NO GOOD DEED...

...shall go unpunished.

The Evil Mermaid - that’s Starbucks, Esteemed Readers - had planned to hand out free coffee to people who came into their shops after having voted. Likewise did Krispy Kreme, doughnut purveyor to the South, plan to offer up free doughnuts to those who exercised their franchise. As did Ben & Jerry, fatboys extraordinaire, with scoops of ice cream.

Sounds good, no? An encouragement, a minor enticement, if you will, for people to worship at the altar of Democracy, without regard to party...for the doughnuts, ice cream, and coffee were offered up to all voters, be they for Donkey, Elephant, or Duck-Billed Platypus.

Alas, the Powers that Be here in Georgia raised an objection.

Apparently, there are federal laws on the books that prohibit offering any sort of enticements or remuneration for voting, and the penalties for transgressing are quite severe.

It’s pretty clear what the point of such a law would be. You don’t want people handing out hot dogs - or sawbucks - to people in an attempt to buy votes. Vote for Joe Blow and get a free hamburger! Not cricket, for obvious reasons.

But the Starbucks and Krispy Kreme programs set no test, demanded no loyalty to a specific candidate - only that one voted. Nevertheless, the State authorities made it plain: They would prosecute.

I have no idea how things eventually worked out, as I do not eat the fine products of Krispy Kreme, I do my level best to avoid those of Ben & Jerry, and I see no point in using expensive gasoline to get free coffee from the Evil Mermaid. I believe any legal issues were circumvented simply by offering the freebies to all comers. But here’s a memo to our Wise Solons. Why don’t you think about rewriting these well-intentioned laws? Encouraging people to vote is a good thing...as long as it is done without a partisan agenda.

I VOTE

Eric is a fine writer on the worst of days, but there are times when he just absolutely dead-stick nails it.

This is such a time.

Go forth and read this post, which better captures the essence of Democracy (with a capital D) than almost any other piece of writing I have ever seen.

CHANGE IN PLANS

The Missus and I were all set for yet another out-of-town weekend, having arranged a trip to Washington, D.C. to visit Elder Daughter.

She’s been busy, Elder Daughter has. The past couple of weekends, she has traveled to Houston and Los Angeles to deliver talks at various panel discussions at the behest of her employer. And while her Morocco trip later this month appears to have been postponed, she still plans to go to South Africa at year-end.

Business exigencies being what they are, our trip has had to be postponed owing to Elder Daughter having gotten sucked away on another weekend panel discussion. But it’s actually good news...because this time, said panel discussion will be here in Atlanta.

For icing on the cake, the Mistress of Sarcasm and Gilad will come down from Tennessee, so we will be One Big Happy Fambly this weekend. Party Time! Excellent! And we’ll get back up to Washington sometime in the next couple of months.

Cancelling our hotel reservations was a snap. Reissuing our air tickets will end up costing us a couple of Benjamins, but that’s no big deal. You have to be able to roll with the punches, as the cliché goes. Bob and weave. Duck and cover. Mutt and Jeff.

Change. Not always convenient, but sometimes beneficial. And given that we are about to be faced with a change in national leadership (the dimensions of which are not yet known as I write this), it’s good to keep in mind the possibility - however remote - of a pleasant surprise, regardless of who gets elected.

EXERCISE YOUR FRENCHFRIES...

...and vote today.

The candidates:



The Bug-Hat Party.

Sober and conservative...except for the part of the party platform that calls for the wearing of Stupid Headgear.



The Metal-Hat Party.

Perforated helmets are just perfect for keeping out the Brain-Control Rays from Outer Space.

Cast your vote in the Comments!

A POX ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES

One of the best things about the arrival of Election Day tomorrow is that it means the end of the relentless campaign advertising by Georgia senatorial candidates Saxby Chambliss (the incumbent) and Jim Martin.

Virtually every commercial break on the Glass Teat features an ad for Mr. Chambliss, followed immediately by an ad for Mr. Martin. Or vice versa. And the ads on both sides are uniformly negative, packed with half-truths, misrepresentations, and outright lies.

Martin’s ads accuse Chambliss of giving tax breaks to businesses that ship jobs offshore, of supporting a new 23% tax. They don’t bother to mention that the 23% tax would replace the existing income tax.

Meanwhile, Chambliss accuses Martin of voting against sex offender legislation and for partial-birth abortion. They don’t bother to explain why the sex offender legislation was draconian and unworkable, with provisions guaranteed to drive criminals underground and off the public radar.

