Cob Oregon Muse writes,
As I suggested in the title, I have no idea where the pic is from. But you can tell it’s a great used bookstore because it looks so ramshackle and disorganized, it would take you hours to find what you’re looking for, and that’s a feature, not a bug.
November 2. Started this, and several other posts, within the last week or two. Figured I might as well finish them up while I wait for Mississippi State to start getting beat, again.
What I’m going to take issue with is “enjoy.” I don’t think they really enjoy it at all. I have little experience with teens, but I do have a lot of experience with 20-somethings and I can’t imagine the situation is radically different among that cohort compared to teens.
I was in the parking lot of Walmart the other day preparing to leave. The car in front of me backed out, and so did the car next to it. So– TWO (2) empty spaces in front of me. I started to drive forward and out of nowhere came this car zooming into the space. We both just stopped. Recall I said there were two (2) empty spaces. In the world in which I live, the driver of the car would have backed out, readjusted, and pulled into the other empty space.
Then again, I was in Starkvegas and that’s not what happened. After a few moments of standoff, the driver pulled further forward all the while flipping me off and shouting. So I backed up, looked at her tag, rolled down my window, waited through a few more obscenities, and said, “The Texans I know have better manners than you.” (It’s true.)
To which this 20-something young woman responded, “Then go play with them.”
She got out and was followed by a scraggly little piss ant of a male. Now she is crossing the street part of the parking lot in front of me. I see her bend over and pick something up from the sidewalk. She turns to the piss ant and starts screaming and flailing around– like a freaking temper tantrum the likes of which I have not seen in anyone older than a pubescent 14 year old.
One of them had dropped his or her freaking phone.
I had been pissed but at that point– when I realized all the fuss was about a phone— I laughed out loud.
These are not the sort of folks who enjoy much of anything.
National Geographic Volume XXXVI Number Five, November, 1919
Not a pleasant story at all. And quite the contrast to the first half dozen or so pages of advertisements.
Here’s the last sentence, spoken by the author’s traveling companion, a doctor, as their ship departed Ararat:
“God bless America,” he said; “for America, with God’s help, will do it.”
Some good ones up at Powerline’s The Week in Pictures.
Today is the first in the last 27 days that I am alone at The Farm. That’s right! That Hip Gimp, Mr. Big Food, has resumed almost normal activities and has returned to campus all by himself. And I’m left here contemplating the fact that, no, I am not going do a month’s worth of passed-over drudge work today. I’m takin’ it easy.
Carry on.
Sidebar images from American Digest
At Instapundit just now, linking to this.
If you’ll bear with me while I do some Hip Gimp related tidying up around the joint, I’ll tell you why.
Oh what the heck? I’ll tell you why now. It’s because they are insufferable little prigs, that’s why. More on this to come.
Powerline’s The Week in Pictures
Easy to Be Hard
Mama Told Me Not To Come
Celebrate!
Liar!
There was no baseball last night, so I read Mr. Big Food the list of albums I’ve cleaned and are ready to play. He skipped past The Who, Kinky, The Stones, Jerry Jeff, wondered who owned James Taylor (Sweet Caroline, I was young once), and settled on Three Dog Night.
[Steve] Once man’s trash… .
As I mentioned, Mr. Big Food is a Hip Crip— confined to the Den with only his work ethic, baseball, and the occasional rant about Joe Moorhead to entertain himself. Until… .
Back in a corner of the Bunkhouse there are two boxes of record albums that for all intents and purposes have not been looked at in 20 years (except to pull out a couple of Grateful Dead albums to frame). So, thanks to the magic of Amazon Prime (I know, I know), I ordered a record player, and thinking ahead, a vinyl record cleaning kit. In my copious spare time when I am not cooking I have been cataloging and cleaning vinyl– I’m probably about 1/5 of the way through
Mr. Big Food and I had different tastes in music when we were in high school.
Last evening was a Good Night for Singin’.
Good Morning Readers— assuming there are any left after my extended absence. Allow me to bring you up to speed about what’s happening here in my little corner of the planet.
A little over a week ago Mr. Big Food tripped, fell, and— as we eventually learned a few days after the fall—fractured his Ischial Remus (a small part of his hip; this is why we have crappy old human anatomy & physiology books). The first 168 hours (24*7) were grueling. Misdiagnoses, pain meds that did not alleviate pain, crutches, walkers, no sleep, forms forms forms, medical administration people who do not know everything but think they do, radiologists on drugs, etc.
