My Apologies, Gentle Readers

A reader says, "I realize that you're probably busy but could you please post something new on your blog! I'm getting sick of seeing those butts." She later remarks that there is something particularly distressing about the butt/backpack combo. Probably gives her flashbacks to her honeymoon, but I won't explore that any further.

Anyway.

Another reader shares this from Range Life. NoCal folks will appreciate it most, but I think all NPR listeners will find something in this letter that resonates:

Dear KQED:

It's time now to kill "Perspectives."

Every weekday morning at 7:37, whilst Morning Edition fans in other markets are learning important things about the sorry condition of the world, Bay Area listeners are subjected to three minutes of personal stories about the pain of being bi-racial in Berkeley, or about the pain of being a nerdy teenager who doesn't wear Abercrombie, or about the pain of transcending consumerism during Christmastime.

In other words, it's a pointless segment of "I me my me me I my me me me me me," sort of like a LiveJournal site, but one that you're forced to read all the way through while it rubs your nipples with a cheese grater.

Today's edition, however, was such an atrocity against all that is holy and virtuous about public radio that I feel compelled to speak out. Adrienne DeAngelo's "Perspective" this morning consisted entirely of a long advertisement for Bugaboo strollers, a wildly expensive product line that Ms. DeAngelo wants to acquire for her baby. She went so far as to list the models, plus the features and benefits of each.

It would be annoying enough to hear Ms. DeAngelo whine about how much she misses her grandma or how much she hates traffic, like your other insightful "Perspectives" contributors, but to hear her engage in such flagrant shillery left me feeling like I'd been ear-raped by a car dealership.

What was it like in the studio when Ms. DeAngelo recorded this disaster? Did the
engineer and producer shoot each other an awestruck "This is gold!" look and high five? Is Ms. DeAngelo going to be invited back to brag about her new Bose iPod dock, or whine about her husband not buying her a Lexus RX350?

It's time for "Perspectives" to go. In the Internet age, we don't need NPR to encourage ordinary citizens from Rock Ridge and the Castro to add to an uninformed cacophony about how schoolkids need more art classes, or how happy they are they gave up coffee, or how badly new moms should want an $800 stroller. Let them go get blogs like the rest of us fools, so we can ignore them.

Yours truly,
Seamus

It's True

There's a lid for every pot.

I Didn't Want to Be the One to Say It

I thought it didn't need to said outright, but John Roberts sure is flaunting his persuasion these days, if you know what I mean.

May the Circle Be Unbroken

I don't want you to think I was actively cruising the Lebowski Fest website, but I do need you to know that the site features two circle closures for this blog.

First of all, it IS Liam, and someone thought it was funny enough to make one of these dumb fake church signs out of it.

Second, lebowskiites have already participated in at least one documented bed race. A bed race, dude.

I can't promise that I am done with any of these topics, but I will try very very hard.

Mmmm Good.

Once upon a time, there was a tiny little burg called Haggis-In-The-Can-By-The-Sea. It was a lovely place, and quiet, where all the movies were rated PG and folks left perfectly good wood outside for their neighbors to use as firewood. That kind of place. The kind of place you might like to hunker down and watch from a distance as Atlantic City blazes to the ground in The Rapture, knowing full well that you will survive and be assumed whole cloth into Heaven.

Anyway, one day, the good people of Haggis-In-The-Can-By-The-Sea decided that they wanted to share their local delicacy with the greater world. And in their goodness, they knew that they needed to expand their product line to ensure that it was all-inclusive. Thus, Vegetarian-Haggis-In-The-Can was born. I thought I could help them out, spread their message, spread their joy.

In a hopefully related note, Dismas House is soliciting recipes for its Dismas cookbook. Please join Mike Dukakis "Dukakis Clam Chowder", Sister Helen Prejean "New Orleans fried catfish", author of Dead Man Walking, Kay and John Bassett from Clark University, "Meatloaf," and submit a recipe for the Dismas House cookbook. This cookbook will feature Dismas cooks' recipes, inmate creative recipes made on hot pots, "Honey bun and snickers sandwiches," and photos/profiles of people who live in the community and support Dismas!

This is Getting to be Very Awesome

Pork Roll Shunners! Take Heed! Brown Bread Haters! Run! I bring you Cross & Blackwell Hunger Breaks All Day Breakfast. Have you ever been gladder that we won the Revolutionary War?