Why not just take it to the next level?

“Saxby Chambliss is a drooling, gaping asshole. I’m Jim Martin, and I approved this message.”

“Jim Martin is a cunt. A weeping sore on the fundament of the great State of Georgia. Plus, he has a tiny dick. I’m Saxby Chambliss, and I approved this message.”

As if the TV ads were not bad enough, the barrage of phone calls makes me want to yank my hair out by the roots...after having set fire to it. Smart, these politicos, exempting themselves from having to comply with the federal “Do Not Call” list legislation.

Well, fuck the both of you...and the horses you rode in on.

Shame on all y’all. You make me wonder why I should bother voting...and that’s the real shame.

NOSH-VILLE

Noshville Katz - he runs a kosher deli!
Noshville Katz - the only place in town!
Noshville Katz - it’s not like you’re in Brooklyn.
Noshville Katz - the only one around!

Well, there’s thirteen-hundred fifty-two different restaurants in
Nashville.
And you can eat anything from a hominy grit to a Contac time pill.
But there’s only one place to get a half-sour pickle or a corn beef
sandwich in Nashville,
Just ask anybody how to get to Katz’s if you're looking to eat well!

About a year ago it was impossible to find a kosher delicatessen.
And the people said, “Mr. Katz, won’t you open up a place where the
people can fress in?”
Well, it was a good idea for a Brooklyn boy to bring a kosher deli
to Nashville.
And his bubbeh asked him who would eat his food -
He said, “The Tennessee folks will!”

So, they call him
Noshville Katz - he runs a kosher deli!
Noshville Katz - the only place in town!
Noshville Katz - it’s not like you’re in Brooklyn.
Noshville Katz - the only one around!

Have a Yiddishe dish:
A potato knish
Or a bagel and cream cheese.
A little chicken soup or gefilte fish
With some carrots and green peas.
If you can get through that,
Have a little chopped liver
Or a piece of herring in wine sauce.
And you can wash it down with a Dr. Brown -
It shouldn’t be a total loss.
(Eat, darling, eat!)

Noshville Katz - he runs a kosher deli!
Noshville Katz - the only place in town!
Noshville Katz - it’s not like you’re in Brooklyn.
Noshville Katz - the only one around!

We also cater bar mitzvahs.

- Noshville Katz, by The Lovin’ Cohens (1967)

Yesterday’s novelty song became today’s reality as we sat down to enjoy a deli luncheon Sunday afternoon in the heart of Nashville...in a restaurant named, appropriately enough, Noshville.

The Missus, the Mistress, Gilad, and our friends Gary and JoAnn all pronounced the matzoh ball soup excellent. Meanwhile, I was thoroughly pleased with my sandwich: tongue, pastrami, and chopped liver on marble rye. The Cholesterol Special.

And, of course, I washed it down with a Dr. Brown. (It shouldn’t be a total loss.)

It’s not like we didn’t eat well the entire weekend. We did.

Lunch Saturday was at Sol, a new Mexican place in Franklin. I had seared tuna nachos that were smack-yer-momma good. After some time spent wandering around town, making fascinating discoveries - did you know that there’s a company that makes paper out of elephant shit? Who wants to lick those envelopes? - I developed a Chocolate Jones, one that was eminently satisfied at a shop with the semi-unpronounceable name of “Xoconochco.”


Exotic chocolates at Xoconochco.

Saturday night, we all sat down to a fine dinner at the Boxwood Bistro in Franklin. We had dined there last time we were in Franklin, and this evening was just as good if not better. My filet was ridiculously tender, with a flavorsome pan-seared crust.

Breakfast Sunday was a homemade Tennessee-style affair at Magnolia House, our bed-and-breakfast, a cozy little place just a few hundred feet from the Mistress’s place. An egg, cheese, and jalapeño dish was set off nicely with biscuits and a hashbrown potato casserole. How we summoned the strength to waddle away from the table is beyond me.


Magnolia House.

And that brings us back to Noshville.

This week: Starvation. It’s the only way to knock off the ass-cheek’s worth of weight I gained.

THE PATRIOT

We’ve all seen those e-mails...the ones that trot out every tired old ultrapatriotic cliché (many of which we all agree with to some degree) in a crude attempt to whip up a certain Fervent Chauvinism.