Speaking of radiologists on drugs— if you and your spouse or long-time partner do not have each other’s medical powers of attorney stop everything and just do it. It’s not just about pulling the plug. It’s about exercising your power when you need to. It’s about dealing with radiologists on drugs at student health who are worried about loosing their jobs because of HIPPA when you ask nicely for your husband’s x-ray. Yes indeed I do have paperwork authorizing me to act in his stead.
Mr. Big Food is fine. Sit, rest, let it heal.
For my part I put my never-met-a-challenge-I-couldn’t-figure-out hat on and together we commenced to establish a new normal wherein the breakfast table in the Den has been converted to a desk at which he can work, little bit of furniture has been rearranged, and so forth. So we’re living in the den/master bedroom which is pretty big and not too bad.
Thank God for baseball playoffs.
Also— “Marica Cooks John Crippled” highlights the menu on the fridge. So. Much. Cooking.
So there you go and here I am. TTYL. Need to get the yellow split peas soaking. It’s vegetarian Tuesday, after all.
Most fools think they are only ignorant.
Benjamin Franklin, 1748
He that makes an Ass of himself must not take it ill if Men ride him.
Thomas Fuller, 1732
None is a fool always, everyone sometimes.
George Herbert, 1640
Anybody who feels at ease in the world today is a fool.
Robert Hitchens, 1959
Heh. This is a good one.
There are two kinds of fools: one says, “This is old, therefore it is good”; the other says, “This is new, therefore it is better.”
Dean William Ralph Inge (1860-1954)
A man may be a fool and not know it– but not if he is married.
H.L. Mencken
A fellow who is always declaring he’s no fool usually has his suspicions.
Wilson Mizner (1876-1933)
Puck: Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Shakespeare, 1595
2019 in a nutshell:
Fools are more dangerous than rouges.
George Bernard Shaw, 1928
Again, 2019:
The ultimate affect of shielding men from folly is to fill the world with fools.
Herbert Spencer, 1866
I think I’ll stop there.
All from Quotationary, Leonard Roy Frank, ed., Random House, New York, 2001.
Unless there’s something watch-worthy about the weather— which there most definitely is not today same as yesterday and tomorrow, hot— my first stop of the day is lileks.com, the bleat.
James Lileks’ father died not long ago and we, his readers, have been sorting through what’s in the house.
The Food Truck was a big hit. Everyone except graduate students and post-docs chipped in $10. There was complete agreement that the food available at the Food Truck was far superior to the awful $22 boxed lunches provided by the hotel the day before. All things considered, Mr. Big Food and I were out 10 bucks but brought home a 12-pack of sparkling water and some paper plates, so we called it even.
The grocery store deli messed up my meat order– I think they gave me mine and someone else’s– and so we had three pounds more meat than I ordered. No big deal. Believe it or not, these folks know how to eat.
Only one fellow seemed not to know how things are done by Mr. Big Food and I who are in The United States of America and who know how to satisfy the VEG, VEGAN, and GFers. When he gave me his cash he emphasized that he was vegan– so maybe some guacamole? “No.” I do not run a restaurant. I run a food truck and when on Wednesday I map out what the offerings will be, and when on Friday I make adjustments based on what’s available at the store, I am not going to get guac for you, bless your heart. He just didn’t know. Still, that’s awfully bad manners if you ask me.
An interesting aside. There were 22 people on the program, and a few more in attendance. Not a single one asked me what was on the Food Truck menu. That’s probably due to the fact that more than half of these folks have eaten at one or more of our homes over the years.
This sounds good– better than pumpkin spiced anything.
ICED TEA SUPERB
Makes 4 to 5 glasses
3 Tbsp tea (choice blend of Indian and Ceylon)
Small bottle fresh mint leaves
3 teacups cold water, brought to a boil
¾ C sugar
Juice of 2 medium-size limes, strained
Crushed ice
Scald teapot. (“Use a china or earthenware pot; metal spoils the flavor.”) Place tea and mint leaves in pot, add boiling water, and allow to steep 5 minutes, Strain hot tea into a pitcher with sugar. (“Use glass, enamel, or stainless steel pitcher, never a metal one such as aluminum or tin.”) When tea is slightly cooled, add lime juice and serve over crushed ice.
