The Unbearable Evilness of Beer
Yesterday there was this pleasant story in the St. Paul Pioneer Press (thanks to Rick for the tip off):
Coming soon to the Land of Sky Blue Waters: a monument to the Hamm's Bear, an advertising icon whose cartoon exploits helped burnish Minnesota's image as an unspoiled natural paradise.
The Hamm's Club, a Minneapolis-based group that unabashedly celebrates the bear and his beer, plans to donate a 6-foot-tall granite monument to the city of St. Paul, where the Theo. Hamm Brewing Co. started making its namesake product in 1865.
City officials intend to install the monument next year in Como Park, near a waterfall named after former brewing company President William Hamm Sr. The City Council votes today on whether to accept the gift.
About time that the Hamm's Bear gets a place in the sun. Maybe the world isn't such a bad place after all.
Today the news was not so cheery:
The St. Paul City Council said thanks, but no thanks, on Wednesday to a club that wanted to erect a monument to the Hamm's Bear in Como Park.
The St. Paul Parks and Recreation Commission had approved the plan to install the monument in Como Park, near a waterfall fountain donated in the 1960s by the Hamm family. At the request of city officials, the Hamm's Club did not include the word "beer" in the monument plans.
But several council members said Wednesday that a public park wasn't the place to commemorate a beer icon.
"It's neat and it's nice, but it's not great art," said Council Member Chris Coleman as the panel voted unanimously to delay action on the matter. "I think there's a place for it in the city of St. Paul. I just don't think it's Como Park."
Council Member Jay Benanav said the Hamm's Bear is a purely commercial symbol. He distinguished the advertising bear from the "Peanuts" sculptures that have been displayed in public spaces in St. Paul for the past four summers.
"I don't think Snoopy drank a lot of beer," he said.
Well you thought wrong Mr. Benanav. He might not have been drinking Hamm's but Snoopy would often go over to his old war buddy's (Bill if I'm not mistaken) house and quaff a couple of root beers.
Thank God the residents of St. Paul have the City Council looking out for them to decide what is "great art" and what is not. And God forbid anyone would try to connect beer with a park. Watch out. Before you know it people might start having FUN. And we wouldn't want to allow that would we?
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
Sometime tomorrow a plane will touch down somewhere in Arizona and Brad Jones from Infinite Monkeys will emerge, triumphantly waving a piece of paper in his hand and proclaiming that he has secured "peace in our time". He will of course quickly lower his voice, put the paper in his pocket, and furtively steal away once the TSA agents notice him and begin to close in. But he has apparently succeeded in his role as peace emissary and the dispute between talk radio host Hugh Hewitt and the humble (growing increasingly less humble as the trivia titles continue to mount) gang of bloggers here at Fraters Libertas has been settled amicably.
Brad had been dispatched to Southern California to attempt to talk Hugh down from the arrogant perch of absolute power that he recently ascended to. He managed to infiltrate the sprawling compound where Hugh broadcasts from and was even brought on the air a couple of times to discuss pressing issues of the day with Hugh, mainly focusing on the fracas with Fraters as well as some kind of "recall" thing going on in California.
Brad did a masterful job with Hugh by giving him a graceful out so as not to lose face. You see (wink wink) Hugh was never serious about attempting to wrest control of our site away from us, rather it was merely a test of our mettle (wink wink). Now that we have passed the "test" with flying colors Hugh has reaffirmed our good standing in the formidable Northern Alliance of blogs. I don't know what this says about certain other members of the Alliance whose toadying behavior during the conflict was far from honorable.
The outbreak of peace is, of course, welcome and allows us to avoid unpleasantries that would have resulted if hostilities had continued. For example if Brad had not been able to reason with Hugh and bring him back from the brink, he had instructions to unleash a wave of sabotage at the studio which included spilling Diet Coke, Cheetos, Doritos, and popcorn grease all over Hugh's desk. Employees at the studio would think that a common raccoon had rampaged through the area. Either that or Hugh had been working late again.
It also stops us from once again raising our settlement demands from Hugh. The latest wrinkle was a guaranteed weekly appearance on his show called 'Five Minutes With Fraters: A Segment About Nothing'. Listeners across the country are now breathing a deep sigh of relief.
