This week, Free Money Finance hosts the 128th Bonfire of the Vanities, the Bloggy-Sphere’s regular roundup of All That Is Crappy.
You wanna know what’s really crappy? (Besides these Bonfire posts, I mean.) The fact that money is, our Esteemed Host’s nom de blog notwithstanding, most assuredly not free.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
RIDE ’EM, COWGIRL
Here’s something different: a movie of Elder Daughter and the Mistress of Sarcasm in Cowtown - Foat Wuth - a few years ago. The girls took turns riding one of those mechanical bull contraptions, much to the amusement of the spectators.
Elder Daughter put her game face on, but she was only able to hang on for a few seconds - like 99% of the people who try riding that thing. [Astute observers will note that my ass was nowhere near getting on it. Stupid, I’m not.]
Next up was the Mistress of Sarcasm...and after a while, that amusement turned to awe as people saw that she could stay on the damn thing.
What they didn’t know was that the Mistress is an experienced Horsie Rider.
After normal measures failed to dislodge her, the operator, wanting to free up his machine for the next victim, resorted to Dirty Tactics: the Death Spiral, which finally knocked the Sarcastic One out of the saddle.
The voice in the background is none other than frequent commenter Morris William.
[Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Rory for the YouTube connection.]
Elder Daughter put her game face on, but she was only able to hang on for a few seconds - like 99% of the people who try riding that thing. [Astute observers will note that my ass was nowhere near getting on it. Stupid, I’m not.]
Next up was the Mistress of Sarcasm...and after a while, that amusement turned to awe as people saw that she could stay on the damn thing.
What they didn’t know was that the Mistress is an experienced Horsie Rider.
After normal measures failed to dislodge her, the operator, wanting to free up his machine for the next victim, resorted to Dirty Tactics: the Death Spiral, which finally knocked the Sarcastic One out of the saddle.
The voice in the background is none other than frequent commenter Morris William.
[Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Rory for the YouTube connection.]
Monday, December 12, 2005
JUVENILIA
Being a kid in the 1950’s wasn’t all that different than being a kid in any other decade. Sure, we may not have had computer games, color TV’s, Nintendo, Playstation, cell phones, beepers, buzzers, and Downloadable Poon-Tang, but we had something that all kids possess, no matter what generation they are a part of.
I’m referring, of course, to Dopey Kiddie Songs.
Every kid has, in his or her head, a library of Stupid and/or Obscene Ditties that can be trotted out at Suitable Occasions. Overnight camping trips, pajama parties, long bus trips, you name it – out of the earshot of adults, out come the Silly Songs:
I’m Popeye the Sailor Man;
I live in a frying pan.
When they turn on the gas,
It burns up my ass.
I’m Popeye the Sailor Man.
There’s another version of this one in which Popeye inhabits a Garbage Can instead of a Frying Pan. Hilarity ensues.
World War II was history when I was a kid, but not ancient history. A perennial favorite:
Whistle while you work
Hitler is a jerk
Mussolini pulled his peenie
Now it doesn’t work
Of course, not everyone knew exactly who the hell Hitler and Mussolini were...but clearly, they were Objects of Derision.
How ’bout:
Milk!
Milk!
Lemonade!
Around the corner,
Fudge is made!
This would be accompanied by appropriate gestures indicating certain Body Parts.
There’s the Insulting Song, used to deliver a hearty bitch-slap to someone who was acting juvenile (well, more juvenile than the rest of us, anyway):
Baby, baby
Stick your head in gravy
Wash it out with bubble gum
And then you’re in the Navy.
That one is still popular with Leathernecks everywhere, I’m given to understand.
Do your balls hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie ’em in a knot?
Can you tie ’em in a bow?
Can you throw ’em over your shoulder
Like a Continental soldier?
Do your balls hang low?
[You betcha!]
So deeply are these stupid little tunes graven on my Reptilian Hindbrain that they pop into consciousness at the slightest provocation, almost always at the most inappropriate moments. But that’s so Me: Mr. Inappropriate. Why should the crap that rattles around in my head be any less so?
Here’s an example. There’s a certain Flavored Malt Beverage that She Who Must Be Obeyed I will enjoy from time to time...but it creates within me an Irresistible Compulsion to revisit – in strangely altered form – the Days of my Early Youth. As much as SWMBO loathes it, I cannot speak the name of the beverage without tacking on that fatal six-word addendum, my eternal Hat Tip to Juvenilia:
Mike’s Hard Lemonade!
Around the corner, fudge is made!
What Stupid Kid Shit do you remember?
I’m referring, of course, to Dopey Kiddie Songs.
