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Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.) Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu. This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things. Friday, January 31, 2003
Weekend, HO!
And not Ho Chi Minh, smarty pants. Time to get the heck outta here and go have some quality family time this weekend with a tiny girl with a double-sided ear infection, a boy who has to do a book report thing with puppets of some sort, a middle girl still recovering from the galloping crud, a big girl also recovering from the crud, and a wife who really needs to be taken out for a date by her large, cuddly, slow-but-lovable husband but who would probably settle for about five minutes of peace and quiet and the ability to go to the john without being followed by the preceding list of children. So, every one of you go out and have yourself a good weekend, too, and I'll see you Monday morning. (And yes, come Monday, there will be Corn-mots for everyone--cornbread battered, deep fried Marmota monax on a stick!)
High Maintenance, Indeed!
When Acidman got hisself inducted into the Heart of Dixie Writing and Bread Making Club, he suggested to one of his regular readers, a young woman who goes by the name “sugarmama” that she should ask to get on board the Weevil Wagon. She sent me an exploratory message saying just about what you read above, and included a link to her blog. Well, I skipped over there, and see that she is a longtime resident of Homewood, which is on the downwind side of Vulcan’s cast iron gluteus, and had all sort of other stuff that would generally lead one to think that she was right on target with the very tough and stringent Membership Requirements. Except. I felt compelled to write her back the following: Now, this is going to hurt, but I have a weird personal tic that makes me look at all-lower-case blogs and run screaming around like a madman--in fact one of the rules is that you have to use the proper mix of capitals and miniscules.Little did I suspect that poor sugarmama was sorely afflicted with a workplace-induced disability; until, that is, I got her reply-- i write java at work all day, which requires meticulous case sensitivity. i get a paycheck for that. otherwise i prefer to take a break from the shift key.Good grief, this is turning out to be harder than I thought. In a further exchange of e-mails (including one in which she had a neighbor come in and press the shift key for her), I found further qualifications that needed some work—not being fully in tune with the Andy Griffith Show, not having a picture of Utah’s Gift To Mankind, and having to drive around in a vehicle that will require modification in order to be acceptable—namely that she will have to convert her hoopty into a pickup by ripping off the roof and trunk lid. So many...difficulties...yet, where there is a will, there is a Weevil. Maybe it would do us all well to take another look at her blog... Hmmm, wait a minute--what’s that over on the left side? Well, as all of you can see, she has posted a picture of her torso! According to Unwritten Membership Rule #13 (the Calvinball Rules clause), young, physically fit, female women girls who live in Homewood and have torso photographs posted upon their blogs cannot be denied access to the Clubhouse! (sugarmama should, however, also remember that such extraordinary effort to walk the intake paperwork through the various departments {especially by Tyrell in Human Resources, who is a real stickler for paperwork} will require that said blogger must not ever, EVER complain when it is her turn to mow the yard of the Axis of Weevil World Headquarters, even if the tractor is not working and she has to use the push mower.) BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!!! Yes, it’s yet ANOTHER high maintenance applicant. This time, it’s a he, Andrew Solovay of King Troll (which means that if he posts anything REMOTELY resembling a photo of his torso, he will be summarily drummed out of the Alabama Chamber Music and Reloading Society). Anyway, on to his application, which is interspersed with my responses to him-- Subject: Re: Axis of Weevils—I Don’t Got What it TakesSo, see? Once again, a potential membership crisis is narrowly avoided by the judicious use of cunning and wiles and diplomacy and bacon grease and a transistor and three rubber bands and...never mind. In any event, we have managed to turn a Camry driving, small-bore shooting, non-Mayberryite, YANKEE into someone truly worthy to wear the Axis of Weevil Lapel Pin and Club Tie set! BUT WAIT! THERE IS YET STILL MORE TO BE DONE HERE!! Another of our fine “Good Folks, Good Reading” bloggers from up in the top part of the header, B. Indigo at Indigo’s Insights sends in the following Change in Status Application: You once invited me into the Axis of Weevil, but I declined because I thought I was not worthy. Although I am a fanatic member of GRITS, eligible for Daughters of the Confederacy and DAR, I had never had direct contact with Alabama. Bear Bryant and Chuck Myguts excepted, of course.Now cut that out! We have very stringent requirements, including that one about wanting to live in Alabama and not being ashamed to admit it! I take from B.’s change of heart, though, that such a scenario, i.e., living in the greatest state in the Union, is something that she would absolutely LOVE to do, even at a MOMENT’S notice, and therefore constitutes fulfillment of said requirement. Nobody gets around ANY rules--it's just all in how you make them work that counts! SO THEN, it is with great exhaustion at having had to pound these obstinately square pegs into Weevil holes, and under the authority of the Deputy Assistant Undersecretary of the Alabama Commission on Internet Usage and Abuse, that we, the Cotton State Web Log Writer’s Consortium (With Signs and Wonders Following) do hereby bestow upon sugarmama, Andrew Solovay, and B. Indigo full, complete, and absolute membership within the Axis of Weevil, with all the discomfiture, runny nose, carpal tunnel syndrome, and maudlin fascination pertaining thereto. Congratulations to each of you! Remember, though, as Uncle Ben told Peter—“With great power comes great responsibility.” Be sure and park where you’re told—Lonnie is especially covetous of his spot. And leave Bobby Neal’s pencil cup where it is. And don’t leave the coffee pot on the warmer when it’s empty. The Royal Cup guy is giving us fits because SOMEBODY keeps leaving the empties up there and burning them up. And the refrigerator is NOT the place to leave urine specimens. Now then, as with all new members, each of you will be receiving your very own World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Packs, consisting of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for everyone’s “pickup truck”; a package of Bubba's Beef Jerky (according to Dr. Weevil, this is homemade and is available only at the gas station at the end of Highway 82 in Bibb County); a three piece, 24 ounce box of Priester's Pecan Logs; a box of Jim Dandy grits; a 16 ounce bottle of Dale's Steak Sauce; AND a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale. In addition, we all remember that Jimmy from next door has returned to help out by providing our new inductees with one of his very nice painted rocks. Oh, and sugarmama suggested that if we get any applicants who have not yet lived in Alabama, but say they would like to, they should also get a coupon for a Free Psychological Examination. Grand idea! Of course, they will have to see the company doctor, so as soon as his malpractice trial is finished (and any time served), I know he will be glad to help out!