And I won't have to link to this rather unusual picture of Hugh found at the Chapman University web site. Was that surfer dude bleached blonde really the color of Hugh's hair at one point or was he hitting the Alberto V05 hard in the midst of some sort of mid-life crisis?
Finally we have learned many a valuable lesson from our most recent bout with the powerful, dangerous, and unpredictable Hewitt Empire. Perhaps the most important can be boiled down to "if you want peace, prepare for war". We shall be prepared.
Sometime tomorrow a plane will touch down somewhere in Arizona and Brad Jones from Infinite Monkeys will emerge, triumphantly waving a piece of paper in his hand and proclaiming that he has secured "peace in our time". He will of course quickly lower his voice, put the paper in his pocket, and furtively steal away once the TSA agents notice him and begin to close in. But he has apparently succeeded in his role as peace emissary and the dispute between talk radio host Hugh Hewitt and the humble (growing increasingly less humble as the trivia titles continue to mount) gang of bloggers here at Fraters Libertas has been settled amicably.
Brad had been dispatched to Southern California to attempt to talk Hugh down from the arrogant perch of absolute power that he recently ascended to. He managed to infiltrate the sprawling compound where Hugh broadcasts from and was even brought on the air a couple of times to discuss pressing issues of the day with Hugh, mainly focusing on the fracas with Fraters as well as some kind of "recall" thing going on in California.
Brad did a masterful job with Hugh by giving him a graceful out so as not to lose face. You see (wink wink) Hugh was never serious about attempting to wrest control of our site away from us, rather it was merely a test of our mettle (wink wink). Now that we have passed the "test" with flying colors Hugh has reaffirmed our good standing in the formidable Northern Alliance of blogs. I don't know what this says about certain other members of the Alliance whose toadying behavior during the conflict was far from honorable.
The outbreak of peace is, of course, welcome and allows us to avoid unpleasantries that would have resulted if hostilities had continued. For example if Brad had not been able to reason with Hugh and bring him back from the brink, he had instructions to unleash a wave of sabotage at the studio which included spilling Diet Coke, Cheetos, Doritos, and popcorn grease all over Hugh's desk. Employees at the studio would think that a common raccoon had rampaged through the area. Either that or Hugh had been working late again.
It also stops us from once again raising our settlement demands from Hugh. The latest wrinkle was a guaranteed weekly appearance on his show called 'Five Minutes With Fraters: A Segment About Nothing'. Listeners across the country are now breathing a deep sigh of relief.
And I won't have to link to this rather unusual picture of Hugh found at the Chapman University web site. Was that surfer dude bleached blonde really the color of Hugh's hair at one point or was he hitting the Alberto V05 hard in the midst of some sort of mid-life crisis?
Finally we have learned many a valuable lesson from our most recent bout with the powerful, dangerous, and unpredictable Hewitt Empire. Perhaps the most important can be boiled down to "if you want peace, prepare for war". We shall be prepared.
On Achieving Glory
Occasional victory can be gratifying. Consistent victory can be intoxicating. But then again, so can free drinks. Which means I‘m not sure what the root cause of my current state of bleary-eyed bliss is. Both victory and the accompanying free Wexford Cream Ales have been ours for the past two weeks after the trivia challenge at Keegan’s Pub. And in this state of high celebration I find it difficult to back track on the exact linear progression of causation.
What I will say is that the Fraters Libertas team emerged victorious again last night. This time dominating the field, which many observers felt was among the strongest ever assembled in the long, august history of Twin Cities trivia. Despite the diabolically clever nature of the questions and the far ranging scope of expertise covered, we scored 19 of 25 correct. Fully 12.5% better than the next highest competitor. The remarkable extent of this victory was emphasized by the gasps of wonder and prolonged, worshipful glances we received upon our score being announced (and that was just from each other).
Not that the game was without controversy. A question about “which beverage includes the ingredient sassafras” was ultimately judged to have one answer and one answer only: root beer. Team Fraters divined this specific answer immediately. But we realized that another beverage, sarsaparilla, also contained this ingredient. (To quote internationally known sassafras expert Anthony of Anthony’s Root Beer Barrel.com: “sarsaparilla came from sassafras trees and root beer came from one or more of many different trees, most often the sassafras tree.”)
