M@%HEM HAPPENS - PACKERS SIGNING BACKFIRES

The ghostly presence of Mayhem, shown here piling on

 An attempt to gain an extra edge went awry for the Green Bay Packers on Monday night when recently-acquired fullback, the Allstate Insurance-contrived mythical figure known as Mayhem, contributed to a play which injured his own starting quarterback, Aaron Rodgers.  As Rodgers was being sacked by Bears defensive end Shea McClellin, Mayhem apparently jumped on top of McClellin, forcing Rodgers’ left shoulder violently into the turf.  Rodgers left the game and did not return, and the Packers’ cut-rate insurance plan, Seneca Wallace, was unable to see over the heads of his lineman, as the Bears claimed their first victory at Lambeau Field since the Coolidge administration.  

Lost amidst the panic of a potential multi-week stretch without Rodgers is the shroud of mystery surrounding the Packers’ fullback, Mayhem.  An anonymous team source claims the signing took place during the bye week, with Mayhem to serve as a battering ram for rookie… battering ram..  Eddie Lacy.  The source remarked that the aim was to “get a real running game going, and turn the tables a little on the whole god-hates-us rash of injuries.”  Any ‘collateral damage’ to opposing defensive players was left out of his written contract, but the Packers apparently expected Mayhem to “at least twist a few knees from time to time.”  As Mayhem is technically a force of nature, and barely visible to the human eye (unless contractually obligated for television advertisements), league rules to not require the Packers to list him on the 46-player gameday roster.  The only sensory evidence of Mayhem’s involvement at the time of the play was a shrill, maniacal cackling heard by both McClellin and Rodgers after the play.  In an attempt to obtain comment from the fullback following Monday’s contest, a network camera operator slipped in a pool of gasoline, dropped his cigarette, and burst into flames.  

Beyond dealing with the loss of Rodgers, the Packers also now have a tough decision with regards to Mayhem's tenure in Green Bay.  Some are also pointing an accusatory finger toward the injury sustained by Jermichael Finley, which leaves his season, and perhaps his career in question.  Speculation is running wild regarding the fullback’s potential involvement in an incident bearing the undeniable mark of the kind of invisible player who falls on cars from great heights, distracts teenage drivers, and lights camera operators on fire.  In releasing Mayhem, however, the Packers are clearly concerned about the decline of the now-ever-important running game, as well as possible retribution from a potentially dangerous character.  In an official team comment on that very issue, General Manager Ted Thompson essentially defended his player, stating: “Mayhem is a valued member of our organization, and we currently no plans to release him, or reduce his role on the field due to these unfounded accusations of his intention to injure Aaron Rodgers.  Also, Mike McCarthy, the front office staff and I all agree – we don’t need that fucker releasing raccoons into our homes during Christmas dinner.”  

Packers fans, however are clearly more focused on the state of their star quarterback.  Wisconsin State Highway Patrol officers have been advised to keep an eye out for any cars parked near bridges of significant height, and the legal sale of Draino, handguns, and beverages with an alcohol content of over 60% have been restricted to hippies and out-of-towners until further notice.  The internet and social media are expectedly ablaze with Eeyore-isms, blame (in all directions), and doomsday predictions for the Packers’ season.  One such comment, attributed to the handle “Cow42,” actually predicted the Packers would somehow manage to lose 31 games this season now that Rodgers is out. 

Indeed, the gloom hangs heavy in Packerland, and as Mike McCarthy put it “We’re going to do the best we can, but to be honest, when was the last time you saw a Packer team that sustained a high number of key injuries,  had to start a backup quarterback late in the season, and relied on a strong running game and stout defensive line – when is the last time you saw a team like that really achieve anything?” 

There's Needles and Grass in m'Beer

Over the last few years, I've unintentionally eased my way  into a mild state of semi-beer-snobbery.  I don't really drink to get hammered very often these days, and I've convinced myself that one really good beer every few days is a reasonable substitute for a healthy obsession with say, PCP or salsa dancing - neither of which really interests me.  So I'd agree with Benjamin Franklin when he said "beer is proof that god loves us," but I'll amend it slightly (since Benji was never forced to try Natty Ice) to "good beer..."  So I enjoy $6/ bottle beer that smells like raisin bread and has stuff floating in it.  That's where I am, and I'm okay with that.  As long as I don't ever get to the point of bemoaning someone offering me a 'crappy' beer, or planning a pilgrimage to Belgium just to have some 'elusive' beer that monks don't want to sell in stores.  

My point is, I like to think that I have some perspective about my snobbery.  I think that's important when you want to really enjoy all the other wonderful simple things life has to offer, or when you have no money.  So when I stumble across the following review - by, oh, let's call him "Mr. X." to make him even more enigmatic - of a bottle of beer (bold = reminder for perspective) - I can't help but wonder how on earth our species has managed things like the polio vaccine, space travel, or Mike Tyson's Punch-Out.

So here it is, Mr. X's beer review that reads like the highlights from a publisher-rejected romance novel:


"Starting with a brilliant and glowing ruby color, the snifter simply glows like a night light. Mildly hazed, the color is of deep amber honey in mesmerizing fashion. Capped with a dainty off-white head, its creme skirts the glass evenly until later in the session when it reduces to a collar along the glass.

Bursting with malt sweetness, the nose is chocked full of maple, buckwheat, molasses, toffee, and nuttiness. Its hearty sweetness nearly whets the mouth from its aromatics alone. A firm hop undertow peaks through with dried citrus peels and pine needles for a strong hop scaffolding although the scent is certainly malt-centric.

