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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. Thursday, December 30, 2004
NOW it's time to go!
Obviously, there are still some things on the 2004 To-Do List, but they'll just have to get rolled forward with all the other To-Do Lists I have dating back to 1978. All of you have a great weekend, and Lord willing I'll see you back here bright and early on the 3rd with all sorts of vim and vigor and junk like that.
I am shocked! SHOCKED!
Councilman used city money to finance tennis lessons MOBILE, Ala. (AP) — City Councilman Thomas Sullivan said Wednesday that his decision to use city money for private tennis lessons should not be deemed a misuse of funds.
In 2001, Sullivan authorized a payment of $2,500 from his discretionary fund to be used for private tennis lessons at Mobile Tennis Center for the children of two family friends who were also campaign workers.
He said he believed he previously contributed discretionary money to city-funded tennis lessons for groups of children in Lyons Park.
"The funding that I vote on goes to the Boys & Girls Clubs, but it does not pay my salary or my wife's salary, so I'm not gaining anything," he said. With one fell swoop, the hoary old cliche about money being fungible is put to rest! Good show, sir!Now then, where do I sign up my kids for some of this largesse?
Hey, look! I DID make it back!
Actually, I've been here for an hour now, but I laid low and stayed away from the carnival rides so I could get the rest of my work done. Which it is! Hooray! Boy is with me also--say hello, Boy: "Hello." His visit went fine. His doctor is always cutting up and shooting the kids a pretty constant line of BS. We were getting up to leave when one wire-toothed girl came in clutching a ratty spiral-bound notebook and a pencil. "What you got there!? Doing schoolwork? Writing a play?" She grinned and told him she was writing an e-mail. He and I both had the same look of perplexity on our faces, but luckily I was able to beat him to the corny punchline. "Yeah, Doc--that's one of those notebook computers." Man, I crack me up. Anyway, Boy got his mouth worked on some and got his wooden token for wearing his frog tee-shirt, and since we got here he has been quietly drawing all over everything in the office. He grabbed the markers and a long skinny piece of foamcore board and drew a broom so he could pretend to be Harry Potter, and is now in the process of drawing a treasure map. How's it going, Bud? "Fine." As for the work on developing some kosher ham and hog jowls for the New Year's feasting, I must confess that this has turned out to be a bit harder than anticipated. Work continues apace. Hey, did I mention that I've been doing this same sort of crap now for over three years? Thursday, December 20, 2001, Possumblog hit the ether and created such a stir and hue and cry and provocation that at least two people actually were agitated enough to yawn. And now, 4,813 posts and 1,368,333 words later (according to Blogger--so take it with a grain of salt), Possumblog soldiers on into its fourth year full of the same inanity and flaccid prose that has been its hallmark lo these many months. Twenty-aught-five promises much of the same for you loyal readers. The disloyal amongst you are on your own.
Okay.
Time to break communications here for a while and go do other things for a bit. If I don't get back to the screen by this afternoon, I will be on holiday again tomorrow, so let me take this time to say all of you please have a fun and safe time ringing in the New Year. Remember, do not shoot live rounds up into the air--they come back down really fast and can go through people, including you if you're a particularly accurate shooter. Likewise, remember that all of your various artillery pieces should be thoroughly wormed and spunged after firing and before reloading, and the rammer should always be handled with an underhand grip on the shaft. As for food, I know this will pain Skinnydan, but New Year's around here just isn't the same without a big mess of greens cooked with a little hog jowl and some pepper sauce, cornbread, black-eyed peas, a big Virginia ham, and sweet tea. But never fear--Possumblog Kitchens staff are hard at work on a kosher version of the above. If I DO manage to get back here after the orthodontist visit, disregard the above admonitions until later on, around 5:00 p.m. or so.
My goodness.
What a couple! I mean, I don't have any trouble saying she's beautiful, but doggone it all, that's one good-looking fellow, too. Happy Anniversary, kids!
Did I mention that the high temperature Saturday is supposed to be 72 degrees?
Well, it is winter, after all.
Uh-oh.
Passengers stuck on plane ready to riot SEATTLE (AP) — Some of the 300 passengers stuck on an international flight that was delayed 18 hours by fog, regulations and mechanical glitches said the passengers were almost ready to riot as the wait dragged on.
At one point it seemed like we would have a riot towards the end," Wallis said.
Mechanical problems delayed the relief crew's flight, but even after it arrived, more bad weather forced Flight 33 to wait again.
Pizza and soda were eventually brought on board and the toilets were repaired. One hopes the toilets were repaired first before accepting delivery of the pizza and sodas.Stanik apologized for the problems and said passengers would receive a gift pack that included phone cards and vouchers for a free ticket anywhere Northwest flies in the United States and Canada. Because, you know, the odds of something like this happening again are, like, probably pretty low. Maybe.Customs spokesman Mike Milne said the passengers were kept on board to ensure security and follow the law. "We're not doing it to be mean," he said. Nope, it's just a happy coincidence.
OH!
Almost forgot. Another gift that I have long been wanting are some great big yellow rubber garden clogs. I occasionally feel the need to wear something other than black or brown wingtips to work, you know.
I think I could get used to a two-day work week.
Of course, it's not that economical for taxpayers, and it is terrible for building readership of furry old Possumblog, but it sure does leave you lots of time to do other things. Assuming that you use those two days to actually DO SOME WORK. I have to take a moment here and do just that, because not only is this a two-day work week, it is an ABBREVIATED two-day work week. I have to take Jonathan to the orthodontist this afternoon, so I have to get this clot of icky work done or else it will just spill over to Monday. And we CANNOT let that happen. I will be posting semi-periodically up until around 2:00, then out to the picket-fence perfection of Trussville for an hour or so, then possibly back again this afternoon after dumping Boy back at Grandma's house. Or I might just go on home. Depends on IF I GET MY STINKIN' WORK DONE. Which I need to do now. Really. Okay, gonna start...NOW. Well, when I finish clicking the POST button. Which is right NOW.
It’s the “Interstitial Holiday Version” of the Axis of Weevil Thursday Three!
IT IS NOW THE TIME when all of the gifts have been unwrapped and tried on for size, and there are the slim few days of renewed non-holiday activities before everything grinds to a halt again to celebrate the New Year and watch the Sugar Bowl. It is in this fraction of post-pre festivities that we take this opportunity to once again urge you to put on your bright red and fuzzy white thinking caps and cogitate a moment on the recent past gifting season and (in a series of questions inspired by one Jim Smith) tell everyone: 1) What was the best gift you got (or gave) this year? 2) What was the worst gift you got (or gave) this year? 3) What gift are you going to have to go back and get for yourself because someone forgot to read your list to Santa? As with all previous exercises, this little shindig is open to folks of all your various holiday traditions, whether you celebrate Saturnalia or not. The only requirement is whether or not you got or gave somebody something that could be construed as giftish. Of course, that really isn't really a hard-and-fast rule, either, because you can always pretend you got a black ’67 Sting Ray roadster delivered to you by a diaphanous-robed Salma Hayek... Hmm? Oh, sorry. My mind wandered off there for a minute. Anyway, leave your answers in the comments below, or leave a link to your blog with your answers. AS FOR my answers: #1--As for the best thing I got, I would have to say it was either the digital camera or the car-portable DVD player that we got for the van. Probably the latter, since it will anesthetize the children on long trips. The best gift I gave would have to be the cell phone we bought to let Rebecca give to Ashley. I have been resisting giving her one for ages now--she thinks because all the other kids have them that she HAS to have one, but with band and choir and other stuff, there are times when she does need a phone. And it’s one of the prepaid variety, and she is strictly limited to ten minutes a month. Not much you can do to get in trouble with that. I hope. But she was overjoyed and tackled Rebecca in thanking her. #2--Well, there was the whole key case debacle handled separately yesterday, but I also have to add in the two dress shirts I got from my in-laws. I have very specific standards for dress shirts, the most notable of which is that they have to be 100% cotton. The cotton/poly blends shrink so quick that they are useless within a couple of months, whereas the all cotton (assuming a nice, dense, thread count) wear like iron and take repeated boilings and bashings on rocks down by the creek. Reba and I have been married for thirteen years, and this rule has never changed. You figure folks would catch on. So, this year, again, crisp white oxford cloth dress shirts from Grandmom that are 55/45 cotton/poly. ::sigh:: Those get returned tonight. #3--I didn’t really ask for it, so it’s not fair to blame anyone for not getting it for me, but I would like to get myself a CD/DVD burner. And I think I might get one of those cheap no-contract cell phones like we got Oldest, mainly because I think they are so kewl. So, there you go. Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Sounds of the Season
As has been the practice in the past, Mrs. Claus was very generous this year with the audio CDs. They selections included: The Wit and Wisdom of Andy Griffith--this includes "What it Was, Was Football," which I think is a hoot--The Essential Bill Monroe And The Monroe Brothers; All-Time Greatest Hits--The Stanley Brothers; and Alison Krauss Live. I actually got that last one last year, but had already unwrapped it and played some tracks before I realized it. Oh, well, she's so darned cute that I suppose having two copies is okay.