Speling Bea Reecap
You know, I really need to get out more. My idea of yesterday about what this round of spelling bee competition would be like was way off base. No feet smell, no stifling gym, no stage parents agonizing over each word. Very normal, which is the way it should be. You know how much I like proper spelling, even if my own brain fades every so often (Sidney is just some guy who lives in Australia. Sydney is where he lives) because it is so important in my work. Imprecision can be a very bad thing, whether it’s a numerical dimension or a material specification. Good spelling is a good thing. I’m not sure that spelling bees are the best way to get that across; after all, knowing how to spell a word and being able to use it in the proper fashion are two separate things, and the single-mindedness of the bee doesn’t quite get that message across. Some folks get a little too carried away with it, but in the end, I suppose it is better than having a crack-smoking bee, or a giant papier-mache-effigy-head-making bee, or a making-up-silly-slogans-that-rhyme-with-Halliburton bees. And as I said, this group of parents and kids we were with yesterday seemed to have themselves pretty well connected. There was no crying and anguish, just some time away from school and some punch and cookies, and a nice round of hand shaking for the participants. I left work and went to the middle school to get Ashley, which took a while. The secretary sent someone to go get her, and I think they forgot. The time waiting was spent trying to figure out what is wrong with some people. A little girl came in who I suppose must have been a fifth-grader. Teeny little thing not much taller than Catherine, my Preschoolerus Robustus. I guess she was probably 10 or ll. And wearing makeup. ::sigh:: [old fart] Folks, I suppose you are the best judge for your family, but letting what amounted to a baby glop on man-grabbing paint is just a bit too much. (Even more egregious is that she had on that horrid white eyeshadow that all the big girls are wearing that makes you look like a vervet monkey.) [/old fart] Anyway, after sending the second runner, they finally managed to track Oldest down, and we loaded her and her ninety pound backpack and her gigantic baritone clarinet case into the van and dropped by the house to pick up Mom and were off to Irondale. This round was for the 11 or so elementary and middle schools in the eastern part of Jefferson County—the winner of this one will go on to the 76th Annual Jefferson County Spelling Bee, which will have the winners of the other four district areas. We were the first to arrive and were led back to a classroom where there were some refreshments and two closed circuit televisions set up. Ahhh—good way to keep down the possibility of signaling—the kids were going to be in the library, and the parents and spectators would stay in here to watch. Good idea, AND there was food. The coordinator let Ashley draw a number for starting order—number 2. She didn’t want to go first, so this was a small comfort to her. We sat down and then Reba’s mom came in, then Ashley’s other grandparents, and a small trickle of other people and their kids. It was past time to start, and there were still only about six kids there. It turns out that four of the kids had either forgotten about the date or thought it was today. One of those kids (the only boy in the group) was the only one of the forgetful ones to be able to get there. The rest were, unfortunately, slap outta luck. The teachers escorted the kids out to the library, and we turned to the teevees. Short welcome and introduction of the judges and the word caller, and then the kids. They had reassigned numbers to the six kids based on what they drew to begin with, and Ashley wound up first, whether she liked it or not, then there was a little girl from Clay Elementary, Clay Middle, the boy from Leeds Elementary, another little girl from Chalkville Elementary, and one from Irondale. And then it was go-time. Ashley was first up, and the first word was “platform.” Got it. Round one, and no one missed. Round two, Ashley’s word was “hornet.” No sweat. And no one else missed. Round three, Ashley’s word was “snicker.” I thought. What did the caller say? Was it “sneaker,” or “snicker”? This might not be good—the caller was a gracious older lady who is the reading coordinator at Irondale, and had a lovely, rich, cultured, old-money, Southern accent. WHICH IS NOT WHAT YOU NEED TO PRONOUNCE WORDS FOR KIDS TO SPELL!! And now it was becoming apparent that it was throwing some of the kids off. “Th’ wuhd is ‘snih-kah’.” Snicker? Sneaker? To her, they were homophonic! Oh lord— Sneaker…S-N-E-A-K-E-R…Sneaker. Correct. Whew! Then there was the first dropout—“Th’ wuhd is ‘BOHw-luh’.” Uh-oh. The little girl needed it defined. “A hahrd hat made of felt, with a rowwnd top and a cuhrved, narrah bri-uhm; also called a duhr-by” Oh. Then needed it in a sentence, which I dare not reproduce here. B-O-U-L-E-R. Nope. Five left. Round four, Ashley’s word was “scornfully.” Spot on. No one else out. Round five, Ashley’s word was “turtle.” Although it sounded like “tuttle.” No trouble. Then the next kid got hit. “Supplant.” Needed it defined, needed it used in a sentence. S-U-P-L-A-N-T You could hear her mom over to the side sigh—“Oh no, she’s out—it’s supposed to be ‘s-u-r-p-l-a-n-t’.” Four kids left standing. Round six, Ashley got “MAIGE-ah,” which is supposed to be “major.” Dead on. No hesitation. Round seven. “Stooge.” WISE GUY, EH? WHY I OUGHTA…You better know she got that one! No one dropped out. Round eight. ‘Ginger.’ Or as pronounced, “GEEuhn-juh.” Got it. Then it dropped to three—the next kid got the word “profane.” Had to have it defined, had to have it in a sentence. Pause. P-R-O-P-H-A-N-E. ::sigh from her mom:: Round nine, Ashley got “fraud.” Hit. And then it dropped to her and the boy from Leeds when the other remaining girl got the word “polka.” Which in the Land of Dropped Gs and Swallowed Ls came from the caller as something which could just as easily have been poker, polka, porker, or pucker. The little girl didn’t ask for a definition, but just sounded it out—P-O-K-A. Poka. Round ten, a hard one—Evaporate. Ashley got hers, the boy got his. Round eleven. Hers—Panama. Got it. His—anchor. Or “AIN-kha.” A-N-K-E-R. Clutch time—Ashley got the turn—A-N-C-H-O-R. Spot on, no delay. One more to win… “Sensory.” Sensory…S-E-N-S-O-R-Y…sensory. YESSS! WHOOHOO! ERRRRGGHHHH-WHAMSLAM-UHGGHGH!!! She is Terry Tate—Spelling Bee Linebacker! VICTERY!! [sic] The other parents gave her a big round of applause, and she was lit up like a spotlight. She wanted to get back to school and let her teachers know—her science teacher promised the class a party if she won—ERRRRGGHHHH-WHAMCRUNCH-UHGGHGH!!! LOOK OUT WOMAN!! SHE WON, BABY!! IN YOUR FACE WITH A PARTY!! YOU DIDN’T THINK SHE WOULD BUT SHE DID IT!! HAH-HAAAAAAAAA!!! She was happy as a clam, and her principal even managed to work it in the end-of-day announcements. The big victory dinner was a special trip to Palace (the high-class Chinese restaurant in Trussville) where we went all out and ordered both the steamed AND the fried pot stickers. BUT THAT’S NOT ALL—we got home and found a surprising message on the machine—she had tried out Monday night for a part in the local theater company’s production of “The Jungle Book,” (and was greatly disappointed when she didn’t get a Tuesday night callback) but wonder of wonders, she managed to land a part! ERRRRGGHHHH-WHAMSLAM-UHGGHGH!!! She’s also Terry Tate, Community Theatre Linebacker!!
There is much to do, there is work on every hand...
Wow, lots to cover today. First, however, some reader mail from Sarah Miers, Government Lawyer, regarding the recent spate of coverage herein on the gustatorial delights of muskrats: Bad year for muskrats here in Maryland. Or, I should say, bad year for muskrat eaters, good year for muskrats.Well, it should come as no surprise to anyone that if there is animal to be et, including our little water rat friends, that we here at Possumblog Kitchens will be on top of the best way to prepare it and deliver it to the marketplace! Based upon the continued wildly successful Cornatee™, the tasty cornbread battered, deep-fried manatee treat on a stick (also available in the new Cajun Spicy version), and the Cornguin™, the meaty and delicious cornbread battered, deep-fried Emperor penguin on a stick, we are proud to announce the newest in our line of fine products, the CORNUTRIA!! Fresh, tender, nutria are taken at the prime of their yellow-toothed goodness, dipped in our homemade cornbread batter (just like Grandma's, except for the chemicals and Red 40) and deep fried to a crunchy, crispy, golden brown. Each is then carefully packaged and delivered, and can be found in local grocer's freezer section! Delicious, nutria-itious, and convenient! From your friends as Possumblog Kitchens! Thursday, January 30, 2003
The free possum-flavored ice cream cones will be 27% smaller today...
I have to go check out in a bit and fetch Oldest Girl and deliver her for her shining moment of triumph at the District Spelling Bee! Yes, it's finally here, and both Mom and Dad will get to sit through it this time. I so want her to do well, yet the prospect of sitting in a school gym with that odd wintertime odor of feet and radiator heat with piles of parents who take the Bee a bit too seriously, means this little jaunt is not something I am really looking forward to. Although...if I had a laptop and a wireless connection, it would be cool to write about it in real time. Of course, then Miss Reba would uncover my terrible secret addiction, so I guess I'll just have to remember every single thing that happens and post a 5,000 word essay on it tomorrow! Or not. Anyway, until tomorrow, happy speling.
"...people will have powerful, incandescent flatulence in the future."
New, from the Institute of Official Cheer!