Likewise, the sweetness from malt is strong, seductive, and runs the gamut from maple syrup and brittle to bread crust and sorghum. Strong buckwheat honey toffee, pistachios, and fresh sweet tobacco keep the waves of sultry sweetness coming. A late rise of hops reveal a supportive balance with grapefruit and orange peel, pine and fresh grass, and with a deeply resinous bitterness that assists the sweetness with a malty-dry finish and alcohol flavors of spiced rum

Incredibly bold and even chewy at first, the beer seeps into the soft tissues of the mouth with its sultry sweetness in true dessert-like fashion- easily replacing port wines as after dinner digestives. Rich with residual sweetness, the late rise of alcohol spice and drying hops signal closure and extends well into aftertaste."

8 year olds, dude.

But seriously, "Capped with a dainty off-white head, its creme skirts the glass"?  Sounds like an excerpt from a Nabokov knock-off, or...  or ... a wine review.   Here's a not-so-short list of words in this piece that should never, ever appear in a beer review:

night light
mesmerizing
dainty
creme (at least not this French version of the spelling)
skirts
session
undertow
scaffolding
seductive
sultry
needles
grass
soft tissues

(Coincidentally, the only other piece of writing which contains all of these words is "Le Bulion de Goarchende Feuerminteggs," a 19th century French short story about a young accountant, Pierre, who enters the dark, drug-riddled underworld of after hours, cross-dress tax auditing, and in a pot and morphine induced stupor, ends his life by jumping off an under-construction tower into a raging river.)

I wonder if he was listening to Ravel's Bolero, surrounded candlelight while he picked out just the right shirt for his beer 'session.'  For a few moments, I wonder how men who can have such a gloriously romantic evening with a brewski might ever bring themselves to have a highlife at a baseball game, or drive 30 miles for White Castle, or ever meet a woman.  When I process phrases like "the beer seeps into the soft tissues of the mouth with its sultry sweetness," I can't help but think of Adrian Cronauer in "Good Morning Vietnam" telling his Commanding Officer that "(he) is in more dire need of a blowjob than any white man in history." 

I digress.  My aim here isn't just to pick on this connoisseur/wordsmith and his red velvet curtains.  It's to pick on him and make myself feel better about myself and my own, more enlightened perspective.  And what do I think the answer to both my question about how that kind of dude meets women, AND the answer to why his perspective seems so disturbingly skewed?  Of course, it's money.  Money turns uninteresting and obnoxious men into'eligible bachelors.'  Money makes people think things that are exclusive are necessarily valuable.  So valuable, in fact, that they require entire vacations to Belgium to say "I've had Westy 12."  Magically, grapefruits and fresh grass and tobacco and leather suddenly appear in our beers. Beer with a higher pricetag needs to be described as 'sultry' or 'seductive.'  People with the palate of a de-tongued llama amass a bit of wealth, and suddenly, claiming to be able to discern between the Reserva and the Gran Reserva is of urgent importance.

Practically speaking, the sad thing is that the more people have (and express) this sort of attitude about good beer, the more exclusive it will become.  and the more exclusive it becomes, the more expensive it will become - rinse, repeat.  And if I have to pay even more for fantastic beer, well that deserves an emphatic and eloquent "you fuckers" sort of response.

For example, Westvleteren 12, has for a few years at least, been the highest-rated beer in the world.  Coincidentally (or not), you can only legally buy it at one single place in the whole big gigantic goddamned beer-selling world.  The abbey where the monks brew it.  Last year, they had a one-time public sale - you can't blame the monks, who don't sell more than they need to to maintain the monastery, and they sell enough on-site - but they decided on a public sale to pay for some major structural repairs.  Any profit they make goes to charity.  Six packs were sent to select stores in the U.S., in some, not all states.  The six-packs sold retail for about $85 (yes, that's still almost $15/bottle).  Within days, they were selling for $500 or more online.  There is an empty Westy 12 six-pack box  selling for $100 right now - no beer included - I can't even fathom the level of douchebaggery it would take to justify spending 45 BK doublestackers worth of cash (plus shipping) on the cardboard box of a beer you never even drank.  There are 4 or 5 beers on the shelf at the Hi-Vee down the road from me which even the nerdiest beer-nerd will admit are pretty-much-almost as good as Westy 12 (if not better), and they sell for $3-$6 a bottle.  This is the madness that the expensive/exclusive cycle drives us to - moneytoburn-ness causes us to believe that there is inherent value in something that is hard to get.

My guess is, that's Mr. X's problem.  He may have, at one time, been a mild-mannered accountant, minding his own business and enjoying the simple things in life, playing Punch-Out during his MillerTime.  It could be that the mysterious death of a senior account manager opened the perfect opportunity for him, and that the money turned his soul darker than a Russian Imperial Stout -- that his love affair with nuttiness, hop scaffolding and sultry malt undertows drove his friends and family away.  He may drive up and down the coast with his new gold-plated cronies, buying everyone out of the most sought after craft brews so he can stock his beer aging cellar and keep the promise of the finest reviews and higher prices for years to come.  It could happen.  Who knows.  Or maybe he's just a huge fucking dork. 

THE WORLD ISN'T GETTING SMALLER, STUPID

- it's getting more full of our shit, and the internet is getting 'bigger.'

- it still takes just as long to get from milwaukee to madison, from new york to miami. planes aren't flying faster, cars aren't traveling at low-bit rate digital speeds.

