Oh, why not?

Well, seeing as it's so in vogue these days to have at least two blogs per person, I have opened a new division of the Ministry of the World. The Ministry of Food promises to be quite the entertaining little spot on the web; do please check it out!

Well, I laughed...

The other night I was out and about, and after the out and aboutness had almost ceased, was standing on an unnamed street with a certain person saying goodnight when our attention was distracted in a most amusing way.

Down the road a piece was a chain link fence. This fence was further topped with barbed wire fencing. The whyness of the barbed wire is something that remains a mystery, especially considering said fence surrounds a building that is not of what one would believe to be of the barbed wire persuasion. Anyways, what drew attention to the otherwise rather humdrum fence was the fact that a pickup had backed into a driveway alongside of it. Out of the truck emerged several men of the youngish, kinda longhaired variety. They began to hurl snowballs rather energetically at something, and spoke rather loudly about how "angry it looks" and how "it's gonna come after us!". Well, being as it was after 2:30 in the afternoon, it was rather dark out, so we thought about wandering over and seeing what was up. One of the seemly young men, moved by the emotion of the evening, decided a song was called for and began to sing that old favorite, "Eye of the Tiger"; a move that of course cinched the deal. We trudged over.

Well, caught in the barbed wire was an extremely irate looking possum. The boys had ceased to pelt snowballs at this point, evidently deciding that that method had not been successful in dislodging the beast. In a baffling turn of events, they retrieved the snow shovels they were inexplicably carrying in the truck. These shovels they then used to try and pry the wire apart far enough to free the livid rodent. The rodent, however, would have none of it, causing one kinda long haired guy to say, "Man, little dude. If you're not gonna help yourself, we're not gonna help you."

Despite this ominous threat, the young men continued pluckily to rescue their unwilling hostage. The possum looked as if it were ready to jump and gnaw their faces off, and probably the faces of all innocent bystanders. We stepped back. Just when all seemed lost, the possum shuffled on off the fence suddenly. There was a terrifying moment when uncertainty reigned; no one knowing what way the animal would travel. After what could best be described as a withering glance at his rescuers, the ungrateful wretch stalked offwards into the night, and the show was over.

Good story, huh?

Merry Christmas!

When I'm worried and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings
When my bankroll is getting small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings

I think about a nursery and I picture curly heads
And one by one I count them as they slumber in their beds
If you're worried and you can't sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you'll fall asleep
Counting your blessings

Random Stuff

Well, the semester is over! Hurrah! I managed to pull through finals creditably and now don't care to think about school until January.

Christmas is coming and I still have to buy gifts. Hmmm...

Not enough people appreciate Abba music. It's about as cool as it gets. Disco rocks, y'all.

Could it be that the gnomes of Wendler Avenue have come here to Pineview for the sole purpose of stealing my socks? It would explain a lot.

My sister Grace has a pretty sweet series going on her blog. Muppets are the reason for the season! Oh... wait...

Well, that's probably enough randomness for this evening. A new blog series is forthcoming on the rising architectural trend of neo-urbanism. I know, I know. It sounds thrilling. Try and calm yourselves.

This is worth 40% of your grade...

Magdeburg or Dresden?

Why?

They Glorifed Mary, We Glorifed Rice

I've been cleaning up my favorites bookmarks and came across a bunch of "You Might Be A .... IF..." lists. They're really too funny. The best were from the Lutheran, Presbyterian, and Dutch Reformed lists. The sad thing is that I relate to most of these.

You might Be Dutch Reformed IF...

you get excited at the thought of salted licorice

you don't think twice when someone mentions their Oma

you insist on singing the Dutch words to Ere Zig Gott

you get a sun burn when you read under a lamp.

you consider 30°F in the winter is warm.

you take off your shoes before entering the house

your last name begins with "Van"

you decided to form a study committee to add items to this list.

your study committee submitted a majority and minority report.

you develop a craving for ham buns.

you hear "tulip" and think "total depravity, unconditional election,..."

you visit another church and the second question you're asked is, "Are you related to...."

you can't think of any use for peppermints outside of church.

you've heard of a guy named Dooyeweerd.

you think kids who go to public school are strange.

a church picnic isn't the place to find Ms. or Mr. Right -- because everyone's related.

you get agitated and start looking at your watch when the minister says, "And my 4th point is...."



You Might Be a Lutheran IF...

you give a party and don't tell anyone where it is

during the entire service you hold your hymnal open but never look down at it

rather than introducing yourself to a visitor at church, you check their name out in the guestbook.

you think Garrison Keillor's stories are totally factual.

you have your wedding reception in the fellowship hall and feel guilty about not staying to help clean up.

you forget to put water in the baptismal font but never forget to put water in the coffee pot.

you don't make eye contact when passing someone in the hall because you think it's impolite.

your choir believes volume is a fair substitute for tonality.

in response to someone jumping up and shouting "Praise the Lord!", you politely remind him or her that we don't do that around here.

you think a meeting isn't legitimate unless it's at least three hours long.

you don't know what was sooo funny about dat movie "Fargo" then.

you make change in the offering plate for a ten.

you think butter is a spice.

you know what a "dead spread" is

you hear something really funny and smile as loud as you can.

you carry silverware in your pocket to church just in case there's a potluck.

you read your Catechism and start arguing theology with yourself because no one else is around.



You Might Be Presbyterian IF...

You can spell supralapsrian , suprlapsarian, suralapsrian, supralapsarian.

You know the meaning of most or all of the following - PCA, PCUS, PCUSA, PC(USA), PC(U.S.A.), PCUSA(NS), PCUSA(OS), RPCES, RPCNA-GS, RPCNA, EPC, OPC, ARP, NAPARC, CRC, RCA, BPC, BPC-Collingswood, BPC-Columbus, CPC, TE, RE, WCF, WLC, WSC, BCO, UPC, UPCNA, UPCUSA, NPC,

You secretly suspect that John Calvin was a liberal because of his compromise on the Sabbath issue.


They aren't "catholics," or even "Roman Catholics." They're "Romanists," or "Papists."

When someone asks you a question about the Bible, you answer, "Well, the confession says . . . " or "the catechism says . . . "

When the spirit comes upon you in power, you don't raise your hands and shout Hallelujuah, rather you scratch your chin, turn to your neighbor and whisper "hmmm, . . . that was a good point."