Knowing the quiz master’s predilection for anachronism, we went with sarsaparilla. And upon the final tally, we were greeted with a terse, check marked rebuke of “incorrect.”
But, as the motto for Keegan’s Trivia so correctly states, there is no whining in trivia (TINWIT). More to the point is our personal motto, there is no whining in winning (TINWIW). And since we did, no formal complaint was filed. If we would have lost, believe me the the Keegans would have heard about it. Since there is a distinct difference between whining and the dispassionate and articulate presentation of irrefutable evidence that they are dead wrong, we would have been well within the rules.
Needless to say, the the former champions, the Atomizer’s Team K, are rapidly fading into distant bar room memory. Rumors were that they were in Keegan's last night, although they didn’t present themselves publicly. I assume they simply accepted their defeat in silent torment, followed by a hasty, unannounced, red-faced departure.
The few in Keegan's who do remember Team K’s reign of terror now openly wonder why they were ever thought to be so fearsome. In fact, one prominent patron was overheard describing Team K as “a proud, but cowardly people.’” (For a summary of what this period of distant history was like, click here.)
I’m not sure about that characterization. But what I do know is that a new era has dawned at Keegan’s on Tuesday nights. One which the regulars are starting to call “The Era of Good Feelings.” And I presume the reason they're saying this isn’t just because they're chronic inebriates. Rather, it’s based on our dashing good looks, warm personalities, gregarious demeanors, and our habit of buying a round for the house after each victory. (For any of you who were in attendance the past two weeks and don’t remember any such thing, I can only accuse you of being in the bathroom at the critical juncture.)
As long as we can maintain our team chemistry, a reasonable level of sobriety, and continue to have the inspiration provided by the beautiful and charming waitress Jessica, there's no reason we can't continue this unyielding series of victories. Someday, like all good things, I suppose this must come to an end and we will lose. But until that day Twin Cities, let's all enjoy these golden times.
Occasional victory can be gratifying. Consistent victory can be intoxicating. But then again, so can free drinks. Which means I‘m not sure what the root cause of my current state of bleary-eyed bliss is. Both victory and the accompanying free Wexford Cream Ales have been ours for the past two weeks after the trivia challenge at Keegan’s Pub. And in this state of high celebration I find it difficult to back track on the exact linear progression of causation.
What I will say is that the Fraters Libertas team emerged victorious again last night. This time dominating the field, which many observers felt was among the strongest ever assembled in the long, august history of Twin Cities trivia. Despite the diabolically clever nature of the questions and the far ranging scope of expertise covered, we scored 19 of 25 correct. Fully 12.5% better than the next highest competitor. The remarkable extent of this victory was emphasized by the gasps of wonder and prolonged, worshipful glances we received upon our score being announced (and that was just from each other).
Not that the game was without controversy. A question about “which beverage includes the ingredient sassafras” was ultimately judged to have one answer and one answer only: root beer. Team Fraters divined this specific answer immediately. But we realized that another beverage, sarsaparilla, also contained this ingredient. (To quote internationally known sassafras expert Anthony of Anthony’s Root Beer Barrel.com: “sarsaparilla came from sassafras trees and root beer came from one or more of many different trees, most often the sassafras tree.”)
Knowing the quiz master’s predilection for anachronism, we went with sarsaparilla. And upon the final tally, we were greeted with a terse, check marked rebuke of “incorrect.”
But, as the motto for Keegan’s Trivia so correctly states, there is no whining in trivia (TINWIT). More to the point is our personal motto, there is no whining in winning (TINWIW). And since we did, no formal complaint was filed. If we would have lost, believe me the the Keegans would have heard about it. Since there is a distinct difference between whining and the dispassionate and articulate presentation of irrefutable evidence that they are dead wrong, we would have been well within the rules.
Needless to say, the the former champions, the Atomizer’s Team K, are rapidly fading into distant bar room memory. Rumors were that they were in Keegan's last night, although they didn’t present themselves publicly. I assume they simply accepted their defeat in silent torment, followed by a hasty, unannounced, red-faced departure.
The few in Keegan's who do remember Team K’s reign of terror now openly wonder why they were ever thought to be so fearsome. In fact, one prominent patron was overheard describing Team K as “a proud, but cowardly people.’” (For a summary of what this period of distant history was like, click here.)