Every kid has, in his or her head, a library of Stupid and/or Obscene Ditties that can be trotted out at Suitable Occasions. Overnight camping trips, pajama parties, long bus trips, you name it – out of the earshot of adults, out come the Silly Songs:
I’m Popeye the Sailor Man;
I live in a frying pan.
When they turn on the gas,
It burns up my ass.
I’m Popeye the Sailor Man.
There’s another version of this one in which Popeye inhabits a Garbage Can instead of a Frying Pan. Hilarity ensues.
World War II was history when I was a kid, but not ancient history. A perennial favorite:
Whistle while you work
Hitler is a jerk
Mussolini pulled his peenie
Now it doesn’t work
Of course, not everyone knew exactly who the hell Hitler and Mussolini were...but clearly, they were Objects of Derision.
How ’bout:
Milk!
Milk!
Lemonade!
Around the corner,
Fudge is made!
This would be accompanied by appropriate gestures indicating certain Body Parts.
There’s the Insulting Song, used to deliver a hearty bitch-slap to someone who was acting juvenile (well, more juvenile than the rest of us, anyway):
Baby, baby
Stick your head in gravy
Wash it out with bubble gum
And then you’re in the Navy.
That one is still popular with Leathernecks everywhere, I’m given to understand.
Do your balls hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie ’em in a knot?
Can you tie ’em in a bow?
Can you throw ’em over your shoulder
Like a Continental soldier?
Do your balls hang low?
[You betcha!]
So deeply are these stupid little tunes graven on my Reptilian Hindbrain that they pop into consciousness at the slightest provocation, almost always at the most inappropriate moments. But that’s so Me: Mr. Inappropriate. Why should the crap that rattles around in my head be any less so?
Here’s an example. There’s a certain Flavored Malt Beverage that She Who Must Be Obeyed I will enjoy from time to time...but it creates within me an Irresistible Compulsion to revisit – in strangely altered form – the Days of my Early Youth. As much as SWMBO loathes it, I cannot speak the name of the beverage without tacking on that fatal six-word addendum, my eternal Hat Tip to Juvenilia:
Mike’s Hard Lemonade!
Around the corner, fudge is made!
What Stupid Kid Shit do you remember?
Sunday, December 11, 2005
MORE HYPOCRISY
This time (yet again!) from PETA, those wonderful folks who want you to believe that eating chicken is comparable to the Holocaust in terms of its General Level of Evil...and that Oppression of Moo-Cows is equivalent to the treatment of African-Americans in this country prior to the Civil Rights movement.
From the PETA Kills Animals website (which may or may not be an unbiased source of data):
Hey, look: I am - to use the PETA epithet - a speciesist. I think humans are better than animals. I think we have the right to exploit animals for food and other products, by virtue of our hard-earned place at the top of the food chain. We don’t need to be cruel about it, but I see nothing wrong with a nice Steamship Roast of Beef. Just as a polar bear or lion sees nothing wrong with a nice, red Haunch o’ Human, given the opportunity. Ask “Mr. Grizzly.”
But this - this is just plain wrong.
This story has been below the radar for the past few years, but expect a major Mainstream News Media Outlet to hit it hard - very soon.
Yet another reason to Eat an Animal for PETA.
From the PETA Kills Animals website (which may or may not be an unbiased source of data):
From July 1998 through the end of 2004, PETA killed over 12,400 dogs, cats, and other “companion animals” at its Norfolk, Virginia headquarters.Seems that PETA talks a big game about saving all the kitties and puppies, but when it comes to the reality (and cost) of caring for animals instead of just killing them, money talks - and no kitty walks.
PETA raked in nearly $29 million last year in income, much of it raised from pet owners who think their donations actually help animals. Instead, the group spends huge sums on programs equating people who eat chicken with Nazis, scaring young children away from drinking milk, recruiting children into the radical animal-rights lifestyle, and intimidating businessmen and their families in their own neighborhoods. PETA has also spent tens of thousands of dollars defending arsonists and other violent extremists.At PETA, it’s apparently all about ideology and money, not about the animals.
Hey, look: I am - to use the PETA epithet - a speciesist. I think humans are better than animals. I think we have the right to exploit animals for food and other products, by virtue of our hard-earned place at the top of the food chain. We don’t need to be cruel about it, but I see nothing wrong with a nice Steamship Roast of Beef. Just as a polar bear or lion sees nothing wrong with a nice, red Haunch o’ Human, given the opportunity. Ask “Mr. Grizzly.”
But this - this is just plain wrong.
This story has been below the radar for the past few years, but expect a major Mainstream News Media Outlet to hit it hard - very soon.