Your children's names all begin with "covenant." In other words, normal people have babies, boys, girls, kids, and/or children. Presbyterians, on the other hand have "covenant" children. Instead of introducing your kids as Billy, Bobby and Suzy, it would be more proper to introduce them as Covenant-Bill, Covenant-Bob, and Covenant-Sue.

Feeling Nostalgic... for the 90s? What? I Need Help...

Poll time!

What songs would you put on an ultimate 90s music CD? The first person to say MmmBop by Hanson gets smacked upside the head.

Aren't you glad you aren't this guy's neighbor?

This is, um, interesting...

For the record, it is really fun to try this with kitchen lights. Good times at the Jurries.

A Good Question, Indeed...

"Is it not strange that sheeps' guts should hail the souls out of men's bodies?"

Three generations on one day! Isn't that the limit?

Happy Birthday to my dear Mom and my wonderful Grandpa!
I am lucky to share a day with two of my favorite people!
I guarantee you all this will be the only picture of myself
I'll ever post on this brog.
All that said, I think my cake looks the yummiest.

The Knowledge

In order for a common bloke to obtain a job as a cabbie in London, he must know quite a bit. Indeed, in order to be licensed to drive the famous black cabs, he must know more than quite a bit. Those wishing for such a license must learn no less than 320 routes in central London. These routes are all within a 6 mile radius of Charring Cross. Not only must they learn these routes, they must learn all the intersections and turnabouts along the way, the many names a single street has and where such names apply, and every single theatre, restaurant, club, police station, public building, hospital, hotel, railway station, park, shop, institute of learning, and place of worship, to name a few. In short, they must know where everything is. This is referred to as The Knowledge.

On average, most would-be cabbies study The Knowledge for almost three years in order to make an "Appearance". At the Appearance, the "Knowledge Boy" (or girl as the case may be) will be given two point within London. They then have to, without the aid of a map, find the shortest and most expedicious route, along with all intersections, roundabouts, and turns. In addition to this, they must name what buildings and points of interest they would be passing. Needless to say, hardly anyone passes the Appearance on their first shot. In fact, it's more common for someone to make up to 10 Appearances before receiving their license. The end result is an extremely knowledgable cabbie who knows the labyrinth of downtown London like the back of his hand; and will probably be able to tell you all about the history of each particular building to boot.

What does this have to do with the shape of the brain? Well, scientists in England have recorded the impact of studying for the Knowledge. Tests have proven that over time, as the daunting amouts of knowledge are acquired, the posterior portion of the right hippocampus actually grows. Studies also show that the more veteran cabbies had still larger hippocampi. This is incredible - the human brain has a certain amount of plasticity to it then. It will take all the information thrown at it and alter its shape to accomodate new knowledge. Or at least navagation knowledge.

The cabbies themselves seem nonplused. Said one, "I really try not to think about it myself. But people constantly get in my cab and say, 'My goodness! What a large hippocampus you have!' and I say 'Well, yes'. It's all very embarrassing." Another averred that he "really couldn't remember the hippocampus growing. It makes you wonder what happened to the rest of it." At least we know it didn't affect his sense of humor.

It has been said that no one really fails the Knowledge, they just give up. Science seems to back this up. It really is amazing when you think about it - that the human brain will alter its shape to accomodate more information. Guess that old "my brain is full" excuse doesn't work anymore, does it?

Hungry Hungry Hippocampus

Well, kidlets, did you know you can change the shape of your brain? Yes, indeed. There are fascinating studies out there showing that gained knowledge, particularly navigational knowledge, can increase the actual size of the hippocampus region of your brain. It appears that smart though you may be, cab drivers in London actually have a bigger brain. Weird, huh? More to come as regards these cabbies. (I'll bet you can't wait!)

I ain't A-Fib-bing!

Atrial fibrillation. All semester long I've been researching this blasted condition. One paper done, one presentation done, and one presentation to go. I know so much about it now that I don't know a thing. Yep. I'm that cool.

This year, I'm most thankful for Thanksgiving break. Yeah.

Another Wodehouse gem

"She was feeling like a mother who, in addition to notifying him that there is no candy, has been compelled to strike a loved child on the base of the skull with a stocking full of sand."

A Royal Imposition

Since we're talking about royalty and all, we might as well talk about a wonderful hoax from the early 1800s. That is the imposture of Princess Caraboo.

In 1817, a strangely dressed and seemingly confused young lady was found wandering the English countryside. She spoke no English. Now at the time in Britain, because of the Napoleonic wars, foreigners were treated with extreme suspicion. Fearing that the girl was a Corsican spy, she was brought before the Overseer of the Poor in Bristol, who in turn brought her to the local magistrate, a Mr Worrell. Mrs Worrell took an interest in the young lady and invited her to stay at her home, Knoll Park.

The Worrells soon deduced that the girls name was Caraboo, but they could not understand anything that she said. Finally, a sailor came along who claimed her could speak her language. Apparently, Caraboo was a royal princess from the island of Javasu. She had been kidnapped by pirates, but she managed to escape from them near England. She had swum to shore through the Bristol Channel.

Well, imagine the Worrells' excitement! They had a real live princess on their hands! What's more, a beautiful, exotic princess who fenced, used a bow and arrow, and swam naked in the lake. For almost three months that corner of Britain was captivated by the "savage princess". That is, until her former boss showed up.

A Mrs Neale saw a picture of Princess Caraboo in the newspaper. She immediately recognized her as Mary Baker, a former servant, who had often entertained the Neale children with her made up languages. The Worrells very kindly paid for Mary's passage to Philadelphia, where it is said she attempted the same hoax again, with no sucess. She eventually returned to England and made guest appearances (really!) from time to time as Princess Caraboo. She died in 1865. But the world has not forgotten the servant girl from Dover who pulled one over on the upper middle classes in England. One can only imagine how much fun she had pulling off such a sucessful hoax.

The Hawaiian Monarchy

The first monarch of Hawaii was Kamehameha the Great, a fierce warrior who united by force the separate fuedal societies of the islands. His dynasty, beginning in 1810, continued through five kings. When the last of the Kamehameha dynasty, Kamehameha V (known as Lot) died in 1872, he named Princess Bernice to be his heir. She, however, refused the crown, preferring a retired life with her husband.