I’m not sure about that characterization. But what I do know is that a new era has dawned at Keegan’s on Tuesday nights. One which the regulars are starting to call “The Era of Good Feelings.” And I presume the reason they're saying this isn’t just because they're chronic inebriates. Rather, it’s based on our dashing good looks, warm personalities, gregarious demeanors, and our habit of buying a round for the house after each victory. (For any of you who were in attendance the past two weeks and don’t remember any such thing, I can only accuse you of being in the bathroom at the critical juncture.)
As long as we can maintain our team chemistry, a reasonable level of sobriety, and continue to have the inspiration provided by the beautiful and charming waitress Jessica, there's no reason we can't continue this unyielding series of victories. Someday, like all good things, I suppose this must come to an end and we will lose. But until that day Twin Cities, let's all enjoy these golden times.
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
Low Flow Has Gotta Go
Local blogger Tim from Consolidated Diversions offers some common sense advice on dealing with low flow shower head problems:
I had the same thing happen many moons ago. I cut out the restrictor. Use a sharp knife and deal that mofo a death blow in the name of good showering.
Presently you won't find a low-flow gadget in my house. Both showers and my kitchen sink now flow as much water as they can so I can make the decision how much is enough.
Stupid low-flow devices.
I ranted this on my blog a while back. I find it funny that industry consumes 1/2 of the water in this nation and the people have to put up with "low flow" showers and toilets. What a bunch of BS.
Local blogger Tim from Consolidated Diversions offers some common sense advice on dealing with low flow shower head problems:
I had the same thing happen many moons ago. I cut out the restrictor. Use a sharp knife and deal that mofo a death blow in the name of good showering.
Presently you won't find a low-flow gadget in my house. Both showers and my kitchen sink now flow as much water as they can so I can make the decision how much is enough.
Stupid low-flow devices.
I ranted this on my blog a while back. I find it funny that industry consumes 1/2 of the water in this nation and the people have to put up with "low flow" showers and toilets. What a bunch of BS.
Note To Friends: Don't Do Me Any Favors
I just finished a fairly interesting (and fairly depressing) book recently sent to me by the Elder. It’s called Journal of the Dead, by Jason Kersten a senior editor at Maxim.
The story is about two friends, Raffi Kodikian and David Coughlin who set out to drive to California from Boston in 1999 as a sort of last hurrah before Coughlin started graduate school.
As they went from town-to-town they realized they were a few days ahead of schedule and decided to camp in the Carlsbad Caverns National Park in New Mexico for a night. Being fairly typical east coast-types, they did not take adequate supplies of water or food with them, thinking it would only be one night and nothing could happen in one night.
After hiking a mile or so into a canyon and camping for the night, they promptly got very lost the next day as they tried to find their way out. One night stretched into two, then three. They were completely out of water and completely lost.
Eating prickly cactus fruit provided some sustenance and water, but after three days in the desert without water they were desperate. Making a suicide pact, they both decided to kill themselves rather than die the excruciating death that dehydration brings and to spare them from the buzzards, which had been their constant companions.
But, the suicides never took place. Each made slight efforts at cutting their own wrists with a knife, but neither had the gumption to go deep enough to draw blood. At that point, Kodikian said that Coughlin told him to put an end to his suffering by driving a knife through his heart.
And that is exactly what he did. Raffi Kodikian took the knife and stabbed his best friend twice in the heart, killing him. He then buried him with rocks in a cowboy grave.
A day later, Kodikian was rescued as he lay dying in his tent by a Park Ranger. When asked where his companion was, he pointed to the grave and said “Over there...I killed him.”
At 229 pages, the book breezes by a little too quickly and could be properly accused of being simply an extended magazine article (a shorter rendition of the story appeared in Maxim). But, it is nothing if not a compelling read. I got through in two sittings and couldn’t wait to find out what happened to Kodikian (I won’t ruin it for you.)
As good as it is, however, it is not as compelling as a similar book by Jon Krakauer called Into the Wild, the story of a young, idealistic loner who wanders into the Alaskan bush and never makes it out alive.
If you’re a glutton for depressing tales of young men dying in the wild, read both.
I just finished a fairly interesting (and fairly depressing) book recently sent to me by the Elder. It’s called Journal of the Dead, by Jason Kersten a senior editor at Maxim.