Cletus is on a tear again,
Luckily, Billy Joe Bob is there to coach him on the finer points of life. (And we greatly apologize that the Gift Pack has not yet reached the BBQ Emporium, fellers--it got misrouted in the Shipping Department, and then there was that little dispute with Jimmy Tim, and then there was the Health Department guy.)
And the birth of the Axis of Weevil was on this wise...
1. Forasmuch as many have taken in hand to set forth in order a declaration of those things which are most surely believed among us, 2. Even as they delivered them unto us, which from the beginning were eyewitnesses, and ministers of the Axis of Weevil; 3. It seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all things from the very first, to write unto thee in order, most excellent Blogophilus, 4. That thou mightest know the certainty of those things, wherein thou hast been instructed. 5. In the year of our Lord, 2002, (as man reckons time), in the second month, and upon the 24th day (and reminding you, dear Blogophilus, that Blogger will occasionally force you to scroll down to the post in question), there was a certain man who, having sojourned in the land of Blogistan, 6. Began to search out others who, kindred with him, also spoke words through the use of their fingers on the board of keys. 7. And lo, he found two, and saith these words upon his blog: 8. "What's that I hear? A growing storm? A frightening nexus of quivering electronic malcontentedness? A terrible Axis of (Boll) Weevil? 9. "Nah, just some fellow Alabama bloggers I have come across doing a little vanity surfing on Google." 10. "Since he proclaims himself a War Liberal, I never took the time to look over Mac Thomason's work, because I thought it would be full of all sorts of club kids hanging around smoking clove cigarettes and big hairy women and lots of people carrying signs saying "Hooray For Our Side." But due to my unfortunate habit of attributing negative stereotypes to anything using the L-word, I missed out on some good stuff from a fellow who's not quite such a pinko commie wussie as the title would imply! Mr. Thomason works down in Northport and has a secret life I dare not expose. My thanks to him for putting a link on his site--although the fact that he thinks that I might be more representative of the state than he sorta frightens me." 11. "Mr. Thomason also let me in on another blogger with ties to our fair state, Elizabeth Spiers of Capital Influx. Ms. Spiers now lives in the East Village, New York, New York (where you can get anything you want 24 hours a day except good biscuits and cornbread) and has a nice, errr, glow about her. Chernobyl you say? I suggested that we rescue her, but she has apparently been overcome with Stockholm Syndrome and actually LIKES it there. Oh, well, at least she's part of the Tim Blair Army." 12. "Anyone else out there blogging their heart out in the Heart of Dixie? I know there must be--send me a note. I'd love to hear from you. Really. No, I'm not just saying that--why do you think I would just say that?" 13. And the world smiled upon them, and they likewise went forth, and found that they were not alone, yea, verily, the provinces of Blogistan teemed with the seed of Alabama, unto the far reaches of the lands. 14. And they grew in number and in wisdom, and it seemed to the blogger, Terry, which was surnamed Oglesby, and which wrote the blog of Possum, 15. That there must needs be benefits, and prizes, and inducements, and gifts freely given to those whom were to be welcomed into the fold, 16. And that the joys of those who could be brought into this assembly, (which was first called, and shall ever be, the Axis of Weevil), didst require no small amount of discernment, and discrimination, so as to keep it pure from the leaven of the Pharisees, 17. So in the third month, upon the 15th day (and as men reckon, the Ides of March), upon the addition of one Charles, surnamed Austin, gifts of great value were bestowed upon him, as it was written; 18. "Axis of Weevil Growing--Soon We'll Have Our Own Currency and Inneffectual Military Establishment Mac Thomason, War Liberal, forwarded me yet another candidate for inclusion in the Dixie Blog League, the Sine Qua Non Pundit Charles Austin. Mac relates that Mr. Austin sojourned in our fair state for a few years way back in the 1990s, although he is now stationed in Saint Louis, Em Oh. (Not Tennessee, as I had earlier thought--which means much excitement for Austin.)" 19. "I contacted Charles last night and asked if he would consider being associated with us Cotton Staters and he agreed. I am still anxiously awaiting the details of his time spent here, but in the meantime, we will be sending Charles his Axis of Weevil Gift Pack of Dreamland ribs; Jim Dandy grits; a gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for his pickup; a package of Bubba's Beef Jerky (according to Dr. Weevil, this is homemade and is available only at the gas station at the end of Highway 82 in Bibb County); and a coupon for free underpinning for his trailer." 20. "One gift we usually include for people outside the South is a package of four comely, busty co-eds who shave their legs and wear makeup--this was a special addition for Dr. Weevil who lives in Maine where such things are not common. UPDATE: I originally reported that The Sine Qua Non Pundit was still in the South, and that he may choose to decline this portion of the package to allow it to be sent to a more needy member of the diaspora. HOWEVER now that I have been corrected by the man from the Show Me State, I know his severe plight and will send them that way immediately. Returning now to the original text of this post, we understand that the inclusion of this item may lead to some consternation among our potential female members: we ask you not to worry--you may substitute a four-pack taken from any men's college gymnastics team in the state. (Sorry, due to state law, we are unable to provide mixed-sex packages, or packages the same sex as the recipient.)" 21. And there was much rejoicing. 22. And it was also fulfilled that there should be rules, and coming down from the heights, with his face aglow liken unto a tube for the projecting of cathode rays, Terry didst write, 23. "Some of you may be wondering what it takes to become members of this illustrious crew. The primary qualifications are these: 1) Born in, or now live in, or once lived in, or would like to live in, Alabama;24. "That's about it. However, like Calvinball, the rules may change in the middle of the game. Think you got what it takes? Send me a note." 25. And the people rose themselves up, and didst sing praises and didst go forth, and didst multiply like cheap Chinese calculators. 26. Thus was the birth, and the early growth of the Axis of Weevil. 27. And then there arose others, of the sect of the Idiotarians, who didst claim for themselves the invention of the name by which these are called, 28. And they didst act as though they were the clever Dick, and lo as if they were all that, 29. And they gnashed their teeth, and didst mock, and wail, and curse, and misspell, and obfuscate, 30. And didst heap scorn, and hatred, and silliness, and petulance, 31. And they sat in the gates of the city, and yammered liken unto a tribe of monkeys, or the grackels, 32. And they were smote sorely with the truth, 33. But being of the sect of the Idiotarians, they wouldst hear no truth, and they stopped their ears, and didst shout, "La la la--La la la! We are not listening, for thou speakest the words of truth, which unto us are anathema, maranatha." 34. So the dust of their feet didst the members of the Axis of Weevil shake upon the gate of their cities, and turned away from them to engage themselves in more productive tasks, such as clipping their toenails, or reciting pi unto the 23rd decimal place whilst folding their laundry. Wednesday, January 29, 2003
Stormin' Norman holds forth on his favorite subject--himself: [...] "When I started out, one could really take the vocation most seriously -- Hemingway, (William) Faulkner, (John) Steinbeck, (John) Dos Passos. ... You had the feeling you could really change the nature of the country," he says.And when Americans say "Mailer," they think of a envelope with a peel-and-stick strip on the flap. And maybe some of that bubble stuff on the inside. [...] For years, Mailer has brought reporters to his window and pointed in despair at the skyline of lower Manhattan, a view worth far more to real estate agents than to the author, who likens all the glassy skyscrapers to so many boxes of Kleenex.Well, I suppose there are a few less tissue boxes blocking his view now, thank goodness. Mailer once wrote public letters to heads of state,Wow! Just like the kids in my son's 3rd grade class! and even met President Kennedy,One wonders if he put on Marilyn's dress and sang "Happy Birthday, Mr. President." but now believes those in power have little reason to bother with him. He laughs at the idea of a meeting with President Bush -- "Would he listen?"Would Mailer listen to Bush? Yeah, I know, dumb question. 'Cuz when you is the smartest, everyone else gotta be dumber. -- and remembers a 1972 lunch with then-California Gov. Ronald Reagan and some fellow reporters.The horror..the horror. How dare the governor of California be neat and clean and pleasant and dull! The sorry bastard! "But he never once looked into my eyes. He knew there was nothing he could gain from a conversation with me.Well, maybe Norm is teachable after all. I realized that's why this man has risen so high. He's never made the mistake of talking to a man who was of no use to him."That's just the way of all medium-sized, Midwest corporation public relations men, Normie baby.