This decision by Bernice left vacant the throne. The legislature therefore nominated some distant relatives of the Kamehameha line and declared an election. Hawaii's first elected king, Lunalilo, was royalty for less than a year when he unexpectedly died. He had not named an heir. SO... the country decided to elect a next monarch. This election was famously heated and nasty. The two candidates, David Kalakaua and Queen Emma, widow of one of the Kamehameha kings, did not much care for the other and rumors and mudslinging and general ugliness ensued. In the end, Queen Emma was defeated and the Kalakaua dynasty began.

Being a smart man, one of the first things Kalakaua did was to create a line of sucession. This came in handy when he passed away in 1891. His sister Lili-uokalani was made queen, and her niece Victoria Ka'iulani named Crown Princess. The government of Hawaii was overthrown in 1893 and the monarchy was abrogated. However then royal line does continue to this day. After the early, tragic death of Ka'iulani, Lili-uokalani named David Kawananakoa, nephew to David Kalakaua's wife, as her heir. We now come to the Kawananakoa Dynasty in waiting - the presumptive heirs to the throne of Hawaii.

David Kawananakoa was a significant character in the life of Ka'iulani. There are many indications that the two were secretly engaged, however, nothing can be known for certain. He did marry eventually to Abigail Wahiikaahuula Campbell. In what was doubtlessly a scandal, he refused to acknowledge paternity for her first child; however, officially this child, also named Abigail, was next in the line of succession. Her son Edward Kawananakoa was next in line, and then his son, Quentin Kawananakoa, who currently is the heir-presumptive to the defunct kingdom and the head ali'i, or chief, of Hawaii. The Kawananakoa family is closely tied to the Hawaiian Republican Party - in fact, Quentin Kawananakoa was the minority leader in the Hawaiian Legislature during the 1990s. His son Kincaid (a dreadful name) is next in the line of succession.

This is very interesting, actually. Many people talk about the Kennedy's being the American royals, or the Bush family, or whoever happens to be in vogue at the moment. What most people do not realize is that the Kawananakoa family is actually recognized as royalty, with titles of Prince and Princess still conferred. They are the only true royals in the United States. Very interesting, eh?

Pua o Hawaii

Forth from her land to mine she goes,
The Island maid, the Island rose,
Light of heart and bright of face,
The daughter of a double race.

Her Islands here in southern sun
Shall mourn their Ka`iulani gone.
And I, in her dear banyan’s shade,
Look vainly for the little maid.

But our Scots Islands far away
Shall glitter with unwonted day,
And cast for once their tempest by
To smile in Ka`iulani’s eye.

These words were written by Ka'iulani's dear childhood friend, Robert Louis Stevenson, before she went away to school in England. There is a great deal of nonsense published both in print and on the internet about a romance between the two. This is all utterly baseless. Ka'iulani was 13 years old when Stevenson came to Hawaii with his family. He took a paternal interest in her and she was fascinated by his storytelling abilities. They said farewell four months after they met each other, and never would meet in person again. Stevenson passed away at his plantation in Samoa while Ka'iulani was still in Britain.

The Peacock Princess

Hawaiian Crown Princess Victoria Kawekiu Lunalilo Kalahinuiahilapalapa Ka'iulani Cleghorn (Ka'iulani, as she was commonly known by), was what you could call an unexpected heroine. A young woman of strong faith, sharp intellect, and striking beauty; she represented her country with spirit and bore affliction with dignity.

Ka'iulani was born on October 16, 1875 to Archie Cleghorn, a Scottish financier, and his wife, Princess Miriam Likelike, the sister of the king of Hawaii. The king (Kalākaua) and his wife (Queen Kapi'olani) had no children, and Ka'iulani was second in line to the throne. After the death of the king, her aunt Lydia Lili‘uokalani became queen. At the age of fifteen, while at school in England, Ka'iulani learned she was now the Crown Princess. Unfortunately, two years later the government in Hawaii was overthrown and the queen deposed. It was at this point that the Peacock Princess (so called for her love of the peacocks that lived on her estate in Waikiki) stepped onto the public stage. She decided to travel to America and plead her countries cause.She was 17 years old.

The American press, being as obnoxious then as now, touted her visit as that of a barbarian princess from an uncivilized country. How shocked the people must have been to have seen the intelligent, refined, and mannered young princess! She gave a speech, the first public speech of her life, after she landed in America. "Seventy years ago Christian America sent over Christian men and women to give religion and civilization to Hawai'i. Today, three of the sons of those missionaries are at your capitol asking you to undo their father’s work. Who sent them? Who gave them the authority to break the Constitution which they swore they would uphold? Today, I, a poor weak girl with not one of my people with me and all these ‘Hawaiian’ statesmen against me, have strength to stand up for the rights of my people. Even now I can hear their wail in my heart and it gives me strength and courage and I am strong - strong in the faith of God, strong in the knowledge that I am right, strong in the strength of seventy million people who in this free land will hear my cry and will refuse to let their flag cover dishonor to mine!"

Not bad for a beginner, eh? Ka'iulani spent much time in America, eventually meeting President Glover Cleveland, who was very interesting in her cause. She dispelled all myths about the heathen nature of her country and dazzled society with her beauty. She spoke excellent English, in additon to Hawaiian, French, and German. Her guardian while in America was Theo Davies, who said this about her, "...Ka'iulani is not a mere worldling; she feels that her life is to be one of service to the King of Kings, and that she is to help her own people to live near Him. It is a solemn question for you to ask yourself how you can best help Ka'iulani in this work... I know it is Kaiulani's great desire to help the Hawaiian girls into lives of Christianity and purity."

However, politics being what they are (and I'm not even going to begin on the many reasons involved), the quest to restore the kingdom of Hawaii was not sucessful. It is thought that if the Spanish-American War not taken place, Ka'iulani might have been sucessful in regaining the throne for her aunt and, eventually, herself. This was however, not to be. The Princess returned to Hawaii. Her expected role in life was now forever taken from her, yet she bore her lot with dignity. She seemed to care more for her people's welfare under their new government than her own. She lived quietly at her estate until her death at the age 0f 23.

Throughout her short life, Ka'iulani made a great impression, first upon her nation who loved her devotedly, and then upon the world, who came to respect and admire her.

The Language of...oh whatever...

Well, gentle readers, our foray into the hidden languages of the Victorians is coming to a close. We have seen the two most important and widely used hidden languages - that of the fan and of flowers - and seen the suprising usage of the humble glove. There are also languages of the handkerchief, the parasol, the postage stamp, and the calling card (Folding the upper right corner meant the card had been left in person, not by way of a servant. Folding the upper left corner meant congratulations, folding the lower right corner meant goodbye. Folding the lower left corner signified condolence). Apparently, there was also a language developed around a gentleman's top hat; however, I cannot locate any information on this.