The story is about two friends, Raffi Kodikian and David Coughlin who set out to drive to California from Boston in 1999 as a sort of last hurrah before Coughlin started graduate school.
As they went from town-to-town they realized they were a few days ahead of schedule and decided to camp in the Carlsbad Caverns National Park in New Mexico for a night. Being fairly typical east coast-types, they did not take adequate supplies of water or food with them, thinking it would only be one night and nothing could happen in one night.
After hiking a mile or so into a canyon and camping for the night, they promptly got very lost the next day as they tried to find their way out. One night stretched into two, then three. They were completely out of water and completely lost.
Eating prickly cactus fruit provided some sustenance and water, but after three days in the desert without water they were desperate. Making a suicide pact, they both decided to kill themselves rather than die the excruciating death that dehydration brings and to spare them from the buzzards, which had been their constant companions.
But, the suicides never took place. Each made slight efforts at cutting their own wrists with a knife, but neither had the gumption to go deep enough to draw blood. At that point, Kodikian said that Coughlin told him to put an end to his suffering by driving a knife through his heart.
And that is exactly what he did. Raffi Kodikian took the knife and stabbed his best friend twice in the heart, killing him. He then buried him with rocks in a cowboy grave.
A day later, Kodikian was rescued as he lay dying in his tent by a Park Ranger. When asked where his companion was, he pointed to the grave and said “Over there...I killed him.”
At 229 pages, the book breezes by a little too quickly and could be properly accused of being simply an extended magazine article (a shorter rendition of the story appeared in Maxim). But, it is nothing if not a compelling read. I got through in two sittings and couldn’t wait to find out what happened to Kodikian (I won’t ruin it for you.)
As good as it is, however, it is not as compelling as a similar book by Jon Krakauer called Into the Wild, the story of a young, idealistic loner who wanders into the Alaskan bush and never makes it out alive.
If you’re a glutton for depressing tales of young men dying in the wild, read both.
If I don't have a good shower I am not myself. I feel weak and ineffectual.
Over the Labor Day weekend one of the projects I undertook was to fix our shower. The problem was that after you were finished showering and the water was shut off it continued to drip out of the bath spigot. Over time the dripping increased incrementally and I was finally forced to take action. Long after my wife would have wished me to but after all I'm a busy man and can't afford to allow petty distractions to divert my attention from what's really important. Like watching the Twins game on TV.
Anyway after a bit of monkeying around I replaced the stems in both handles and the leaking problem was solved. While we were focused on the shower my wife decided that we should replace the shower head as well. I didn't have a problem with that as our existing shower head was becoming rusty and its performance was really nothing to brag about. Yes, a new shower head, capital idea that.
On Monday my wife picked out an acceptable replacement and it was installed shortly thereafter. The bright, gleaming stainless steel fixture looked quite impressive and we were both pleased with the result.
Until I took a shower later that day. I got into the shower ready to be blasted, exfoliated, and thoroughly cleansed by the rejuvenating waters of life. Instead I was greeted by an weak stream of water gently cascading onto my body. While such a stream might be appropriate in a landscape designed to promote tranquility it is not what I want in my shower. I don't want to be caressed in the shower, I want to be slapped around a bit. I like it rough. When I get out I want to know that I've been in a shower. With this new shower head I might as well be taking a bath. A frickin' bath!
After my initial shock wore off I desperately tried to adjust the shower head to improve the situation. No luck. That's when I noticed the markings on the side of the head: 'No more than 2.5 GPM'. Low flow? I don't like the sound of that. Low flow? D'oh!
A couple of things about this really infuriate me.
First I live in Minnesota. That's right Minnesota. Land of 10,000 lakes. And while it has been a dry summer we're not running out of water any time soon. You people in Arizona should have the low flow shower heads. We have to survive winter. We should at least be able to enjoy a decent shower.
Second is the approach to the problem (if in fact a water shortage problem even actually exists). Water is really a commodity (or it should be). We're billed for our water use by the city we live in. We pay for how much water we use. So if I decide that I want to have a shower that uses a lot of water I am paying for that privilege. Water is scarce? Charge more for it. If I don't want to pay so much each month I'll use less water. I'll take shorter showers. I'll choose to install a low flow shower head. But don't make every shower head low flow just because we want to conserve water. Same thing goes for toilets. If I want a toilet with enough flushing torque action to blast a small dog through the pipes then I should be able to get one. When it uses more water charge me for it. But let me make the choice. This crazy thing called the market has been in play for a long time and its record is pretty damned good.