Yet another reason to Eat an Animal for PETA.
WHY I LOVE HER
Yesterday, She Who Must Be Obeyed gets it in her head to go to Garden Ridge Pottery, the kind of place that is right up there with the Build-a-Bear Workshop on the List of Places I Would Rather Drive Tenpenny Nails Into My Eyeballs Than Go To.
Miraculously, I dodged that bullet. We hooked up with our friends Laura Belle and Don, grabbed a quick bite, and the wimmin went off to Garden Ridge whilst Don and I rented a DVD.
[Fantastic Four, in case you cared. There’s no better time to watch a Comic Book Movie than when the wimmin are not around to be bored and/or annoyed.]
But I gotta hand it to the Missus. While Don and I were loafing around and checking out Jessica Alba’s kalamatunis, she scored a couple of king-size pillows for a humungous bed we had just stuffed into the Mistress’s room - not that the Mistress is ever around to use it much - and ended up paying $1.19 per pillow. Bargains “R” Us here at Chez Elisson.
I offhandedly made a snide comment about the Cheap-O Pillows...something to the effect of, “I guess I don’t wanna know what these pillows are stuffed with, do I?”
Whereupon SWMBO shot back, “Has anybody seen Jimmy Hoffa lately?”
Just Damn! She’s even more perverse than me. Does anybody wonder why I love her?
Miraculously, I dodged that bullet. We hooked up with our friends Laura Belle and Don, grabbed a quick bite, and the wimmin went off to Garden Ridge whilst Don and I rented a DVD.
[Fantastic Four, in case you cared. There’s no better time to watch a Comic Book Movie than when the wimmin are not around to be bored and/or annoyed.]
But I gotta hand it to the Missus. While Don and I were loafing around and checking out Jessica Alba’s kalamatunis, she scored a couple of king-size pillows for a humungous bed we had just stuffed into the Mistress’s room - not that the Mistress is ever around to use it much - and ended up paying $1.19 per pillow. Bargains “R” Us here at Chez Elisson.
I offhandedly made a snide comment about the Cheap-O Pillows...something to the effect of, “I guess I don’t wanna know what these pillows are stuffed with, do I?”
Whereupon SWMBO shot back, “Has anybody seen Jimmy Hoffa lately?”
Just Damn! She’s even more perverse than me. Does anybody wonder why I love her?
FUN, FOOD, ’N’ FELINES
Two Carnivals are up for your Bloggity Pleasure:
Carnival of the Recipes, Edition #69 (guaranteed good eatin’!) is at dubious wonder. Trouble in Shangri-La has assembled a fine collection of dishes, and I’m not complaining about her putting up the same recipe I had contributed a week ago - mainly, because I was too slammed to put up any new recipe posts this week.
Sunday, of course, brings the Carnival of the Cats, which celebrates its 90th iteration at Quite Early One Morning. Gotta love a blog that uses a Don Martin cartoon on its header.
And, lest I forget, the latest issue of Virtual Occoquan, Mark Hoback’s fine Online Magazine, is up. This one is Issue #78, and it features seventeen pieces hand-selected by Mark from an assortment of talented (and semi-talented) writers. Go thou and read.
Carnival of the Recipes, Edition #69 (guaranteed good eatin’!) is at dubious wonder. Trouble in Shangri-La has assembled a fine collection of dishes, and I’m not complaining about her putting up the same recipe I had contributed a week ago - mainly, because I was too slammed to put up any new recipe posts this week.
Sunday, of course, brings the Carnival of the Cats, which celebrates its 90th iteration at Quite Early One Morning. Gotta love a blog that uses a Don Martin cartoon on its header.
And, lest I forget, the latest issue of Virtual Occoquan, Mark Hoback’s fine Online Magazine, is up. This one is Issue #78, and it features seventeen pieces hand-selected by Mark from an assortment of talented (and semi-talented) writers. Go thou and read.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
SEASON’S GREETINGS
Bill O’Reilly – Mr. Falafel his ownself – is off ranting about the supposed War on Christmas, and several retail chains have drawn fire for instructing their employees to favor the more generic “Season’s Greetings” or “Happy Holidays” over “Merry Christmas.” Meanwhile, you have the ridiculous spectacle of Governor Sonny Perdue of Georgia throwing the switch to illuminate the “Holiday Tree.”
Political Correctness, meet Exclusion. Exclusion, Political Correctness.
Since this is my Personal Online Journal, I can use it as a Bully Pulpit to give my Esteemed Readers the benefit of my own worthless opinions on the matter. Worthless, because opinions are worth what you pay for ’em, and these don’t cost you a red cent. And, like opinions in general, they are similar to assholes: everybody has one, and everybody else’s stinks.