Via Nate McCord, the story of Bronze Star recipient Senior Airman Clinton Boyd: [...] Boyd had been at his post since 2 in the morning. At 10:30 a.m., he noticed the muzzle of an AK-47 rifle protruding from the driver’s window of a private vehicle that approached him and the [unarmed Qatari] guard outside the checkpoint. The 6-foot-6-inch Boyd immediately ducked behind a concrete barrier and drew his M-9 pistol.
Well, Bless Her Heart...
B. Indigo continues today's lesson in Southernitiousness with something from her inbox-- [...] Now, don't get me wrong. Some of my dearest friends are from the North, bless their hearts. I welcome their perspective, their friendships and their recipes for authentic Northern Italian food. I've even gotten past their endless complaints that you can't find good bread down here. And the heathens, bless their hearts, don't like cornbread!Read the whole thing--you'll grin like a mule eating briers.
We Get Letters! Stacks and Stacks of Letters!
From the ever mysterious Steevil, a letter about vittles, inspired by the earlier post on tasty marsupials: Here in Baltimore, the Northeast's southernmost city or else the South's northernmost city, you can supposedly find possum, raccoon and muskrat for sale at some of the stalls in the downtown markets. I've only seen muskrat at the market, myself, and haven't tried eating one.Now, before all you Oyster Staters rise up and start sending me e-mail--Steevil said that, not me. And his statement is borne out by things like this article, in which a dish called Nutria Fettucini just sets the tastebuds atingle. As for whether Balmer is Southern, do waitresses look at you funny when you say you want sweet tea with your nutria? If they don't know what you're talking about, you are above the Sweet Tea Line (a much more reliable predicter of Southernosity than the Mason-Dixon), and no longer in the South.
What it Was, Was Football
What you get when you cross Birmingham, football, missionaries, and guys with names like 'Igor.'
EU's Solana: UN Must Be 'Center of Gravity' on Iraq
A reminder that at the center of gravity, nothing happens.
From the Hattiesburg American, a look at The South of Robert St. John-- While channel-surfing on the idiot box the other day, I came across another one of those clichéd programs about the South. These supposed Southerners were talking about eating a possum.Now, go read the list--it's a keeper. (I will say, though, that there still are some folks who do eat possum. Some out of necessity (after all, it did put protein on the table for more than one Depression family), and then there are other daft individuals who just like the greasy gamey-ness of it. Eww.) And then there's this from the Toledo (OH) Blade on a bunch of eggheads who study the stately and dignified possum walk as a clue to animal development-- By JENNI LAIDMANAnd as part of my upcoming political campaign, I intend to print buttons and bumper stickers reading "Will Run for Raisins!" (Interesting too about the box deal--I do that every afternoon on the way home.) This concludes this test of the Emergency Possumcast System.
Hmm--master of a new domain, I suppose-- Not that there's anything wrong with that.
From the Land of Today's Tomorrow, er...or, something like that, Aussie Tim Cobber Mate in Thursday's Australian with Osama bin Laden's SOTU! [...] We have faced the mildest, most measured attack our enemies could throw at us, and we have been rapidly defeated at almost every turn. The Muslim people have not risen as one to join my lunatic quest, the West has not been intimidated (well, except for the French) and every prediction about a Vietnam-style quagmire in Afghanistan proved false. Why, only this week US and Afghan troops easily put down a small al-Qa'ida uprising.
Well, there are others out there imminently more qualified to dissect the President’s address of last night and the Democratic Party’s response. My own thoughts are these—I perceive politicians of all persuasions to be concerned much more with their own self-interests and the interests of those who paid their way. They continually strike me as petulant brats, concerned more about winning the school popularity contest that doing a job.
HOWEVER. There seems to be a deeper level of childishness among those left of center, which absolutely makes it impossible for them even to pretend to act like adults. From the smirking Nancy Pelosi, to the somnambulant Ted Kennedy, to the smug Tom Daschle—in watching the reactions to the address and in hearing their vapid pronouncements of the past weeks, there is nothing that even remotely suggests they and their party are anything other than gimlet-eyed opportunists and disrespectful churls. To paraphrase the President, people of America—the enemy is not George Bush – your enemy is a party whose ideology is predicated on exploiting anger and divisiveness; who fan the fires of distrust and dissatisfaction; who promise everything, but who deliver nothing. It is possible for people of good faith to disagree. The foundation of this nation depends upon the give and take of public discourse in order to arrive at a mutually agreeable resolution. Reflexive disagreement, however, is not discourse. Beware of those who fabricate false crises, whose tactics to gain victory are to turn rich against poor, rural against urban, class against class, race against race. They are not your friends. They are our downfall. The challenges America faces are much too serious to allow ourselves to be governed by men and women who seem to have never grown past passing notes in class, or who cannot stand for rightness and truth if it means they won’t get asked to the big dance. It’s past time to put away the papier mache heads and drums and whistles, and act like somebody. As for the speech itself, a few things that stood out to me-- Our war against terror is a contest of will in which perseverance is power. In the ruins of two towers, at the western wall of the Pentagon, on a field in Pennsylvania, this nation made a pledge, and we renew that pledge tonight: Whatever the duration of this struggle, and whatever the difficulties, we will not permit the triumph of violence in the affairs of men -- free people will set the course of history. […]As James Lileks noted this morning, the idea of free people setting the course of history is novel. Which I suppose is why the thought alarms so many. This threat is new; America's duty is familiar. Throughout the 20th century, small groups of men seized control of great nations, built armies and arsenals, and set out to dominate the weak and intimidate the world. In each case, their ambitions of cruelty and murder had no limit. In each case, the ambitions of Hitlerism, militarism, and communism were defeated by the will of free peoples, by the strength of great alliances, and by the might of the United States of America. […]Words which will make the eyes of idiots roll upward in dismay? “duty,”—so very passé; “defeated,”—ooh, that implies a false reliance on competition, which as everyone knows, is bad for the self-esteem of the losing side; “might,”—there you go, throwing your weight around again, being a cowboy, risking losing the support of our 'friends' (who incidentally exist in their present democratic form today because of the efforts of vast numbers of Americans. Many of whom still reside in Europe. Under row upon row of tombstones. Tonight I have a message for the men and women who will keep the peace, members of the American Armed Forces: Many of you are assembling in or near the Middle East, and some crucial hours may lay ahead. In those hours, the success of our cause will depend on you. Your training has prepared you. Your honor will guide you. You believe in America, and America believes in you.Which reminds me of the quote from John Stuart Mill— “War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself” Many challenges, abroad and at home, have arrived in a single season. In two years, America has gone from a sense of invulnerability to an awareness of peril; from bitter division in small matters to calm unity in great causes. And we go forward with confidence, because this call of history has come to the right country. Americans are a resolute people who have risen to every test of our time. Adversity has revealed the character of our country, to the world and to ourselves. America is a strong nation, and honorable in the use of our strength. We exercise power without conquest, and we sacrifice for the liberty of strangers. Americans are a free people, who know that freedom is the right of every person and the future of every nation. The liberty we prize is not America's gift to the world, it is God's gift to humanity. We Americans have faith in ourselves, but not in ourselves alone. We do not know -- we do not claim to know all the ways of Providence, yet we can trust in them, placing our confidence in the loving God behind all of life, and all of history. May He guide us now. And may God continue to bless the United States of America. Amen. Tuesday, January 28, 2003
The swarm continues to gather strength...