"Car," you say?!
Oh, and HOW! Brand new black Lexus SC430 coupe. Now you might wonder how I can afford such a thing. Well, you see, I have a loving son and when he saw the 1:10 scale R/C version at Wal-Mart, he just knew his daddy would love it. Or, if Dad didn't, he sure would. So, I now have a Dub City ricer. It really is funny, because although both he and Mommy know Daddy likes cars, they seem to know much less of the types of cars I like. (Such as this, or this, or this, or this.) So, this one has gigantic Conestoga-wagon-like chrome spinner rims and low-profile tires, little blue lights behind the wheels that light up, big coffee can exhaust tips, and a package shelf full of amplifiers that light up. It would be quite the phat ride to park outside my crib so all of my sick homies could peep it. Which I suppose it what makes it so ridiculously fun to play with. I can be an old fart and still have my toe in the hip automotive youth culture. Just call me Bling Crosby. Anyway, it has been great fun, and if Boy thought he was going to get it away from me anytime soon, he has another think coming.
First stop--Going Postal
Hopped in the van to make the run to the main post office to mail three letters for church stuff. (I would have preferred just to walk, but it's a bit too far through a few blocks that are a bit too inhospitable.) Since I am a bold, innovative, Twenty-first Century sort of guy, I figured I would bypass the short line at the counter and use the spiffy new Automated Postal Center that only took six months to install in the lobby. Most of this time was spent with a large piece of plastic sheeting covering a giant hole in the sheetrock wall. I quickly scanned the instruction screen, pressed an imaginary button to say I wanted to mail a letter, pressed an imaginary button to say what size of envelope it was in, flopped the envelope onto the scale, pressed an imaginary button to say that I agreed the thing weighed 2.48 Ozes, pressed more imaginary buttons to select the mode of delivery (First Class), waited, pressed more imaginary buttons to enter the ZIP Code, and-- "Sorry. We are unable to process your request." ::sigh:: You know, some sort of sign on the thing might have been helpful to let us early-adopters know the stupid thing was taking a coffee break. Went in and waited in line the 19th Century way, and was promptly and courteously served. Left and went toward the courthouse, hoping for a parking spot nearby. None being available, I just went ahead and parked in our parking deck and walked across the park. Beautiful day today, and it being a holiday sort of week, no bums. Or squirrels, either, which is rather odd. Anyway, got to the entrance and checked myself through security. The couple in front of me--a woman dressed normally, with a giant handbag on her arm, and her husband, who I am certain has friends who think of him as "a character," who was wearing a too-tight University of Alabama sweatshirt emblazoned on the back with the record from the year they went 13-0 (sources tell me this was 1992--that's one old sweatshirt!) and a pair of red sweatpants--started through the magnetometer. Of course, since the woman had neglected to take off her purse, she set the thing off. The husband, "Oh, yeah--I figured you wouldn't be able to take that through--here, give it to him and let him put it on the x-ray machine!" Again, prior notice would have been nice of him to give her, but hey. Next, it was his turn. Walked through, set it off. The security guard gave him a plastic tub to put his belongings in, "Keys, pens, change--" "OH, well, I suppose so!" He propped his tennis shoe clad foot up on the conveyor and proceded to dig about in his left sock. "Alrighty, keys." I noticed as he stood there in his sweat-panted glory that tucked neatly into the rear of his waistband was his property tax notice. Eww. Talk about a tax protest. Anyway, he put his left foot down and then stuck his RIGHT foot up on the conveyor and commenced to digging in THAT sock. I would not have been surprised had he pulled out a bulldozer, but he managed to unload a wallet and a change purse into the tub before satisfying himself that he had dislodged all of his metal. He went on through beepless and gathered up his stuff. While all this was going on, I had already dumped in my key case with 9 keys, all my spare change, and my class ring. This is usually sufficient, because most of the time they have the sensitivity set high enough to be able to walk in with a bulldozer. As the cute pair went on, I strode through the detector and set the blamed thing off. ::sigh:: What a goob. I unloaded the two barely metal pens in my shirt pocket (wasn't carrying the good ones today) and went through and it did it AGAIN! Grr. This time he just told me to come on through and waved me down with the handheld thing that looks like a frat house paddle. I lit the thing up like a Christmas tree. My watch, all the zippers on my jacket, my tiny little belt buckle, and most inexplicable, my wallet, which to my knowledge has no metal of any sort in it. I took it out to show him and was going to open it up, but I had obviously wasted enough time because he gave me back my stuff and let me go. I won't be the one to point out all the obvious flaws in the building security, but it all seems a bit much of a show for very little safety benefit and a whole lot of inconvenience. Speaking of which, it was good to see Norm Mineta on the teevee giving Santa clearance to fly over the U.S. Such a good little regulator, that Norm. (For what it's worth, I'd rather give Santa a couple of Colt 1911s and let Norm shuffle off to a graceful retirement. But that's just me.) Anyway, went in and was at first taken aback by the line I saw, but breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was for the tax assessor and not the tax collector. I imagine tomorrow it will be wrapped all the way down the hall at the collector's office, but today there were only about three people in line ahead of me. Two of whom were the fun couple from the metal detector. Sure glad I wasn't the clerk who had to handle their tax notice. Ick. Butt germs. I handed my check and notice to the nice girl at the counter who wrote a number on it and told me to go over there, which I did, and then was once again promptly and efficiently processed by a nice lady with stiff red hair and gray eyeshadow, who managed to cheerfully print out my receipt AND find out from her coworker on the other end of the teller line that Sonja was having a colonoscopy. She's been vomiting since October, you know. $119.60 to the state, $248.40 to the county, $150.88 to the schools, $402.96 to the schools again, $92.00 to Trussville, and a minus of $53.00 for my homestead exemption. (One day I hope to be able to move out of the sod house and build one out of lumber.) Stopped by Sophia's Deli on the way back and got myself a Howard Special (meats of all sorts, with cheese, on a bun) and sat back down here and ate every bite. Exciting, eh?
Now then!
I have to go to the courthouse and pay my property taxes for the year! HOOORAY!! I LOVE PAYING TAXES! Gives me something to complain about. I also have to go mail some letters! HOOORAY!! I LOVE MAILING LETTERS! Gives me something ELSE to complain about. Anyway, back in a bit. Did I mention I got a car for Christmas?