- you can still buy land in montana, build a hut, buy a gross of freeze-dried food and a crossbow, and never see another human for as long as you live.

- if you wait a few years, everest's peak won't be within your capabilities.

- it's not getting smaller, because apparently distance never had any relevance anyway: http://www.trialectics.com/Physics/Quantum%20Nonlocality.htm

- hulu is sucking out our brains, which you'd think would make the world seem bigger.

that is all.

PACKERS' PLOT UNCOVERED

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Doctors Report Emperor Palpatine's Dementia Worsening, Empire Fucked

by Alphuster Mervleputz, updated 11am ET 5/13/09

Empire physicians (pictured above with Mr. Palpatine) reported Monday that the Emperor's condition has worsened, and that his delusions have nearly eclipsed his rational view of the galaxy. Insistent on wearing robes he purchased in Liberace's estate sale, the Emperor has proclaimed that a Mr. "God," and his son, a Mr. "Jeeves Cryste," are responsible for creation and salvation, respectively -- and that it is his duty to oversee that all of this goes according to plan.

Meanwhile, the Empire's foundation seems to be eroding due to a lack of competent executive direction. The man many think of as Mr. Palpatine's second-in-command, Mr. Vader, has been missing since early March -- and many fear recent events and work-related stress have pushed Mr. Vader back to old drug habits, and that he is lost somewhere in the K-hole. In an anonymous call to the Times on Friday, a source reported that Vader was "totally fucked, dude. Why do you care about my friend, man, where's my sandwiches? I called like almost an hour ago and I'm STARVED!"

Other reports indicate that the safety of the new battlestation "Death Star," scheduled for completion next month, may be compromised as well, as a set of catastrophic-weakness-plans is apparently missing. Those responsible have been sacked. All attempts to reach the mysterious Mr. Cryste (in the desperate hope that he actually exists outside of Mr. Palpatines distorted sense of reality) to procure a solution for the Galaxy's problems have failed.

HOPE FOR INVESTORS DUPED IN GEORGE WASHINGTON PONZI SCHEME

by Finkleton Pollutes, updated 10am ET

Some hope remains for investors duped by founding father George Washington (pictured), as it appears billions were withdrawn from Mr. Washington's account just days before his arrest. "Few men have virtue to withstand the highest bidder, " said Washington Tuesday, dodging a question from a reporter inquiring as to his ridiculous age(277) and young appearance.

It is perhaps his mysterious exuberance which has grown Mr. Washington's popularity among impressionable youths. His spoutings on the dangers of a powerful central government (usually in response to questions about his financial transgressions) have riled up young Americans unhappy with the prospect of "just another king," as one revolutionary-studies-major-from NYU-gone-Washington-groupie put it.

When asked about sentencing for financial crimes, Washington responded "Government is not reason; it is not eloquent; it is force. Like fire, it is a dangerous servant and a fearful master. "

regional silverware

we got a coupon

expires February 31^st

some days i hope i last that long

others, not past the 23^rd,

four days of revealing

the darkened corners

of three year old unfinished business,

one day of draining

into a slowly cooling tub

(but i’ve not got it in me,

that roman trip that falls

on a well placed blade,

just before being conquered

i know it.

christ nick,

i’m not sure you had it either

if not for the drugs)

when you throw up

and it’s made of well cut diamonds,

rare as the Strangemorning,

hot as the things hiding behind the sun –

don’t you think you’ve peaked,

doesn’t a glass half full become quite a boring issue?

but there are ridiculous beats

that bring us out of winter

bass drums that make it warm

milwaukeeans who aren’t always drinking

humid and dry and nowhere inbetween,

peter, peter, making stew,

pete, you’ve got a lila blue

and a room of chops,

shaken in a glued-down chair

green lights on a road of stops

small car with curious hands

quick stops for pissing

long times for wide states

signs, the welcomes of governors

at night, in the rain

through eastern pennsylvania

up and down again,

through jersey and her bastard trucks

toward the ocean

seldom seen

near the hudson

far from clean

belly up, the less of luck

some misplaced loudmouth

spouting at the wrong fuck

shaking his fists and dying his death in a cold arrival.

i’m here to see it

i’m here to want home and enjoy the one i’ve made

i’m here to raise the whisper of a midwestern spoon

to the curdled scream of an east coast blade.

lung breathers

all torn around the room, sleeves slid downward

and i’m done again with brain drops on the window outside.

some mad cricket can’t see no one’s interested

contains the why is bleeding by, blazing sped of offish vectors

driven mad by brainy sky, hazing head of office lectures

make it work the way i asked and care enough

and stop your contents.

my stirring hand needs more beer when i’m not allowed.

there’s been so little weather and it makes us sick,

sun that rises like it has to, three or four minutes of brain,

out to the ocean, where no one feels the pour

and lungs make the quiet not so,

heaving liquid down the hatch, panicked death of a mad cricket

if i’d gills, the blackened divide, sharing space with upward endless

would be the mile i’d walk around

leaving legs for a breathing, a melted sort of walkupon.

it’s raining on my house of water,

i care enough, i’ve found my contents

right beside the bordered bed

of living laterally,

rotating far from any sort of real dark place

i’ve never made in my mind the nothinggrand

like waves can make without the effort

saying not and still it means

the icy stare of space betweens

i think a few have, but most of them are dead,

conquered, quite plainly

knights of infinite resignation with no castle to defend

transplanting lunch ideas

so yes - this is leftover facebook garbage somehow making its way onto this blog of such high standards, but don't bitch to me about it. complain here:

The Cunninghams
565 North Clinton Drive
Milwaukee, WI 53223

i figured it made sense to follow 'thirsty' with hunger. because when you can't have something, the best thing to do is worry about something else unattainable, like fried cheese curds.

so the '25 random things' from facebook needed a little work, in my mind.

this is what i was 'supposed' to do:

"I'm not sure where this original project started but I got tagged and decided to continue it by tagging those of you whom I consider to be great friends or I haven't heard from you in a while and would love to hear what you have to say. Hope you'll play along because it would/will be fun hearing from you.