This will not be allowed to stand. I'm now in the market for a Commando 450. I hear the Serbs are fanatic about their showers.
Over the Labor Day weekend one of the projects I undertook was to fix our shower. The problem was that after you were finished showering and the water was shut off it continued to drip out of the bath spigot. Over time the dripping increased incrementally and I was finally forced to take action. Long after my wife would have wished me to but after all I'm a busy man and can't afford to allow petty distractions to divert my attention from what's really important. Like watching the Twins game on TV.
Anyway after a bit of monkeying around I replaced the stems in both handles and the leaking problem was solved. While we were focused on the shower my wife decided that we should replace the shower head as well. I didn't have a problem with that as our existing shower head was becoming rusty and its performance was really nothing to brag about. Yes, a new shower head, capital idea that.
On Monday my wife picked out an acceptable replacement and it was installed shortly thereafter. The bright, gleaming stainless steel fixture looked quite impressive and we were both pleased with the result.
Until I took a shower later that day. I got into the shower ready to be blasted, exfoliated, and thoroughly cleansed by the rejuvenating waters of life. Instead I was greeted by an weak stream of water gently cascading onto my body. While such a stream might be appropriate in a landscape designed to promote tranquility it is not what I want in my shower. I don't want to be caressed in the shower, I want to be slapped around a bit. I like it rough. When I get out I want to know that I've been in a shower. With this new shower head I might as well be taking a bath. A frickin' bath!
After my initial shock wore off I desperately tried to adjust the shower head to improve the situation. No luck. That's when I noticed the markings on the side of the head: 'No more than 2.5 GPM'. Low flow? I don't like the sound of that. Low flow? D'oh!
A couple of things about this really infuriate me.
First I live in Minnesota. That's right Minnesota. Land of 10,000 lakes. And while it has been a dry summer we're not running out of water any time soon. You people in Arizona should have the low flow shower heads. We have to survive winter. We should at least be able to enjoy a decent shower.
Second is the approach to the problem (if in fact a water shortage problem even actually exists). Water is really a commodity (or it should be). We're billed for our water use by the city we live in. We pay for how much water we use. So if I decide that I want to have a shower that uses a lot of water I am paying for that privilege. Water is scarce? Charge more for it. If I don't want to pay so much each month I'll use less water. I'll take shorter showers. I'll choose to install a low flow shower head. But don't make every shower head low flow just because we want to conserve water. Same thing goes for toilets. If I want a toilet with enough flushing torque action to blast a small dog through the pipes then I should be able to get one. When it uses more water charge me for it. But let me make the choice. This crazy thing called the market has been in play for a long time and its record is pretty damned good.
This will not be allowed to stand. I'm now in the market for a Commando 450. I hear the Serbs are fanatic about their showers.
To Hugh From Fraters: Nuts!
Actually our response to the offer (read ultimatum) presented to us by Mr. Hewitt on Friday will be a bit more expansive than the succinct yet comprehensive rebuttal from General Anthony McAuliffe, commander of the 101st Airborne, to the German request to surrender at Bastogne. And so we say:
"audendus iura nostra defendere"
Which according to our erstwhile Latin consultant translates as, "We dare defend our rights."
While we very much want to remain friends and allies of the powerful Hewitt Empire, we cannot surrender our independence. Hugh will have to content himself with receiving tribute from one of his other willing vassels.
Meanwhile posters depicting the true nature of Hugh’s regime will be distributed to peasants throughout Minnesota alerting them to the danger posed by allowing him to remain in power:
Actually our response to the offer (read ultimatum) presented to us by Mr. Hewitt on Friday will be a bit more expansive than the succinct yet comprehensive rebuttal from General Anthony McAuliffe, commander of the 101st Airborne, to the German request to surrender at Bastogne. And so we say:
"audendus iura nostra defendere"
Which according to our erstwhile Latin consultant translates as, "We dare defend our rights."
While we very much want to remain friends and allies of the powerful Hewitt Empire, we cannot surrender our independence. Hugh will have to content himself with receiving tribute from one of his other willing vassels.