So we see that the Victorians found many ways of saying things without ever actually saying them, as it were. Whether or not this was a good thing, it does make for some mighty interesting research.

We shall not be leaving the world of Victoria behind us - the next post (hopefully tonight) will be on a great Victorian era princess.

The Language of Flowers

"Flowers have a language of their own, and it is this bright particular language that we would teach our readers. How charmingly a young gentleman can speak to a young lady, and with what eloquent silence in this delightful language. How delicately she can respond, the beautiful little flowers telling her tale in perfumed words; what a delicate story the myrtle or the rose tells! How unhappy that which basil, or yellow rose reveals, while ivy is the most faithful of all." or so says Colliers Cyclopedia of Commercial and Social Information and Treasury of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge (pub.1882).

The language of flowers is quite well developed, and were the whole of it published, would go on for pages and pages. Thusly, we shall confine our attention to roses, that most expressive of all flowers, and one or two other flowers.

Roses, besides fufilling their job of being lovely, often pulled double-duty. Much could be said with a rose, depending upon the colour, degree of openness, and how it is arranged. Roses almost always signify love - the above mentioned variations determine the degree and type of love the presenter feels. Note how some rose colours have several meanings - yet another opportunity for confusion!

Red Rose - true, deep, romantic love
White Rose - eternal love, innocence, purity, secrecy, unrequited love, I am worthy of you
Withered or Dried White Rose - dead love, death is preferable to loss of virtue
Yellow Rose - decrease in love, jealousy, friendship, try to care
Pink Rose - perfect happiness, sweetness, indecision
Dark Pink Rose - thankfulness
Light Pink Rose - grace, joy
Burgundy Rose - unconscious beauty
Deep Crimson Rose - mourning, bashfulness, shame
Peach Rose - immortality, modesty
Coral Rose - desire
Damask Rose - brilliant complexion, freshness, Persian ambassador of love
Orange Rose - fascination
Lavendar Rose - enchantment
Rosebud - youth and beauty, a heart innocent of love
Red Rosebud - pure and lovely
White Rosebud - a heart ignorant of love, girlhood
11 red roses and one yellow rose - love and passion
Bouquet of full bloom roses - gratitude
One full bloom roses over two rose buds - secrecy
White Rose and Red Rose together - unity
Single Full Bloom - I truly love you, I still love you, simplicity
Thornless Single Rose - love at first sight
A Rose given daily - "Thy smile I aspire to"
Rose Leaf - you may hope

This, again, is not an exhaustive list. There were meanings for almost every known variety of roses! And there are many more meanings involved with the arrangement and degree of openness. As far as other flowers go, consider, if you will, that entire books were published on this subject. To even attempt to compile a list here would be insane. However, some flower meanings are more interesting than others. For example - a Venus fly trap means (suprise!) "caught at last". A lady who wished to get rid of a dense suitor would hope he would get the message when she offered him a bachelors button for his boutonniere. Dandelions even held a meaning (faithfulness), showing that even obnoxious weeds were not beyond the Victorians grasp. Ivy means fidelity, which explains it's popularity in Victorian bridal bouquets.

There are dozens and dozens of websites devoted to elucidating the meanings of flowers. Some even give examples of bouquets with their meanings. My personal favorite was, "I'm sorry I was a drunken fool. Please forgive me, I'm only human.". Some things obviously never change.

Good Night, Ladies

The Victorians had many hidden languages, as we've discovered. But none was so widely used and so extensive as the language of flowers. The amount of information involved is staggering, so it will be at least this evening before the flower post goes up.

In the meantime, I'm very pleased to welcome yet another new blog. My sister Grace has opened up Ace's Place. This blog is devoted to her affinity for the death, destruction, and mayhem that occur with catastrophic storms, and whatever else happens to tickle her fancy. Check it out, y'all.

The Language of Gloves

Having established the various communications that might be made with the fan, we turn our attention to the hidden language of a ladies glove. Once again, the Victorians found ways to use commonplace items to circumvent social rules.

Biting the tips - I wish to be rid of you soon

Clenching the gloves, rolled up in the right hand - No

Drawing half way on left hand - Indifference

Dropping both gloves - I love you

Dropping one glove - Yes

Folding up carefully - Go away

Holding the tips downward - I wish to be acquainted

Holding them loose in the right hand - Be contented

Holding them loose in the left hand - I am satisfied

Left hand with the naked thumb exposed - Do you love me?

Putting gloves away - I am most vexed

Right hand with the naked thumb exposed - Kiss me

Smoothing gloves gently - I wish I were with you

Striking gloves over the shoulder - Follow me

Tapping the chin - I love another

Tossing the gloves up gently - I am engaged

Turning them inside out - I hate you

Twisting them around the fingers - Be careful, we are being watched

Using them as a fan - Introduce me to your friends

Striking gloves over the hand - I am displeased

The Language of the Fan

Ah, the Victorian Era. A fascinating time. The Victorians lived in a time of great change, as social structures shifted, exploration, discovery, and invention flourished, and etiquette was raised to a whole new level (a level not matched since in Western culture). The elaborate etiquette rules did not allow for the type of emotional vomiting that is so in vogue today. However, being an ingenious people, they possessed a myriad of hidden languages to convey their affections and intentions. These languages are to be the subject of a series of posts here at Penultimate Grooviness. Over the next week or so, we will cover the languages of flowers, calling cards, postage stamps, gloves, parasols, handkerchiefs, and, today, fans.

You see, even the most well brought up Victorian girl was likely to fall in love at some point in her life. Regretable, but true. Being well brought up, she naturally could not speak of her feelings directly to the object of her affection. She could indirectly, however, "speak" through a variety of means, the most fascinating and telling of which is the fan. Below you see a list of what different gestures really meant.


Holding the handle to the lips - Kiss me (and you thought the Victorians were prudes!)