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)"

but there are a few things diverting me from this specific task:

first, i can't stand the word random. it is perhaps the most overused word of the last decade, and usually by college freshman naming a facebook album. a random picture would be of the inside of a purse, or of an unrecognizable ceiling tile - not of you and your friends holding cups of beer and dancing badly, often scantily clad.

secondly, i'm a jackass, and i think i'm clever. really. i mean, look at my profile picture - if that isn't a smug, self-important jackass, i've never met one. and the real point of these things isn't to 'hear what you have to say' because people consider one another 'great friends.' this is the internet. real friends use visits, and phones, and yes, i suppose e-mails too. the point is to throw your own self-important-jackass-spoutings into the facebook world because you don't yet have a blog. well, i have a blog, but i'm REALLY excited about myself, so i'll take every opportunity i can get. and i like to meddle.

thirdly, i'm hungry. it's what i'm thinking about. tasty things. so this is where my energy goes, since i cannot eat anything at the moment -- my 25 things are tasty things. like bacon. bacon will definitely be on there.

so this is where i should say things like "you should really make your own list of tasty things, because i want to know more about you," and "it'll help us connect on another level" -- and if you feel like it, great, but really, i'm just taking this opportunity to write about tasty things.

in no particular order:

1. chicken tikka masala: i know it's the least indian of the indian dishes, but it's consistently satisfying almost everywhere. a creamy tomato-y sauce, cilantro, some of those other things they put in tasty things, basmati rice. quality. find an indian lunch buffet this weekend and eat everything they serve, but definitely have some of this.

2. the 'bronx bomber': basically a breakfast wrap they make at a bagel place in pleasantville, ny. it's only $4, and it's got sausage, ham, bacon, eggs, cheese, onions, hot sauce... i feel like i'm forgetting something. maybe salted lard?

3. the frisco burger: i haven't had hardees in as long as i can remember. i don't even know if they make this anymore, but if not, i'd eat the leftover ones they've been keeping in the utility closet.

4. saganaki: greek cheese sprinkled w/flour, sauteed in butter, dashed with lemon and cognac (or brandy) and set on fire. serve with bong rips and leather couch nap.

5. vegetable pakora from chapati: in northfield, mn. yes, more indian. with coriander chutney, perhaps the best appetizer possible. lots of places make these poorly. chapati isn't one of them. em and i used to hope they'd be on the lunch buffet, and a few times, we even brought concealed tupperwares for buffet!: part deux - at home. i'm not ashamed.

6. milwaukee's kosher dill midget pickles: be happy you live in wisconsin. find them near or on the bottom shelf at your local grocer. when em and i lived in ohio, we once brought a case of these back with us from madison and gave a few as gifts to our undeserving co-workers at dubois bookstore. the 17 or so jars remaining were selfishly rationed over the next 4 months. i think a jar even made it to bonnaroo that year. get the kosher ones though, they seemed to be more garlic-ish.


7. big mike's subs: no, i know you think i mean milio's. we cannot succumb to new ownership naming. and i definitely don't mean jimmy-johns. em likes the veggie w/sprouts and avocado, i like the italian (godfather?). get yours with a pickle too, and a lemonade, then head on over to michael's for some frozen custard.

8. beer cheese soup: good god am i from wisconsin. it sounds like the kind of thing you'd have at a bar or you dorm room the night before the worst vomit-fit day of your life -- but it's actually something i had for the first time at a fancypants-ish restaurant (weisgerber's golden mast in hartland).

9. waffle fries: i used to hate waffle fries. why did i hate waffle fries? i don't know. that was a dumb you, me.

10. bagel sandwiches from bagel and deli in oxford, ohio: expensive, but generally quality. i liked the 'tanya harding club,' and any breakfast bagel sandwich with bacon.

11. cajun chicken sandwich: while i'm in oxford, i may as well head next door to skipper’s and get one of these. bar food, but good bar food, served with... waffle fries. nice.

12. 3 year-old cheddar from sendik's in wauwatosa: more wisconsin bias, but i just can't find cheddar this good anywhere, not in ohio, not in minnesota, and certainly not out here in newyorkland. and anything that approaches real aged (measured in years, not months) cheddar is like $78/lb. but at sendiks, they usually have a few - 2, 3, 4, sometimes 5 or 6 year old cheddar for reasonable prices. the 3 year old is young enough to still be creamy, and old enough to have a good, solid bite to it. i once had a meal at my brother's that consisted of 3 things - marinated grilled tenderloin, a glass of some decent shiraz, and a pile of sendik's cheddar. that meal is in my meal hall of fame. no, you can't visit.

13. the gcb: the gcb is a garlic cheeseburger served at marvin's in greencastle, indiana. both my brother, and hayes' brother went to depauw in greencastle, and we've often talked about making a marvin's roadtrip. just for gcb's. why have we not done that yet? i heard they changed the recipe. we may have to confirm this. UPDATE: apparently, there's a Marvin's in STEVENS POINT, WI NOW!?!!?!? much more manageable roadtrip, albeit minus the mystique of indiana.