I don’t pay attention to this sort of stuff...internet e-mails are the bane of our existence, in my not-so-humble opinion...but last week Houston Steve got one from a mutual friend and, being relatively articulate, decided to do a little fisking.

As you read the e-mail below (with Houston Steve’s interpolated responsum highlighted in italics), keep in mind that Steve leans toward the blue side of the aisle. His comments, however, make a whole lot of sense regardless of what your political leanings may be.

********************

YES, I’M A BAD AMERICAN

I Am the Liberal-Progressives’ Worst Nightmare. I am an American.

Why would that make you my nightmare?

I am a Master Mason and believe in God.

Good for you. We need hard working people in this country who have ethical precepts to live by. And no one can outsource what you do to Michigan, let alone to another country.

I ride Harley Davidson Motorcycles and believe in American products.

Buy American is obviously quite the thing to do. Remember when Wal-Mart used to pride itself on saying its products were “Made In The USA”? Guess that one went by the wayside, huh?

I believe the money I make belongs to me and my family, not some Liberal governmental functionary be it Democratic or Republican!

While I tend to agree with you, you are a citizen of this country, and there are certain functions of the government that have to be paid for. Or would you rather subscribe to a fire service and police department, and if you fail to pay your bill on time they just won’t come?

I’m in touch with my feelings and I like it that way!

Good for you.

I think owning a gun doesn’t make you a killer, it makes you a smart American.

I can’t think of a single reason to take away your guns. But I do think it’s a good idea to use them in a careful, thoughtful manner. I was so sad to hear about the 8-year-old who blew his own head off at a gun show this past weekend when his father (a physician, no less) allowed him to shoot an Uzi in full automatic. Apparently the little kid was not strong enough to control a 9mm weapon in full automatic. Who would have thought that could happen?

I think being a minority does not make you noble or victimized, and does not entitle you to anything. Get over it!

True that. But at the same time, if I have to get over it, perhaps you might get over it, too. Do you get nervous when a black man is standing on a street corner when you are stopped at a light? Do you lock your doors, when you would never do the same thing if it were a white guy? We all have our fears, and we all have to do better about living with them.

I believe that if you are selling me a Big Mac, do it in English.

Amen to that! By the way, have you ever not been able to buy a Big Mac because the counter person couldn’t talk to you?

I believe everyone has a right to pray to his or her God when and where they want to.

So you are O.K. if the Muslim laying bricks next to you stops work 5 times a day to pray?

My heroes are John Wayne, Babe Ruth, Roy Rogers, and Willie G Davidson that makes the Awesome Harley Davidson Motorcycles.

I’m glad to know you have heroes, some of whom were good Christians and others who were womanizing, wife cheating drunks. Diversity is a great thing.

I don’t hate the rich. I don’t pity the poor.

So the gospels don’t teach you a thing about reaching out and supporting the poor?

I know wrestling is fake and I don’t waste my time watching or arguing about it.

It’s fake? Say it ain’t so!!

I’ve never owned a slave, or was a slave, I haven’t burned any witches or been persecuted by the Turks and neither have you! So, shut up already.

O.K., but will you quit griping about taking away the Confederate flag? You never were a citizen of the CSA.

I believe if you don’t like the way things are here, go back to where you came from and change your own country! This is AMERICA...We like it the way it is!

Actually, America is an experiment that’s constantly changing. If you don’t like change, why don’t you go to Saudi Arabia? They’re still living in the Middle Ages.

If you were born here and don’t like it you are free to move to any Socialist country that will have you.

I want to know which church is it exactly where the Reverend Jesse Jackson preaches, where he gets his money, and why he is always part of the problem and not the solution.

And that’s why, if Obama is elected President, you probably won’t hear about Jesse very much any more. The politics of victimhood and militancy will have been finally put in their rightful place - the garbage heap.

Can I get an AMEN on that one?

Amen.

I also think the cops have the right to pull you over if you’re breaking the law, regardless of what color you are.

No argument here. What if there’s a broken tail light and the same cop wouldn’t pull over a white guy, though? Does that bother you at all?

And, no, I don’t mind having my face shown on my driver’s license.

Couldn’t agree more.

I think it’s good...And I’m proud that ‘God’ is written on my money.