Here's the breakdown:

Description: All Day Breakfast baked beans in tomato sauce with sausages, button mushrooms, chopped pork and egg nuggets with cereal, and bacon.

Thanks to KMLC for the tip. Your case of All Day Breakfast is in the mail.

Question

Does anyone know whether, in The Big Lebowski, Jesus Quintana's bowling partner is named Liam or Seamus? I could have sworn, rewatching it on Friday night, that it's Liam, but then Dools found the script on-line:


QUINTANA: I see you rolled your way into the semis. Deos mio, man. Seamus and me, we're gonna fuck you up.
DUDE: Yeah well, that's just, ya know, like, your opinion, man.

UPDATE:

Okay, I am vindicated. The correct version of the script reveals that I was, in fact, stone cold sober throughout the entire movie (this time):

Jesus Quintana: You ready to be fucked, man? I see you rolled your way into the semis. Dios mio, man. Liam and me, we're gonna fuck you up. The Dude: Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man. Jesus Quintana: Let me tell you something, pendejo. You pull any of your crazy shit with us, you flash a piece out on the lanes, I'll take it away from you, stick it up your ass and pull the fucking trigger 'til it goes "click." The Dude: Jesus. Jesus Quintana: You said it, man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus. Walter Sobchak: Eight-year-olds, Dude.

I feel so much better now.

But less better because it turns out there is a major Lebowski subculture filling the Trekkie void. It bums me out a little. It's enough to make a woman dwell on the goofs so that the good parts are somehow . . . less good.

If You Thought Pork Roll Sounded Gross

For those of you who think the regional/state specialty of Taylor Ham is wierd and stomach-turning, then maybe you would enjoy the Massachusetts' classic Bread in a Can. My hubbis recalls this from his youth, and to rival my cravings, has threatened to order it from the internets.

Stay tuned for information about our upcoming pork roll and brown bread party....

Cute Overload

I added a new link over there to the link, to Cute Overload. I stumbled on it while unsuccessfully* trying to vote for Go Fug Yourself to get a Webbie or a Bloggie or whatever. It's basically the opposite of GFY. I am just bringing to your attention because you might be tired of checking this blog unrelentingly for new content that is not, in fact, here yet.

*My unsuccess arose from being distracted by this new website.

Nelson Marans: Chemist, Writer

In an earlier post, I included a letter published in the NY Times and written by Nelson Marans. It was a good letter. I noted in dicta that Mr. Marans seemed to write to the NY Times a lot. I have not found a letter, published in Today's Chemist at Work, wherein Mr. Marans brags that he has written "nearly 6,000 letters"in his retirement. Damn. While I admit I am impressed, I hope that when I retire, I find a more interesting hobby. Or at least one that takes me outdoors more often. But when I look within myself, I realize that, in all likelihood, I too will spend my golden years writing sharp letters to national and trade publications. Sigh.

Oh.My.God.

Thank you SO MUCH, Taylor Hammie, for the Amazon tip. That is exactly what I needed. Not that buying my own slicer is still outside the realm of possibility.

Maybe I should just drop this law gig and start a Jersey deli out here in the O-town. The problem is, there probably aren't mobsters to buy off and then fireman pals to "help" ensure the place is totally incinerated when the lazy-ass boyfriend of my daughter drops his cigarette butt into a trash bin full of dry paper and salami wrapping.*

Probably before I switch careers, I will get some Taylor Ham and make sure I still like it first. Do any other NJians want me to get them some? Dunes? MW? Cuz in LA? It'll be my treat.

*This is all a reference to a job I had in high school. I worked at the deli at the corner until it burned to the ground under the above-described circumstances. The local fire department hastened the demise of the place by breaking in areas of the deli that would draw the fire towards combustibles, e.g. the hundreds of gallons of cooking oil that were inexplicably stowed everywhere. I did not share this theory with the arson detective with whom I spent six hours replaying my last day of work. I did, however, use said arson detective as an excuse for why I was too traumatized to work for the rest of senior year.

This Blog's New Sub-Theme

Taylor Ham. Pork Roll. Some of you know what I am talking about. Most do not. Possibly this is a pregnancy craving. It's certainly not due to a shortage of sodium in my diet. The thought of a pork roll sandwich makes my mouth water. I am not sure if I can find it out here. But I have found some excellent websites about it, which saves me the trouble of starting yet another blog. Thank God.