Oh, yes. Now I recall.
I was trying to remember what it was exactly that made blogging so addictive. Having been home the past 11 days with hardly an opportunity to turn on the computer, much less organize my thoughts and write them down, I began to think that maybe this whole blogging thing was rather silly and pointless. But then, you find out that you just got a visitor who came by because he or she was looking for hippies recipes for a good cleanout, and, well, you know, it just makes it all worth it, doesn't it? As for the inquiry itself, I am reminded of several Cheech and Chong bits, especially the one in which Chong says, "Well, it was supposed to be Maui Waui, but it's mostly Labrador." I love the Internet. Man.
Also, Whilst Minding the Children Last Week...
I had the opportunity to view the entire 40 episode second season of SpongeBob SquarePants on DVD.
And what you've all been waiting on--
Well, maybe not all all, but possibly one of you. I got myself a digital camera! Yes, I have finally been dragged into the present. Back when I was on vacation, I took Boy out one night to go get his presents for all the girls, and at the same time I decided to shop around. Target, Wal-Mart, Sam's, back to Target, and finally decided to check Staples because I heard an ad on the radio. They had an HP package deal with an HP407 4.1MP camera and PS245 portable printer for $249. I realize there are better cameras, and printing is expensive, but the package price made it very attractive. I like the portable printer, and we used it when I went to my mom's house last Friday to be able to give her and my sister copies of the photos. I have a hard time getting anything to them with any timeliness because we're always running around, and so it was nice to be able to give them some pictures right then. The camera itself takes very good quality pictures, although the LCD viewer seems to be very slow, as well as the capture time. As long as everyone is relatively still, it works fine, though, and it is very simple to use. The printer is great for 4x5s--hard to believe they weren't done from negatives onto photo paper. ANYway, so you might be seeing some more photos on here in the coming year. Speaking of which, a gratuitous photo of Maureen O'Hara, in honor of the receipt from Miss Reba of The Quiet Man on DVD. Haven't gotten to watch it yet, and I can hardly wait. I mean, you figure a John Wayne movie with Maureen O'Hara and rowdy Irishmen has to be good, right?! I think so.
I hope it's not an omen of things to come.
Walked out this morning to come to work, furiously scraped the frost off of Reba's car, decided I needed to put down some of the papers I was holding in my non-scraping hand, went to the van and put the key in the ignition, turned it, and-- Nothing. Deader'n a hammer. It being relatively new, and having just been used successfully on Monday to ferry children around, I surmised that one of said children had probably left one of the many tempting ceiling-mounted click-on, click-off reading lamps in the decidedly clicked-on position. Thus ensuring a complete battery discharge by this morning. ::sigh:: I put my stuff down and wildly tapped on Reba's window to get her to reopen the garage door, ran in and got the keys to Moby, put them in and-- Cranked right up. Thank heavens. I finished scraping the last bit of frost off of the Focus and waved Reba and the kids on and got my stuff out of the other van--papers, garage door opener, parking deck card--and then see-sawed my way out of the tiny space between the front bumper of the Honda and the garage door in front of the Plymouth. Seems that when the battery is dead on the Honda, there is no way to shift it out of Park, which meant I couldn't back it up a bit to give myself some more room. Luckily, there was enough room to complete a fifteen-point, 180 degree turn. And now? Well, I'm back at work! Finally, some REST! And time to catch up with you all about the wonderful and strange adventures that occurred in the preceding week, none of which are actually THAT wonderful and strange, and it's probably a stretch to call them 'adventures.' But, you know, compared to watching batteries die, it's probably pretty compelling stuff. Or not. Anyway, check back periodically for some stuff throughout the day. I have some massive catching up to do with the paying gig as well as the blogging gig, so I can't give you the whole story at once. Most Disappointing Gift? Aside from the set of decorative stainless steel gut hooks from the Pampered Taxidermist, I would have to say it was one I gave myself, via Reba. (You know, you find something, buy it, and say, "Here, put this in my stocking for me!" Well, maybe you don't.) Anyway, I found a wallet set at Wal-Mart that had in it the one thing I have coveted for years now--a key case. For some reason, it has become very difficult to find a key case. You know, the ones that have a row of little hooks to hang keys on, and the sides fold over and snap shut, keeping all the keys together so they don't jingle and/or get all nicked up and/or tear holes in your pockets. I have had the same one now for over six or seven years. It's leather, and just about worn to shreds. Yet, it still does what I need it to do. But it's unsightly. I have looked and looked for a similar item, and even thought about taking it to the shoe repair place to see if they could fix a new case for it. But I figured it would be cheaper to buy one. If I could find one. SO, I was overjoyed to see the little set of stuff, and told Reba I was getting it so she could put it in my stocking, and that she could have the rest of it because the only thing I wanted was the key case. Christmas came, and WHAT'S THIS!? Why, it's a KEY CASE FROM SANTA! Yay! After getting the kids settled in with all of their noisemaking supplies, I eagerly tore apart the box and got all the other stuff and laid it aside and began transfering all of my keys to the new hooks. Ahhhh. Nice! And then, I closed the sides over, the new leather so slick, so soft, yet still so firm, and--and--::sigh:: It lacked a good half inch being able to close. Seems as though I have too many keys. I took off several, and yet, still, no dice. ::deeply overwrought sigh:: Later on, I took all my keys off and put them back on the old hooks, and snapped the old cover shut. The key case quest continues. Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Well, no.
I mean, it’s 9:00 and I haven’t posted anything, so obviously something is amiss. Got all dressed this morning despite not wanting to. Long night, as Reba was sick with some sort of gut inconvenience and a backache, so neither one of us were particularly perky. Actually, it was more like she was exhausted. Anyway, got up I did, showered, rousted the children, fussed to get them dressed, got Cat up and sent her to go to the bathroom, got the mail together, found my coat, made another pass to get everyone motivated to get out the door, and returned to hear Catherine quietly crying. Seems her tummy was doing backflips as well. ::sigh:: Went and did some more fixing and doing and then heard her crying. Walked back into the bathroom, and the evil bug in her alimentary system had decided to make itself known at both ends. Simultaneously. Thankfully, half of it had a place to go other than the floor. However, the rest wound up on her new pajamas and in the floor. “I-I-I lovvvvved these pajaAHHHHURGGGGG ::sob::choke::” What a mess. Well, I’m not going in to work today, it’s pretty obvious. I managed to clean up the floor a bit--with the last bit of toilet paper we had in the whole house. I got her clothes off without messing her up any more than necessary and threw them in the washer and threw her in the shower and hosed her off. Got her to dry off, and then made sure everyone was securely fastened and then made a quick run to drop off the utility bill and stuff the mail in the post office and then to the grocery store to get soup and Sprite and PowerAde and a People magazine and crackers and toilet paper. 24 double rolls. On sale. So, for the rest of the day I will be fulfilling my nursing duties, and you folks are just going to have to wait another day for some possumy goodness. So very sorry, but you know, real life and all. Monday, December 27, 2004
Catherine has exhibited of late a great and childlike fascination with the magical power of mistletoe. The very idea that you can steal a kiss just by standing under a curious piece of green plastic has driven her silly. “DAAAddeeee! Look where you’re STANDinnnnnng!” Sure enough, there would be some of the greenery around--at the doorway of Grandmom’s house; in the decorations aisle at Wal-Mart; held in her chubby little hand--“YOU have to KISS me!”
