AIN'T LOVE GRAND...

All I wanted to do was grab a dozen eggs, but apparently a young couple was so overwhelmed with desire in the midst of their grocery shopping that they simply couldn't restrain themselves and were hugging in front of Eggland's Best. 

I'm all for love in the afternoon, but clutching each other in the dairy section of the supermarket seemed like overkill. Plus, the lovebirds weren't pint-sized, so they were actually blocking my access to the eggs. I lollygagged near the yogurt to kill time, waiting for the hug to end so I could squeeze over to the shelf of eggs, but Romeo and Juliet weren't budging. Finally, I just reached around and grabbed a carton without them even noticing. When you're in the "Oh, honey, I love you even more for choosing the organic brown eggs," stage, who am I to interfere?

At church a few days later I noticed a couple in a totally different stage of their relationship. A woman had slipped in a few rows ahead of me just as the service began, and shortly after, a man arrived and sat next to her. Of course, I was concentrating devoutly, but still couldn't help noticing that there was something confrontational and angry about his stance. The man whispered to the woman and then he moved a few spaces a way from her. Before church was over, he bent toward her, wagged his finger at her, and without raising his voice, seemed to deliver a verbal thrashing before turning abruptly and marching out of church. She remained motionless, head down, emanating a heavy, hopeless sadness. I didn't hear a word that passed between them, but it was obvious that the honeymoon was long over for this pair, with no hugging in the grocery store or anywhere else.

The next day, while walking Sammy Girl through a park located next to our local high school, I found a crumpled-up note on the ground. It read: "F*!* you JK I love you but I cant chill today but I do need you to get me a bag please cause I don't have a break at all today not even after school." Ahhh, does that not bring to mind the eloquence of old Will Shakespeare when he addressed romance? Is it not reminiscent of "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." (A Midsummer Night's Dream) Really, there's nuthin' like a single sentence that includes both "F!&!* you" and "I Love you" (not to mention "get me a bag") to make you misty eyed about Young Love.

So love was all around this week in many incarnations and unexpected settings. As always, it is a mystery, especially when it's blockading the route to coveted breakfast items.

My advice? If you simply must hug in the Acme, please, do so in front of the tofu...  

AND NOW, IN LIVING COLOR...

The painter Claude Monet said "Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment" and, boy oh boy, can I relate.

Just recently, I received two overwhelmingly colorful brochures in the mail and my immediate reaction was: WHY?

The first publication was from the Philadelphia Orchestra, the esteemed, internationally renowned organization that has suffered miserable financial woes in the 21st century. These folks barely have enough bucks to pay their cellists, yet they sent me a magazine-sized 2012-13 schedule, 16 pages long, all in a stunning four-color format. I assume that I was on their mailing list because I purchased two tickets to a Sunday afternoon concert three years ago - hardly a preferred member or a major supporter of the arts who deserves much more than a modest postcard or two.

While it's clear that the Orchestra marketers have to spend money to make money, surely they could have accomplished the same feat with a color cover followed by six black and white pages. I actually felt guilty placing their lovely work of art in the recycling bin and couldn't help but wonder if a local percussionist or two were somewhere crying over their deflated pension or lack of basic dental coverage...

The second slick publication in my mailbox came from State Senator Vincent Hughes. This periodical paled when compared to the orchestra's masterpiece - only three pages, front and back - but it was packed with a collage of color photos chronicling all the good deeds the Senator has accomplished for his grateful constituents. Of course, this type of pat-on-the-back, remember-me-come-election-time, is de rigueur for local politicians, but my questions is this: Why does it have to be so darn tootin' fancy? This report even included a "aren't we successful and beautiful" color photo of the senator and his wife for an award they won. In the shot, they are all dolled-up and cuddling like Angelina and Brad on the red carpet. Put it in your holiday card, folks, but please don't pay for it with my tax dollars, especially when schools are cutting programs and services are being slashed like Edward Scissorhands was in charge of budgeting. Ya wanna cut the fat? Ban all four-color mailings from elected officials and give us your news in black and white.

Just to irritate me even more, today's mail arrived with a 30-page "Journal" from BJ's, the members-only, consumer's heaven wholesale club. Every page was as vibrant and colorful as the Philadelphia International Flower Show on opening day. Oh, so maybe that's why that 30-roll mega-pack of toilet paper at BJ's isn't as cheap as I had hoped.

Call me curmudgeonly, but color me - and Claude Monet - tormented and downright annoyed.

NOW THAT WAS STUPID...

A recent obituary for a 110-year-old woman included this gem: "Asked what it was like to be 110, she said: 'It's not much different to being 109.'"

Ask a stupid question, get a zinger answer from a tough old bird.

I'm not a lifetime Mensa member, but stupidity seems to be prolific these days.

Need evidence? I could mention two criminals who deserve a Stupid Award.

One was a handcuffed prisoner who was arrested on drug charges but escaped police custody in downtown Philly. While he might have been wily enough to slip out of the handcuffs, he'll probably have a tougher time hiding from the authorities because of prominent tattoos on his face, including the letter "H" between his eyebrows. Think about it: If you're going to live on the lam, how smart is it to have indelible tattoos plastered on your mug? "No officer, I haven't seen anyone who looks like him...there was one guy in the neighborhood with an "A" on his chest, but no "H" on the face... sorry."