For the uninitiated, Taylor Ham, aka pork roll, is a regional specialty of New Jersey. I can't even find other East Coasters who eat the stuff. I can't even remember if I really liked it when I still lived in NJ.

You can buy it online at these three places,* but I want to find it locally. One of those places sells Pork Roll ornaments and magnets, just f your i.

*Please, readers, DO NOT get the hot idea that you should order me a 6 lb. pork roll from one of these places. I will get one in the mail, and think, damn, we need a slicer. And we don't have room for a slicer in our apartment. So it will never get eaten and certain people that I live with will make fun of me, and then get annoyed with me that there are like 17 Taylor Ham rolls stashed throughout the house. And my only defense will be, "I like Taylor Ham and I am going to get a slicer next time I have a chance!" which my spouse will not believe, because, come on, Dre, where are we going to put a slicer.

Best Comeback of the Day

The other day, my little family visited a private preschool in Berkeley during an open house. It was a lovely school but the focus of the other parents' questions* was how would the school handle their child's brilliance. "What will you do if a child is more advanced than his age? Can he accelerate through the curriculum?" This drove me nuts.

I have not come up with a way of dealing with it, but I like this NYT letter writer's approach to handling people bragging about their children:

To the Editor:
I would suggest as an appropriate response to over-the-top bragging of parents about their child that one should repeat back to them word for word what was said, with the statement prefaced by a comment about how fortunate one is to know the parents of such a gifted child. A similar, but adult, situation occurred when one of my friends touted the fact that he was a friend of a multimillionaire. My response again was simply that I was proud to be the friend of a man who was the friend of a multimillionaire. The bragging stopped immediately.
If you really want to brag about your children, wait 30 years and point out that your child gave you a car or a house, indicating that your offspring was worthy of praise, in the unlikely event that this occurs.
Nelson Marans** Silver Spring, Md., Jan. 5, 2006

*My hubs asked about how they impart values of social justice. When the teacher got into an explanation involving puppets, he then stood up and rushed out as though our child were in crisis. He was not.

** A search for this name on the NYT website shows that he writes into the paper chronically, getting a letter published on average every two months. This makes me question whether he has actually employed this approach. Whatever. I hope I have the nerve to use it someday.

Just in Time

Phew! I almost started the second trimester of my pregnancy without constructing an Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie for my tumescent belly. Thankfully a co-worker brought this website to my attention. No need for anyone to make us an AFDB for the new baby. I will be following this warning:

BEWARE OF COMMERCIAL AFDBS: Since you should trust no one, always construct your AFDB yourself to avoid the risk of subversion and mental enslavement. Sometimes, AFDBs will be sold on places like eBay. Do not purchase these pre-made AFDBs, even if the seller seems trustworthy. They may contain backdoors, pinholes, integrated psychotronic circuitry or other methods that actually promote mind control.

It's All So Clear Now

If I had spent just one ounce of energy interrogating my suspicions about JT Leroy, I would have guessed that the whole stinking story was a ruse. No one in the media has out-and-out admitted that they were had, but the NYT comes pretty damn close today. But they can't pull the trigger. Admit it, Gray Lady, JT Leroy is not a woman, JT Leroy is a fraudulent bullshit machine invented by the alleged adoptive shrink parents. Jesus H. Christo on a hockey puck. The Emperor Has No Clothes. The JT Leroy Con is so elaborate that Jayson Blair has transgendered penis envy. What is the wierdest part of story? I think its the way Laura Albert has dragged her family into this lie, making her sister-in-law dress up as the fake JT and then publicly identifying herself (lying) as a transgendered, HIV+, drug addicted prostitute to get a hotel room in France in front of her young son. So messed up....

Busy day in blogging land

Some pretty excellent stuff out there today. First of all, the House GOP have called for the head of Tom DeLay, with one hot shot saying There's no room in the leadership for Tom DeLay. I recognize that this means that they just want someone who is more ideologically pure and awful, but its nice to see DeLay squirm, and, of course, threaten: "And he appreciates that a majority of his colleagues won't give in to what is essentially character assassination by insinuation," sooth the spokesman.