14. cheese pizza @ hollywood north in sleepy hollow: of the new york style pizza i've had, this has been the most consistent. not under/overcooked, and reasonably priced. i got a large pie a few weeks ago somewhere else with 3 toppings and they charged me like $22. and it was soggy and undercooked. i killed them all. no, not really.

15. popcorn: jesus, i almost forgot popcorn. making popcorn isn't a quick snack for me, it's sort of an event. i've reverted to almost strictly popping kernels on the stove - then some butter while it's still in the pan, cover it back up - then more butter and salt in different layers into the bowl. and i dig it when movie theaters sell popcorn outside of where they take tickets, so you don't have to bother with the whole movie part.

16. english muffins: i grew up on bay's, but i bounce back and forth between bay's and thomas.' really, i think it's butter i like, but it's nice to have a crunchy/chewy vessel for the butter.

17. bacon: bacon.

18. alouette garlic and herb spread with wheat thins: i'm still trying to find a 128oz. tub of this - i can get big boxes of wheat thins at sam’s.

19. pineapple-upside-down-cake

: i’m not usually a cake kinda guy, but em makes these every once in a while, and they’re awesome. and doing this list made me remember that i think there’s at least half of one at home right now. now that i have dinner covered, i just have to figure out what to have for dessert tonight.

20. ritter-sport: chocolate bar squares – the one with the biscuit is the best, apparently they have one with cornflakes? available in the fancypants chocolate section of a lot of groceries. and at jungle jim’s – weird world food marked place in ohio. they also sold some Nordic version of the kit-kat (much better chocolate) called kwik lunsj.

21. grilled cheese at the cage @ st. olaf: em and i were going through a scrap book the other day, and i found a receipt for one of the 12,500 grilled cheeses i ate there – it was $1.95. part of my shock may be my east-coast cost-of-living goggles, but damn! and they were big grilled cheeses on thick bread with tons of cheese – the kind where you order it with fries and mozzarella sticks thinking you’ll still be hungry – and then you finish the g.c., and you’re so full you can only manage a handful of fries and 2 m. sticks. i’ve yet to encounter a grilled cheese with that sort of power since. with inflation, i suppose it’s a whopping $2.25 by now though.

22. fresh veggies: i’m totally kidding.

22. sammy smith’s oatmeal stout: wait. i can’t do that either. even though it could qualify as a food, if i start down that path, this list will never end.

22. astronaut ice cream: okay, that works. either the neapolitan or the ice cream sandwich. similar to the popcorn situation, i’ve learned to appreciate museums where the gift shop is outside of the ticket-taker station.

23. george webb w/coupons: i realize that times have changed, but this is still a sick deal. back in the day, i would go to the ymca with hayes to play racquetball and walleyball (volleyball in a racquetball court – lots of bank shots to the unprepared face), and we’d go across the street to webb’s for lunch and each get eggs (scrambled), toast (raisin, always burned) and hashbrowns (or bacon) and a double cheesburger each – for $6.84. that’s $3.42 each. ridiculous. a 15% tip is $1.03. bring a ten dollar bill, and you’ve got enough for two hearty lunches, and two bags of doritos and a whatchamacallit from the vending machine at the y as an afternoon snack.

24. fried cheese curds: again, i’m obviously from wisconsin. and really, fresh cheese curds too, good and squeaky. but fried? good god. i don’t care if they’re $4.99 for a 3”X 4” cardboard dish at the state fair or summerfest – it’s worth my $25 for enough to be satisfied until we find the funnel cake guy.

25. bacon: again, bacon.

so that’s my answer to the 25 random things.

please yell (with violent text) at me for all the things i forgot. or just make your own list. but do it when you’re hungry. people say going to the grocery when you’re hungry is a bad idea, but i think it’s worse to go when you’re full, cause then you’re all ‘wheat thins and dip, i don’t want that’ and then later you’re all sitting on the couch watching everybody loves raymond and you’re all ‘why didn’t i get some goddamned wheat thins and dip? i’m starving, and all i have are fresh veggies!’ but even then, don’t forget that you got 4 pounds of bacon at sam’s last time and it’s in the freezer.

realize how thirsty you are

had the lower leaves covered,
the apples brought in

rain freezes on its way to the tops of our hatted hair
crept up cold inside the warmth of september breezes curling up the hill,
raising the dusty earth to our knees and the smells of plants
drift and settle, as if crumbled and held just before our noses as we slept.

i woke up with home in my nostrils,
distant and here now,
resting between us in bed, under the dog

hiding from the weather
like a quick nap at a family party
in the rooms that keep out little kids' intrigue
i'd put a 'no toys' sign on the door if reading informed wandering

crisp from cold storms
it's hard to save them for the kettle
and spiced jars full of later spoonfulls

biting in to feel the juice slide down
and remind me of my own hunger,
the watery meat of chilled fruit

never spent a whole day lying on the ground
after a great fall, letting go with my stem
i've stood up to come inside for a tall glass of well water.

ryan can't wait to open what you got him for chriksmess

Happy Solstice, and Non-Specific Governing Force of the Universe, bless us everyone!

merry christmas vs. happy holidays vs. bread and jam for Francis

So here's another insignificant issue that I have no simple answer for... well except for the bread and jam part -- Francis is spot on, and bread and jam should be part of every meal... but on the other two - I've stood a bit on both sides of the fence, arguing with myself, like a true student of philosophy. As a somewhat-newly realized political moderate, I still cling to a fistful of conservative-type views of the world, trying not to ignore the decaying quality of propriety, and of our tradition and resolve in the world. At the same time, I try to choose my battles wisely.

