I love oatmeal. To me, it's not boring. I agree that ordinary oatmeal is very boring, but not the steel-cut Irish kind - the kind that pops in your mouth when you bite into it in little glorious bursts like a sort of gummy champagne.
Whatever moisture is left in the popcorn when it gets from harvest to bag to your popper is what's going to determine how well the corn pops.
I can only say the first thing that pops into my mind is I remember, years ago, seeing kind of a has-been country singer working - when I first moved to Nashville - in a bar in a Holiday Inn.
If you record the sound of bacon in a frying pan and play it back, it sounds like the pops and cracks on an old 33 1/3 recording. Almost exactly like that. You could substitute it for that sound.
My second husband believed I had such a fickle attitude to friendship that each Friday he would update the list of my 'Top Ten' friends in the manner of a Top Of The Pops chart countdown.
War seems to come out of nowhere, like rust that suddenly pops up on iron after a storm.
While there used to be one or two Pops orchestras, now there are all kinds of European orchestras that suddenly look upon this as a golden wand that can enable them to make money recording this music.
I shoot my big mouth off; it just pops up! I have to learn to edit myself.
If there is no God, who pops up the next Kleenex?
I run a charity. If my name pops up in your call ID, chances are I'm about to ask you for something - money, free ad space, your first born. So it is probably no surprise that people often don't take my calls.