First off, let me say that it doesn’t make a difference to me how I am greeted by Strangers in Retail Establishments this time of year. This country has a sizable Christian majority, and if someone assumes I am a Christian and says “Merry Christmas” to me, I will respond, “Merry Christmas to you.”
If someone, on the other hand, says “Season’s Greetings” or “Happy Holidays” to me, I assume they are trying to be inclusive, to cover all the eventualities. This season, after all, includes Christmas (the 500-pound gorilla of holidays) and New Year’s Day, as well as Chanukah and Kwanzaa. Some years, you can even throw Eid al-Fitr into the mix, depending on the vagaries of the Muslim calendar. “Happy Holidays” hits all the bases, without the need for excessive inquisitiveness.
Saying “Happy Holidays” does not “take the Christ out of Christmas,” for those who care about such things. We live in a pluralistic society, folks. Get over it. Nobody is trying to take Christmas away, nobody is “persecuting Christians.” Nobody with an ounce of sense, anyway. But if the occasional reminder that you’re not the only game in town is “persecution,” then welcome to our world.
As for this business of labeling Christmas trees “Holiday Trees,” that is taking Political Correctness way too far.
Christians decorate trees as a Christmas observance. It’s not a religious ritual - it is, in fact, a borrowing from pre-existing pagan culture – but it is a Christmas tradition, not a New Year’s Day tradition – and most emphatically not a Chanukah tradition. It is ridiculous to blur its distinctiveness by calling it something it is not…so knock it off. It is a Christmas tree, people.
The issue gets a little touchier when it comes to what is acceptable in the public schools. I believe religious observance has little if any place in a public school, but I am also a realist. If you’re going to have a Christmas play, or a Christmas choir concert, have one – and call it what it is, not some wishy-washy “Winter Festival.” All I ask is that if you throw in a piece of Chanukah programming in order to satisfy the Inclusion Gods, please make it something with a little soul. Ma-oz Tzur (“Rock of Ages”) would be a hell of a lot more meaningful than a stupid song about dreidels or potato latkes.
Face it. Christmas, to Christians, is one of the Big Two, right up there with Easter in terms of Dates of Religious Significance. Whereas to Jews, Chanukah is a relatively minor holiday. Post-biblical in origin, it commemorates a military victory and the rededication of the Holy Temple. The religious themes are there, but they are not of the transcendent nature of some of our other holidays – or of Christmas, for that matter. Using Chanukah as a stalking horse, trying to compete with Christmas, is absurd - yet American Jews have been doing it for years. Enough, already.
Christians: Enjoy your holiday season. Merry Christmas. Light up that Christmas tree and enjoy the splendor of the day with your families.
And if you want to get pissed off because someone is fighting a War on Christmas, look to yourselves. Look to the retailers, who trot out the Christmas decorations and start playing seasonal music before the Hallowe’en candy has even been sorted through. Look to the people for whom it’s “just business,” not a meaningful religious holiday. Then drive home from the mall and shut the hell up.
Political Correctness, meet Exclusion. Exclusion, Political Correctness.
Since this is my Personal Online Journal, I can use it as a Bully Pulpit to give my Esteemed Readers the benefit of my own worthless opinions on the matter. Worthless, because opinions are worth what you pay for ’em, and these don’t cost you a red cent. And, like opinions in general, they are similar to assholes: everybody has one, and everybody else’s stinks.
First off, let me say that it doesn’t make a difference to me how I am greeted by Strangers in Retail Establishments this time of year. This country has a sizable Christian majority, and if someone assumes I am a Christian and says “Merry Christmas” to me, I will respond, “Merry Christmas to you.”
If someone, on the other hand, says “Season’s Greetings” or “Happy Holidays” to me, I assume they are trying to be inclusive, to cover all the eventualities. This season, after all, includes Christmas (the 500-pound gorilla of holidays) and New Year’s Day, as well as Chanukah and Kwanzaa. Some years, you can even throw Eid al-Fitr into the mix, depending on the vagaries of the Muslim calendar. “Happy Holidays” hits all the bases, without the need for excessive inquisitiveness.
Saying “Happy Holidays” does not “take the Christ out of Christmas,” for those who care about such things. We live in a pluralistic society, folks. Get over it. Nobody is trying to take Christmas away, nobody is “persecuting Christians.” Nobody with an ounce of sense, anyway. But if the occasional reminder that you’re not the only game in town is “persecution,” then welcome to our world.
As for this business of labeling Christmas trees “Holiday Trees,” that is taking Political Correctness way too far.