I had been doing a bit of casual Googlebating the other day (shut up! everyone does it!) and noted that my parodic diatribe against President Lincoln going to war over cotton had been found and linked by the author of Half Bakered (Reading the Memphis Papers So You Don't Have To). I dashed off a thank you (as I am wont to do, for I am mannerly and civil), and just today as I was rummaging through the huge sacks of mail that pass through our loading dock here at the Axis of Weevil World Headquarters, I found a reply to a that note-- Hi Terry,WOW! I've never gotten an e-mail from someone who is certifiably insane. How very interesting! And it becomes even more clear... May I apply for membership in the Axis of Weevil? I was born in Alabama and lived there for thirty years -- 25 in Huntsville and 5 in Birmingham. I went to Auburn! Well, for a year, anyway, but still.... I moved to Memphis about 15 years ago and while I love it here I have to admit that my heart is still in Birmingham.Somehow, Tony Bennett comes to mind. But not in a good way. I used to live in the "UAB student ghetto"And 1969 Las Vegas Elvis comes to mind. And once more, not in a good way. and I still fondly remember being able to walk into the front yard, look up over my shoulder, and see the Vulcan watching over me.Now that he's down on the ground for restoration, you can go up and look him right in the butt! True story: Last time I went to visit my mother, she asked if I wanted a drink. When I said, "Whatever's in the fridge," she replied, "There's Milo's tea." ;-)I remember coming home from Auburn one day while my mom was at work, and there was a bottle of Sprite on the kitchen counter. Being a highly sanitary person, and about to die for something to drink, I took the cap off and drank a big swig. It sure did taste funny. That was because my mom had been using the bottle to fix up some plant food. Anyway, I promise not to screw up, or blow anything up accidentally, or at least make y'all act like you don't know me.Well, you're definitely overqualified then! I quickly responded to make sure Mike didn't mind losing his anonymity and insure that he has fully read the disclosure of terms and conditions of membership, and he responded that he had, and fully agreed to them, and even went so far as to volunteer himself to be the designated driver at the next company picnic. (For the record, Possumblog is dry, as is the Headquarters Building. The addled ranting found herein is not the result of alcohol consumption. Believe it or not.) ANYWAY, without further muss and fuss, it is time to add yet another wayward, misguided individual to the ever more ponderous and intransigent Yellowhammer Benevolent Association of Internet Scriptography-- HAVING Successfully completed his membership form (in triplicate) and shown himself devoid of all the necessary caution to stay away from such convocations, it is with great pleasure, and by the authority of Ned, the security guard at the State of Alabama State Docks Commission building, that we, the mighty Axis of Weevil do hereby accept one Mike Hollihan of Half Bakered fame into the warm clutches of our collective bosom. (Sorry, no bosom pictures either). AS WITH ALL NEW MEMBERS, Mike will be receiving his very own World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, just now being loaded into the Pinto and sent out onto Highway 78. Being that everyone should be getting pretty darned tired of rereading the contents of this marvelous assortment of goodies, please scroll down the page a bit and you'll see what's in there. Go, now, Mike, and make us proud!
Hey Kids! What time is it? Ittttttt's Scourging Richard time, it's Scourging Richard time...
Yes, that right, it's number Ell-Dubba Ecks-Vee-Aye of the continuing struggle of Charles Austin to figure out what makes Richard Cohen tick-- [...] Much of the criticism is maddening, but, to a degree, the Bush administration brought it on itself by initially acting unilaterally.Little wonder? You mean like Little Stevie Wonder!! Man, I love him!
In addition to risking the dangers of carpal tunnel syndrome, Marc Velazquez also spends part of his time pondering world affairs, and sent along the following with his earlier e-mail-- [...] wish you could post pictures for before and after the haircut [of this past weekend--Ed.]. I'm trying to imagine a possum with "near Kim Jong Il levels of poofiness", but it starts to get too scary.Well, there are pictures of me out there strung on the information superhighway, but in them my Charlie Brown-sized gourd is covered with a hat, so they are of little help in order to determine hair stylitude. And yes, I'm sure the mental image I described is a bit scary, but that's what makes Possumblog the hard-hitting source of information that it is--never shying away from the bizarre and uncomfortable, but embracing them with both arms (and opposable big toes and prehensile tail). Anyway, on to Marc's epiphany-- It did inspire me on a bloodless/nucular-less way to overtake North Korea:And it could be the next FOX reality series, Who Wants to be a Dictator! "We took 2,000 Koreans, dressed them up as Benevolent and Thrifty Leader, and sent them behind enemy lines..." They could each have a pair of those video camera glasses like Lil' Kim wears, and the zany antics could all be caught on tape. Certainly beats my idea of continually calling him and hanging up, or ringing his doorbell and leaving a flaming sack of poo on his front steps.
Thus Starts the Flood of Incident Reports...
Just got the following from Steevil, evil brother of Dr. Weevil, regarding our aforementioned bureaucratic fascination with indistinct hazards: You haven't yet gotten pinged because you don't have a Materials Safety Data Sheet for the white board cleaner in your office? Other hazardous materials where I work are Fantastik, Windex and 409, that get you sentenced to HAZMAT training. I've fantasized about smuggling some of my boat fixing goodies (toluene, acetone, methyl ethyl ketone to start with) to put in the safety coordinator's office (our company doesn't believe in locking offices) and turning her in for the violation. Since I already have a reputation for being ornery, I'd just get myself in trouble without affecting the stupid policy, so I just put up with it.Well, you see, Steevil, that presupposes that your attempt at jamming would be discovered--just be sure to wipe down the containers for fingerprints, and bribe the security guard for the video tape, sit back and watch the wacky hijinx follow! As for our compliance with OSHA requirements for MSDSs and the like, I'm sure there is a worker bee somewhere in the building with a large fat file of these. Or not. (And the white board cleaner is the least of our worries, what with all the rubber cement thinner and waste toner boxes about.) Then we hear from Marc Velazquez , who reports the following: I have an incident to report and would appreciate it if you could transcribe this on the appropriate forms in triplicate (remember to bear down on the pen!) and forward to the appropriate authorities: A potentially hazardous keyboard is staring me in the face that could result in the disabling habit of BLOGGING. The keyboard DREW ME IN to the blogosphere, and it could have the same effect on fellow co-workers. An incident of blogging ALMOST WENT OVER my break time, with the fast typing nearly causing CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME.We apologize, but all of our service representatives are working with other customers at this time. Please hold the line, and someone will be able to assist you shortly. If you need immediate assistance, please dial extension 223 and press star-9, then the pound sign. At the tone, state your name and a brief description of your problem. Press 5 to send the message, or stay on the line for further options. A customer service representative will be with you in approximately ::pause:: Forty...eight...minutes. Thank you for your patience--we do appreciate your call. Finally, beloved, yet slightly sadistic, reader Toni Albani sends this link to a story that cries out for an incident report. (Probably best to go ahead and fill out the paperwork, and not to wait for the swelling to go down.)
Everybody’s Writing-Desk Book
Another in my finite, yet seemingly endless, series of excerpts from the little book Miss Reba gave me for Christmas. Today “Structureless Composition”! [...] Lack of Skill in the Art of Expression.—Let strict attention be paid to the lengthy narrative of any one in unstudied conversation, and, unless he be skilled more than common in the art of expression, it will be found that his sentences tend to get confused one with another. The less cultivated is a speaker, the more is the confusion of his speech. Throughout whole pages of scullery scandal and parlor gossip it is often hard to tell where one sentence leaves off and another begins. When Saul (a remarkably strapping young man) inquires of some maidens drawing water whether Samuel is in the city their simple answer is: “He is behold he is before you make haste now for he came to-day to the city for there is a sacrifice of the people to-day in the high place as soon as you come into the city”, and so on and on and on without break or comma, except such as the reader interpolates. Similarly, when Lady Capulet says to the nurse that Juliet is not fourteen, her uncalled-for reply is a history of many more words than there are days in the year, all tumbled out helter-skelter, without a pause. The punctuation, as even the simplest reader does not fail to perceive, is not the nurse’s, but only later on intercalated by Shakespeare himself, in his editorial capacity, for the sake of the reader’s easier apprehension. The conversation of Mrs. Quickly of Eastcheap, as of Mrs. Nickleby of our times, exhibits equal literary art.
