold and confident bird, its iconic colors blazing forth in luxuriant radiance. (Jonathan Jensen, Baltimore, a distinguished gray) 

Alaskan Malamute: Elon Mush (Michael Stein, Arlington, Va.)   

Bard Owl: It struts and frets for an hour, and then is heard no more.  (Jonathan Jensen) 

Bat:  Sonar Sotomayor (Mark Raffman, Reston, Va.) 

Bear: Ursine Bolt (Stephen Dudzik, Olney, Md.) 

Beaver: Dr. Phil McGnaw (Leif Picoult, Rockville, Md.)  

Boa constrictor:  Julius Squeezer (Jeff Shirley, Richmond, Va.; Stu Segal, Southeast U.S.; Michael Stein)  

Boa constrictor: Nat King Coil (Gary Crockett, Chevy Chase, Md.) 

Boxer mix: Jake LaMutta (Michael Stein) 

Sphynx cat:  Kamala Hairless (Jon Gearhart; Jesse Frankovich) 

I think I’m gonna name my cat Mandu. That’s really, really what I wanna do. — B. Seger (Jon Gearhart) 

Chameleon: Hidey Klum (Jesse Frankovich)  

Chicken: Yolko Ono (Stephen Dudzik) 

Chihuahua: Jack the Yipper (Pam Shermeyer, Lathrup Village, Mich.) 

Chihuahua: José Fleasiano (Jeff Shirley) 

Collie: Boutros-Boutros (Chris Doyle, Denton, Tex.) 

Deer: Venison Van Gogh (Duncan Stevens, Vienna, Va.) 

Electric Eel: Buzz Eeldrin (Leif Picoult)

Emotional support dog: Calmala (Frank Osen, Pasadena, Calif.) 

Hamster: Green Eggs Ann. (Jon Gearhart) 

Llama:  Mark Spits (Jeff Shirley) 

Marcia the Penguin (Jon Gearhart) 

Rooster: Westclox  (Roy Ashley, Washington, D.C.) 

Sheep: Baa Baa O’Riley (Jeff Rackow, Bethesda, Md.)   

Snail: U . . .sain . . . Bo . . . lt   (Dave Prevar, Annapolis, Md.; Pam Shermeyer) 

Snake: Wyatt Herp (Duncan Stevens) 

Spider: Andrew Lloyd  (Jesse Frankovich)

Persian cat: Le Chat of Iran (Stephen Dudzik)  

Antelope: Chamois Sosa (Chris Doyle) 

Maddowlark: The natural enemy of the Red-Capped Nutjob. (Jonathan Jensen)   

A Xoloitzcuintli dog named Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (Craig Dykstra)

The headline “Animal Zingdom” is by Jesse Frankovich; Duncan Stevens wrote the honorable-mentions subhead.

Still running — deadline 9 p.m. ET Saturday, Sept. 7: our Week 87 contest to change a quote slightly and attribute it to someone else. Click on the link below.

The Invitational Week 87: Get Thee to a Punnery

Loser Brunch this Sunday! Join the Empress and some Genuine Losers at Ashling Kitchen and Bar in Crofton, Md., at 11:30 on Sept. 8. RSVP here ASAP if you’d like to come — and don’t worry, it’s just friendly chat, not a repartee showdown.

Now we enter the real-time portion of the Gene Pool, where Gene will take your questions and observations, and respond to them, in real time. Today, we’re presenting a potpourri of stuff. Send yours to this awesome Creamsicle-colored button:

Also, you might want to send me money by upgrading your subscription to “paid.” You might not, of course, but you might, just for frugality’s sake. I have calculated it, and determined — this is true — that the cost of one column is 29.2 cents. That’s cheaper than the price of a single cage-free chicken egg.