Christians decorate trees as a Christmas observance. It’s not a religious ritual - it is, in fact, a borrowing from pre-existing pagan culture – but it is a Christmas tradition, not a New Year’s Day tradition – and most emphatically not a Chanukah tradition. It is ridiculous to blur its distinctiveness by calling it something it is not…so knock it off. It is a Christmas tree, people.
The issue gets a little touchier when it comes to what is acceptable in the public schools. I believe religious observance has little if any place in a public school, but I am also a realist. If you’re going to have a Christmas play, or a Christmas choir concert, have one – and call it what it is, not some wishy-washy “Winter Festival.” All I ask is that if you throw in a piece of Chanukah programming in order to satisfy the Inclusion Gods, please make it something with a little soul. Ma-oz Tzur (“Rock of Ages”) would be a hell of a lot more meaningful than a stupid song about dreidels or potato latkes.
Face it. Christmas, to Christians, is one of the Big Two, right up there with Easter in terms of Dates of Religious Significance. Whereas to Jews, Chanukah is a relatively minor holiday. Post-biblical in origin, it commemorates a military victory and the rededication of the Holy Temple. The religious themes are there, but they are not of the transcendent nature of some of our other holidays – or of Christmas, for that matter. Using Chanukah as a stalking horse, trying to compete with Christmas, is absurd - yet American Jews have been doing it for years. Enough, already.
Christians: Enjoy your holiday season. Merry Christmas. Light up that Christmas tree and enjoy the splendor of the day with your families.
And if you want to get pissed off because someone is fighting a War on Christmas, look to yourselves. Look to the retailers, who trot out the Christmas decorations and start playing seasonal music before the Hallowe’en candy has even been sorted through. Look to the people for whom it’s “just business,” not a meaningful religious holiday. Then drive home from the mall and shut the hell up.
Friday, December 09, 2005
TEN RANDOM FACTS
about me that you probably didn’t give a shit about.
- I can wiggle my ears...one at a time or simultaneously.
- I have translated the Mr. Ed theme song into four languages, including Bahasa Indonesia.
- In high school, I won a National Council of Teachers of English award for a short story I wrote...about a guy drowning in a septic tank.
- I have 28 of my original set of 32 permanent teeth, having had my third molars extracted two years ago.
- My first car was a 1965 Chevy Malibu. It was a piece of crap.
- I have visited twenty-one foreign countries on four continents (twenty-six countries if you count drive-throughs and short visits) but have never resided outside the U.S.
- I know what it’s like to piss blood. It is not good.
- I have owned (jointly with She Who Must Be Obeyed) seven different houses in four different states, all at different times.
- I remember Mama.
- I have eaten snake. Tastes like chicken. Chicken that has been crawling around on its belly all its life.
WINTER SUN
It may be as cold as the proverbial Witch’s Tit outside, but the Sunroom at Chez Elisson is plenty warm. Warm enough for Hakuna to relax on the loveseat and leave her usual Deposit of Hair.
FRIDAY RANDOM TEN
Is it really Friday?
My flight from Houston was delayed, so it wasn’t until 2:15 this morning that I finally set foot in Chez Elisson. Gotta love that December weather, am I right?
Fortunately, I had the iPod d’Elisson with me on my trip. Having a vast Library o’ Toonz handy made it a little easier to deal with what turned into almost six hours of Ass-Sittage...not counting the flight itself.
What’s on today’s Random Playlist? Let’s just take a look...
My flight from Houston was delayed, so it wasn’t until 2:15 this morning that I finally set foot in Chez Elisson. Gotta love that December weather, am I right?
Fortunately, I had the iPod d’Elisson with me on my trip. Having a vast Library o’ Toonz handy made it a little easier to deal with what turned into almost six hours of Ass-Sittage...not counting the flight itself.
What’s on today’s Random Playlist? Let’s just take a look...
- Artilleryman and the Fighting Machine - Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds
- Seniors in Love - Bobby Slayton
- Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head - Ben Folds Five
- Tiny Cities Made Of Ashes - Modest Mouse
- Pachalafaka - Soupy Sales
- Only In Dreams - Weezer
- Wild Night - Van Morrison
- Mardi Gras in New Orleans - Professor Longhair
- Don’t Look Away - Brian Auger’s Oblivion Express
- Five Fifteen - Phish
FRIDAY ARK #64
Will you still need me, will you still feed meThe Friday Ark is sixty-four editions old, so go pay the Modulator a visit and let him know that you still need him for your Friday Animal Fix.
When I’m sixty-four?
- The Beatles
As for the feeding business, you’re on your own.