Ironically, another scumbag who was on the run from the fuzz also had memorable facial tats: A star inked under each eye. Again, if you know that you are a lowlife who is probably going to be featured in Mugshot Monthly, how could you be so stupid as to get an unforgettable tattoo? What, a rose and the word "Mom" weren't good enough for the likes of you?

Supposedly, star tattoos on the kisser represent time served in prison. I hope when they catch this creep (he hurt a little girl) that he gets enough of a sentence to have a galaxy etched on his face.

Unfortunately, stupidity is not limited to Philly. In Ohio, members of a breakaway Amish group cut the beards and hair of some men in their group in a disagreement about "church discipline." Ouch. That'll learn 'em.

And speaking of churches and boorish behavior, over the holidays, Greek and Armenian monks battled each other with brooms in a feud over sacred space at the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. Palestinian security forces had to break up the monks before their bodies and blood were all over the Body and Blood of Christ.

How stupid can it get? Don't ask, don't tell.

If I live to be 110, I'll never know.

SOME FUN! (SORTA)

Who says there ain't nuthin' to do during these dark days of winter?
Why, just this week there were some real humdinger events listed in the newspaper, including:

- The Suburban Home and Garden Show. This enticing half-page ad drew me in with a headshot of The late Princess of Wales and the headline "Diana, the People's Princess, a private collection - Meet Diana's former butler Paul Burrell" and "Get the Royal Treatment."

At first I thought perhaps the Home & Garden Show was showcasing a bunch of marigolds from Lady Di's garden that somehow survived 15 years after her demise. But further investigation online revealed that the "private collection" referred to a "series" of gowns and dresses worn by the late princess. (My ballpark is that they'll have - at most - two of her most mundane dresses thrown on a couple of wire hangers.)

What does royal fashion have to do with homes and gardens? Beats me. But you have to give kudos to her servant for squeezing a buck out of his former employer for as long as he possibly can and by whatever means possible. In the "oh, how the mighty have fallen" category, he's gone from being interviewed on 60 MINUTES to unabashedly hawking his tenuous royal affiliation at a show with 300 vendors who are also selling their wares in the Philadelphia-area hinterlands.

Lady Di is probably rolling over in her tiara.

- The Greater Philadelphia Sports Show - This sounds like fun for the whole family, especially when you read about the headliners, such as the Swampmaster, a brave alligator handler who "demonstrates his skills at alligator handling and presents educational information about alligators." Because, let's be honest, if there's one skill the kids from the Philly region need to learn more about, it's how to handle a gator.

But Swampmaster isn't the only star of the show. There's also Jack Dagger, "The King of Fling...a world renowned knife throwing comedian" who has been inducted into the International Knife Throwers Hall of Fame. That sounds like a superb combo because who doesn't enjoy some sharp objects being fired along with some sharp jabs?

Curiously, this sports show is being held in the exact same Philly burb as the aforementioned "royal" Home & Garden Show.

Now, if they could only feature the Swampmaster wrestling Paul Burrell while Jack Dagger throws knives at the shameless British manservant, we'd finally get to see some real entertainment...

PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE (OR GUMS) AND SMOKE IT...

Tobacco is really haunting me lately.

It's all because of cigarette butts, those tiny cylindrical spheres, just an inch or so long, that have been piling up in front of my house. They are nature's way of saying, "Di,you think the litter around here is bad, wait til you get a load of these little suckers!" For some reason, everyone who lives near me is smoking more - and more and more and more - and/or ashtrays are no longer available in the United States of America.

One day I swept-up every last butt on my sidewalk and counted 90 of 'em. Folks, I'm a chocolate lover, so I understand how tough it is to "just say no" but 90 butts is an awful lotta tabbaccy. You want an environment to look like Skid Row in a flash? Throw more than four packs worth of butts into a small area and PRESTO! you got it, pal.

So because I'm more steamed than usual at ciggies what does the universe send me? An email from Philly Thrilllist about not just any old cigarette, but an amazing new Swedish smokeless tobacco product (they call is "snus" in the Land of the Midnight Sun) that's "been pleasing European enthusiasts since 1850" and is "tucked into the upper lip, providing a richly flavored tingle that goes anywhere you do, and delivers discreet, convenient tobacco satisfaction without the need to spit."

That's all terrific news, until you notice the caveat that comes with this amazing stuff which, apparently, they HAVE TO include in their jazzy public relations communication:"WARNING:This product can cause gum disease and tooth loss."

Damn, why did they have to spoil it? The advertising geniuses made it sound so enticing with the alluring words: "Infused with bergamot oil for a better, more unique taste than its peers, the 22-tobacco blend's available in eight different forms and flavors - from pre-portioned to loose, from the classic blend to Nordic Mint - because even marauding Vikings have concerns about bad breath." 

Honey, if you're still chewing tobacco in 2012, I predict that bad breath is the very least of your concerns.

And speaking of 2012, doesn't a snuff email blast seem so very 20th century? What's next, an ad campaign for moonshine and hog skinning?

Swedish snus? I'll stick with Swedish Fish.

The Swedes are doing what American politicians like to call "putting lipstick on a pig."

Yup, you can gussy her up all and adorn her with purty descriptions, but a stinker is still a stinker and dip is still dip. (Is that where the term "dipsh_ _" originated?) And those who chew it, stash it in their gums or use it to spice up their bubble gum will still end up as toothless as a hillbilly centenarian.

So forgive me, but I'm just fuming at tobacco these days. Somebody, quick, get me a Double Crunch Reese's Cup to calm my nerves...