Does it bother you to know that I don’t care one way or the other if His name is on my money? [President Theodore Roosevelt, for one, felt that it was disrespectful to put God’s name on money, so I guess there’s a diversity of opinion on that one. – Elisson]

I think if you are too stupid to know how a ballot works, I don’t want you deciding who should be running the most powerful nation in the world for the next four years.

I believe the president of the United States should put his hand over his heart and say the pledge of alegance (sic) and should have no reservations about wearing American flag pins on his lapel.

Well, I think if you can’t identify where all 50 states are on a map, or if you can’t tell me where Iraq and Iran and Pakistan are, you shouldn’t be voting, but guess what? Our Constitution doesn’t set that kind of a test, so we’re both out of luck. And while I don’t much care about flag lapel pins, you’re certainly entitled to your opinion. By the way, I served in the US Navy and my son was in the Peace Corps representing what was best about America in two ex-Soviet countries - what branch of service were you in, or in the alternative, what have you given back to this country you love so much?

I dislike those people standing in the intersections trying to sell me stuff or trying to guilt me into making ‘donations’ to their cause. Get a Job and do your part!

I believe that it doesn’t take a village to raise a child, it takes two parents.

I believe ‘illegal’ is illegal no matter what the lawyers think.

I believe the American flag should be the only one allowed in AMERICA!

So let me get this straight - the firemen who collect donations for the Muscular Dystrophy Association around Labor Day should give it up. And the Marines should quit with the Toys for Tots drives, right? And when you were a kid, your neighbors never kept you on the straight and narrow when your parents weren’t looking, right? And if you ever get picked up by the cops for something you didn’t do, you wouldn’t get a lawyer to protect your interests, right? Because the cops are never wrong. And if you think the American flag is the only one that counts, what the hell is the next picture [one of several in the original e-mail] supposed to be?



If this makes me a BAD American, then yes, I’m a BAD American.

If you are a BAD American too, please forward this to everyone you know.

We want our country back!

No, you’re not a Bad American. You’re just an American. Just like every other American who loves this country, but doesn’t see things exactly the way you do. If you’d quit bellyaching yourself for five minutes and listen to what is really being said, you’d find out that the people you fear the most agree with you on more issues than they disagree.

WE NEED GOD BACK IN OUR COUNTRY!

WE LIVE IN THE LAND OF THE FREE, ONLY BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE!

Sleep well my friend; my nephew, who is an Apache gunship pilot, is currently on active duty in the US Army. He won’t be voting for your candidate, but he will look out for you. It’s his job, his responsibility, and his honor. Just as it was his father’s honor to do so in Viet Nam, and it was my honor to do so in a peacetime Navy.

********************

Now, next time you get one of those e-mails, you just might be able to bring a few new perspectives to what are intended to be rhetorical questions.

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN - HALLOWE’EN EDITION

The Mistress of Sarcasm Deviltry, Hallowe’en 1987.

Yes! It is Friday once again. Not just any Friday, either: It is Hallowe’en, or as we Red Sea Pedestrians refer to it, Yom shel Noyische Garrischkeit.

The Missus is all decked out in full-bore Harlequin Mode, the better to entertain her students.



This evening, in a departure from our usual custom of handing out sweet-meats to the neighborhood youth, we’ll head off to the Ferst Center for a radio show production of War of the Worlds. I’ve always had an abiding affection for Orson Welles’s Mercury Theatre production of the story, possibly because the action was set in Grover’s Mill, New Jersey...just up the road from my Alma Mater. But the best part is avoiding having to answer the door eighty-five thousand times in order to fill the extortion-sacks of the local Urchin-Hordes. I mean, the little ones are cute enough (if clueless), but once they get old enough to shave, they probably ought to be finding something else to do. Like drinking and throwing up in the neighbor’s bushes.

Tomorrow, we’re off to Franklin, Tennessee along with our friends Gary and JoAnn, there to spend the weekend with the Mistress of Sarcasm and Gilad. It’s our annual Fall Getaway: last year Asheville, this year Nashville.

With all that exposition behind us, it’s time to take a look and see what random musical goodies are being horked out by the iPod d’Elisson. Lookee:

1. Straight Up And Down - Chick Corea
   
   From the mid-1960’s vintage “Inner Space” album - my first exposure to the Chickster.
   
   
2. Journey to the Center of the Earth - Prelude - Bernard Herrmann
   
   
3. Kolmannen lin jan Mona Lisa - Tuomari Nurmio & Alamaailman Vasarat
   
   From the “Kinaporin kalifaati” album, which for all I know means “Picking Boogers” - anyone know any Finnish?
   