SCENE OF THE CRIME
It was this past Sunday, and a Nefarious Crime had been committed.
The Damning Evidence:
The Prime Suspect:
Don’t be fooled by that innocent appearance. This little kitty has destroyed more Tee-Pee than the Illinois Enema Bandit. It’s her way of saying, “Daddy, feed me!” when, on the weekends, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I have the temerity to try sleeping an extra hour past our normal 5:45 am reveille.
The Punishment:
Mouse arrest!
The Damning Evidence:
The Prime Suspect:
Don’t be fooled by that innocent appearance. This little kitty has destroyed more Tee-Pee than the Illinois Enema Bandit. It’s her way of saying, “Daddy, feed me!” when, on the weekends, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I have the temerity to try sleeping an extra hour past our normal 5:45 am reveille.
The Punishment:
Mouse arrest!
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
CLOUD ATLAS
Having had a few hours to spend during Airplane Trips and Training Downtimes, I was able to finish off a novel I had been reading over the past few weeks, a novel I purchased on the strength of a recommendation by the estimable Bakerina.
And, oh, what a novel it is.
Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell, is one of the most unusually structured, thought-provoking books I have read in a long time. Part historical romance, part mystery, part science fiction, it is all brilliant, a Chinese puzzle of a book, a series of short novels nested into one another like the components of a Matruschka doll.
It was this paragraph in the Bakerina’s post that hooked me:
Thanks, Bake! I owe you one, big-time.
And, oh, what a novel it is.
Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell, is one of the most unusually structured, thought-provoking books I have read in a long time. Part historical romance, part mystery, part science fiction, it is all brilliant, a Chinese puzzle of a book, a series of short novels nested into one another like the components of a Matruschka doll.
It was this paragraph in the Bakerina’s post that hooked me:
I won’t even try to synopsize Cloud Atlas - although if you want one, the Amazon link has a couple of nice ones - but I will share a bit of it, as always keeping fingers crossed on that whole Fair Use issue. Considering that the story arc is not so much an arc as it is a boomerang, it feels odd to say that the novel ends on an optimistic note. The novel is actually comprised of six novellas, starting on a Pacific-crossing ship in 1850, proceeding to Belgium in 1931, California in the mid-1970’s, present-day England, a dystopic, hypercapitalistic Korea several hundred years from now, and a postapocalyptic Hawaii; from there, we travel back through time and space: Korea, England, California, Belgium, back to the Dutch ship in the Pacific that starts it all. Once you see Mitchell’s vision for how we end up, it is illogical, at least within the confines of the story, to imagine that anything could change, could be made better, and yet I was left feeling that change was possible, that the course of history could be altered for the better.Don’t just sit there. Get this book out of the nearest library; if necessary, go buy it. Read it. You will be rocked back on your heels by the sheer audacity of its premise and the beauty of its construction. The power of the story? A bonus.
Thanks, Bake! I owe you one, big-time.
A BAD JOKE FOR ROSCOE
Given that our instructors at my Training Ordeal Course this week are from Penn State, I could not resist regaling them with this Loathsome Joke:
Q: What is the most popular cut of meat at Penn State?
A: The Nittany Loin.
I’ll be here all week. G’night, everybody!
Q: What is the most popular cut of meat at Penn State?
A: The Nittany Loin.
I’ll be here all week. G’night, everybody!
HAPPY DAYS
Yes, Happy Days. Four glorious days in Sweat City.
Following a drive to the Atlanta airport in a blinding hailstorm, followed by a hellacious, bumpy flight to the Land of Schvitz Sunday evening, I spent Monday in the Bowels of the Great Corporate Salt Mine. Now, I am enjoying three days at the SaltmineCo Conference Center, here in the beauteous Woodlands.
Three days of sitting in a conference room, listening to lectures, running supply chain simulations, and trying to keep that thin stream of spittle from getting on my pants when I doze off. Three days of pleasure while my brain turns to cottage cheese.
Envy me not, Esteemed Readers.
Alas, it is one of the benefits of Continued Employment, that my bountiful Employer wishes to enhance my General Usefulness. Thus: training. Like teaching dead dogs new tricks.
I participate. I am attentive. Like a Bottlenosed Dolphin, I leap at the right time, so as to grab the Fishy Treats that are proffered. And I piddle only on the Approved Newspapers.
I can feel my brain getting bigger by the hour.
Following a drive to the Atlanta airport in a blinding hailstorm, followed by a hellacious, bumpy flight to the Land of Schvitz Sunday evening, I spent Monday in the Bowels of the Great Corporate Salt Mine. Now, I am enjoying three days at the SaltmineCo Conference Center, here in the beauteous Woodlands.