Meanwhile posters depicting the true nature of Hugh’s regime will be distributed to peasants throughout Minnesota alerting them to the danger posed by allowing him to remain in power:
Que, Sera, Sera
A story like this could cause worldwide panic and mayhem. Perhaps the wisdom of Homer Simpson, when faced with a similar situation, will help to assuage the fear:
Homer: What's everyone so worked up about? So there's a comet-- big
deal. It'll burn up in our atmosphere and whatever is left will
be no bigger than a chihuahua's head.
Bart: Wow, Dad, maybe you're right.
Homer: Of course I'm right. If I'm not, may we all be horribly crushed
from above somehow.
A story like this could cause worldwide panic and mayhem. Perhaps the wisdom of Homer Simpson, when faced with a similar situation, will help to assuage the fear:
Homer: What's everyone so worked up about? So there's a comet-- big
deal. It'll burn up in our atmosphere and whatever is left will
be no bigger than a chihuahua's head.
Bart: Wow, Dad, maybe you're right.
Homer: Of course I'm right. If I'm not, may we all be horribly crushed
from above somehow.
End the Era of the Tsars
This is quite simply stupid political showmanship that will have no impact whatsover:
Bush wants manufacturing czar / He says plan is to boost economy, bring 'better days' to factory workers
I work for a manufacturing company. Having a manufacturing "czar" in Washington will mean absolutely nothing to us. While we're at it maybe we can also get a manufacturing fairy who can sprinkle pixie dust in the air and create orders for US companies.
How'd that whole drug "czar" thing work out anyway?
This is quite simply stupid political showmanship that will have no impact whatsover:
Bush wants manufacturing czar / He says plan is to boost economy, bring 'better days' to factory workers
I work for a manufacturing company. Having a manufacturing "czar" in Washington will mean absolutely nothing to us. While we're at it maybe we can also get a manufacturing fairy who can sprinkle pixie dust in the air and create orders for US companies.
How'd that whole drug "czar" thing work out anyway?
Monday, September 01, 2003
Lies, Damn Lies and Political Platforms
While perusing potential Presidential candidate Howard Dean’s website, I stumbled across this promise:
...we'll give a leg up to working families struggling to afford health insurance. Adults earning up to 185% of the poverty level -- $16,613 -- will be eligible for coverage through the already existing Children [sic] Health Insurance Program.
Using my superlative math skills, this puts the poverty level at $8,980.
Further research into this matter led me to this site from which I gleaned that the Department of Health and Human Services agrees with Dean that the “poverty guideline” is indeed $8,980, but only for a family of (1).
Now, I’m not one to nitpick, but how in the hell could a family of (1) adult be eligible for anything called the Children's Health Insurance Program?
Is this an outright lie? Maybe...but it's misleading at the very least. Perhaps you should ask Howard for a clarification.
While perusing potential Presidential candidate Howard Dean’s website, I stumbled across this promise:
...we'll give a leg up to working families struggling to afford health insurance. Adults earning up to 185% of the poverty level -- $16,613 -- will be eligible for coverage through the already existing Children [sic] Health Insurance Program.
Using my superlative math skills, this puts the poverty level at $8,980.
Further research into this matter led me to this site from which I gleaned that the Department of Health and Human Services agrees with Dean that the “poverty guideline” is indeed $8,980, but only for a family of (1).
Now, I’m not one to nitpick, but how in the hell could a family of (1) adult be eligible for anything called the Children's Health Insurance Program?
Is this an outright lie? Maybe...but it's misleading at the very least. Perhaps you should ask Howard for a clarification.
Tell Me Where The Hate Is Coming From Again?
Mention Jesus Christ in your comic strip (as Johnny Hart of the strip 'B.C.' is apt to do now and again) and you stir up a Shiite storm of controversy. Some newspapers refuse to run your strip, other that do publish it receive a horde of letters from outraged readers. But call Republicans Nazis? (It's the September 1st strip) No problem. That after all is funny. Right?
The comic strip that perpatrated this latest slanderous outrage is called 'La Cucaracha' and appeared for the first time in the Minneapolis Star Tribune about six months ago. I read it for one week and then dropped it from my daily comic scan. Why? I disagreed with the politics and it wasn't funny. The same reasons I no longer read 'Doonesbury'. 'The Boondocks' can be infuriating politically at times but it also delivers a laugh now and again and so it remains in my rotation. The only reason I was aware of the nonsense spewed in 'La Cucaracha' today was that my wife happened to read it.
