Wednesday, July 8, 2020




Of course there’s a difference between real and fake, my love. You do like my new diamond ring, do you not? Is it real? Is it fake? Oh please. No no no. We don’t use fake anymore dearie. It’s so bourgeois. Today we use faux. Though I must say I don’t wear faux diamonds. It’s real or nothing for me dahling. But. But but. What’s the difference between real or fake, you ask? Everything is real if you think about it, is it not? Oh please. How else are the elitists going to be able to differentiate themselves from the common people if they aren’t willing to shell out a few more shekels for something they like to call the genuine article? I wouldn’t be seen dead in a faux anything, from jewelry to fur. Unless I was going slumming of course. Imitations are always acceptable when mingling with the lower classes. There are times when one just must pass. It wouldn’t do to put on airs with your lessers. Why make them feel their insignificances? We know who we are. We don’t have to force our ways upon others. They can’t help being what they are, the same way a donkey can’t help it that he’s not a thoroughbred horse. Why, sometimes when I’m mingling with the help, I speak in incorrect grammatical English. It ain’t so, I tell them. I’ll be gol-durned and hot damn girl, and if that ain’t a pisser. I don’t wear the real stuff when I’m around them. I do have some friends who are not up to our class you know. They try of course. They strive to elevate themselves. I wear my faux fur and faux diamonds when I’m with them. I wear my Levi’s at thirty dollars a pair instead of my Valentino’s at nine hundred and ninety dollars a pair. I wear Macy’s instead of Oscar De La Renta. I feel deliciously sleazy when I walk into a cheap store. But we do what we must to make others feel comfortable. I care about my virtual friends. Those whom I met unwillingly during the course of life. But I don’t mind. I do what I have to do. I have no airs. No no no. Nothing fake in my life. Nothing fake about me. I am the real thing. I am genuine. Am I not?

Wednesday, January 31, 2018


We're live folks.

In order to make this work send me an email at ( with the subject line 'ASK BENJAMIN'. Ready? Okay.  Let the games begin.

Dear Benjamin,
How did the bread called Pumpernickel get its name?

Dear readers,
A gentleman whose acquaintance I made over Thanksgiving dinner told me this tidbit. It is fascinating. I expand a bit upon the original. Whether or not it is true is another matter. It seems that Napoleon had 50 horses one of which had the name of Nicol. While on a military mission in that part of Europe now known as Germany, Napoleon or his groom gave the horse some of the local bread to eat. The reasoning behind this was the disdainful attitude of the Frenchman in charge towards the bread, which--due to its heavy concentration of grain--he considered unfit for human consumption. Instead he fed it to the horse stating in a most derisive way: "C'est du pain pour Nicol". (It is bread for Nicole). This disparaging remark--pain pour Nicol--became painpournicol and then pumpernickel. There are other theories--one of them being that the word pumpernickel was a pejorative part of the German language of the time equivalent to today's "jerk" . . . perhaps relating the word to those who ate it as observed by those watching the event as being less than sound of mind. This last part--of course--being only extrapolation on my part. And now you know--if not the whole story--as least part of it. Truth is often segmented into smaller particles of nonsense for easier digestion.

Dear Benjamin,
We've been pondering your column and our family has gotten together and think we've got one we don't think you can answer. It is this: What is the meaning of life, dear Benjamin? Tell us that if you can.
Yours truly,
The Lytelle family.
Samuel, Harry, Ida, Thomas and Sybil.

Dear Lytelles,
As an aside to your question I must tell you I love acronyms. That said . . . the answer to your question is truly quite simple. Life is the means by which food for the planet's inhabitants is preserved for up to ninety years and more without the need for refrigeration. I hope this clarifies things somewhat.

Dear Benjamin,
I wonder if you know how the Culet got its name.
Many thanks,

Dear Jeremy.
This question brings us . . . in a most delightful fashion . . . to the Ass End of a Diamond. First . . . I must warn you that there may be a bit more than a slight bit of extrapolation here though I tend to think not. I shall begin with Culus . . . the Latin word for anus. In French the word would be Cul. A cul-de-sac is a dead end figuratively speaking. Literally it is the ass end of a sack. Now let's shoot for the diminutive. It is here that I extrapolate a tad. Every language has its diminutives. Ette is the French suffix which is used to express its diminutive terms. Hence if Cul is ass . . . then Culette would be little ass. Of the many parts of the diamond there are three most of the world is familiar with. There is the Table. (That's the top flat part.) There is the Gridle. (That's the circumference.) And there is the point at the bottom called the Culet. (Alternate spelling might once of have Culette. (Little Ass.) And so . . . when speaking of the tiny pointed end at the bottom of a diamond . . . are we talking about the Culet? Or are we talking about the Ass End of the Diamond? These are the questions that torment my soul Jeremy. The questions are elusive. The answers too mysterious for words. Hope this helps.

Dear Benjamin,
Whenever I'm with this particular person at a party he always takes center stage and asks riddles no one can answer. Can you give me a riddle that's extremely difficult so that I can shut him up and put him in his place once and for all? Of course you would have to send me the answer by return email.

Dear Michelle,
You have twelve pieces of candy. Eleven weight exactly the same. The twelfth is poisonous and has a different weight from the others. You do not know if it weighs more or less. Just that it weighs different. Using a balance scale . . . find the poisonous candy in three tries. Answer is coming via email. I promise you will stump the bum.

Dear Benjamin,
I have always wanted to know how long I have left to live barring any illnesses or accidents. Can you help me?

Dear Anon,
All animals on this planet can measure their lifespan by heartbeats. For human beings their lifespan is roughly 2.21 billion heartbeats. Take your pulse in beats per minute. Multiply by 60 to know beats per hour. Multiply that by 24 for beats by day. Times 365 for beats per year. Multiply that by your age and subtract those results from 2.21 billion. That will give you heartbeats left to live. Divide that number by 365 and you will have years left to live. Add that to your age and you will have your answer. Hope this helps.


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

LOB (Umlaut over the O) [Sample Tidbits]

This is one of my earliest Tidbits articles and far and away my favorite. It is about an immigrant to the USA who's name is probably known by everyone world-wide. If you'd like to read it ... Click here.