Matt Weinstock, March 23, 1959
March 23, 2009 | 4:00 pm
Tell It to a Termite
The savants seem determined to cram a hearty breakfast down all our gullets and this is a small, choking voice of protest. They keep saying that if people will eat hearty in the a.m. their tensions, aggressions and animosities will disappear, they will think more clearly and will be more efficient at whatever they do.
Most recent piece of claptrap to bolster this theory was promulgated in a high school in Pearl River, N.Y., where teachers complained students were fidgety and inattentive.
As the climax of a two-week nutrition experiment several hundred students attended a mass breakfast and gorged themselves on fruit juice, cereal, toast, jelly, an egg and milk. Afterward, several said it tasted good.
In rebuttal, I would like to state that hardly anything tastes good at breakfast.
AS LIFE is arranged today breakfast is a brief, delicate interlude between getting up and going to work. Coffee is important enough to most of us to jolt us into full awakening and usually toast or coffeecake to go with it. Anything more is likely to bring o the fidgets.
Now on Saturday and Sunday, when the pace is slowed down and there is time to enjoy them, bring on the bacon and eggs, the pancakes, the waffles, even a kipper. And by the way, did anyone ever try pieala mode for breakfast? Apple pie, chocolate ice cream. Wonderful.
::A MAN wondering why he hadn't yet received his income tax refund said, "Well, if I made a mistake in filling it out, it was an honest mistake."
His wife said, "What do you mean, an honest mistake?"
"Oh," he said, "that's when they catch you cheating."
He had achieved fame during his life
And left a fortune to his dear wife,
Now his spirit smiles down from afar
For his name is wrapped 'round a cigar.
--JOSEPH P. KRENGEL
A HOT ITEM in the novelty shops these days is a magic money machine. Insert a $1 bill, turn the crank and out comes an identically sized piece of blank paper. Big laugh.
Perhaps unintentionally the gadget is fraught with enchanting irony. It's a switch on the old money-making machine used by bunko men to swindle gullible but larceny-minded suckers. In the original version the con man would put blank paper in the machine and out would come genuine money. After demonstrating it he would reluctantly sell it to the victim so he could make his own money at home.
Economic significance lurks somewhere in the joke version, but it eludes me. Only message I get is that the people who put it out are likely to get rich.
TWO YEARS AGO while on a visit to Honolulu Al Bloomingdale, president of the Diners Club, came upon an eye-catching painting that he "had to have" at an art exhibit.
It was a night scene of several store fronts and old-fashioned houses in Los Angeles' skid row.
It now hangs in his office on N. La Cienega Boulevard and everyone who sees it is fascinated by its vivid luminous quality.
A few months ago, Bloomingdale was in Honolulu again and tried to locate the artist, Henry Inouye Jr. He was unable to do so but learned Inouye had given up painting for the time being and was driving a cab.
AT RANDOM -- The item here about the little boy who wanted to be a highway sign when he grew up prompted Mrs. J. Yarmish to confide her 5-year-old daughter Marcie's ambition. She wants to be a dummy in the May Co. window. Practices in front of the mirror every day ... A posy to the continuing Irish whiskey ads plaintively presenting the distiller's dilemma. They're happy that people learned about their products by drinking Irish coffee but wish they'd try it for its flavor alone. Very tongue in cheek.