From the Inbox
No, my real inbox that has real paper in it. YOU KNOW, one of the nice things about working with a bunch of bureaucrats (aside from the obvious) is that they never cease to come up with new things to cement their place in the philosophical food chain, to wit, this fascinating memorandum from our Occupational Health and Safety Division (which I didn’t even know we had), entitled “Incident Reporting”: Employees: An incident is similar to an accident except that it does not necessarily result in injury or damage. No matter how trivial they are, incidents should be reported just as accidents are. You have the responsibility to report all incidents that are recognized as potential hazards. If you don’t take the time to report incidents that you are involved in, they could later result in a disabling injury or fatality for you or your fellow employee. Yikes! What a pile of scary, yet decidedly non-specific, throwing together of rivets and boilerplate! Of course, there is nothing to indicate the definition of “accident,” or how similar to an accident an incident must be to rise to the level of an incident, except the stern warning that nothing is too trivial to report—WHEW!!—that last tap on the space bar caused my thumb to slide off the key and onto the EDGE OF MY DESK, which must be pointed out, COULD HAVE HAD A SPLINTER! I must report this—but I just touched the edge of the paper and I came THIS CLOSE to getting a PAPER CUT! AAAAAGGGGGHHHH! And then there is that pack of STAPLES! And when I reached in my desk, my finger grazed the end of the STAPLE PULLER!! (Have you seen the prongs on those things!?!?) Let’s not even discuss LETTER OPENERS!! It also tells me I’m supposed to report incidents I am involved in—but what if I see someone opening a box with a pair of scissors, AND THEY DROP THEM!!! Why, they could have lost a TOE over that! Surely, in the interest of workplace safety, I should report that, too, right? Like a finely-tuned anvil, thus works the machinery of government.
From Larry Anderson over in the Kudzu Patch-- [...] The people attending the luncheon are in the upper income levels, but I know several of them who have volunteered for military service if they are needed. Each week, we have people who demonstrate for peace at one of Huntsville's major intersections. I do not doubt their sincerity, but it seems to me that peace comes to those who are willing to fight for it. [...]
From tomorrow's Sydney Morning Herald [...] While discussing the Presidents Cup clash between American and International golfers, scheduled for South Africa in November, [Greg] Norman said it was the responsibility of all leading US players to commit to the event.
From the Bleat-- [...] I’ve been drum-tight all day, skittish and jittery; we are very very close to the point at which certain introductions will be made: crap, meet fan. Fan, crap. I remember last year reading a Drudge headline that said something like PENTAGON: NO IRAQ WAR UNTIL 2003, and that seemed impossibly distant. But here we are.And of course, there is a chorus of voices on the other side of the street--'don't remember, let it go, grow up, violence never solved anything, it's our fault.' Believe as you want, it is your right. But understand that the people who do remember, who refuse to allow injustice a free hand, who have reached some level of intellectual adulthood, who understand that violence, regrettably, sometimes can only be stopped by the use of violence, and who refuse to apologize for wishing to live as free people, are the very ones who protect and guarantee your right to wallow in your delusions. Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.--Sir Winston Churchill Monday, January 27, 2003
And I thought Oakland was the only one who stank...
Then I read what Matthew Engel, noted cricket writer and upper-class wannabe, had to say about it. Luckily, Lee Ann Morawski intercepted his wobbly pass and slammed him into the turf on her way to a beautiful runback all the way back down the field. [...] “It is that national genius that has enabled an event without deep historic roots to become quite overpowering. The Super Bowl began only in 1967, when two competing leagues merged. At first the competition was lopsided, but in 1969 Joe Namath, the New York Jets quarterback, ‘guaranteed’ an upset victory over the Baltimore Colts and then delivered it, and so the legend began.”Hey, Matt--"Offense wins games. Defense wins championships."
A very useful idiot...Daschle Asks Bush for Proof on Iraq Arms
Especially interesting in light of this little bit of harsh unilateralism from the Gentleman from South Dakota.
And Another for the Birthday Roll!
Chuck Myguts over at redneckin celebrated the big Oh-One yesterday--many happy returns to Phenix City's Nattering Nabob of Negativity!
Whatever happened...
One of the things I forgot but then remembered about this long past few days was a promo for the NBC Evening News--I'm not sure what day it was, but Tommy came on and used his Serious Voice (the one he uses when he speaks of The Greatest Generation) and said something to the effect of 'with the talk of war in Iraq and the world situation, what has happened to Afghanistan?' There are a few shots of Bagram and some Marines, and then we are urged to tune in and find out why we ignore Afghanistan. Huh?! What's this WE business, Kemosabe? Afghanistan is doing just what it's always been doing--we have men and women on the ground every day having potshots taken at them. YOU guys are the ones who say WHO gets covered, WHAT gets covered, WHEN it gets covered, and WHERE!! It is ludicrous to sit there and act as though your own editorial decisions, by which YOU chose to quit covering stories in Afghanistan (leading to the subsequent lack of reporting on Afghanistan) is somehow the fault of YOUR VIEWERS! Yes, yes, I know you want to push your stupid new Jeff Goldblum sillyfest, but please, if you're going to ask the question, at least ask it the right way--"Why Did NBC Stop Covering Afghanistan?" (I forgot to mention the retribution I demand for this--namely that dewy-fresh, doe-eyed Pentagon correspondent Norah O'Donnell be sent to my office posthaste for a sound spanking!)
So, then, The Weekend...
Which was more or less like the three days I was off, with the exception that we had Chinese takeout on Friday evening in celebration of Miss Reba's birthday. Poor girl--we usually get to go out to dinner and a movie, but with little sick kids, that just didn't pan out. But, the greatest gift (at least from my point of view) is that she sure is one fine looking 43 year old! It never ceases to amaze me when we run into these horrible looking old women she says she graduated from high school with. Just a tip, girls--no drinking, no smoking, no running around works pretty well, and is a darned sight cheaper than botox and detox. Anyway, Saturday was laundry day, and I managed to break free long enough to go get my hair cut after it had reached near Kim Jong Il levels of poofiness. As always, my instructions were for "my hair, just shorter," but this time I tried to get the girl to cut the back a bit more so as not to be burdened with a proto-mullet a week later. I thought at first she was going to shave me like a Jarhead, but it wound up looking okay. Of course, it's a WHOLE lot colder on my scalp now. Got back and ran a few errands and found that my old friend Franklin was still alive. I figured with all the subzero weather that the new battery I bought not too long ago would be dead, but after several stabs at the gas pedal, he cranked right up. Got back from those duties, and found that Oldest Daughter still had not finished her homework. Three days, some of it done, most of it not. Of all the buttons she can push on my great Keyboard of Rage, being deliberately ignorant and lazy are the two that set me off like nothing else I can imagine or describe. I can understand not knowing something; but I cannot understand the complete unwillingness to know it when the opportunity comes along. Especially when it's someone who is smart. She is very smart, but was so completely devoid of motivation to do one particular part of her assignment (a persuasive outline and letter), that even after I threw a fit and vowed not to help her one single bit more, and was then persuaded by the tender pleadings of my wife to help dictate out a short outline of what she needed, EVEN THEN she would not take the simple step of WRITING IT DOWN HERSELF!! Grr. And aargh. Midnight last night, and she was still expending tremendous effort to resist doing what she KNEW to be the right thing. One part of it was finishing off a couple of paragraphs her teacher had started--"Well, I just don't agree with her, and I don't know what to write." ::blink::blink:: "IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU AGREE WITH HER!!" Great jumping monkeys. Maybe she'll grow out of this. Anyway, got the kids all scrubbed and starched Saturday night, then Sunday I stayed home with Middle Girl while Reba and the other kids went to church. We finished folding clothes and watched the rest of Lawrence of Arabia on DVD, then Sunday night Reba stayed home and I went, which means that I missed everything that went on on the Super Bowl until about 4 minutes into the third quarter. Man alive, the Raiders stank up the joint. That's about the extent of my commentary--I was so disinterested in the outcome that I just couldn't settle in for all the nuance and stats. Other than I think it's very nice that John Madden is still able to work despite having been lobotomized by a chimp with a rusty spoon. And I think Caddy is dead. Well, been dead for a while, but it seems no one can bring themselves to shut off the ventilator. Sorry, but the XLR is no '48 Coupe de Ville, and I think the vapid "Break Through" ad campaigns appeal only to people who don't really like cars. Blech. That's about it--it sure was a long, five days.