Letting fan rest on right cheek - Yes

Letting fan rest on left cheek - No

Drawing across cheek - I love you

Drawing across forehead - We are being watched

Carrying in left hand - Desires your acquaintance

Carrying in right hand - You are too willing

Carrying in right hand in front of face - Follow me

Closing fan - I wish to speak to you

Fan open wide - Wait for me

Drawing across eyes - I am sorry

Open and shut - You are cruel

Placing fan on left ear - You have changed

Twirling in left hand - I wish to get rid of you

Twirling in right hand - I love another

Drawing through hand - I dislike you

Dropping the fan - We are friends

Fanning slowly - I'm married

Fanning fast - I love you very much

Closing an open fan very slowly - I promise to marry you

Gently touching one finger to the edge of the fan - I need to speak to you

Covering left ear with open fan - Don't betray our secret

Fanning with left hand - Stop flirting with other women, you idiot.

Closed fan dangling from left wrist - I'm engaged

Closed fan dangling from right wrist - I want to be engaged


And the list goes on and on. This list is by no means comprehensive, but gives you a slightish idea of the amount of things that could be "said" at a typical evening party. Can you imagine having to remember all of this? What if you were really just overheated? Fanning yourself very fast would send a message of true love to some loathsome young tarantula! Or if you were talking to someone you really liked and started absently twirling the fan in your left hand - the poor boy would think you wish him gone and far away! A system frought with potential of disaster! Oh dear...

I hope you're not going to spoil things with lower-middle class humor.

"And if people should mistake me for someone aristocratic, I don't want you telling them I'm not. It would simply confuse them. It's only good manners to let them believe it."

Notting Hill

This unfortunate impasse was breached by the arrival of James the shaggy British accountant.

“Hi girls!”

Hazel and Molly smiled their welcome, and inquired after his latest romantic endeavors (it will be remembered that when last seen he’d been intent on a weekend of “Speed Dating”).

“Oh it was horrible! Complete flop! Luke and I decided to watch the women going into the pub before going in ourselves- good thing too. They were all these nasty biker girls with tattoos and leather. Why do biker girls go speed dating anyway?”

The girls shrugged and said they had no idea. Hazel, who’d come dangerously close to asking why anyone would go speed dating then asked, “So what did you do?”

“Oh, we went back to my place and looked up a few of the internet dating services. Luke wrote profiles for us both, and I’ve met a few really nice girls. I think they’re nice anyway. Never can tell till you’ve met them though. And I’m a bit anxious about meeting them.”

“Shy with strangers?” inquired Molly.
“No,” replied James, rather sheepishly. “Luke slightly exaggerated a few bits on the profile.”

“Slightly?” said Hazel, who was well acquainted with the enterprising Luke and his ways.

“Well, actually he flat out lied about a few things. So I can’t really meet up with the girls with a free conscience. Not unless I actually start training Paws with a Cause dogs and listening to Jewel. Oh,” he tittered nervously “And making six figures.”

Both ladies slapped their heads. Groaning a deep sigh, Hazel asked, “WHY did you let Luke say those things?”

“Oh, well the rest of it was quite brilliant really! He said the most beautiful things, and the internet girls are going crazy over it! One girl said she thought we must be soul mates after reading it! And she was stunning! Blonde and blue eyed…’ He sighed dreamily. “She said that any straight guy who’s favorite film was Notting Hill was destined to be her dream man. What’s Notting Hill all about anyway? I may have been through it once or twice. Some sort of travelogue?”

“Not quite. Rent it. You’ll see.” Molly was highly amused by this latest development in James’ love life, or lack thereof. Who needed soap operas when there was James?

‘Right. Well I’m off- was going to watch football tonight, but I suppose I’ll pop by Blockbuster and learn about Notting Hill.” He puttered off.

An Open House, eh?

So tonight (well, strictly speaking, last night...), I was talking with Paige and B when the conversation came around to an interesting and little dealt-with topic. The topic is that of the Open House. Now, apparently, this is somewhat of a regional "thing". People around here do not typically have parties, nor do they often invite guests for dinner. This is because they employ another method of "socialization" and "hospitality", which is the open house.

Now the correct definition of "open house" is this: an event at which your voluntary presence is mandatory. In other words, you don't have to show up... you just have to show up. The other defining feature of an open house is the food. For any occasion, be it birth, baptism, birthday, graduation, profession of faith, engagement, new house, old house, returning from a trip to anyplace but Branson, recovery from surgery, new job, anniversary, and ultimately death, the same meal will be served with only slight variations. This meal will involve ham buns, meatballs of dubious origin, potato salad, limp carrot sticks, a suspect looking molded jello, and red punch. A dead spread, if you will.

Even the church is not immune; dead spreads were created by the ministering ancient biddies of church catering commitees. And churches often put on open houses, though sometimes under different names. Not sure if your church function is an open house? Was it in the fellowship hall? If so, and if it is not a potluck, it is an open house. However, if the function occurred outside on church property (e.g. the parking lot), it was an ice cream social. What's that? There was no ice cream? And no socializing? Doesn't matter - it was still an ice cream social.

Which brings us to an important point. If you attend a private open house during the fine weather months, realize that the words "open" and "house" are not strictly speaking correct. The hosts welcome you into their driveway, garage, and sometimes their front yard. You will not be seeing the interior of the house. And don't even think about asking to use their bathroom. This is simply not done. Why! You might track dirt into their home! The very thought! Just ease up on the red punch and try a piece of cake. Yeah, cake. Mmmmmm.

'Hebt gij de Krakelwok geveld?

Well, while the rest of you have been engaged in pointless debate over postmil toddlers, I have been engaged in loftier pursuits. Oh yes. You can not even begin to imagine the heights of intellectual thought I have been dwelling in. Because I, gentle reader, have been google-ing random stuff. And the results of this random google-ing are truly astounding. For what I found was so profound, so supernaturally and awe-inspiringly wonderful. I found a site which provides a long-needed public service. The propietors of this site have translated the lovely poem "Jabberwocky" into many languages. The Wycliffes of the borogoves, if you will. And the mimsy raths. Not to forget the slithy toves and frumious Bandersnatches. They have taken this work of linguistic art and made it accesible to those who speak Spanish, French, Italian, Dutch, Esperanto, Afrikaans, Hebrew, Latin, and even the oft-neglected Klingon. What I'm keen to know is why these good people have not received a Nobel Prize for their tremendous contribution to mankind. It seems an injustice.