Or choose a chicken egg instead:

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This is Gene. I want to share this new, dreadfully timely cartoon by the always excellent Nick Anderson. Nick’s substack is NickAnderson.substack.com 

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Q: Regarding your rumination on why Trump doesn’t get war heroes, dead, wounded, captured, etc., I think it was New York Times columnist Frank Bruni who observed Trump’s superpower is he has no shame. The corollary of that, of course, is he has no honor. The over the top number of flags at his events and the blaring “patriotic” symbols can’t be woven into a fabric large enough to cover the moral bankruptcy at his core that precludes any sense of honor. The modern American military is built around honor — not always achieved but striven for. That’s why in our system, it’s honorable for military members to pledge support to the Constitution and dishonorable to pledge support to a person. Trump doesn’t get along with generals because they display and act on the honor that he can’t fathom. There are things they won’t do, and there’s nothing Trump won’t do to get what he wants. Cemeteries and wounded vets are reminders of the honor he doesn’t have. In his first term, Trump pardoned the Navy Seal who was convicted of killing Iraqi civilians without provocation. (“He’d kill anything that moves,” was the quote his fellow soldiers used about him.) The vast majority of the military was aghast. Trump had dinner with the guy and his wife at the White House and didn’t get what all the fuss was about. Similarly, he praised Putin’s invasion of Ukraine as “smart” and has nothing to say about the widespread murder and rape committed by Russian troops because it doesn’t offend any of his sensibilities (if he has any).

A: I think this is spot on. The reaction by the military brass reminds me of something completely different, but completely similar.

I was doing this story about a brain-dead little girl who was said to have made religious statues weep in her presence. The child’s house in Worcester, Mass., had become a mecca for the religiously insecure, seeking proof of miracles. Thousands of people traveled thousands of miles to come to see her. She became famous, bringing much attention to the Roman Catholic Church. I had expected the Church to embrace this show of faith, just as I would have expected the military — sort of famous for backing their own — to be supportive of the guy charged with the indiscriminate killing of Iraqis. But the Church wasn’t. Sometimes people surprise you pleasantly. From the story:

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The Rev. F. Stephen Pedone is the judicial vicar from the Worcester diocese. He is overseeing an investigation, ordered by the bishop, into the events occurring at the Santo home. The investigation is headed by a local psychotherapist who has been asked not only to try to verify the occurrences, but also to see if there are any human pathologies afoot in the household that might explain what is going on. (The psychotherapist ys he and a team spent several days at the house, and even slept there overnight. So far, he says, he has found nothing to indicate deception or sociopathy. In fact, he says, he has observed physical events involving religious icons that cannot be readily explained.)

Father Stephen is a trim, square man with orange hair and piercing eyes. He says he does not want to prejudge, or prejudice, the investigation. He has, however, been to the Santo house, and has an observation.

"I was uncomfortable. The house was filled with people. A little girl was on display in a bed. One priest was bending over her, whispering intercessions in her ear." That means the priest was reciting the names of sick people, on whose behalf Audrey was to speak with God. "The grandmother kept saying, You remember Father Steve? Father Steve is here!'

"My impression," says Father Stephen, "was that it bordered on the bizarre. It seemed like an invasion of her privacy."

But isn't it good that the events in this house are giving people hope?

Father Stephen smiles painfully. Yes, he says, people are desperate for reassurance, and reassurance is good. "The downside is, if the faith lacks basis, it is going to quickly evaporate. The church is looking for more long-term faith. You don't draw a circle and say, "Okay, God, dance for me."

Sometimes, he says, people are so desperate for tangible miracles that they get blinded to miracles happening every day: "We wake up in the morning. That is a miracle."

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So, good on Father Steve.

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TIMELY TIP: If you’re reading this on an email: JUST CLICK ON THE HEADLINE IN THE EMAIL AND IT WILL DELIVER YOU TO THE FULL COLUMN ONLINE. Keep refreshing the screen to see the new questions and answers that appear as I regularly update the post.

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Q::  Regarding scams in which we almost got caught: 

About 30 years ago, when the world was safer, I think, I got a phone call in which the caller said they were taking a survey.  I LOVE surveys.  I had recently discovered that I was very good at designing them and fixing others’ broken surveys.  I was in.  “Do you have a TV?”  “Yes”, I answered.  “How well would you say you sleep at night?”  “Very well”, I answered.  “Thank you.”  That was all.  It slowly dawned on me that I was an idiot.  I got a friend to come over and change my locks and install motion-detector lights at all the doors.  I considered boxing up the TV and putting it on the front porch.  A few days later was National Night Out, when the police come to neighborhoods to help bond in fighting crime.  I told one of the policemen what I’d done, how I’d fallen for something that clearly wasn’t a survey.  “Oh, it was a survey” he replied.  “It just wasn’t for what you thought it was”.  I think I felt better.  My TV and I remained safe.

A: I LOVE the cop’s answer.   

“Do you sleep well?” was a diabolical question.   