Three days of sitting in a conference room, listening to lectures, running supply chain simulations, and trying to keep that thin stream of spittle from getting on my pants when I doze off. Three days of pleasure while my brain turns to cottage cheese.
Envy me not, Esteemed Readers.
Alas, it is one of the benefits of Continued Employment, that my bountiful Employer wishes to enhance my General Usefulness. Thus: training. Like teaching dead dogs new tricks.
I participate. I am attentive. Like a Bottlenosed Dolphin, I leap at the right time, so as to grab the Fishy Treats that are proffered. And I piddle only on the Approved Newspapers.
I can feel my brain getting bigger by the hour.
BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES #127
This week, the Bonfire is hosted by Special Fried Rice.
Based on the type of posts contained in the typical Bonfire, that means we have here a House Special Fried Rice of the Funkiest Sort. You know: beef, shrimp, chicken, vegetables, and the odd Random Turd. Yum!
Based on the type of posts contained in the typical Bonfire, that means we have here a House Special Fried Rice of the Funkiest Sort. You know: beef, shrimp, chicken, vegetables, and the odd Random Turd. Yum!
Sunday, December 04, 2005
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The legendary Dax Montana - one of the infamous Jawja Blown-Eyed Blodgers - is a true Renaissance Man.
Sure, the Daxster likes to play the Redneck - hunting, fishing, wearing camo, eating grits - but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Lots more.
For one thing, he’s getting involved in the publishing business. A risky venture to some, but Dax has the drive and determination to succeed.
That’s not all. He is a connoisseur of the Fine Arts. Musical theatre, film, television - these are all home to the redoubtable Mr. M. And if all that were not enough, he’s an aficionado of Jazz-Rock Fusion, well-versed in the great music of the 1970’s.
Nutty, offbeat sports? Dax is your man. Bizarre sex? The guy wrote the book.
And did I mention model rocketry? Dude’s a damn scientist to boot.
Gourmet cooking? Dax has got more BAM! than that skeevy little Emeril fucker.
Only trouble is, he’s wound up a tad tight thanks to all these Varied Interests trying to find a home in that skull of his. There are days when the sight of Yet Another Turkey Sub is likely to send him right over the edge...
Just Damn!
Sure, the Daxster likes to play the Redneck - hunting, fishing, wearing camo, eating grits - but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Lots more.
For one thing, he’s getting involved in the publishing business. A risky venture to some, but Dax has the drive and determination to succeed.
That’s not all. He is a connoisseur of the Fine Arts. Musical theatre, film, television - these are all home to the redoubtable Mr. M. And if all that were not enough, he’s an aficionado of Jazz-Rock Fusion, well-versed in the great music of the 1970’s.
Nutty, offbeat sports? Dax is your man. Bizarre sex? The guy wrote the book.
And did I mention model rocketry? Dude’s a damn scientist to boot.
Gourmet cooking? Dax has got more BAM! than that skeevy little Emeril fucker.
Only trouble is, he’s wound up a tad tight thanks to all these Varied Interests trying to find a home in that skull of his. There are days when the sight of Yet Another Turkey Sub is likely to send him right over the edge...
Just Damn!
CARNIVALS? WE GOT CARNIVALS
The Carnival of the Recipes is up - second week in a row! - at Punctilious. The sixty-eighth edition is an Appetizer Party, and appetizing, it surely is.
The 89th Carnival of the Cats is also up at veteran host When Cats Attack!! Go to get your fix of Fuzzy Kitty Goodness.
The 89th Carnival of the Cats is also up at veteran host When Cats Attack!! Go to get your fix of Fuzzy Kitty Goodness.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
ICE CREAM
There’s an old joke in which Mickey Mouse orders an ice cream sundae. The person taking the order asks, “Crushed nuts?” And Mickey Mouse says, “No, I’ve always talked like this.”
Perhaps inspired by this little tale, one of the Minyan Boyz shared this True Story with me today:
It seems my friend - a Master of the Quick-Witted Comeback Line - was at an ice cream parlor, ordering a sundae. The waitress took his order and then asked, “Would you like your nuts crushed?”
To which my friend replied, “No, thank you. Would you like to have your tits shot off?”
She never came back to the table after that...
Perhaps inspired by this little tale, one of the Minyan Boyz shared this True Story with me today:
It seems my friend - a Master of the Quick-Witted Comeback Line - was at an ice cream parlor, ordering a sundae. The waitress took his order and then asked, “Would you like your nuts crushed?”
To which my friend replied, “No, thank you. Would you like to have your tits shot off?”
She never came back to the table after that...