Happiness

A fun thing happened to me the other night while I was driving to work. My radio was set to the oldies station and upon starting the car, I discovered they were just beginning to play "Old Time Rock and Roll". Well, "Cool" says I, "but I don't particularily want to listen to this song". Thusly, I hit one of my handy-dandy preset buttons to discover that they were playing "Old Time Rock and Roll" as well. In fact, they were about one measure behind the oldies station. This amused me, but I still didn't want to listen to the song. I hit yet another preset button. Against all odds, the third station too was playing "Old Time Rock and Roll", this time being two measures behind the second station. I began to laugh uncontrollably. Then I arrived at work. And that's pretty much the story. So... what do you think about mullets?

Who are you going to be for Reformation Day? Hmmmm?

It's that time of year again! October's finest holiday is fast approaching... that's right, kiddies, Reformation Day. Time to dress up as your favorite protestant leader and eat all that candy that's conveniently on sale for the other holiday. What's that you say? You don't know what to do to celebrate this festal day? You don't know who to dress up as? You don't know what to serve at your Reformation Day dinner? Well, the dears at Old Lutheran have your back. With everything from Marty and Katy Luther bobble heads (boxes double as jello molds!) to ideas for the "Mightest Fortress" block building contest, these folks know how to throw a great party! And in case you are inclined to entertain your guests musically, they have provided the lyrics for that always popular rollicking old favorite, the Reformation Polka.

[Sung to the tune of "Supercalifragilistic-expialidocious"]

When I was just ein junger Mann I studied canon law;
While Erfurt was a challenge, it was just to please my Pa.
Then came the storm, the lightning struck, I called upon Saint Anne,
I shaved my head, I took my vows, an Augustinian! Oh...

Chorus:
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation
Speak your mind against them and face excommunication!
Nail your theses to the door, let's start a Reformation!
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation!

When Tetzel came near Wittenberg, St. Peter's profits soared,
I wrote a little notice for the All Saints' Bull'tin board:
"You cannot purchase merits, for we're justified by grace!
Here's 95 more reasons, Brother Tetzel, in your face!" Oh...

Chorus:
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation
Speak your mind against them and face excommunication!
Nail your theses to the door, let's start a Reformation!
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation!

They loved my tracts, adored my wit, all were exempleror;
The Pope, however, hauled me up before the Emperor.
"Are these your books? Do you recant?" King Charles did demand,
"I will not change my Diet, Sir, God help me here I stand!" Oh...

Chorus:
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation -
Speak your mind against them and face excommunication!
Nail your theses to the door, let's start a Reformation!
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation!

Duke Frederick took the Wise approach, responding to my words,
By knighting "George" as hostage in the Kingdom of the Birds.
Use Brother Martin's model if the languages you seek,
Stay locked inside a castle with your Hebrew and your Greek! Oh...

Chorus:
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation -
Speak your mind against them and face excommunication!
Nail your theses to the door, let's start a Reformation!
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation!

Let's raise our steins and Concord Books while gathered in this place,
And spread the word that 'catholic' is spelled with lower case;
The Word remains unfettered when the Spirit gets his chance,
So come on, Katy, drop your lute, and join us in our dance! Oh...

Chorus:
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation -
Speak your mind against them and face excommunication!
Nail your theses to the door, let's start a Reformation!
Papal bulls, indulgences, and transubstantiation!

Fluff

This evening I went out with a bunch of good girlfriends from work. We had a great time - mini golf, which is yet another non-sport at which I do not excel (we're not even going to talk about how bad my score was), and dinner at Logans, where I ate more rolls than was good for me. We then went back to one of the girls' place to eat ice cream and watch sappy movies. It is about these movies that I will now rant. Ahem -

They are unreasonable! PLEASE!!! Life does not happen like it seems to in A Walk to Remember! Way to give young women an unattainable standard! Men do not act in real life like they do in these silly movies. Of course girls get sappy and weepy at these movies - the men act like women! And then said girls can't understand why real-life men don't treat them like Shane West treats Mandy Moore. Guess what, ladies? You wouldn't want Shane West. And you wouldn't want life to be sweet and sugary like it is in a chick flick. You'd end up in a diabetic coma. And then Nicholas Sparks would write yet another trashy book/screenplay about you. Could you live with that? I couldn't.

There. That's my rant for this evening. Lest there be confusion - I really did have a fabulous time, and I love my friends to death. I am so glad I got to have a good old fashioned girls night - I just think I might need to supply the movies from now on. Mix in a little reason with the fluff, you know.

Also - has anyone else noticed what an appallingly large forehead Shane West has? I mean, it's freakish, unnatural, and odd!

Piratical Pontificating

This will make you grateful for Presbyterianism if nothing else will.

A wonderful blessing

Congratulations to Justin and Marion!

Very good, very good.

"He who looks upon a plate of bacon and eggs, to lust after it, hath already commited breakfast in his heart" - CS Lewis

Saltatory Conduction and other Epic Ideas

Yesterday during the 15 minute break in Anatomy and Physiology, I began a short story. The piece, entitled "The Nodes of Ranvier - an epic tale of neurology", chronicles the life of an action potential, pondering the best way to get across the sea of myelin. I am rather fond of this story and find it to be full of both pathos and humor. Perhaps someday when it is finished I will publish it here. I'll bet you can't wait.

On a related (A&P) note - the prof took away the classes favorite word yesterday. For weeks now we have been drilling the muscle name sternocleidomastoid into our heads. My classmates and I agreed that it is the coolest word we ever have learned. So now, the prof tells us that no one in the biz actually refers to it as sternocleidomastoid, but as SCM! What a rip-off! SCM has none of the cadence and briliance of sternocleidomastoid! Alas that medical terminology should turn away from poetic words and turn onto cold, clinical abbreviations!

Is there just the slightest possibility that I'm taking A&P too seriously?

Hail to the victors

U-M 34
MSU 31

Hail! To the victors, valiant,
Hail! To the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! To Michigan the leaders and best
Hail! To the victors, valiant,
Hail! To the conqu'ring heroes
Hail! Hail! To Michigan the champions of the West!

Johnny's Day - a day in the life of a stereotypical homeschooler

My dear friend Mrs P over at the Ministry of Vocabulary has posted a blast from the past - an article from our wildly sucessful (despite it limited - two copies - distribution) lifestyle mag entitled "Homeschooling - the Sad Reality". This was, as our disclaimer stated, "a newsletter dedicated to revealing the truth about homeschooling. We are also commited to making fun of the stereotypical homeschooler. " Homeschoolers, you see, are oft times stereotyped. As Mrs P herself wrote, "When you hear the word (homeschooler) it automatically brings to mind people very much like the Amish, who love to do their Saxon Math.". As articles are unearthed, they will be published for you to enjoy. Here is Marion's front page contribution.