I've been told by a few intelligent people that they think I look and sound and smell like a libertarian (I think the mix of selfish-scotch and careless-hippyism hanging on my recent history cued their noses) -- but I think rights are invented things, not inherent to the social life - and in that sense, not an intrinsic good. So that's sort of like being a Christian who thinks Jesus was just a 'neatish kinda guy.'

So moving forward with the Jesus thing -- this is a season of mostly religious holidays. That's the premise on which this bickering is based, and somewhat humorously, it's become a relatively faulty one. But I'll come back to that. The arguments basically unfold as such:

A:
1. Christmas is a particular religious holiday
2. Not all of us are members of that religion, or celebrate Christmas
3. The public offering of celebration wishes should be inclusive, as not to marginalize or offend those to whom certain observances may not apply.
4. The idea that Christmas has transcended religious views, and as a normal part of our culture, should not be considered offensive - is not convincing or fair. Perhaps one had his/her children eaten by the Ferocious Christian of Waukesha, or he/she was forced by his/her schoolmates to eat cross-shaped Christmas cookies to the point of traumatic stomach discomfort. We all know that any degree of sensitivity to non-neutral expressions of thought or belief is possible, and we must plan our lives accordingly.

B:
1. Stop being such a nancy and eat another cookie, or I'll sick the FC of W on you.
2. There is no #2

So those are the two positions, in a nutshell. But despite the merrychristmasers' claim that there is no #2, I think they're both completely full of shit.

As with most things of theological 'significance,' the celebration of Christmas was discussed, drawn up, bickered over, sent in, sent back, queried, lost, found, subjected to public enquiry, lost again, signed in triplicate, and eventually agreed upon by old, snaggletoothed white men in very tall hats and gold robes. The short version of the story is that a few hundred years ago, they began a hostile takeover of Winter Solstice - mainly by setting the celebration of the birth of Christ (which probably took place sometime in Autumn) 4 days removed from said Solstice. Since then, more white people have continued their work, adopting one Solstice tradition after another, wrapping them in swaddling clothes, placing them a manger, and calling them Christianity. Holly, ivy, mistletoe, yule log, the giving of gifts, decorated trees, magical reindeer, etc. -- you guessed it -- all Solstice.

So, as one is what one eats, Christmas has become what the Christians stomped out so long ago: a pagan celebration of giving, generic good will, and the worship of tangible things -- egg nog, ipods, celestial bodies, whatever. But I do agree that our new traditions are just like believing in God -- trampelled Walmart employees, neverending delays at LaGuardia, arguments with relatives, supressing our natural needs, giving in to authority figures, and listening to great aunt Mervleputz talk drunkedly about all the people she knows who have died since last Christmas, and from what disease, and at what hostpital.

But even with all the shades of similarity, Christmas is not, and has never been, a religious holiday for most. We're really just celebrating the shortest daylight of the year with red and green flair four days late. So when the vehement bullies demand that 'Merry Christmas-es' fill our American air, it doesn't offend me, but I don't exactly agree.

So Happy Solstice, one and all. Enjoy your bread and jam, and any of you guys call me Francis... and I'll kill you.

quoter beware

a few days ago, i was traversing this internet thing for help using some music software, and i noticed that all the registered users on forums have little 'signatures,' or quotes below their respective posts. apparently, these sorts of things briefly and effectively explain your beliefs and who you are, even when they aren't your words. among the spattering of oscar wilde quips, painfully inaccurate lebowski references, and out-of-context nietzsche phrases was the following piece of brilliance:

"talking about music is like dancing about architecture."

hmm...

i must admit, my brain's knee-jerk reaction was: 'that's a clever little ...'

but then i realized something -- it wasn't a clever little anything. in fact, at second glance, that sentence meant absolutely nothing to me. and it wasn't just an opinion. talking about music is NOTHING like dancing about architecture. and even if it were, why should that matter?

but to be fair, i'll try and offer what point the quoted (after a search or two, i found this quote has been attributed to steve martin, elvis costello, and numerous others who have denied ever saying it) may have been trying to get across.

the best i can come up with, is that the speaker was trying to criticize the act of spending one's time talking about an artistic endeavor, rather than simply making art. maybe i'm missing something, but that seems the most likely aim.

even with this projected interpretation, the quote fails to make a proper analogy. the statement is about as coherent as saying that 'reading about salmon is like painting about carrots,' or 'doing a walking tour of yankee stadium is like playing football in the ocean.'

this sort of analogy (or the attempted sort) is meant to make use of a comparison in which the second example mimics the first in form, but presents us with a shared quality of incoherence or logical absurdity. a good example would be: 'spending time and energy on this blog is like mailing letters to god.' the pointlessness of the second example is meant to highlight the not-so-obvious (in comparison) futility of the first action without saying it outright. in this case, it does so because futility is a shared quality here -- mailing letters to god is absurd because god does not exist (nobody's reading), and if he did, he would only bother reading letters from NFL players and attorneys. the first is absurd because there is no readership here (nobody's reading).

we all remember the tests in grade school -- 'mother is to father as sister is to _________.' if we had answered 'hedgehog,' the tests would have determined we were most likely to be ship-boat captains, and they would have called Social Services about some seriously messed up ideas about familial structure -- but apparently we'd also be quoted on nerd forums about vst inputs and latency control. such is the price for internet immortality, i suppose.

