Ringing in the new year with ABC gum

Happy New Year! 

Resolutions are for the birds. To quit doing some thing, or to start doing another thing, there has to be a motivating factor.

For example, I stopped chewing gum in 8th grade because it disgusted me. Cows chew on cud. People should know better. Plus, it's too conveniently stuck to the bottom of things - chairs, shoes, desks, bathroom stalls, a pair of Levi's Silver Tabs in 7th grade homeroom. 

I had a friend who liked to shove her chewed gum into whatever bottle of beer she was drinking. As a child, this same friend also placed chewed gum on her cafeteria lunch tray while she ate, and then after lunch, would pop the gum back into her mouth for more chewing. 

I brush my teeth twice a day, floss occasionally, and avoid garlic. If my breath reeks, I pop a peppermint. Aint nothing so rank inside my mouth that a hard candy can't lick, which is why I have not chewed gum in 13 years. 

Canadian artist Jason Kronenwald created this portrait of 1960s pixie, Twiggy, using people's chewed bubble gum. Check out his series of Gum Blondes here. To create his paintings he hires a team of chewers to chomp on wads of gum, (he prefers the texture of Trident) and using a bevy of colorful flavors, which Kronenwald asks his chewers to mix inside their mouths, he stretches the gum across planks of plywood and begins molding the visages of famous blondes. 

As a blonde, I'm mildly insulted by the connotation of this art. Hey, Kronenwald: ask your grandma to start chewing on those Bit-O-Honeys she keeps in her candy jar, then have her fork over her dentures. The sticky aftermath will make for a nice series of brunettes. 

My father is disgusted with his beer gut, so to whittle it he started walking today from his house on Langford Road to the town highway department on Eden Road. (It's about three miles.) I called my mother this morning to talk about overpriced wedding photographers, and my father, gung ho and out of breath, answered the cell phone. 

"What's up with you?"

"Ah yes," he rasped. "I'm walking."

"Walking?"

"I'm almost to the highway department."

"You sound out of breath."

"I'm OK. It's beautiful out."

"Is it?"

"It's 19 degrees out, but no wind and bright sunshine."

"And you're walking to the highway department?"

"Yes. I'm almost there."

"Did you bring the cell phone in case you needed to call Mom to pick you up?"

"I brought the cell phone in case I fell dead from a heart attack I could call 911 before I hit the ground."

"What did you and Mom do for New Years Eve?"

"Fell asleep."

"So did we."

"That's OK. At least we all woke up."

"Right. Alright Dad, good luck walking. Tell Mom I called about wedding photographers."

"Will do. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year."

A guide to pug babies.

Milk Bone. Smells like corn chips. Makes for a good game of tug-of-war and that's about it. Oma prefers this baby to the others because she says she can hold one end without it sliming her fingers.

Pug Baby Jr. A Ty Beanie Baby from Hamburg, NY. By far the dog's favorite toy. Smells like vomit. Makes for a good game of fetch. Is often lost under/in bed. When touched wet will disgust even the most hardy of dog lovers. Both eyes are gone. I sewed the sockets shut.

The Singing Cat. The only pug baby with a functioning sound box. Contrary to what you'd expect, The Singing Cat doesn't meow but rings instead. Whenever it goes off Joe thinks my cell phone is ringing.

The Hamburger Baby. Squeaks. Is the least favorite of the dog's pug babies. The Hamburger Baby is like the fat kid at recess. The last one picked for dodge ball.

Pug Baby Sr. The dog's second favorite baby. Eyes, ear,muzzle and tail are easily chewed off. Sewn three times, re-stuffed once.

Elfin Baby. Needs to be sewn. Not a favorite. Came from Japan. A present from my Japanese exchange student, Yuuki. Used to have a hat.