Hello there! My name is Johnny Blake. I am a homeschooler. This is a typical day in my life. Thanks to my mom, who always does what's best for me, I have a great routine - so all the days in my week are pretty much the same.
Mom wakes me up at 5:30 every morning (On Saturdays we like to be lazy and get up at 6:00). I jump right up, take a cold shower (very good for blood circulation), get dressed in my homemade (even the material) clothes, and run outside to feed the chickens. They are my science project. They are doing very well. Then I come in to have a wonderful and nutritious breakfast of oatmeal and carrot juice. Sometimes Mom gives us a real treat and serves all natural granola. We NEVER eat sugar if we can help it. It gives us the heebie jeebies. We finish our meal with devotions and mutual sharing time. We all sharing interesting dreams we had during the night.
Well, by then it's nearly 7:00 - School time! This is my favorite time of day - next to mutual sharing time, of course. I never have to be told to start my work. I do four hours of Saxon Math followed by another four hours of Saxon Math. Then I work on a few science projects that I have lying aroud. I think the lima bean experiment is pretty neat. My littlest sister Tabitha (the littlest of 14 - I'm 12 and I'm the oldest) often helps me. Then we all sit down to lunch, usually vegatable dishes. Mom says that a vegetarian lifestyle is extremely healthy - in fact, I'm glad she does. Who on earth would want pizza when they could have delicious asparagus served in bean sauce? After lunch we have devotions and another mutual sharing time. We share all the interesting experiences we've had since breakfast. We are all very considerate and take our turns. I always let the younger ones go first.
Well then it's back to school work. I work on some more Saxon Math and then I do other subjects, like history - which I don't really enjoy but still fully apply myself to. The time flies and suddenly it's time for supper - usually something scrumptious like vegetarian lasagna. We close with devotions and another mutual sharing time. We all turn in early, and go to sleep happy in the knowledge that Mom and Dad always do what's best for all us 14 kids. And that's what a day in my life is like. Thank you for reading my humble work!

In praise of the maize and blue

Now for a cheer they are here, triumphant!

Here they come with banners flying.

In stalwart step they're nighing.

With shouts of vict'ry crying.

We hurrah, hurrah, we greet you now, Hail!

Far we their praises sing

For the glory and fame they've bro't us,

Loud let the bells them ring,

For here they come with banners flying

Far we their praises tell

For the glory and fame they've bro't us,

Loud let the bells them ring

For here they come with banners flying

Here they come, Hurrah!

Hail! To the victors, valiant,

Hail! To the conqu'ring heroes

Hail! Hail! To Michigan the leaders and best

Hail! To the victors, valiant,

Hail! To the conqu'ring heroes

Hail! Hail! To Michigan the champions of the West!

Tulip Mania

One of the greatest economic crashes of all time came in the 1600s in the Netherlands. People just went berserk over tulips and pretty well based their economy on them. Naturally, this couldn't last and the market crashed rather spectacularly. But it is a fascinating period of time to study. Extreme measures would be taken to secure a rare tulip bulb. Apparently, at the height of the craze, one bulb was traded for the following :
• four tons of wheat
• eight tons of rye
• one bed
• four oxen
• eight pigs
• 12 sheep
• one suit of clothes
• two casks of wine
• four tons of beer
• two tons of butter
• 1,000 pounds of cheese
• one silver drinking cup.

That's a lot of gouda, people.

Meet Murray

On this particular Thursday Molly, Hazel, Will, and several other C-Cubed attendees pulled up to “The Pad.” One never knew quite what to expect from these little soirees, but this evening brought greater surprise that usual. When Moll and Hazel arrived, Tyler, Bo, and Wilkes were painting a rusting 15 passenger van with paint rollers and brooms, in a shade of hi-gloss latex interior paint which Bo informed them was “Poison Pen.” Mike DeGraaf shook his head doubtfully, and said “Huh. Looks like black to me.” and shuffled on into the house.

“Philistine!” huffed Bo.
“Bo… what are you doing” inquired Molly.
“Sister dear” said Bo with a flourish of his paint roller, “meet Murray!”
“Bo,” said Molly patiently, “I’m going to ask you again. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Tyler poked his head round the enormous back end of the van. “We decided we needed a band wagon. For our air band. And other stuff. Vans are cool.”

“Yep, agreed Wilkes, slapping more black paint on the hood, “We saw this beaut parked by Aldi’s. They were selling it for $500, so we all pitched in and bought it.”

After a brief silence, Hazel slowly drawled “Whhhhhhyyy?”

Bo swiped at the right fender with a roller. “Tyler just told you. It’s for our air band.”

Molly realized that further inquiry was useless, and headed for the house. Hazel and Dana shrugged and followed. Upon entering the living room, they were hardly surprised to see that “Murray” had been incorporated into the décor. Four tattered benches from the bowels of the van were scattered about. Tyler wandered in, intent on his hostly duties, and said, “Whadya think of the new furniture? Cool, huh?”

“Yeah, nothing says stylish, yet safe, like a couch with seat belts.” Hazel observed.

Molly joined in “Nothing says class like duct tape chic!”

Tyler appeared to be pleased with these compliments and strolled off. Wilkes suddenly came crashing through the front door, hollering for garbage bags “AND QUICK!”

“Bo-Bo the clown stepped in the paint tray and it’s all OVER!” screeched Wilkes. Bo’s retort drifted in through the open door. “Yeah well if Wee Willy Wilkinson hadn’t left it out in the middle of everything, I wouldn’t have stepped in it!”

Bo’s shoe was drenched in Poison Pen. When it had dried sufficiently it became a piece of postmodern art, which Bo often spoke of entering in competitions sponsored by the local art museum.

Just another night at “The Pad”.

"Concerning a Young Woman who loved Art with a capitol A, and who appeared not to love Dishwashing."