A Great Big Birthday Boy Shout-Out to Axis of Weevil Minister of Nucularity, J Bowen at No Watermelons Allowed!
You'll hear NO yawns from us!
Brewers find French tax hard to swallow BRUSSELS (Reuters) - Belgian brewers are finding it hard to swallow a new French law that would raise the tax on strong beer nearly tenfold, and are accusing France of hypocrisy and protectionism. [...]Well, you know, gotta go with your strengths.
Blix: Iraq Has Not Accepted Disarmament
Why, this is absolutely STUNNING! HOW could this BE!? Iraq Says It's Done All It Can Do There, now! See, they say they've done all they can! Isn't that enough for you people?!
Cat Bathing Update
My first post prompted a flood of e-mail...well, one message...from Larry Anderson over at Kudzu Acres on alternatives methods of cat bainage: A friend sent this. I am still trying to decide which of my dog friends has learned to type.Indeed, a worthwhile alternative. Although I can't quite figure out why you need to clean the toilet first--seems like the powerful agitation action would be good for cleaning both cat and pot. Anyway, I'm sure Larry will also be working this up into PowerPoint and posting it to our vast file of Continuing Education programs.
Well, now, first things first...
Over the weekend, I received the nicest e-mail from a well-known blogger, who had just learned of the existence of the mighty and powerful Axis of Weevil from Ambassador to the Bootheel State Charles Austin (by the way--be sure to check Charles' masteful Super Bowl coverage)--anyway, to the letter: As a true Son of the South from the great state of Jawja, I humbly ask for membership in the "Axis of Weevil." I promise to wear the mantle proudly and do NOTHING...well, very little...or the least I can anyway, to embarrass the rest of the group.Awww. That's nice, and not a single curse word! But, for all of you long time readers, you all know that the rules are incredibly strict, and just being from the South won't cut it, so I had a bit of urging to do in order to insure compliance. I wrote him back with this-- "Hey Mr. Acidman!Hmmm. What would he say? Would it be too much for him? Then I received my answer--first this reply: I am eternally grateful. And I actually like Alabama, too, except when the Crimson Tide or the Auburn Asswits come to play my beloved Bulldogs. We'll have to work on that cosmic disconnect. Okay?And then this nice post on Gut Rumbles: Did I ever tell y'all how much I like Alabama? It's almost as good as Georgia and Texas. The more I think about Alabama the more I love it. That's one hell of a great state.Yep, they are, and unfortunately since I never included one that says you have to talk nice about Auburn (Note to self--impose despotic executive decision making this so at next Glee Club meeting), and seeing as how Rob the Acidman has made the good confession and publicly proclaimed his love for the Wonderful World of Alabama, and in that Gut Rumbles proudly stands upon the ramparts of the fight against idiocy, and in spite of the fact that most of Rob's blog could not be quoted from the pulpit, and seeing that his first car was a red '68 Javelin and that I used to be the owner of a Matador Red '69 390 Go-Pak equipped AMX (the two seater) which would swap ends when the weatherman mentioned rain, and in that he seems to have successfully completed all the other requirements, IT IS WITH GREAT PRIDE that WE, the Cotton State Geographical Society, by the power granted to us by several people who wish their names to be unknown, do hereby extend to Acidman Rob the tremendous honor and privilege of membership within the Axis of Weevil, and remind him that no warranty is expressed or implied, and that continual use may cause painful itching and/or irritation. CONGRATULATIONS, pH0man, and to welcome you to the team, you will be receiving your very own World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack. Rob is well aware of the bounty of pleasure that comes in the Gift Pack, but for those of you who haven't read anything on this thing past last week, the WFAoWGP consists of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo's sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark's Outdoor Sports for Acid's pickup; a package of Bubba's Beef Jerky (according to Dr. Weevil, this is homemade and is available only at the gas station at the end of Highway 82 in Bibb County); a three piece, 24 ounce box of Priester's Pecan Logs; a box of Jim Dandy grits; a 16 ounce bottle of Dale's Steak Sauce; AND a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale. In addition, we all remember that Jimmy from next door has returned to help out by providing our new inductees with one of his very nice painted rocks. Nurse Tawana from the Center says that this work has been very beneficial for Jimmy, and his condition seems to be getting some better. So, then Rob, pick up you keys from Edna at the front desk, fill out your W-4, find an empty desk, tell Jimmy what color rock you want, and get to work!
I have returned
Wow--it's lke I haven't even been gone! Same stack of crap on my desk, same set of gape-jawed coworkers, same Monday morning staff meeting to attend. I may just have to call in sick. Anyway, there will be more exciting new as the day progresses and I get it typed up, but as a preview, stay tuned for Tales of Unfinished Homework; Dreaming of a Plane Crash; Moose and Squirrel; I Almost Get a High-and-Tight; A New, Highly Corrosive Weevilite; Franklin Still Lives; The Raiders Stink; and More Tales of Unfinished Homework! Now, I have my meeting to attend, and will obviously be a while typing up all the above garbage, but there is at least one thing I think I can be of help with right away. Yesterday, a hardy soul found his or her way to Possumblog (after looking at seventeen other sites) by Googling for powerpoint presentation how to bathe a cat. Now, it is an unfortunate fact that I still have not finished this presentation, but maybe I can help out nonetheless with the instructions, and when I get the images finished, I'll post them. 1) Get a cat. 2) Run a small tub of warm water, and have plenty of towels nearby. 3) Grasp cat firmly, but gently, by the front and rear legs. 4) Hold cat up to face. 5) Starting at the ears, lick cat thoroughly until it is completely moistened. This may take 10 to 15 minutes, depending on the size of cat and the length of fur. Particular attention should be paid to licking in the direction of fur growth. 6) Release cat and wash hands and mouth in small tub of water. There now, hope that was of some help. Be back in a bit. Saturday, January 25, 2003
What a day.