   
4. Gone - Ben Folds
   
   
5. For Lydia - Michael Leviton
   
   
6. Rule Brittania - The Royal Marines
   
   I used this as part of the musical backdrop for our Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin dinner last year.
   
   
7. Tiger Rag - Django Reinhardt
   
   
8. Carey - Joni Mitchell
   
   
9. The Council of Elrond - Howard Shore, The Fellowship of the Ring
   
   
10. In Limbo - Radiohead
    
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

SPECTRUM

This morning, as the Missus and I were performing our respective Morning Ablutions, I released a small fart...as I am, alas, wont to do from time to time.

“Was it a stinky one?” asked She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Compared to what? But I understood her point. All farts are stinky, yet some are stinkier than others. There is a Spectrum of Fart-Stench Intensity, ranging from what SWMBO refers to as Sugar Farts on one end...and Zombie Crawled Up Your Ass and Died A Second Time Farts on the other. Everything from “mostly harmless” to “strips paint at fifty paces.”

She must have been reading my mind, because she picked up on the spectrum concept at the exact same time I did. (That’s one of the benefits of having been married over 31 years.)

“It’s like autism,” quoth the Missus, who knows about these things. “There’s a spectrum of intensity...”

“Right!” I responded. “So there are some farts that are like the kid who sits in the corner and rocks back and forth all day...

“...in which case I’d say that this one is more like the kid who lacks social skills and talks about vacuum cleaners a whole lot. An Asperger’s Fart.”

FUZZY FRIDAY

Ghosts and goblins roam the streets
Collecting Dog- and Kitty-Treats.
Are they cuddly? Or are they scary?
I cannot say. For sure, they’re hairy.

Friday Ark #215 - the Trick or Treat edition - is afloat over at the Modulator.

Sunday evening, Carnival of the Cats #242 returns to Chey’s Place. Be sure to stop by and visit while you’re working your way through the humongous pile of goodies that you (or your kids) will have collected tonight.

Update: CotC #242 is up.

DEATH - AND REGULARITY - BY CHOCOLATE

My friend Donnie Joe loathes what he calls “Dead Fruit” - raisins, prunes, and any other sort of desiccated fruity substances.

Raisinets - those chocolate-covered raisins beloved of moviegoers - do not get by him. That chocolate coating doesn’t fool Donnie Joe. Underneath it is the dreaded Dead Fruit.

I can only imagine how appalled he would be had he come upon Sunsweet’s latest attempt to sexify the Ambrosia of the Superannuated.

I speak, of course, of the lowly Prune.

Even people who happily consume raisins and dried currants by the barrelful will treat the Prune with utter disdain. Prunes are Old Man Food. Prunes keep you “regular.” They’re wrinkly, like little portable nutsacks.

Prunes are a joke.

When I speak of the Pomegranate Pile Driver, people wrinkle (ahh, there’s that word again!) their noses in contempt. Never mind that it tastes good. It’s made with prune juice, so it must be loathesome.

Sunsweet knows this...which is why they have gone the Rebranding Route. They have taken to calling prunes “Dried Plums” - as if that somehow will fool us.

“What’s that you’re eating? Is that a prune? Yecch!”

“What prune? This is a dried plum! See - it says so right here!”

“Ohhh...OK. Say, wanna get yer ashes hauled, you big, sexy dried plum-eating lug?”

But that’s not all. Checkit:

Chocolate Covered Prune Dried Plum Chunks!

Donnie Joe would be horrified. Say, we’re eating dinner with him and Laura Belle this evening...perhaps I oughta bring a bagful!

Update: As much as I love the ol’ Wrinkle-Fruit, this crap’ll never replace Raisinets. But still...Chocolate! Prunes!

LAP-KITTY

Fred cuddles up with the Missus.

Eric’s cat Fred has a remarkably sanguine, easygoing temperament. Here, he cuddles up to the Missus and manages to look relaxed despite the presence of some twenty-five-odd drunken bloggers pleasantly buzzed Online Journalists in the immediate vicinity.

Of course, he’s seen it all before. Fred is a veteran Blogmeet-Kitty.

The Missus thoroughly enjoyed Fred’s attentions, for Hakuna, as sweet as she is, is by no means a Lap-Kitty. She will sometimes deign to cuddle up next to one of us, but never will she climb aboard as her late sister Matata was wont to do. We miss that.