Friday, December 02, 2005
I EATS ME SPINACH - VERY PROFESSIONALLY
A couple of months ago, I chronicled a memorable Japanese dinner.
The meal was memorable not only for the food - which was superb - but mainly for the fact that it was with my old buddy Walter, whom I had not seen in something like 29 years.
Accompanying Walter were a couple of his business colleagues, two Japanese guys who styled themselves Chris and Carl. A source of continuing amusement for both She Who Must Be Obeyed and me, even unto this day, is the way Chris and Carl reacted to how I navigated my way around the Japanese menu: “Very Professional.”
One of the selections that elicited a “Very Professional” from the Wakayama Boyz was my choice of appetizer: goma-ae, spinach served with a sesame-based sauce and sprinkled with sesame seeds. It’s delicious, and practically Zen-like in its simplicity, unlike those fussy little hors d’ouevres that Martha Fucking Stewart makes.
If Popeye were from Niigata, this is what he’d eat. It would give him the strength to climb Fujiyama, or to cut the grass at the Imperial Palace in a single day.
And now, you can enjoy goma-ae, too.
Goma-ae (Japanese Sesame Spinach)
3 lbs fresh spinach, stems removed
2 tbsp shoyu (soy sauce)
4 tsp mirin (Japanese sweet rice wine)
1 tsp vegetable oil
1 tsp toasted sesame oil
2 tsp sugar
2 tbsp sesame seeds, toasted
To toast the sesame seeds, preheat an oven (or toaster oven, if you have one) to 350°F. Put the sesame seeds on a small baking sheet and toast, shaking the pan or stirring the seeds occasionally to ensure that they toast evenly and don’t burn. When the seeds are golden brown, remove them from the oven and transfer them immediately to a plate. Set aside.
Add the spinach to a saucepan of boiling salted water and boil uncovered for two minutes, or until just tender. Dump the spinach into a colander, rinse with cold water, and drain well. Gently squeeze dry by the handful. Gently separate the resulting “balls” of spinach and put on a serving plate in a single layer. If you have small ramekins or timbale molds, use these to shape the spinach into neat little piles.
In a small bowl, whisk the soy sauce, mirin, vegetable oil, sesame oil, and sugar. Pour over the spinach timbales. Just before serving, sprinkle with the toasted sesame seeds. Serve at room temperature.
Popeye-wa, goma-ae-ga hoshii desu, neh?
The meal was memorable not only for the food - which was superb - but mainly for the fact that it was with my old buddy Walter, whom I had not seen in something like 29 years.
Accompanying Walter were a couple of his business colleagues, two Japanese guys who styled themselves Chris and Carl. A source of continuing amusement for both She Who Must Be Obeyed and me, even unto this day, is the way Chris and Carl reacted to how I navigated my way around the Japanese menu: “Very Professional.”
One of the selections that elicited a “Very Professional” from the Wakayama Boyz was my choice of appetizer: goma-ae, spinach served with a sesame-based sauce and sprinkled with sesame seeds. It’s delicious, and practically Zen-like in its simplicity, unlike those fussy little hors d’ouevres that Martha Fucking Stewart makes.
If Popeye were from Niigata, this is what he’d eat. It would give him the strength to climb Fujiyama, or to cut the grass at the Imperial Palace in a single day.
And now, you can enjoy goma-ae, too.
Goma-ae (Japanese Sesame Spinach)
3 lbs fresh spinach, stems removed
2 tbsp shoyu (soy sauce)
4 tsp mirin (Japanese sweet rice wine)
1 tsp vegetable oil
1 tsp toasted sesame oil
2 tsp sugar
2 tbsp sesame seeds, toasted
To toast the sesame seeds, preheat an oven (or toaster oven, if you have one) to 350°F. Put the sesame seeds on a small baking sheet and toast, shaking the pan or stirring the seeds occasionally to ensure that they toast evenly and don’t burn. When the seeds are golden brown, remove them from the oven and transfer them immediately to a plate. Set aside.
Add the spinach to a saucepan of boiling salted water and boil uncovered for two minutes, or until just tender. Dump the spinach into a colander, rinse with cold water, and drain well. Gently squeeze dry by the handful. Gently separate the resulting “balls” of spinach and put on a serving plate in a single layer. If you have small ramekins or timbale molds, use these to shape the spinach into neat little piles.
In a small bowl, whisk the soy sauce, mirin, vegetable oil, sesame oil, and sugar. Pour over the spinach timbales. Just before serving, sprinkle with the toasted sesame seeds. Serve at room temperature.
Popeye-wa, goma-ae-ga hoshii desu, neh?
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