I am tired--I have been typing on and off for nearly five hours, and what do I do? Get on the silly Blogger wire and start typing some more! Moron. Anyway, as I mentioned, I got myself up and went to gather up our earnings. Nate McCord wrote me a message and asked why I didn't do direct deposit. Good question--it all has to do with the near continual horror stories of misrouted paychecks from my lovely workplace. Mr. Bank and Mr. Credit Card and Mr. Telephone and Mr. Gas and Mr. Water and Mr. Sewer and Mr. Cell Phone and Mr. Reddy Kilowatt and a host of other people already GOT their checks, and they are now coming back to Mr. Credit Union, which means that Mr. Possum MUST RELY ONLY ON HIMSELF to get the loot into the account at least a minute or two before the other stuff starts clearing--I simply can't take the chance of a snafu. And, whatever's left over I go blow on whiskey, cigarettes, and betting on the pups. (Not really.) So, to town, on autopilot most of the way thinking of how incredibly chilly it seemed this morning. Quite a bit of snap. Brisk, I would say. Enough nip to have put on my long johns this morning, which will later form the basis for A Learning Experience™. Until that time, though, I found myself stuck in an odd amount of backed up traffic in the lane going to the 22nd Street exit ramp. It was around 9:30, yet it was backed up like rush hour--hmmm. Oh, wait, there's a wreck. Thus starts the process of trying to get around the thing by having to pull out into the adjacent lane and dodge traffic that is going 122 miles per hour. (There is no emergency lane, which is a Bad Thing.) Carefullllll--NAIL IT!!!!!!!! I slammed out and got around the clog, which was three vehicles with a variety of people talking into their hands, and then, another one--two cars, and just as I was about to get back over, ANOTHER one! Three separate wrecks within the space of an eighth mile--what in the worl...oh. Oh. It's the friggin' circus. I mentioned Wednesday about the dog trainer guy, and had forgotten that today was the opening day for The Greatest Show On Earth, and that there was a matinee. The exit to the convention center was clogged with school buses and a line of moms and tots from the hinterlands whose only trip into downtown Birmingham is to come to the circus. And who, if they manage not to collide with someone, are blissfully unaware that the exit ramp, although narrow, IS capable of holding two cars abreast. Two cars side by side can navigate the ramp almost TWICE as fast as one with a single lane. Imagine that! However, a single file line of cars with people who don't have the foggiest idea of where they are going OTHER than to the circus moves ONE THIRTY-SECOND as fast as normal. It took me THIRTY MINUTES to get from the ramp to my office. Not that I didn't try. I moved in beside two blondes from the fringe in a Toyota Highlander who looked at me as if I was Ghenghis Khan--they were totally baffled that anyone would dare think that this thirty foot wide slab of concrete could actually hold TWO vehicles! A girl in a car ahead of me was obviously a regular--we kept trying to stay to one side and do a vehicular pantomime to convince people to double up. Nope. No go. Everyone else stayed right there in the middle. ::sigh:: Into the office, swap pleasantries with folks, note a roll of drawings in my mailbox, pick up my notes from my Wednesday meeting, get my check, and back out. I then swung by and picked up Reba's check--the receptionist didn't quite recognize me at first--I usually come by all neat and clean and combed, but today I had on my big field coat and ratty jeans and my Hewitt sweatshirt and an Auburn baseball cap holding down my wild, Cosmo Krameresque pile of wild unkempt hair. Ee-yew. But they gave me her money and it was off to the credit union, and then back to Trussville. Homeward was much less traumatic and I was able to go on autopilot again. Stopped off at Winn Dixie and got some condiments for lunch and batteries for the Thermoscan--gotta have that with all the sick kids. Got home and guess what? Yep, Oldest Girl had decided she could no longer do homework, and had to take a nap. ::sigh:: She managed to sleep the REST OF THE DAY. Anything to avoid doing what she knows she has to do. Grr. On the other hand, Middle Girl was up and about and after we ate lunch, she played computer games the rest of the day while I typed up my minutes. As I mentioned, in amongst all of this fun, I had a profound learning experience. As I said at the top, today was a long-handle day. I have an old waffle weave pair that I have had nearly twenty years. Don't gasp--it so rarely gets cold enough to wear them that they last a long, long time. Long enough for a man to forget that when nature calls, there is more than two layers of fabric that must be peeled away in order to release the horsie from the barn--to allow the snake to drain--to put out the fire-- And that when you really have to do all these things, and your zip-flip rhythm is throw out of kilter by not one, not two, but THREE SEPARATE FLIES, you can sometimes get into that desperation mode, in which you dance about like Michael Flatley, deftly stomping your feet and flailing about your crotch when you realize that you AREN'T READY! Luckily, I made it. Barely. And learned a lesson that will be forgot as soon as the longjohns go back in the drawer. The rest of the afternoon was normal stuff, went and got the little kids from school, got home and noticed our new neighbors sure had a lot of water pouring out of the side of their house and from under their garage door. Bursted water line. Poor kids--they're a young couple and just moved in a month ago. I ran over and their garage was locked and then went and rang the doorbell while trying my best to keep Catherine from braining herself on the ice slick concrete driveway. No one home, so I sent my kids inside and got my handy pair of Vise Grips and went back out and turned their water off at the meter, then left them a note about what I had done. Makes me worry, because our kitchen sink cold water was frozen this morning, and I surely don't need another bill to pay. Reba got home and we had a nice supper of much-craved-for Chinese food, then it was back to working on my pay-producing drudgery, and then this. As I said, I am tired. So, have yourself a good weekend, stay warm, and I will see you on Monday. Friday, January 24, 2003
Look...
Just because I'm built like an Eskimo DOESN'T mean I want it to be 2 degrees when I wake up in the morning. Gimme some of that good old global warming, please, and make it snappy! Like I can complain--it gets this cold maybe every ten years, and in a couple of days it'll be back up to 60. Oh well. One thing, though. It sure gives the local TV weatherdrones something to do. Last night, the new little fellow on FOX6 used the term "bone-chilling cold" at least 8 times within the space of two minutes. WE GET IT, ALRIGHT!? Anyway, we are now into Day Three at Home with Surly Preteen, Now With the Added Dimension of a Sick 4th Grader! Got up this morning and did my usual impression of R. Lee Ermey by beating a trash can to wake everyone up (not really, of course. I just use a bullhorn, like normal people.) and Rebecca woke up and started crying and complaining of a headache and stomachache. I fetched the thermometer, and sure enough, 100.6. Great. She's just now getting over strep throat, and now she's got this crud. I dosed her up with stuff and sent her back to bed, and spent the rest of the time trying to get Boy out of bed and dressed. Oh, he feels fine, but if everyone else gets to stay, he wants to, too. After the fourth time to pass by his room and attempt to roust him, he used his Tiny Voice™ --"Dad--I...don't...feel good. ::sniffhacksniff::" Luckily, the Thermoscan was still handy--"Look! 95.8! Get UP and get DRESSED!" Turn on T.V.™ "::sniffcough:: Yes, sir. ::sniff::" How utterly pitiful. Catherine, on the other hand, was ready to git. The cold just makes her more irrepressibly wiggly. I got her all dressed and in YET ANOTHER attempt to stall, Jonathan came back in carrying his toothbrush. "Dad, I think I need to use a new toothbrush." I had told Rebecca to get a new one the other day when she had started getting over her strep, and so now everyone in the Peanut Gallery wants to swap out for a new one. "Son, you just opened that one a month ago! Go USE IT!" ::sigh:: Got them fed and out the door, and almost into the van. Slight problem in that the sliding door was firmly frozen shut. (Did I mention that this cold weather garbage is simply ridiculous? Make it stop, now, please.) They piled in by going past the front seats and it was off to school, then back here, where I found Oldest and Middle Girls piled up in front of the television in Ashley's room. Remember the homework she was supposed to be working on yesterday? Well, golly gee willikers, it's STILL NOT DONE! Imagine that! So, she was sent back to the word mines to finish this, which, given her usual ennui, means that it will still not be done at the end of THIS day. Of course, there is always the possibility that she will follow the lead of the kids in this story, which was forwarded to me by Janis Gore of Gone South, whom I think is concerned for my safety. Well, now I need to go run and pick up my paycheck from work, and go to the bank so that no one will come and take the house away and put our furniture on the curb, and sadly I think I really will have to get some stuff to work on while I'm here. I thought Wednesday that this would all be over now, and played hooky from doing MY homework, but if I don't get it done, I will be all messed up next week. So, this might be the only post for today. If so, please be sure and check out the fine assortment of blogs up in the header--I haven't had the time to get around to everyone, so I know I'm missing some extra-high quality bloggage--and all of you dress warm and put on a hat!
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