Today is not the day

At least, not if you were looking for the promised link.

It is, however, the day for Steamables:













I have nothing in principle against these things: nuke your veggies in the same bag they came home in from the store.

But unless you're eating 'em out of the bag, what are you actually saving? Zap your cauliflower in a bag and dump it in the bowl? or dump your cauliflower in a bowl and then zap it - either way you gotta wash the bowl.

Or have the dog lick it clean.

I just don't see what we're winning here. Sorry.



And strictly off the record, why are you eating cauliflower in the first place? Tastes like fluffier cabbage...

Oddities

I neither encourage nor discourage traffic here - I more or less bay at the moon and let the visitors stop by randomly, but my post the other day about John Thain's choice of commodes generated a jump in hits. I trust it was only temporary, as I intend to refrain from commenting about his curtains (drapes - whatever) and could care less about whether they matched the carpet or only coordinated with it.

But that traffic spike got me to looking at what brings folks here, and most of 'em, historically, seem to come looking for squirrels. I don't understand that. Squirrels, ladies and gentlemen, are not like Bubba's shrimp. They do not, around here, come fried. Sauteed. Deep fried. Broiled. Saladified. Sandwiched. Boiled. Foiled. Poached. Whatever. The only squirrels you'll find here are "treed" or "on the other side of the fence." Not "fricasseed" or "on rice."

I chase those vile beasts off: you're more likely to find cheeseburgers and onion rings or fries here, leftovers from our latest trip to Lenny's Bar and Grill and Swapmeet*

*Yes. I still owe you a link. I'll get to it. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.

I thinks slow...

...so y'all gotta be patient with me.

Well, no, you ain't gotta, but it'd be appreciated, if you'd be so kind.

After this evening's trip out to Lenny's Bar and Grill and Swapmeet*, having come home with a belly full of Lenny's finest and wanting nothing more than to curl up with a heavy thought or two, I got to browsing around Al Gore's fine invention (the internet, not global warming), and came across a story that sorta-kinda-mighta-maybe-coulda tied in to what I wrote last night about that fancy four-legged commode. Don't click through if you can't handle a couple pages of MSNBC meringue (more air than egg - but that's the MSM anymore).

Anyway, they prat on a bit about how the general public wants more bang for their buck from the top executives of financial institutions today than they did when CEO's got gajillion-dolla bonuses.

To that I can only say, "Thank goodness for a couple onion rings and a bowl of tap beer, or I'd get upset."

'Cause seriously? School teachers across the nation have known for a number of years that folks are demanding more bang for their buck.

I have a proposal: let the CEO's read the teacher blogs, the parent blogs, the home-school blogs, the grand-parent blogs. Therein lies the pulse of the country, and therein lies the handwriting on the walls of CEO's, CFO's, and of politicians across this great squirrel-chasing paradise, and some of those folks could 'prolly save themselves some jail time. Or at least some public humiliation.

Part of what I'm thinking is that they could get themselves a three-legged commode instead of a four-legged, and plant their backsides on it in the corner.

















*It occurs to me that I ought to put up a link. I'll try to do that one of these days when I'm not procrastinating so diligently.

And yes. I apologize for having been so thorough a procrastinator that there's no hole in the commode. My bad.

Commode on legs

Former Merrill exec John Thain has apparently resigned from Bank of America, and he's taking some press-flak from his decision to support the economy by remodeling his office prior to his departure. One of the items involved in the reportedly $1.2 million-bone remodel is a "commode on legs," for which he dropped $35K.

I'm chuckling, as I figure he ripped himself off, because when I search, this is the commode-on-legs that comes up first:

It's a long way to tip a rari.

And a long way back home.



But we got off the road early enough Saturday to get unpacked sufficiently to head out to Lenny's Bar and Grill and Swapmeet (not pictured - that's Tipperary in the photo) for dinner. Was nice: a couple miles in the car with no suitcases stacked on top of laundry baskets beside coolers on the back seat. Burgers. Onion rings. Cold beer. Home.

We checked out the new stuff on the swap meet tables; didn't see anything we needed (we're hesitant about TV antennas just now - waiting on Congress), so we moved to the bar for dessert and a final beer and some conversation with the folks sitting there: Terry and Grace, Ron, Lynn - the regulars.

We'd only had a couple bites and a couple sips when a stranger came in carrying an alligator. Now, it's not like we live so terribly far from 'gator country that we haven't seen 'em before. But we're far enough off the coast so it's not an everyday thing, so we kinda perked up. More curious than anything.

And the dude says to no one in particular and to all of us in general, "Here’s the deal. I'll open this alligator's mouth and place my genitals inside. The gator will close his mouth for one minute, then open it, and I'll remove my unit unscathed. If it works, everyone buys me drinks."

Like I said, we live close enough to 'gator country that we mistrust 'em. We agreed by acclamation.

The guy opened his Wranglers and stuck his junk - all of it - in the 'gator's mouth. The 'gator closed its mouth. After a minute, the guy grabbed a beer bottle and rapped the 'gator upside the head. The 'gator opened its jaws back wide open, and the stranger removed himself unscathed.

So we all bought him drinks.

Then he said: "I'll pay anyone $100 who's willing to give it a try."

After a while (a long, quiet while) Lynn raised her hand. "I'll give it a try," she said, "but you have to promise not to hit me on the head with the beer bottle."



Now. I realize that versions of that tale have been floating around since before my grandfather was born, but I swear it's true in this incarnation (hat-tip to Miss Cellania for reminding me to tell it).

And somehow, with the inauguration tomorrow, the idea of a guy sticking his junk in a gator's mouth seems appropriate, except for the image. This will be the 44th President of the United States to do so. Some few, as did the man in the bar the other night, have withdrawn unscathed. Some haven't.

I hope the White House doesn't run out of longnecks.