I understand that the creator of the strip, Lalo Alcaraz, thought he was being quite witty and oh so clever with his jab at Republicans. But perhaps he should take a moment to appreciate the connection he is making. I'm currently reading the book Masters of Death: The SS-Einsatzgruppen and the Invention of the Holocaust and I suggest that Mr. Alcarez and others on the left who pop off with the term Nazi at the drop of a hat, familiarize themselves with the true horrors of the regime before they so casually bandy the label about.
Mention Jesus Christ in your comic strip (as Johnny Hart of the strip 'B.C.' is apt to do now and again) and you stir up a Shiite storm of controversy. Some newspapers refuse to run your strip, other that do publish it receive a horde of letters from outraged readers. But call Republicans Nazis? (It's the September 1st strip) No problem. That after all is funny. Right?
The comic strip that perpatrated this latest slanderous outrage is called 'La Cucaracha' and appeared for the first time in the Minneapolis Star Tribune about six months ago. I read it for one week and then dropped it from my daily comic scan. Why? I disagreed with the politics and it wasn't funny. The same reasons I no longer read 'Doonesbury'. 'The Boondocks' can be infuriating politically at times but it also delivers a laugh now and again and so it remains in my rotation. The only reason I was aware of the nonsense spewed in 'La Cucaracha' today was that my wife happened to read it.
I understand that the creator of the strip, Lalo Alcaraz, thought he was being quite witty and oh so clever with his jab at Republicans. But perhaps he should take a moment to appreciate the connection he is making. I'm currently reading the book Masters of Death: The SS-Einsatzgruppen and the Invention of the Holocaust and I suggest that Mr. Alcarez and others on the left who pop off with the term Nazi at the drop of a hat, familiarize themselves with the true horrors of the regime before they so casually bandy the label about.
Mounting Death Toll
Our cat is getting along in years. We're not sure exactly how old she is but we figure she's at least seen thirteen or fourteen summers in her days. She doesn't have front claws and this year she's been suffering from a variety of ailments that she's been medicated for. Our modest home is in a high density first ring suburb and our yard is quite small. There is a chain link fence that borders the back yard and that is the only area we allow her to be outside in. All of which makes her hunting stats for the summer all the more remarkable.
As of today, when a chipmunk was left on our side steps with its head cleaved open and its brains scooped out (mmmm...chipmunk brains), she has now claimed four chipmunks, two birds, and a baby rabbit over the course of the summer. Not bad for an aging feline.
There is a certain amount of ritual involved in the slaying as the bodies are always left near the door to present them to us. As if to say, "Look what I did." One of the chipmunk's initially showed up only as a decapitated head. Two days later the headless body appeared. Not sure exactly what message that was intended to send.
I almost feel like a guily accomplice when I have to dispose of the bodies. I bury them furtively in the back yard hoping the neighbor's prying eyes don't witness my attempt to cover up the killings.
Now if we could only get her to go after those pesky squirrels...
Our cat is getting along in years. We're not sure exactly how old she is but we figure she's at least seen thirteen or fourteen summers in her days. She doesn't have front claws and this year she's been suffering from a variety of ailments that she's been medicated for. Our modest home is in a high density first ring suburb and our yard is quite small. There is a chain link fence that borders the back yard and that is the only area we allow her to be outside in. All of which makes her hunting stats for the summer all the more remarkable.
As of today, when a chipmunk was left on our side steps with its head cleaved open and its brains scooped out (mmmm...chipmunk brains), she has now claimed four chipmunks, two birds, and a baby rabbit over the course of the summer. Not bad for an aging feline.
There is a certain amount of ritual involved in the slaying as the bodies are always left near the door to present them to us. As if to say, "Look what I did." One of the chipmunk's initially showed up only as a decapitated head. Two days later the headless body appeared. Not sure exactly what message that was intended to send.
I almost feel like a guily accomplice when I have to dispose of the bodies. I bury them furtively in the back yard hoping the neighbor's prying eyes don't witness my attempt to cover up the killings.
Now if we could only get her to go after those pesky squirrels...
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