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It reminds me of “The Absent-minded Coterie,” a magnificent short story by Robert Barr, from 1906.   A group of swindlers devises a brilliant plot to steal from people.  They started a club for men with poor memories; held meetings, served food, etc.  The sole purpose was to find suckers for a particular scam.   They would then have others in their group to sell or rent furniture to the men, to be paid off on an installment plan, assuming, correctly, that the men would forget when the debt was paid off, and keep paying, and paying, and paying.  It worked.—

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Q:  Re your poem on Tuesday: "squirrel" and "girl" are a perfectly acceptable rhyme in a bit of doggerel (perhaps you may want to elide the former to "squirl"). changing them both to "-oil" rhymes feels like a hat on a hat. much like the weird mid-90s G.I. Joe series where the villains were called S.K.A.R. and the K stood for "Kaos." They ruined a perfectly good acronym. - Seth

A: I find no reference text anywhere, including Rhyme Zone rhyming dictionary, that lists squirrel rhyming with girl.   I find no pronunciation guide that suggests that, Also, and not to belabor a point, this was a deliberate homage to Ogden Nash, who made up woids all the time, like the pelican, whose bill can hold more than his bellican. 

However, we shall now take an emergency poll:

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Q: I suppose if you were titling this erstwhile romantic episode like one of those Buster Keaton or Keystone Kops silent slapstick comedies, which it ultimately resembled, you might go with "Something to Sneeze At." It all started with an innocent bouquet of atonement posies. Still can't remember what I was atoning for these many years later but, it had to be egregious enough (or not...) to have a plate of dinner slammed down in front of me. Anyway, the spousal "you better damn well come up with something" reflex kicked in and I picked up what I thought was a suitable peace offering, but nothing too ingratiating mind you, afterall it was for an unknown offense.

The offering was met with a smile, a sniff of the aging but still attractive bouquet...and a Weingarten-like (see:"The Gene Pool") series of sneezes. This, in turn, set off what I can only assume was sympathetic sneezing, the release of a large flying insect no doubt blissfully biding its time among the flowers and howling by Doug the Dog, who somehow assumed this was expected because of his humans' previously unknown and strange behavior. So to reset the scene: we have two adults sneezing to beat the band, a baying beagle, and a large flying insect which had to be wondering what it had got itself into. Next scene: large flying insect is now being pursued by two sneezing humans with rolled up newspaper and joined by a dog who thought this was all great fun. What could go wrong? At this point in the unfolding comedy you would get the intertitles, "Crash," "Bang," "Ouch," as the humans ran into things, stubbed their toes and tripped over Doug the Dog. Needless to say, the large flying insect lived out its days unswatted. "...never having to say you're sorry?" Probably a good idea.

A: Excellent.

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Q:  Regarding embarrassing romantic things.  This might not be exactly romantic, but:  Sometime in the 90s I was on my way to board my small plane at the small regional airport close to where I then lived. Suddenly a young, embarrassed-looking uniformed airline employee stepped out from behind a door holding the bag I'd checked. "Is this your bag, ma'am?" he asked and, mystified, I admitted that indeed it was. "Something in it is vibrating," he said, turning a bricker shade of pink. "That would be my vibrator," I said, and he horrifiedly invited me to step to the side and extract the thing from the bag and the batteries from the thing. In that moment I realized that there are some situations at least in which there's only so much embarrassment to go around, and that the young man's intense discomfort had somehow caused me to react with unflapped amusement. If this had happened a few years later I probably would have been tackled by security forces and hauled off for questioning.

A:  Nice.   I once was caught in the airport In Miami and confronted by guys with their hands on their holsters.   They  asked me to step away, sir, from my carry-on baggage, which had just been X-rayed.   As they were opening the bag, I realized what had happened, and laughed, and told them:  “Those are weights!  For a cuckoo clock!”

Cuckoo weights are heavy rounded metal things with scalloped edges.  They look exactly like hand grenades.  These guys were not amused.  Just to be sure, I was asked to put them in my checked luggage.  

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Q: There’s been talk recently of the Montreal test, the super-basic cognitive test TFG took a while back.  Apparently part of it involves drawing hands on a clock face.  Does this mean everybody under 40 or so will test positive for dementia? 

A: Good question! Here’s a special hint.  If someone asks you to draw, say, 8:20 on a clock face, put the big hand on the 4, but do NOT put the little hand on the 8.  That would be dumb.  The little hand has to be between the 8 and the 9, a little closer to the 8.  When the big hand moves, the little hand moves too, just more slowly. 

