Q&A

Bloated in Bellevue writes: Why is it that sometimes when I eat at The Fortune Cookie Chinese restaurant I'm perfectly fine, and other times the Moo Goo Gai Pan makes me swell up like the Hindenburg?

Dear Bloated: Surprisingly, the answer to your question has nothing to do with The Fortune Cookie, their use of MSG, your own metabolism, or any of the other more obvious reasons. A quick call this morning to the eggheads over at MIT confirmed that the actual reason is a little-known and little-understood law of Physics called Newton’s Fourth Law of Bloat and Breakouts. In layman’s terms, the Law of Bloat and Breakouts basically states that the more likely you are to meet a wicked hot guy, appear unexpectedly on television, or attend a Spring Formal, the more likely you are to experience uncomfortable water-weight gain, excess bloating and unsightly blemishes in the days immediately prior. So, next time you have the Kung Pao Chicken and your slacks don’t fit right the next day, check your in-box at E-Harmony because Mr. Right is probably heading your way very soon!

　

Wondering in the West End writes: How did the days of the week get their names?

Dear Wondering: The English language has been constantly changing and evolving since people first starting speaking it many centuries ago. Anyone who has read a manuscript from the Middle Ages, taken a walk through a Colonial burying ground, or even read the Declaration of Independence can tell you that things like spelling and punctuation weren’t even invented until well into the 1700s. And even then it took another hundred years before people knew the difference between an “F” and an “S”. For many years, the only day of the week was Sunday. That was because back then everyone was Catholic and everyone knew that if you missed just one Mass on Sunday you were going directly to Hell, do not pass Go, do not collect 200 shillings. They called it Sunday because they figured there it was, the Sun, up there in the sky day after day, something everyone could relate to and as good a name as any for a day. People got along fine for centuries referring to the other days of the week as “The Day After Sunday”, or “The Day the Peddler Comes”. In 1302, however, King Earl II of the British Protectorate of Hamm upon Rye, became frustrated with the confusion which inevitably arose when “The Day our Molly Flips the Cheese” fell on one day in one village and on another day in the next village. In the first of its kind, King Earl sent out a proclamation to all who could read and write (which, admittedly, was little more than 25 people or so) announcing a “Nayme the Dayes of Ye Weeke Conteft!”, with prizes and awards for the six winners. After a few weeks and much excitement in the kingdom, the winners were finally announced:

MONDAY- Sir Dion of Warwicke, astronomer to His Majesty. Originally, it was “Moon-Day”, but as mentioned earler, spelling had not yet been invented.

TUESDAY- George W., Village Idiot. So-named for being Two Days after Sunday.

THURSDAY- Sven the Marauder, retired Viking. Mr. Marauder had originally suggested naming the day “Thor’s Day”, after one of his local gods, but his accent had everyone in Hamm pronouncing it “Thur’s Day”.

FRIDAY- Michael of Shay, Esq., landlord and innkeeper. In a brilliant stroke of Dark Ages marketing, Master Shay saw his opportunity to remind locals of his weekly Fish Fry, a tradition which still survives to this day.

SATURDAY- Count Azimov, Russian diplomat. Originally “Saturnday”, after the planet and the Roman God of Agriculture, the spelling was officially changed in 1973 after a song by the Bay City Rollers swept the planet.

The one mystery which still remains is “Wednesday”. Researchers can find no evidence, nor see any reason or logic behind the name of that particular day or its remarkably byzantine spelling. Any insight from the public would be greatly appreciated.

　

　

Why do people toss the bagged poop of their pups in the recycling bins? Signed, Pooped-off in P’Town

Dear Pooped: There is a short answer to your question, and that is that those people are lazy, inconsiderate assholes.
But there is more to it than that, really. First off, there must be a deficiency of rational thought there, because if you’re going to bend over and actually pick up shit in the first place, why can’t you carry it around for a few minutes until you find a proper trash can? Secondly, it shows a complete lack of regard for other people, because they know fully well that at some point, some poor sucker who probably doesn’t even own a dog is going to have to deal with this bag of shit, and probably after it has had some time to bake in the sun or stew in the rain for a while. Who cares, as long as they don’t have to be seen walking around town with their $3000 CockaDoodle, carrying a bag of poop.
But, rest assured, Pooped, there is justice in this universe. There must always be Balance. Everything we enjoy, all the good things in life, come with a down-side, a price of some sort. If you want to eat, you have to wash the dishes. If you want to have kids, you have to live with the little bastards for up to 20 years. If you want to have a dog, you have to pick up its poop. If you keep going around enjoying all the good parts and not dealing with the responsibilities, you are throwing things out of Balance, and that, my friends, is never a good idea. For every little blue bag you find in your blue bin, remember that the person who left it there will, one day, get back all the shit he has left for others to pick up.