Some serious Lap Time. (Check out that Hallowe’en thumbnail!)

OCTOBER GUILD EVENT

Tonight, after a weekend of debauchery at the Straight White Compound, my liver will be subjected to a renewed assault at the October Sommelier Guild event.

It will be at Le Giverny Bistro, over at the Emory Inn. I’ve never dined there before, so I’m looking forward to adding yet another restaurant to my “Been There, Done That” list. The wines were all gold medal winners in last month’s Vino Challenge, which means (in theory, anyway) that they should all be Tasty Good. Over seven hundred wines competed for a relative handful of top slots at the Vino Challenge...which, coincidentally, was held at Le Giverny.

Denny will be there – so he tells me – and I expect Houston Steve will be joining us as well. Here’s what we’ll have to suffer though:

Speaker’s wine
Dante Robino Extra Brut NV

First Flight
Henri Bourgeois Sancerre “Etienne Henri” 2003***
Vins Auvigue Pouilly Fuissé “Les Craye” 2005***
Jarvis Chardonnay Reserve 2006 2004

Sautéed rainbow trout Grenobloise

Second Flight
Maryhill Sangiovese Rosé 2007***
Viu Manent Malbec “Secreto” 2007
Consul Chileno Carmenere Reserve 2005

Suprême de poulet aux capres

Third Flight
Maryhill Zinfandel 2005
Maryhill Cabernet Sauvignon 2005***
Jarvis Cabernet Franc 2003

Bistro steak with three-cheese sauce

Dessert
Quady Black Muscat “Elysium” 2007 2006***
Campagnola Recioto della Valpolicella 2005*** (Best of Show)

Choice of desserts

Lagniappe
Valduero Reserva Premium 2001***

Gee...maybe they’ll have candy corn by way of observing Hallowe’en. Gaah.

Update: My wine preferences indicated by asterisks. And the food was excellent - worth the trip to Le Giverny for a personal outing with the Missus and friends.

SELF-ESTEEM

A teacher acquaintance of mine recently had a run-in with a parent whose child had failed to turn in an assignment.

When the teacher contacted the parent to express disappointment that the assignment had not been completed - despite detailed advance written communication and instructions - that parent’s response was to get upset. How dare Mrs. Teachy-Pants humiliate little Johnny by telephoning his mother...right in front of him? Why, think of the damage to his precious self-esteem! Intolerable!

I listened to the tale with a sort of bemused wonderment. Ah, self-esteem. Parents these days seem to think children have a right to feel good about themselves.

Bull. Shit.

That warm fuzzy feeling of elevated self-worth is a privilege, not a right. Like respect, it is something that must be earned every day.

Sometimes a little humiliation can be a good thing, especially when it’s unpleasant enough to keep someone from repeatedly doing Stupid Shit. And, applied in occasional doses as needed to the young, humiliation can help a person learn proper behavior in a society of Human Beings. It tends to keep that big, puffy ol’ Wad of Self-Esteem tamped down where it won’t get out of control.

It worked with me.

Rewind the Videocassete o’ Life to sometime in the fall of 1958, when I was a newly-minted first grader. Every day, our teacher would give us a homework assignment, which we would then write down in our little composition book. We were then to take the book home, do the homework, and bring the book back to school.

This wasn’t integral calculus, mind you. It was work appropriate to six- or seven-year-old children. Adding numbers together. Spelling. Basic stuff...and nothing that took hours.

Well, it didn’t take long for Mr. Smart-Brains (Yours Truly) to figure out that the teacher didn’t actually look at that composition book to see whether we had done our assignments. She took it (I supposed at the time) on faith that we would do as we were told. And I, being completely and totally without Personal Honor at the time, reasoned that if the teacher did not check the books, there was no point in my pissing away precious Play-Time by actually doing the assignments. And so for about a month, I coasted.

Life was sweet.

And then one day, my mother collared me where I had been playing with the neighbor kids. “Show me your composition book!” she thundered.

Well, it didn’t take me long to figure out that I had, in fact, not managed to commit the Perfect Crime after all. For the teacher, relaxed and laissez-faire though she may have seemed, was no dummy. She could see that when the other kids wrote in their books, they were three-quarters through to the end...whereas I, Mr. Smart-Brains, was only a few pages in. The phone call to my mother was not long in coming after that.

Was I punished? I honestly do not recollect.