Q:It's not really funny, but in the late 80s I was toying with the idea of pursuing a PhD in anthropology because of a report issued by the American Anthropological Association.  They anticipated a shortage of anthropology PhDs because the baby boomers were going to be retiring, and there weren't enough people in the pipeline to replace them.

I went so far as to send for some applications (in those days you had to write and get a paper application in the mail!) but didn't actually apply.  Now I'm glad I didn't because, as I'm sure you know, there have been changes in the academic world that the AAA did not anticipate.  

Short version, the baby boomers didn't retire when expected, and the universities didn't replace them.  Had I pursued it, I would have finished my degree right around the time these changes hit.  As it turned out, I have ended up with a career in information technology, which is probably a lot more lucrative.

A: I lucked out, big time, in journalism.  I came of age in the 1980s – its heyday.  Much money, few restraints.  By the time the money was oozing away and the courage was sapping, I was approaching retirement age.  I imagine it was like retiring as an urban  horse veterinarian in 1904.  Almost satisfying. 

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Q: How do you pluralize Walz?

A: Walzes. The better question, is what if it also possessive? I guess, Walzes’s. Right, Pat?

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Q:  While searching the web unsuccessfully for your unprintable aptonym, I came across this interview from Jimmy Kimmel, which you probably have seen, but I offer up to fellow Poolers (Pooers?) 

A: Yeah.  He stole my turf, and piggybacked on my previous interview with Dr. Dick Chopp, urologist. But did both well. 

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Q: Regarding your observation on whether a humor memoir needs to be true: 

I think lots of people pump up their stories, just because it makes for a better story, or a bland story funny, or something.  If it makes them sound more clever, and no harm is done, and they acknowledge their little creative flourish, eventually, you might forgive them.  Or you might not.  But, most of us want to be liked, or acknowledged, or praised, it's in our genes.  Ok, I hope you didn't just check out the jeans you're wearing, that's different.  In closing, might I suggest that you are the most clever person, as well as the most entertaining, that I know.  Or maybe that's know of, since we've never actually met.  Keep up the good work, the fifty bucks was well worth it.  Roger, the Artful Dodger, of Gettysburg.  

A: Thank you, Roger.   I am surprised by how many people didn’t mind being misled in a humor column that presents itself as truth   It’s a journalistic misdemeanor, at the least, in my opinion.  

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Q: I recently went to a high school reunion and connected with a woman I had known back in school. We have been Facebook friends for a few years and she irregularly posted about her divorce and her daughter and other Facebookish things. So I wasn't really surprised when I got a personal message from her saying she had some Taylor Swift tickets she couldn't use and wanted to know if I wanted to buy them off of her. She lives in a different city but I was willing to fly in order to see TS. So I checked flights and hotels and I could get reasonable fares and lodging, so I figured it might be a nice weekend getaway for my spouse and I.

The tickets would be $600 each but were in a good section. So I messaged back that I wanted them and how should I pay for them. She gave me a weird Venmo account name which she said was a friend's because hers had been hacked. This is when my suspicions were raised. So I messaged her to give me a call so that I could talk to her in person . I just wanted to hear a real voice before I sent any money. She messaged back that she was at work and wasn't allowed to make voice calls. So I said to call me when she got off work. She messaged back that other people wanted the tickets too and it was first come-first served.

Now my feelings were hurt that I wasn't the first person she offered them to. So I messaged a common friend and asked if he knew about the tickets. He said her Facebook account had been stolen and there were no tickets. I later checked on StubHub for resale prices and tickets in the section I was being offered were going for $3000, so buying them would have been a real steal. I'm just glad I found out I was being scammed before I bought plane tickets or anything else.

And my spouse was very disappointed that the great Taylor Swift concert weekend getaway I had promised her couldn't happen. 

A:  You may be really lucky you didn’t travel.   Tom Dunkel, the excellent writer and author, did a piece for me in 1994 about one of the first people caught in the Nigerian scam.   It is long, but a fabulous read.   It looks like they were planning to get him to Africa, and then kidnap him for ransom, I believe.   Vastly entertaining story.

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Okay, I copy us down. Check out that story above if you have the time. And PLEASE keep sending in questions, comments and observations.

See you on the Weekend.