Much giggling ensues. (On her part.) Anyway, we were coming back home from church As part of my charge to instill knowledge in my progeny, I felt duty-bound to point out this bounty of REAL mistletoe to the tyke most taken with it. “Cat--look out there at all the mistletoe in the trees!” “WHERE, DADDY!?” I’m sure she was expecting little sprigs of plastic stuck in Styrofoam balls. “Look out there at the trees that don’t have any leaves. All those big clumps of green up in the tops are mistletoe.” “Oohhhhh.” “Look, Daddy, there’s some! And there’s some!” “Mm-hm.” “OOH, there’s some, too, Daddy!” We drove on for a bit as she fell back into a silence, and then she piped up again. “Daddy?” “Hm?” “If you was out in the forest, and you was under one of them trees with the mistletoes, and there was someone there with you, would you have to kiss them--even if it was a stranger?” “Ah, well, I can tell you if it was a boy I SURE wouldn’t kiss him.” “What about if it was a GIRL?” “Oh, maybe. But she’d have to be REALLY good looking.” At this quip, I sensed a renewed interest in the conversation from my co-pilot, who, up until this moment, had been engaged in reading a paperback novel and enjoying the comforts of her new back massage seat cushion (provided to her by the pilot). “You mean, she’d have to be prettier than MOMMY!?” “Oh, no, Sugar--NO one’s as pretty as your Mama!” Home run, baby. I managed to get both the exasperated eye-roll that comes from being assaulted with blarney, AND the shy shoulder-shrug that comes with mushy flattery. She kept on reading, and in a barely audible aside, I heard her say, “You got lucky on that one, Mister.” Indeed so. It has been a wonderful Christmas this year--a bit too much to get all down in one short blog post. Or several. Much merriment and Santafication for all. Tonight has been the first night I’ve had much of a chance to even get near a computer (aside from some furtive quick intrusions between the normal intensity of keeping up with four kids), and you see what time it is. I promise to get back in the swing of things come Tuesday when I get back in the office. Yep--I’m still going to be on hiatus today, such as it is. Laundry, cleaning up the explosion of boxes and papers in the den, helping a certain mistletoe enthusiast paint a small ceramic box, driving various electric remote-control vehicles, questing about for batt’ries, and trying to get geared back up for coming back to work on Tuesday. Blech. Many thanks to all of you who STILL dropped by the past week, even though there was nothing much to see. Your continued patronage is greatly appreciated, and I promise you your patience will be rewarded with grand tales of Life Along the Pinchgut. But not until tomorrow. And then not all at once or else you might get a blogache. Anyway, until Tuesday sometime. Friday, December 17, 2004
And now?
Well, right now I'm typing this. And this. And this. But in just a few moments I will revert back to trying to finish typing my meeting minutes from Wednesday. Before I get to that, though, I figured I ought to take a moment and prepare all both of you for the Annual Christmas Holiday Suspension of Blogging, in which I close up the palatial Axis of Weevil World Headquarters building for a week to stay home during the holidays to play with the childrenses and shop and do normal people stuff. Obviously, being normal means no blogging while I'm off (you know, unless something really good happens) so the old place will be kind of quiet until Tuesday the 28th. At which time there will be a brief respite and much hearty possumy broth, and then another shutdown on the 31st to get ready for the arrival of the Baby New Year. Before I sign off and go do my paying work, just a word of thanks to everyone who has visited here over the past year, as well as over the past three years. It has certainly been an instructive and fascinating time, and I appreciate all of the people I have come to know, even if it is only through e-mail. If the quality of a man's life can be judged by the character of his friends, I am truly and richly blessed. May God bless you all, and grant you peace and comfort.
Last night was another one of those long ones--I had my little zoning board meeting to attend, and the agenda was much longer than usual due to the fact that we didn’t have a quorum last month. SO, everything got moved to this one, and then there were all the other folks. Anyway, that wasn’t supposed to start until 7:00, so I had a minute or two at the house before I had to leave. Walked in to see supper getting underway (homemade beef stew--mmmm) and Reba (mmm) busily chopping up stuff with a knife. I very carefully notified her of my intent to briefly molest her, and after that was done successfully, I got caught up on her day, which likewise had already been a long one.
Cat came wandering by and I asked how her presentation had gone in class. “Fine.” She certainly was a cutey when she left yesterday morning--as I mentioned, their project had been to research the way Christmas is celebrated in different countries, and she got Ireland. She had a couple of books she looked at and found a couple of sentences that she thought would work. Being seven, she’s still not quite up on the concept of a research paper, so I punched them up a little and she colored a picture she drew all by herself. I also printed out her some song lyrics. As part of her presentation, she decided she was going to sing Danny Boy (yes, she knows it’s not a Christmas song, and it’s Irish only in the sense that people think of it as being Irish, but she likes it). She’s been practicing all week. Anyway, we got all of her stuff done, and as I mentioned before we got her soda bread baked (again, not necessarily a festive Christmas thing, but at least a bit more authentic than her song), and bright and early yesterday morning she decided she was going to wear her green plaid skirt. This was paired up with a little white turtleneck and her nice church shoes. She was cute as a button. As for the presentation, it apparently went pretty well, although I think her teacher read part of it for her. She DID get to sing her song, though, and after finally getting her to say something other than “fine,” she said she did it really nicely. The only drawback was that for some inexplicable reason (ostensibly due to some concern about germs) but after giving everyone a small sample, her teacher threw away her loaves of soda bread! Grr. I can understand all the kids probably grubbed all over the bread with their icky hands, but still, that was a lot of food to waste. Even if we had fed it to the birds it would have been better than wasting it like that. ::sigh:: Whatever. I gathered up her books to drop off at the library and got my papers for the meeting and gave Miss Reba a little Christmas goose on the way out the door. Meeting, one hour, blessedly non-controversial, on over to the library, dump books in book return box, and then ON TO SAM’S. I had to pick up some food for our office Christmas party today--pecan pie and vegetable tray--and I had to go get some bargain-priced gasoline in Reba’s car. Did that, on to home, had a bowl of stew, refereed some sort of conflict occurring along the border of the upstairs bathroom and the hallway (sporadically heavy small arms fire that dissipated upon my arrival), watched the High Drama of who would be chosen as the next Tyro (proudly may I note that this is the first episode I have watched all season), and then time for getting to lie down on the bed for a few brief moments to enjoy the FREE copy of Hemmings I had received in the mail. The only thing better than Hemmings is a free one, you know. Nodded off after looking at two pages, and decided it was time to go to bed. Up again today, to another conflict with Tiny Terror, who wanted to wear her pajamas to school. They were having Pajama Day. You know, I really wish they would quit having Pajama Day--at the elementary, the middle, and the high school. Maybe I’m just old fashioned, but I just can’t quite get past the sense that pajamas aren’t appropriate wear in a pedagogical setting, even if you are having The Polar Express read to you. So, tears. Wailing. Muleyness. Obduracy. And finally, pajamas removed and replaced with jeans and a Strawberry Shortcake tee-shirt. Yet another victory won through superior firepower. And now? Well, I’m finishing up my Christmas meal. In a surprising turn of events, no collards were brought this year. Chicken fingers, some salads, my vegetable tray, some green bean casseroles, assorted nuts (including some who were NOT of the human variety), some cheeses (none of them particularly challenging, however) desserts (including my pecan pie, that I made a surprise attack on while everyone else was distracted with the food food). The crap I got from Sam’s was horrid. The broccoli in the vegetable tray tasted like it had been left in a truck at the Mexican border and then sat on by various in-smuggled construction workers. Of course, the biggest disappointment was the pecan pie. The innards were okay, but the crust was about like eating kapok. Blech. I think I’ve got to go make a phone call, if you know what I mean.
CUBA! Where Irony Flourishes in the Rich, Warm Tropical Breezes of the Worker's Paradise!
Cuba erects sign linking U.S. and fascism And somewhere, a tiny tear trickles down the pocky, spotted face of James Earl Carter. UPDATE: I just found the picture of the sign. And that's either a '40 or a '41 Plymouth five window coupe in front of the sign.