Was I humiliated? Absolutely...and I remember that feeling to this very day, a half-century later.

Self-esteem? Well, I didn’t know what that was, but if it was the feeling that I was a Good Person who had Done the Right Things, it was mighty thin on the ground.

But it was the last time I tried to pull a stunt like that in school.

Self esteem? We all want it...and as someone who spends a lot of time in search of Bloggy Self-Aggrandizement (don’t we all, Esteemed Ones?), I know how desirable it is. But, like many desirable things in life - thick steaks, expensive wines and spirits, the company of beautiful women, palatial dwellings, and the like - people are not queued up to hand it over to you. Ya gotta earn it...every single day.

COOL MILLION

Sometime in the next thirty seconds or so, Velociman will reach his millionth hit on Sitemeter.

Got there a bit sooner than expected, too. After averaging 355 hits a day for the past month, he got a month’s worth of visits in a single day, owing to one of his more notorious pieces of wit and wisdom having been picked up by Protein Wisdom...thence onward to James Wolcott at Vanity Fair...thence onward to Andrew Sullivan...and the Drudge Retort. I only discovered this when I figured out that the incessant migraine-inducing whirring I had been hearing all day was the sound of V-Man’s sitemeter drilling its way to the center of the Earth.

He’ll have enough venom in his comments section to supply a century’s worth of Claxton Rattlesnake Roundups, for sure. But we know our Vee-Man, do we not? He thrives on this sort of stuff. Eats it up like a cat nibbles on a turd-encrusted hairbrush.

I wonder if he has any prizes lined up for the lucky millionth visitor? You know, typical V-man swag: guns, monkeys, alcohol...or perhaps a gasoline-powered generator and a four years’ supply of powdered eggs ’n’ biscuits?

FINE ART - AND AFFORDABLE, TOO

As a Proud Daddy, every so often I’ll put up a few pictures of the Mistress of Sarcasm’s fine artwork. And now I am pleased to announce - because, after all, what is the point of operating this Bloggy Pulpit if one cannot whore oneself out for the sake of one’s offspring? - that, if you are so inclined, you can now purchase the Mistress’s hand-crafted items for your very own.

Yes: the Mistress has her very own Online Craft- and Jewelry-Shoppe. Here’s the link, for your bookmarking convenience:

Jocelyn Gayle Designs

Keep in mind that, in these times of economic uncertainty and jobs moving offshore, that every purchase you make at Jocelyn Gayle Designs supports American entrepreneurship...and helps keep the wolf away from my little girl’s door. Plus, she crafts the kind of items that will have your friends sit up and take notice. Like her Birds pendant or Vertigo brooch, evoking the spirit of the late Alfred Hitchcock...or the “Bite Me” tooth X-ray pendant. Wear it to your next oral prophylaxis appointment and watch your dental professional’s astonished reaction!

Everything the Mistress sells is 100% hand crafted by her, right here in the good old USA. No Indonesian sweatshops! Not yet, anyway.

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN - TENNESSEE JED EDITION

The week has seemingly flown by, and once again, it is Friday.

The seemingly endless parade of Jewish holidays (some of them fairly obscure, even to Jews) is over, with a two-month Holiday Drought having begun. And that's OK, since, if we need any more excuses for face-stuffing, we can enjoy secular festivities like Thanksgiving in the meantime.

This weekend, we’ll be heading off to the great Volunteer State of Tennessee, in order to help celebrate the birthday of the one, the only Eric, AKA Tennessee Jed. Quite a few of the Blown-Eyed Blodgers will be there, as well as other fine Online Web-Journalists from around the country. Eric’s birthdays draw bloggers like shit draws flies ambulances draw lawyers bright lights draw moths, it seems.

But enough tongue-flapping (keyboard-smacking?) for now. What Miscellaneous Music is being coughed up by the Little White Choon Box today? Let’s find out:

1. I Was Made To Love Her - The Beach Boys
   
   A cover of the 1967 Little Stevie Wonder hit. For some strange reason, the background line (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her) sounds like “Hey, hey...you son of a bitch” unless you listen very closely. Strange...
   