Even better, oh, way way better, is the re-emergence of my long-time crush Subcommandante Marcos. Or should I say, Delegate Zero?

That is, in fact, a picture of Marcos holding a rooster that looks vaguely like a penguin. Thanks to Boli-Nica for this story, which includes this excellent description from Sub.M/Del.Z:

Concerning How the Recurring PS, A.C. of C.V. Unlimited & Co., Continuing To Be Into Informing, Testifies As to the Latest Events Regarding the Alleged Penguin Allegedly Located In Allegedly Zapatista Lands, in the Selva Lacandona, Chiapas (or Some Distance From Antarctica). - Alright, then, I'm informing you that, following a scientific "penguinological" analysis, it has been determined, to an acceptable degree of certainty, that Penguin was a little rooster in his previous life. And so it might be expected that he would exhibit behaviors which might lead to confusing him with a rooster. This has, in fact, already occurred.

The NYT article has an awesome aside about the difficulties of Pinguino's love life.

Can you imagine if George Bush started carrying around a rooster that he called a penguin? It would be (a) not surprising, really, and (b) somehow seem actually crazy, whereas Marcos just seems more awesome because of this. I really need to look into getting me a rooster...

The last bit of news I have for you is the introduction of my newest blog, Bay Area Hiking Mamas. I know that there are some among you who are already annoyed that I am blogging at all. I accept that. Others wonder, Dude, you barely blog on Scobie, why are you spreading yourself so thin? Point taken. I have a small fantasy that after I develop the Hiking Mama blog, I can turn it into a locally published book, which will help part other Bay Area moms from $14.95. Just a thought.

Enjoy.

Happy New Year

The first good thing to happen this year, so far, is that Underneath Their Robes is back on-line. No explanation for the absence (but I guess we'll hear all about it later*). But s/he's reporting the last good thing to happen in 2005**, which is the coverage of our bud Jay Wexler's Green Bag article in the New York Times.

* Probably in a book.
** The NYT article was probably not, in fact, the last good thing to happen in 2005. But for the sake of the the structure of this paragraph, let's just agree that it was. Because it certainly was NOT the ESPN NYE show.

This is the post that helps the later post appear.

I cannot explain it.

When It's Too Icy for a Bed Race. . .

This photo suggest that children in other countries (okay, in Dusseldorf) are forced to race one another, dressed as Santa, in order to obtain gifts on Christmas. Poor children. Of course, if we instituted such a program here, it might be a way to deal with childhood obesity, through a Darwinian "only the fast thin kids get gifts" rationale.


We could even make the adults do it. One guy apparently thought he could substitute his boxing robe for a Santa suit. Don't worry, he'll get ding-ed at the finish line.

It's more likely, of course, that Americans will start to act like the Russians, and dress their pets as Santa. I wonder if we would let guinea pigs run as our proxies in the Great Christmas Dash.

I don't know why I am blaming the Russians for this nonsense (although this is a Russian guinea pig). It was probably the English who invented the pet costume. And they wonder what happened to their empire.....

Downer in Lowndes County

You may recall my earlier post about Teamsters' organizing in AL. I am pasting today's post from The Union Lawyer in its entirety here:

Around our office, we sometimes talk about getting at least one victory a day. I haven't had one yet, but this sure ain't it. Workers at the Daehan Solutions plant in Lowndes County, AL, voted not to be represented by a union yesterday. I had written about this earlier, surprised that the NLRB was moving so quickly on the unfair labor practice charge. Here's an excerpt from the article that I found strange:

"The company has good pay and benefits, and good and safe working conditions, which is probably why the union attempted to sway the voters with inappropriate and offensive appeals to racial prejudice," Debruge said.

What Debruge referred to was a handbill distributed at the plant Tuesday that he called "racially inflammatory." Both sides accused the other of unfair tactics as the election drew nearer.

The handbill stated, "Thirty-seven years ago, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. gave his life fighting for union workers in Memphis, Tenn. Let's keep his dream alive Nov. 30, 2005. Vote 'yes' union."

Teamsters organizers said Wednesday that the handbill didn't come from them.

I guess it is not strange; race is the sine qua non in AL but it can hardly ever be discussed in public or polite company. I would hazard a guess that this flyer was only one side of a "racially inflammatory campaign".