December 17, 1903 On the morning of December 17, 1903, Wilbur and Orville Wright took turns piloting and monitoring their flying machine in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. Orville piloted the first flight that lasted just twelve seconds. On the fourth and final flight of the day, Wilbur traveled 852 feet, remaining airborne for 57 seconds. That morning the brothers became the first people to demonstrate sustained flight of a heavier-than-air machine under the complete control of the pilot. [...] One wonders how different the world would have been had they been bloggers rather than bicycle mechanics...
Adventures in Headline Writing!
For some reason, when I read this--Newsview: U.S. takes cool stance on Annan, all I could think of was this. Of course, this being tied up in international diplomacy and all, their idea of a cool stance is more along the lines of this.
From the Tater Bed!
Marc Velazquez sent the following yesterday and I thought it was a pretty good idea: As an addition to the Thursday Three, perhaps a Friday Follow-up would be appropriate for Christmas and help generate more comments (as if you need help with that!). My proposal, forthwith:
AS for the second part of Marc's inquiry, as I noted to him, a group of baby possums would be a litter. Possums are solitary as adults, though, and do not congregate except to procreate. If they did run in packs, however, I think the proper term would be 'a gross.' As in, "Eww, look! A gross of possums!" This site says they would be a "passel," which I suppose has some alliterative appeal. Also, did you know that boy possums are jacks, girls are jills, and babies are joeys? That's what I hear, anyway.
Okay, I realize I have no place to talk.
I mean, let's face it--I don't look like Brad Pitt or Steve McQueen (although some have remarked that I bear the lithe gracefulness of a young Raymond Burr). Be that as it may, I do realize the following might not be seen as particularly valid advice, but I have to say it nonetheless. If you are a woman who bears a eerily striking resemblance to the late Jim "Earnest P. Worrell" Varney, it is probably NOT a good idea to drive down Highway 11 with big white curlers in your hair. Thursday, December 16, 2004
A Question of Modern Etiquette
I just now walked into the restroom to rest for a moment, and was unnerved first of all to see that someone had taken the center stall, which everyone should know by now is MINE. Be that as it may, I walked over to the stand-up conveniences and began my few moments of quiet contemplation, only to have it shattered by the sudden flurry of conversation coming from the center stall. The occupant, you see, was on his CELL PHONE. And he was talking about someone in the LEGAL DEPARTMENT. I mean, I've heard of maximizing billable hours and all, but STILL! Anyway, I finished up, quickly, and then my quandary arose--does one flush in such an instance, thus disturbing the conversant man on his cell phone, or does one quietly leave, sparing the caller the indignity of loud swirly water sounds, but offending the next person to come in and use the facilities when he discovers the contents of the bowl to be amber rather than restful blue? Truly, it is a question that only could arise in a highly advanced civilization. UPDATE: Although Eric suggested flushing loudly and repeatedly, and I had briefly flirted with the idea of kicking the stall door in and screaming like a lunatic at the man who used my stall, upon reflection I finally settled on this answer. One must quietly take his leave after washing his hands, and wait in the lobby until such time as the caller leaves the restroom. Upon his exit, without making eye contact with him, re-enter the restroom and flush. Remember, poor manners upon the part of others is no excuse for poor manners on our own part. Although no one could quibble were you to leave a silent-but-deadly WPD (weapon of pants destruction) before you exit the restroom the first time. UPDATE the Second: Famous Fritz favors flushing furiously.
Another thing we talked about was anonymity.
For some very good reasons (namely being a opinionated, single, girl) Sugarmama uses a pseudonym to keep down the number of potential stalkers. I haven't gone that route particularly, but have done everything I can to keep Possumblog sort of a hidden-in-plain-view sort of thing. It's not a topic I ever bring up, although if anyone I know does find it, I wouldn't be ashamed (much) to say it is indeed my hobby. HOWEVER, I have thought before what sort of name I would have if I were ever to decide to blog in pseudonymity. Dudley Hall. I always thought it would be fun to write a newspaper column on architectural criticism. However, being in the field, it would be hard to do truthfully without upsetting a lot of potential employers, so I always thought I would write it under the name Dudley Hall. Why? Because it's the name of the architecture building at Auburn. Pat Dry. I don't know why, but whenever I see recipes for stuff and it says to wash something and then "pat dry," it just makes me laugh. Again, I have no idea why. Jean-Paul Sartre. A while back I thought up a cool-sounding French name, but then I found out some other guy had it, so I couldn't use it. Similar thing happened with "Lambeau Field." N. Deed. Well, Glenn Reynolds ruined that one for me. Anyway, I think you can see why I just stick with what I have.
Oh, Nate--you just THOUGHT you were jealous...
Because not only did I get to have lunch with the attractive, willowy and highly cerebral Sugarmama, I ALSO managed to weasel a good-bye hug out of the deal! Now, I'm not one to gloat, but, well, you know. And not only that, I managed to go the entire meal with giant wads of spinach on my teeth, and yet she STILL hugged me. AND she commented favorably upon the pens I carry in my jacket pocket, AND my official ID badge lanyard! As always, a fun lunch with Miss Sugar (not her real name, by the way) over at Cameo Cafe. I got there early to get my favorite table by the window so I could watch fire trucks, and after only a few minutes my lunch companion showed up. It's always disconcerting to see a fellow blogger in person, even though this is now like my fourth time to see her in person. I keep forgetting how tall she is. Anyway, I had a Diet Coke and the blackened chicken wrap in a REAL chipotle tortilla, which I knew was chipotle only because it said so on the menu. It also came with two little plastic tubs of special sauce that had no discernable flavor. (The sauce, not the cups.) Sugarmama had a great huge honking sandwich with meeeat and cheeeese and meeeeat and cheeese, that to her great credit she managed to almost eat the entirety of. Topics of conversation included her new promotion, computers (I nodded and looked concerned to feign understanding of all this talk), cutting the cheese, the often unstated difference between acting childlike and childish, contact with the known world (being that outside the realm of bloggerdom), books, parenting, Peter Pan (contrary to popular belief it is not a surgical instrument), work, school, dating, and, of course, me, because it's all about me. Over too soon. I hate the idea that lunch hours have to actually BE an hour. Anywho, we walked back down to 19th Street where we parted ways, first with a firm handshake, and then use of the aforementioned Svengali-like ability I had to cloud her mind and make her agree to give me a hug. I'm sure she will never be the same again.
Okay, so I'm still really busy.
And it's even colder outside today. BUT, I get to have lunch with Sugarmama! Yay!
Still Not Getting It, Volume XLVIII
Kerry Campaign Head Admits Miscalculations By STEVE LeBLANC, Associated Press Writer
Second, rather than attempt to either ignore it, or factually refute it (such as could have been done with a full release of military records), they took the highly ill-advised step of attacking the veterans themselves. Although you and I might react the same way when someone attacks us and tells us that we couldn't have been in Cambodia even though we made it up ourselves, for a Presidential candidate to start tearing apart the same men he attempted to use for political gain as his "band of brothers" fairly well reeks of political tone-deafness. And to complain that the press was somehow responsible for the debacle is ludicrous, given their vituperation toward the group, and their incessent drive to discredit the Swift Vets. The press was in near complete lockstep with the Kerry campaign in repeating as fact their talking points about the group. If anything, the Kerry camp didn't realize that people might not have so much trust in what came down to us from on high by the editorial boards of the NY Times, CBS, et al. That's what happens when you sweep your credibility into a small pile in the floor, douse it with lighter fluid, and strike a match. Anyway, Ms. Cahill, Karl just told me to lay off and let you keep digging.