but the point i'm trying to make -- my most recent silent tree in the woods -- is that we love the tidy little morsels that quotes and sayings afford so much that we rarely care to inspect them further and address their actual worth or depth of meaning. our standards of logic and significance have somehow fallen to the level where NFL players and attorneys are worth listening to. "we just have to take it one game at a time, keep our focus on execution, and give 110%" and "if it doesn't fit, you must aquit."

when salvador dali said "i don't do drugs, i am drugs," he said nothing of value or meaning. he said the kind of thing that a hundred-thousand 18 year old stoners have thought up in the last seven months. "it's like we're not just listening to the music, but like we're really there, in the music, like we're in tune with it man." but because enough high people thought a dripping clock was worthy of praise, and this man painted a dripping clock, it's considered a great and famous quotation. and even i was fooled into liking that one until i was about18 and a half.

even truly great and intelligent people have certain phrases or words emphasized at the befuddling expense of other, more meaningful ones. the gettysburg address is a great speech. it's well written because lincoln was a well-read smartypants. but it's a 2 minute speech dedicating a piece of land after a battle - and i think most people i know, myself included - know more of the gettysburg address than of anything else lincoln ever said or wrote. his first inaugural address is a thing of beauty, much more historically informative than the g.a. -- and we've probably never heard a word of it.

and at the same time, more of us recognize hilariously cheesy movie lines, like "i'm the king of the world" or "they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom" than do passages from martin luther king's 'i have a dream' speech, or of fdr's first inaugural address (fear itself...). of course, this sort of phenomenon points to the reality that it isn't the content of the words we hear which determines their imprint on our memory, but the method and volume in which they are delivered. if the reverse were true, we'd realize that in fact, we actually need to be living to possess freedom. we could simply empty out that slot in our brains to store something about quantum entanglement, or equal rights, or advice on how to keep the dog from barking when we come home from work -- and then put down our rusty dagger and bent up shield, and head home to "either write things worth reading, or do things worth the writing." and maybe even read a few things worth remembering.

dust on the bottle

to tell you the truth, i think you're crazy,
hanging all around on circumstance
forgetting to drain the shower,
drinking as quickly as possible

in the summertime,
ba do bee do ba boo,
when the will of wine
has it's grip around you

in the night time
you've got typing
you've got typing on your mind

writing off the written off
making yourself, rotating,
simply repeating what the thunder said

and in comes the explaination
scarf and pipe,
smoking what he likes
waiting for no one,
leaving no one waiting
belonging to nobody
(there is no reason beside ourselves,
it's a great fiction, rooming with rights,
right religion and allknowing)

i've got him captured. so do you,
in your own wanders through and through,
wading slow in morning's hue
catching toes of sprinkled dew
barely missing autumn flu,
the place you'd found, and swore you knew
given its own breath, and beyond all grasp of recognition

i know why it makes you sad
to miss the answers you designed,
tame and blessed, stained lightly
with the subtle tones of older wine

i'll come to bed soon, sliding in the coldish toes
wake up, and remember nothing we wrote
or drank or smoked
curled stretches move my head just enough
to catch the small white patch perched
beneath a looming blackbird
on the tree that shades my sleeping from sun.

so...

thanks. for that. and the other thing.

i just couldn't resist

when i saw the headline: "monks brawl in jerusalem"

i don't even think i need to write anything.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/27643371#27643371

i watched it without any sound (at work) and had to keep from giggling. what a wonderful thing, religion.

on the same type of seriouser note

i'm glad i'm not em's jackolantern, because it had just really its bottom teeth gnawed off by a raccoon animal or a 'possum animal or a misguided supercharged nocturnal plaque being.

on a more seriouser note

i'm glad i'm not my jackolantern because it had its face eaten off in the middle of the night by raccoon animals or 'possum animals or starving nocturnal inconsiderate children.

on progress

i won't try to claim that it was a major consideration for voters in this country, but there's a topic i've heard some discussion about that i feel is in DIRE need of some deconstruction: "is america ready for a black president?" several months ago, the question was accompanied by "is america ready for a female president?"

while i think it may be worth a few minutes in the broader span of a lifetime to discuss the answer of such questions, the larger-picture-considering, point-at-the-elephant-in-the-room, asshole in me is stomping up and down and screaming at the top of my lungs "WHO THE F*#K CARES?!" it's not because i think the answer is obvious, or completely irrelevant. it matters a great deal to black/woman candidate deciding whether to run or not, and it matters to their opponent - but aside from those directly involved, the discussion is entirely academic.

just as the race of a candidate in and of itself should have no impact on a voter's decision (in a perfect world), whether a population is 'ready' for their leader to be anything but old and white shouldn't even be entertained while one makes up his/her mind.

i don't claim this is any sort of revolutionary idea - but that's part of the problem. it should be a non-issue, and my belief as such is tied strongly to my feelings and beliefs about progress. not about a particular example though, as simply electing a black president is not progress - this is not an endorsement or celebration of Obama's victory, but that doesn't mean i'm not happy about the outcome. my point is that a discussion of race is not a discussion of value, and i think the most effective means of growing up socially as a nation have much more in common with Rawls' 'veil of ignorance,' than they do with a strategy of likelihood or gauging our population's ability to 'handle' change. real change on this scale is usually brought about somewhat violently, not as an epiphany to be reached once we've achieved some abstract state of tolerance - and i think it's set in motion most effectively by changing the expectations of your surroundings.