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   I was born in Little Rock
   Had a childhood sweetheart
   We were always hand in ha-a-a-a-and
   
   I wore high-top shoes and shirt-tails
   Suzy was in pigtails
   I knew I loved her even then
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   You know my papa disapproved
   My mama hoo-hoo-hooed
   But I told them time and time again
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   Don’t you know I was made to love her
   Built my world all around her
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   She’s been my inspiration
   Showed appreciation
   For the love I gave her through the years
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   Like a sweet magnolia tree
   My love blossomed tenderly
   My life grows sweeter through the years
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   I know that my baby loves me
   My baby needs me
   That’s why we made it through the years
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   I was made to love her
   Worship and adore her
   Hey hey hey
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   My little baby loves me
   My baby needs me
   And I know I ain’t goin’ nowhere
   
   I was knee-high to a chicken
   When the love bug bit me
   And I’ve had the fever through the years
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   If the mountain tumbles
   If this whole world crumbles
   I know I’ll still be standing there
   (Hey, hey...yes, I was made to love her)
   
   ’Cause I was made to love her
   I was made to live for her
   Hey hey hey
   
   
2. Song Of The Nile - Dead Can Dance
   
   
3. Idioteque - Radiohead
   
   
4. Dam Mast Qalandar (Massive Attack Remix) - Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
   
   
5. Convalescing In Spain - The Judybats
   
   
6. Angie - The Rolling Stones
   
   
7. More Than One Way Home - Keb’ Mo’
   
   
8. Bade Zile - Boukman Eksperyans
   
   
9. Two-Part Invention in F Major - Wendy Carlos
   
   
10. 3rd Planet - Modest Mouse
    
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

FUZZY FRIDAY

The Friday Ark sets sail at dawn.
And all of the animals want to get on.
There, nestled in a leafy bower,
Cockatiels meet for cockatiel hour.
And while the kopi luwak perks,
We see a spaniel in the works.

Friday Ark #214 is afloat over at the Modulator.

Be sure, as well, to mark your calendar for Sunday evening, when Carnival of the Cats will be hosted at Cats in Maryland. Oooh, a new Carnival host...or at least one with which I am unfamiliar!

Update: CotC #241 is up.

SAD

Breathes there a man
Quite so downhearted
As one who discovers
That he has just sharted?

BREAD

Swedish whole-grain rye bread... buttered, of course.

Ask She Who Must Be Obeyed what her favorite food is, and she may surprise you.

Ice cream? Chocolate? Nope.

Potatoes... or bread... that’s another story. Get between the Missus and a hot chunk of freshly-baked bread and you may get a chunk bitten out of you.

And I understand, I really do. Because bread, in all its chewy, crusty goodness, is one of the real pleasures in life.

Like a lot of suburban kids of the 1950’s, I grew up on a diet of vile, squishy Wonder Bread. It’s a wonder I survived. But at least I had access to some good Ethnic Stuff. Jewish rye. Bagels and bialys. Challah, with its golden eggy sweetness. And, from the local German deli, Westphalian pumpernickel - the kind that comes in little loaves with the approximate density of Dwarf-Star Matter. The brownish-black slices (they’re only about 1/8-inch thick) are so moist and heavy, they have to be carefully pried apart with a knife. The Missus calls this stuff “nastybread,” but I love it.

Alas, I am lazy about baking my own bread. It’s a skill I would like to learn, but I have never spent much time investigating the mysteries of flour and yeast. We had a bread machine, but I was too lazy to use it more than once a year or so... and besides, isn’t the point of baking your own bread to get involved in the processes of kneading, proofing, raising, et cetera?

The other day, whilst browsing the food department (yes, there is one) at IKEA, I found the perfect Bready Item. No, it wasn’t the huge discs of Swedish crispbread (although I got some of that, too). It was - prepare to be astonished - Nastybread in a Box.

Yes: Swedish whole-grain rye bread, in the form of yeast, flour, and salt in a convenient gable-topped carton, looking like nothing so much as a half-gallon milk container. And so easy to make. Just open the top, dump in 20 ounces of lukewarm water, shake vigorously, then dump the resulting goop out into a greased loaf pan. Let it rise for 45 minutes, bake for an hour, and - presto! - fresh, hot nastybread! And no need for kneading.


Fresh out of the oven. Nastybread!

I am happy to report that this stuff is pretty damn good. It does not taste like the other items IKEA sells, i.e., Scandinavian furniture. It is dense... but not quite as dense as Westphalian pumpernickel, a distinction for which your intestines can be grateful. And if you spread it with butter and Swedish lingonberry preserves, in a day or so you can create your own Lingon Logs. Oh, boy!