Ahhh--the chill in the air, the sound of sleigh bells, twinkling lights--it can mean only one thing, you know. That’s right! It’s the First Ever Axis of Weevil Ramahannuchristmakwanzavus Thursday Three!
Yippee. Now then, being that it’s the very middle of a whole passel of competing holidays, this might be hard to make it as inclusive and festive as all the rest of the T3s have been, but we’ll try and do the best we can. Remember, anyone (theoretically) can play along, and if you don’t do any celebrating of any sort, it’s okay. Just make something up and no one will be any wiser. Except Santa Claus. Just leave your answers neatly gift-wrapped in the comment section below, or leave a link to your blog so we can all come by and oooo-and-ahhhh at your inventiveness. Anyway, on to the questions, which were once again provided by our favorite East Carolinian, Jim Smith (not an alias, by the way). 1. The ol’ Tannenbaum--fake or real? When does it go up? And when does it come down? 2. Shopping--fake or real? Oh, wait, that’s the last question. Here we are--do you wait until the last minute or plan ahead? Do you give gift cards? 3. And finally, where do you carry out your celebrating, of whatever sort it might be? At your house, at a relative’s house in the area, or out of town? Take yourself a big gulp of eggnog and get to work! As for my answers--regular readers will know that the Possumclan always make use of a traditional plastic tree that is now in its thirteenth year of faithful service. Reba and I had a real one the first Christmas we were married, and the constant bother led me to find a fake one. It usually goes up during Thanksgiving vacation, and usually comes down on New Year’s Day. Although some folks might scoff at a fake tree, please understand it is part of my cultural tradition, and you mustn’t scoff at the quaint ways of indigenous peoples. The first Christmas tree I ever remember at our house when I was little was made of aluminum foil with a silver painted broomstick trunk, and from there we moved on to a big white flocked tree. Both were lit up with spiffy floodlamps with the swanky modern rotating color discs. (We had to get rid of the flocked tree because rats got in it.) Anyway, since we celebrate Christmas in more of a secular style, a fake tree has as much symbolism as anything else to me, and it won’t burn the house down. #2--Miss Reba shops all year and stores presents away like a squirrel hiding walnuts. I wait until the week before, because I would forget where I hid stuff within five minutes of hiding it. We do occasionally give gift certificates and the like, but mostly we give actual presents, just like Santa Claus. #3--We have three sets of people to go see here in town, but we made a hard and fast rule the first year of our marriage that in order to keep down petty jealousies amongst these groups (two in particular) we would never leave the house on Christmas Day, and everyone else could just jolly well stay away as well. By doing this, we figured we could have some private time with our kids and they could actually play with the stuff Santa brings them. It has worked out very well, although not without some grumbling. But, being the jolly fat man that I am, I say they can take their grumbling and shov...never mind. As for the other visits, those occur mostly in the days before, but sometimes after, Christmas, and it is always tiring, and not that much fun. But, hey, who but a Scroogely Grinch would ever complain about Christmas?! So, the foregoing should not be construed as a complaint. Please. (If I get coal again this year, I might file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau.) Anyway, there you go. Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Oh, sure.
Danged fool Chet the E-Mail Boy comes in and starts mucking around with MY stuff, and everyone thinks I'M insensitive. He seems to be forgetting that pair of shoes I'm letting him have, and that despite my better judgment we went ahead and bought a new company car for him to drive around in. It's very nice, too--an '89 Mercury Tracer with only 90,000 miles. Cost us $425 on E-Bay, which was a pretty good deal since it doesn't look like we are EVER going to get paid for the loss on the Pinto that a certain codger (who seems to think he has enough free time to mess with my computer) drove into the Illinois River. Anyway, I have an employee conference that I have to attend with Chet now to deal with his insubordination.
HELLO MY NAME IS CHET AND I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE STOP MR OGLESBY SAID IF HE EVER CAUGHT ME MESSING WITH HIS COMPUTING MACHINE THAT HE WOULD MAKE ME CLEAN THE SEPTIC TANK SO PLEASE DO NOT TELL HIM STOP HE IS DISTRACTED AT THE MOMENT SO I SHOULD BE SAFE STOP I JUST WANTED EVERYONE NOT TO WORRY ABOUT GETTING ME A PRESENT STOP MR OGLESBY GAVE ME A COUPON FOR A DOLLAR OFF ON KELLOGGS CORN FLAKES AND IT WAS SUCH A THOUGHTFUL GESTURE THAT I DO NOT WANT ANYTHING ELSE STOP
It's very cold outside, and I don't like that one bit.
That's it--just an observation in passing. I'm going back to typing now.
Obscure Architectural Term of the Day!
Well, since we got all scriptural, let's look at the-- ECHAL. In a synogogue, the fitting enclosing the Ark or cupboard in which are kept the rolls of the Law; often of wood. An ornate example of the C18 exists in London at Bevis Marks, in the form of a large tripartite REREDOS. As always, here's you a picture to look at of Bevis Marks, a description, and a bonus definition!REREDOS. A wall or screen, usually of wood or stone, rising behind an altar, and as a rule decorated. Here's a pretty picture of a reredos (pronounced "reardose" I found out after no small amount of embarrassment) at the overly-long named Parish Church of St. Joseph's Blaydon-on-Tyne.(As always, definitions provided by the Penguin Dictionary of Architecture, Third Edition.)
December 15, 1791 On December 15, 1791, the new United States of America adopted the Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments to the U.S. Constitution, confirming the fundamental rights of its citizens. The First Amendment guarantees freedom of religion, speech, and the press, and the rights of peaceful assembly and petition. Other amendments guarantee the rights of the people to form a "well-regulated militia," to keep and bear arms, the rights to private property, fair treatment for accused criminals, protection from unreasonable search and seizure, freedom from self-incrimination, a speedy and impartial jury trial, and representation by counsel. [...] And to the credit of the writers, it remains one of the most influential documents ever produced.However, not to quibble with the description (which is a backhanded way of saying "I have a quibble with the description") but the Second Amendment doesn't guarantee the right of the people to form a well-regulated militia--it states that because a well-regulated militia is necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms was not to be infringed. And, despite arguments to the contrary, "people" means the same in the Second Amendment as it does everywhere else in the document--persons as individuals, whether they are acting in concert with other people or not.
Oh, that wasn't so very bad.
The meeting only lasted about an hour and forty minutes today, and it was mostly non-controversial stuff. Much less scribbling that way. However, I was feeling horrible--I didn't get into bed until midnight last night, and had to get up at 5:00 this morning, and one of the fistful of pills I take every day to stay alive made me a bit queasy. I had intended to stop and get some breakfast on the way in, but realized after placing my order at the drive-through that I had forgotten I had given Reba all my spare folding money last night when she had gone to the store. I didn't even have a single dollar. ::sigh:: I just drove on off and went on to where we have our meeting. BUT, what to my wondering eyes should appear?! I walked into the conference room, and it had obviously been cleaned up and moved around for someone to have a Christmas party, and over underneath one of the tables was a big #10 galvanized tub full of beer. More important to me, however, was that it was ALSO full of GIGANTIC BOTTLES OF DIET COKE! Big ol' 40s--one full liter of rich, flavorful, caffeine and phenylalanine. Mmmm--chemicals! AND THEN, one of my coworkers brought in some junk to feed our committee members, and one of the items was GIGANTIC CHEESE STRAWS! Man, I love cheese straws--if you've never had them, they are baked dough things with cheese and flavoring and flour and grease and salt, usually extruded out into disgusting looking curls or twirls or patties. These were bigger than anything I had ever seen before, so in order to allay my nausea, I sneaked over and got one, and promised myself after the meeting I would go get me a Coke. Which is exactly what I did. The bit of food made me stomach settle down some, so I grabbed two more of the cheese straws and a jug of drink on the way out to the van. The Coke was sort of lukewarm, but I did not care in the least. Although those big bottles are a bit of a bear to handle. ANYWAY, I need to REALLY get some work done today--I am going to be on hibernation all next week in anticipation of a visit from St. Nick, so I am going to be less able to play today and the rest of the week so I can get my notes typed up. "Less able," but not completely locked up, mind you, so do check back in every once in a while. Until the next update, you might want to take a gander at this news article: Ala. Judge Wears Ten Commandments on Robe By BOB JOHNSON, Associated Press Writer
Anyway, be back in a while with more stuff. Tuesday, December 14, 2004
The Continuation of Yet More Sleep-Inducing Tales from the Weekend!