the difficult conclusion that i've come to is that sometimes, the mob-rule quality of democratic society should be disregarded - not often, but i believe there are cases in which responsible citizens and leaders need to ignore the majority, and disregard the attitudes of large groups of people. in a country like the one we live in, it is perhaps the only way that significant progress can be made, and that's a difficult pill to swallow, but i believe it's true.

this country wasn't 'ready' for the civil rights act, or for integration in public schools. they happened anyway. people fought it, people died, people persevered. i have no sympathy for those who didn't get their way in that decision. they were wrong. i don't care how popular being wrong was - it was a victory for egalitarian democracy. and it was a victory for humanity.

i'd argue that this country wasn't even 'ready' for the americans with disabilities act of 1990. as with any great new expectation/law, those who can get away with holding to outdated notions (either for personal comfort, or financial gain) will do so as long as they can. it's absurd that states have to pass laws mandating that mental health be covered under health insurance policies 18 years after the ADA.

but the fact that we're cleaning up the pieces decades down the road doesn't mean the sweeping change was made prematurely -- indeed, i think it more than confirms the need for such action in regard to equality and 21st century society's ethical standards. the point is to create an expectation of equality. when the bus leaves, it will drive slowly, and that's frustrating for progressive and modern minds - but at least it's being driven with some authority. and there is nothing wrong with leaving the 12th century, and those stuck in it, behind. i wish religious leadership (and not just islam, but overcoming fear and hatred of women, homosexuals and other religious groups seems to be a greater challenge for islamic nations) would be able to reconcile honor of the sacred with a respect for human fallibility and growth -- but for now, i'm willing to stay cynical, only expecting such integrity from the secular side of citizenry.

i've grown more severe about this issue in recent years, and my own expectations have spread to domains i used to leave alone. i think most of us theoretically disagree with the use of unfairly discriminatory terms, but when the 'chips are down,' (sometimes literally) we laugh at racist jokes, mimic people with distracting disabilities, and think that to condemn the occasional poke of fun is just taking things too seriously -- bedwetting liberalism to some. but i think my own thoughts about human psychology and sociology have shifted as of late - and i think apparent overcompensation is just what humans need in a time that requires a near universal leap of attitude-ical levels. in the book "anger," Thich Nhat Hanh writes about the age-old practice of 'punching a pillow,' to 'release' anger. it seems our modern understanding of physiology and its relationship with behavior leads us to a very different conclusion, and Nhat Hanh proposes it as such:

                    "Expressing anger is not always the best way to deal with
              it. In expressing anger we might be practicing or rehearsing
              it, and making it stronger in the depth of our consciousness.
             Expressing anger to the person we are angry at can cause a lot
             of damage.

                    Some of us may prefer to go into our room, lock the door,
             and punch a pillow. We call this "getting in touch with our
             anger".  But I don't think this is getting in touch with our
             anger at all.  In fact, I don't think it is even getting in
             touch with our pillow. If we are really in touch with our
             pillow, we know what a pillow is and we won't hit it."

Now, i understand that his style of writing may take some getting used to, and many consider this sort of thinking laughably childish -- but i would contend that such a reading is an inaccurate, lazy one. sometimes, basic ideas get misread as complicated ones, and i think changes in attitudes are about changing our environment and our patterns. our emotions are not disconnected from our rational expressions, and to act as if they are - to express violence behind closed doors - is ignoring the influence feelings and actions have on one another. for example, breaking the patterns and attitudes of an alcoholic are most effective when they are universal. recovering alcoholics don't have a 'harmless' couple of beers from time to time, and they can't believe that it wouldn't be a big deal - not only because of the physical addiction, but because of the power and growth potential of repeated behaviors and unexamined attitudes.

behavior is a model of physiology, in my mind - consider muscle memory, and how long it takes for a quarterback to fix a 'bad' throwing motion. consider plain old memory - and how we can actually fool ourselves into inventing elements of an event that never happened, simply by repeating the memory a certain way in our brain. it all has to do with the pathways of signals, the strengthening of connections, and our physical or psychological comfort level with what happened the last 9,000 times we threw a ball with our elbow too high, had just one beer without telling anyone, or told a joke about niggers, towel-heads, or crackers. we may have perfected a spiral-on-a-rope, enjoyed the taste of a brew without getting out of hand, or filled the room (including the black friend who's just so cool about everything) with laughter.

but when it's time to throw a fade pass with some touch to the corner of the endzone, our mechanics will fail us. when our wife asks us where the last mgd went, and we lie, our patterns failed us. when our black friend stops showing up for poker night, and your buddy's kid takes the fifth spot - and learns how hilarious it is to make fun of people because of their skin color - our harmless exceptions are failing a whole new generation.

so, as someone who generally can't stand the ACLU, who thinks affirmative action usually ends up being a disgrace to everyone involved, and thinks the 'unity' of any individual race or religion or ethnic group isn't really unity at all - i know that the fight for equality and fairness is just as corruptible as any other, just as susceptible to overfeeling and underthinking, and vice-versa. but when the 'readiness' of my country to accept leadership based on skin color, or gender, or favorite ice cream topping, or hat size, is genuinely brought into question - i think it's time to grill the moderator, and demand valid topics of debate.

we're ready for much more than outdated religious standards and 'guidance,' bigoted shit farmers, the mob of the recent right and the empty promises and do-nothingness of the aging left. at the very least, it's time to start turning our static modernism into some real expectations. so go apologize to your pillow.