This is gonna have to do you until later on in the day tomorrow--I’ve got my bimonthly exercise in being a mindless regulatory drone, so nothing much until later in the day. ANYway, as we go backwards in time to Saturday [insert wavy, going-back-in-time visual effect] all the girls finally got home. They had managed to go all over the county and finally wound up spending actual money on a dress for Oldest that they found over at the Parisian at the Summit. ::sigh:: Thankfully, it does look nice, and is both attractive and modest. Trust me, this is VERY hard to find. Apparently such an attractive and modest outfit required shoes. I have been told that all of this stuff was on sale, thus saving me great wads of cash. I am dubious. Got the kids fed, scrubbed and bedded, and then it was time to get right back up and go to church Sunday. Good sermon, aside from constantly having to poke a certain someone who had exhausted herself during the trip to the emergency room. I would almost be sympathetic, except she seems so put out that anyone would DARE try to keep her awake. We sit on the fifth row back, and I KNOW it has to be distracting for the preacher to see her nodding. Or acting like a turd when Mom or Dad elbows her to wake up. ::sigh:: Anyway. Also went and got a substitute for leading singing that evening. Remember my cold? It’s gone. It was replaced by the plague or something. My lungs and Eustachian tubes are filled with something the consistency of 5-minute epoxy in about its third minute of curing time. Hard to sing when you can breathe or hear yourself. After that, we left Oldest at the building so she could work on her debate stuff (she’s great at disagreeing, horrible at logic--I doubt this will be beneficial to her) and the rest of us went on toward the house. Stopped for lunch at Applebee’s and told them in NO uncertain terms that I didn’t want to have to navigate one of those stupid high round tables with creaky swivel chairs. Was seated at a regular table with a chair set at the end. I had kind of figured that might be one of the kid’s seats, but they all made a dash for the other chairs, perhaps anticipating being able to sit on one of the many sides of Mommy. No one ever fights to sit by me. ::sniffle:: As it turned out, they took all the chairs and Mom wound up on the aisle. Food, served with all deliberate speed, pay, leave, home, and then time to take Rebecca to go do some Christmas shopping for her siblings. We stopped by Wal-Mart and found most of the stuff, and then headed out over to Sam’s to use some of our newfound wholesale purchasing power, then BACK to Wal-Mart to see if I could find something else, and then back to the house to unload and reload with Miss Reba and kids and head back to church for the evening bout of keeping someone awake. Brief meeting afterwards, then time to head home for good. And go to bed. In total, a very busy weekend, and not one I am that ready to redo anytime soon. And tonight? Well, I have some more typing work to do for someone named Rebecca who has some science work to turn in tomorrow. OH, and Catherine and I made our soda bread last night! How could I forget? She got to help me measure and stir and pat out one into a pan, but it was so late that she didn’t get to see the finished result until this morning. She was very impressed. It tasted pretty good, but it’s not quite like cornbread or biscuits. ANYway, that’s about it for now. See all of you later on tomorrow!
Update Number 17 From Captain Myers!
Frank writes this week about messing up, but in the end, finds that some mess-ups are better than others. I don't say it enough, but many thanks to Captain Myers for the service he is doing in the cause of freedom. It takes a special group of people to do what he and his fellow soldiers do, and as a country we are hard-pressed to do anything that could ever adequately reward them. Stay safe, Frank, and my best wishes for you during the holidays and in the coming year.
Dr. Smith put in a request for some lunch blogging, and being that I am always willing to respond to my vast reading audience, today I decided to try something a bit on the differentish side.
I don't like to do this, because once I find a comfortable food rut, I figure there's no good reason to jump out for some fad or other. But, in this instance, I figured it would be like I was pretending to be an investigative reporter or double-naught spy or something, so I set out for the wilderness of the AmSouth Harbert food court to follow up on a sighting from last week--Golden Rule Barbecue. As I have mentioned several times in the past, I am basically distrustful of any fancy barbecue place, and even more so when said joint doesn't actually HAVE a barbecue pit, but rather brings in its meat from elsewhere. But, having said that, there is still the lure of being able to go somewhere close-by for smoked pig meat, so I figured I owed it to myself to find out if it's worth a second visit. First of all, it's cold outside today. Second, I thought I was going to get hit by a black 7-series BMW when I was crossing the street. Just wanted you to know. Anyway, on to the food court, after passing by the nice flower shop lady explaining an odd-looking basket to a couple of older guys, and up the escalator past the piano-playing guy. (The harpy was nowhere in sight.) As to this new joint--well, we can't really call it that--this new tenant, the decor when you first see it is very nice, with a dark wood storefront in the modern faux historical look. The walls have a few photos of the old original restaurants, as well as a couple of Bear Bryant/Alabama ones. Not that there's anything wrong with that. The back of counter area was humming along efficiently, with gleaming stainless warmers and coolers doing their warming and cooling duties respectively. First disappointment was the front surface of the counter. A pretty little mural of a brick wall, with a trompe l'oeil depiction of a pork-shoulder-and-butt-filled barbecue pit, complete right down to the cast-iron cleanout doors. ::sigh:: Sure, I understand the need to add some atmosphere or else it would look no different than every other place there, but, still. It would be like going to a strip club and all there was were paintings of nekkid girls. You know, like at the Louvre. I realize I should not prejudice my feelings for the taste of the food by the atmosphere, but the whole experience of settling in at a good ol' barbecue joint to eat and tell lies is such a deeply ingrained part of my social upbringing that it is difficult to separate the experiences into the eating part and the non-eating-but-still-darned-necessary parts. The menu board included their complete fare, including salads and chicken and such like, and it was good to see they did have banana pudding, or as we say, "nannerpuddn." (I didn't get any of the sweet stuff, though, because they would make me fat.) Since it was chilly outside, and since I have been craving it, I got a pork sandwich with the combo platter (yet another nod to senseless modernity) that had the Brunswick stew. Brunswick stew is good. When it's done right. I ordered my sandwich chopped, and got an order of potato salad just because I needed to maximize my carb intake for the month. By the time I got to the fellow at the cash register, my food was ready, which is laudably speedy service. Over 7 bucks, though--that's a bit on the pricey side. Especially after considering the eating of it. I filled up my styrofoam cup with refreshing and tasty Diet Coke, and set off again for my toasty warm office to see how good this brown bag of delights could be. And no, there is no place to sit down inside--it's like the other establishments and relies on the sea of tables out in the atrium. The sandwich was of a goodly size on a regular white bread bun. I had ordered chopped which, to the uninitiated, means that they are supposed to take a hunk of meat and whack at it with a cleaver until it's not a hunk of meat anymore. (It's different from sliced, which is just exactly what it sounds like.) Anyway, my idea of chopped is that it should be chunky, with some irregular-sized bits, but still identifiable as meat. The meat I received looked to have been pulverized into tiny splinters. That's not really SO bad, but when you do that, it makes the people eating it wonder if the meat hadn't really been nice and tender to begin with, so you had to run it through a jet engine to get it into chewable pieces. Anyway, I took a bite. Good, a bit of hickory smoke. But not great. As I have ALSO said before, any barbecue meat that can be served with an ice-cream scoop probably can't be all that great. There was a dill pickle. The sauce was okay, as sauce goes, but it's not quite what I think of as traditional sauce, especially considering how much touting Golden Rule does about it. According to this, their sauce contains: "water, corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, vinegar, modified food starch, salt, tomato paste, spices, paprika, dehydrated garlic and onion, monosodium glutamate, sodium benzoate added as a preservative, propylene glycol alginate." Doesn't quite sound like anything from 1891. Compare this with Ollie's sauce--"vinegar, water, tomato products, salt, sugar, spices, soybean oil, margarine." That's more like it. On then to the Brunswick stew--like barbecue in general, there are a billion variations of the recipe--but this was a pretty good rendition, thick with lots of meat (pork? chicken? both? neither?) and corn and chunks of tomato. Also a lot on the greasy side. The lurid slick orange glow on the side of the paper container will probably pass unmolested through my gut and leave a similar coating on the old porcelain throne this evening. What did they give me to go with it? Crackers. ::sigh:: Should be hush puppies. The potato salad is pretty much beyond mentioning. Much like a cross between chunky mashed potatoes and library paste, it would possibly keep a hungry man from starving, if he could bring himself to eat it. Overall, it's really not horrible food, but fails by not meeting some awfully high standards that have become expected of something wishing to wear the noble name of barbecue. Like real Philly cheesesteaks, and real New York cheesecake, and real Rice-a-Roni from San Francisco, some things are just too important to dabble in for fun, and around here, barbecue is one of those things. Eat it if you must, but there are better local alternatives.
For those of you in the Birmingham market who might have been wondering: Beaner & Ken in negotiations with station Steven Mackay
No matter, they still have done very well, and offer a pretty good mix of entertainment. I will say they seem to have coarsened a bit since they were first on the air--hey, I like juvenile potty-related jokes about as much as anyone, but after a while it wears thin. Michelle, their newswoman (who was added to the mix after their OTHER newswoman jumped ship) has also been an interesting addition. She's funny, and has great stories about her son and her husband and the rest of her family, but when the topic turns political, she and the guys are a little too quick to see black helicopters with Halliburton painted on the side flying everywhere. Having a differing opinion is fine, telling a story from one point of view is fine, but deliberately ignoring facts isn't, most especially when you put yourself forward as a reporter. There have been several times when I just had to turn the radio to another station, just like I do when the somnambulant gasbag Daniel Schorr comes on. Why? Well, not because I CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH, but because when that mess starts, the show is no longer entertaining. Well, aside from all of that, I still enjoy their show, and have missed them the last couple of days. I would hope that the station would understand the tremendous amount of affection listeners around here have for their drivetime folks, and see clear to quit yanking everyone around about whether or not they'll stay.
Crohn's Disease May Respond to Parasite Therapy By Karla Gale
It appears Aussie Tim Cobber Mate has gone on walkabout. Again.
In case you haven't noticed, he's moved to http://timblair.net/weblog.php, so stand on your head and update your links.
Before we continue with our recitation of the weekend...
I received an e-mail from a fellow named Josh Schroeder that some of the rest of you may have gotten, dealing with a story from the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point. I don't recall having spoken with Josh before (forgive me if I have) and I don't usually link to stuff that folks send me out of the blue, but this one is a pretty good story. One of the professors there at the campus writes a humor column in the school paper, and from the sound of it, there seems to be a goodly dollop of mean-spirited offensiveness to it. Occasional outré stuff, that as the professors says, is "...'about 80 percent stupid humor,' is an outlet for an almost fictionalized, crazed version of himself as the perpetual student...." Some of the folks on campus were incensed by his latest frippery, however: [...] But a group of students from the UWSP College Republicans organization wasn't laughing Nov. 4 when a post-election Rothfuss column included phrases like "punching smug-looking Republicans in the mouth" and "key every car you see with a Bush bumper sticker." The column's premise was that Rothfuss was drunk while writing to himself, and it suggested, "why don't you go on a killing spree? I pet you can take out fixteen for sisteen republicans beofre they gun you down. Duke, youd' be like a heroe." (sic)
[...] said College Republican Josh Schroeder. "I understood that he wasn't being serious," Schroeder said. "But I also feel that if someone with a conservative point of view would have said anything half as incredulous in a satire article, ... we would have had the book thrown at us." [...] [ellipsis in original] Don't believe it? Try a little experiment--in the professor's little whimsy, instead of "Republican," substitute "black people." For "Bush bumper sticker," substitute "NAACP." Let's try it: "punching smug-looking black people in the mouth," "key every car you see with an NAACP bumper sticker," "why don't you go on a killing spree? I pet you can take out fixteen for sisteen black people beofre they gun you down. Duke, youd' be like a heroe." Yes, and if this little screed had been written and published in a campus newspaper, the author would be out on his can in five seconds. No one would think for a second about giving him any quarter for his reasoning that "maintains that his teaching persona and column-writing persona should be kept separate." He would be gone, and everyone would be applauding the sensitivity and inclusiveness of the administration.Of course, it's not like the good professor isn't an equal-opportunity loon: [...] As a response to Michels' letter to the editor, which called the content of Rothfuss' column "totally inappropriate" for a faculty member, Rothfuss in his Nov. 11 column decided to satirically apologize for much of the bad advice that he'd provided via his column. His retractions of bad "advice" included telling readers not to chase hippies with a lawnmower and not to mix ammonia with bleach and drink it. [...] Academic freedom and the right of free speech are great, but the professor seems to have a problem, and it's not intolerance or even being outrageous. It's in not really being funny.Humor is hard to do. Offensive humor even more so. The professor's problem stems not from the fact that he sometimes writes over-the-edge material. It doesn't help his case to say that he spreads it around equally to all. The problem is that he fails to target himself as well. The difference between being clever and being a humorless shank is the ability not only to see the foibles and failings of others, but also to see your own, and to be comfortable enough being part of the human race that you are just as willing to skewer yourself as you are others. A tin ear, a weak pen, and overwhelmingly defensive self-righteousness rarely make a good combination of prose. You need to get out more, Professor Rothfuss. Oh, and lose the hat when you are indoors.
The End of an Era--The LAST INSTALLMENT of Interesting Alabama Place Names!
Yes, we have finally reached the end of the alphabet with today's selection of interesting place names gleaned from the back of the Official State of Alabama Highway Map, 1995/96 Edition. Before we get on to W, Y, & Z, I did want to point out that there is no X. Anywhere. No Xaviers, no Xanadus, no Xmas, no Xinhua. I believe this lack of X names creates a tremendous opportunity for any of you forward-thinking sorts of folks out there--think of the great riches that could be yours if you incorporated a town and gave it a name beginning with X! People just LOVE uniqueness, and with the only Xtown in the state, you certainly would be unique, and people would flock to spend money in your town! Well, anyway, think about it. SO, on to the show: First up, in case any of you still care where he is, there is Waldo, located in Talladega County. I don't think they were ever able to parley their good fortune at having the same name as the other Waldo into anything that paid anything. Nor did the idea for bringing in a bargain retailer known as WaldoMart. ANYway, next there's Warsaw, Waterloo, Wedowee, Weogufka, Weoka, Wetumpka, Wing, Yantley, Yarbo, and to wrap it all up, Zimco and Zip City. Possibly the most famous attraction in Zip City is the Zip City Auction Company. And so, having exhausted interesting things A-Z, it is with a heavy heart that this feature of Possumblog now draws to a close. However, I am looking into the possibility of listing Uninteresting Alabama Place Names.
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