I bring forth yet another book for your consideration, gentle readers. The name of this book is Parables of a Country Parson and it was written by William E. Barton. Seeing as I fully expect every last one of you to read the book, and therefore to read the preface, I see little need to explain in painstaking detail the history of Barton's life. Suffice it to say, he was a pastor, author, and speaker in the early twentieth century. In fact, if you are within reach of your 1930 copy of Who's Who, you will see that the entry regarding Barton is the longest. His contributions to the world of print are many and varied, but his most beloved are certainly his long running syndicated column, Safed the Sage. Safed is a barely veiled autobiographical character, and Safed's wife Keturah is most definitely written with Mrs Barton in mind. Parables of a Country Parson is a collection of some of these short stories and parables. Short indeed, at two to three pages each, they're perfect for the ADHD reader of today. Barton had a unique voice in his writing, possessing a style that is wise, humorous, and wonderfully down to earth. He was, quite simply, a story-teller. Here a just a few samples (punctuation and capitalization are as is):

"So I ate of the Doughnuts, and I said, Behold, these are just like all of thy Doughnuts. And she said, I am glad that thou dost think so. For they are so made that they absorb less Fat; therefore they are the more Wholesome. And I said, Go not too far with me in the Wholesome stunt; I do not want things to be too Wholesome; I can digest anything save it be Health Foods."

"...it would have been difficult to select a Finer Place of abode for a Moth of Sedentiary Habits."

"Keturah said, "Safed, dost thou not remember the Hopkins family that lived nigh unto us when we were first married?" And I said, "Yea, I remember them, to my sorrow." And she said, "Dost thou not remember that the first of all the evil things they did to us was the Present the Wished on us at our Wedding? Dost thou remember what it was?" And my heart fell within me, and I answered, "I think it was a Vase, but Very Unlike This One." And she laughed again, till she wept."

"And one day I returned from my Garden, and I was weary. And I ate my bread in the sweat of my face. and I said, "O Keturah, I am a Punk Gardener." And Keturah answered, "It would not be becoming in me to Dispute my husband." And I said, "Behold, my fathers before me were Punk Gardeners. My first Ancestor was a Gardener, and he could not Hold Down his Job.""

"My dear, I am not sure why Delilah delivered Samson over to the Philestines, but I think he had forgotten to mail her letters."

"Now the foot which he set upon the Soap flew eastward toward the Sunrise, and the other foot started on an expedition of its own toward the going down of the Sun. And the Millionaire sat down upon the Topmost Step, but he did not remain there. As it had been his Intention to Descend, so he Descended, but not in the manner of his Original Design. And as he descended he struck each step with a sound as if it had been a Drum. And the Scrublady stood aside courteously, and let him go."

"Then began the little maiden to consider how she could Support the Family with the Unearned Increment from her Teeth."

"The daughter of the daughter of Keturah sat upon the Curb, and she looked like a Small Sized Picture of Dejection."

I've seen it... it's rubbish

Let the peasants rejoice! The Hitchhiker's Guide to the galaxy is now available on DVD! Woot! Funny stuff, obviously. I personally have a deep affinity for Marvin, the paranoid android. Special features on the DVD include deleted scenes, fake deleted scenes, and a Hangman game with Marvin. Also a singalong feature for "So Long and Thanks For All the Fish", a lovely song. Good times, good times.

Stuff

One of my assignments in my English class is to write an observatory essay about a place. Anyplace. It could be anywhere I wanted. I knew right away where I wanted to go. Obviously, it doesn't get more interesting than Urban Mill. While I was there, dutifully observing and not so dutifully instant messaging friends, I realized that everything I was writing was stuff I could've written from memory... even describing some of the crazies that frequent the place! Does this mean I'm very observant of mindless details generally? Or do I just spend too much time at the coffeeshop? Hmmm....

How long is too long for a car to go between oil changes? Just curious.

In which I exhibit true blogging arrogance and assume you care about what I read

I have been reading this evening. I love reading, and try to keep up on three to five books at a time. The current picks are good ones, but I have generously decided to burden you with the description of only one. I do, however, expect a comprehensive book report from each of you by Monday. This report must by at least 12 pages long, single spaced. I will be deducting 10 points from your grade for every day it is late. You've been warned.

Ella Minnow Pea is a lovely book written by a dashed clever man by the name of Mark Dunn. This is an immensely entertaining book - a fiction written in the form of letters. Our charming main character, for whom the book is named, lives on a small island nation off the coast of South Carolina. This nation is named for Nevin Nollop, coiner of the phrase "the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog". The people of Nollop have devoted themselves to study of the liberal arts and the veneration of their famous native son. When letters of the alphabet begin to fall off the memorial to Nevin, they become banned from all use by the island council on pain of several forms of punishment. The letters show the results of these strange new rules, as phonetical spellings are used and new words are invented. Funny premise, no?

This is a linquist's dream book. (I know that the esteemed director of the Ministry of Vocabulary would appriciate it.) Can you imagine the work it took to write something like this? That's way more work than I would be willing to put in.

At any rate, I'd reccomend the book to you all. It's worth a look.

Also, for those who did not get the memo - on Friday night there will be fireworks in downtown GR. For those who wish to watch the pyrotechnical feast with myself, my brothers, and other cool people, there will be a group forming on Pearl St. bridge.

That is all.

There are two types of people in this world. Those who like chocolate and communists.

Since sharing with you, gentle reader, the crushing embarassment of the mousse incident, it has occured to me that some of you may not know how obsessed I am with making desserts. I have in times past earned the title "evil" and wore it proudly. I'm very happy that we are again approaching baking weather. Cheesecakes will soon be forthcoming! Hurrah! I have several concepts to try out in the realm of cheesecake-dom. In the meantime, I promised this recipe to several people, and this seemed as good of a way to provide it to them as any. :-)


1 package of cream cheese, softened
1 stick of butter (not margarine), softened
1 tspn vanilla
3/4 cup powdered sugar
3 to 4 tblspns brown sugar (Original recipe calls for 2 tblspns. I'm a "taste it and see" kind of cook, and after tasting decided it needed something yet. Go with however much you like)
1 cup miniature chocolate chips, more or less. (Go ahead and eat some. After all, they might just be bad, and you can't serve that, can you?)
1 cup toasted, chopped pecans, divided

Cream together cream cheese, butter, vanilla, and sugars until well combined. Stir in chocolate chips and 1/4 cup pecans. Cover and refridgerate for 2 hours. Form into ball, roll in remaining pecans. Chill for at least an hour. Serve with chocolate wafers, graham crackers, vanilla wafers, or forget the cookies and grab a spoon (My personal recommendation).

Talk amongst yourselves

Well, y'all. I don't feel like posting anything educational or profound tonight. But I do want comments, so I shall give you a topic for discussion.

The topic is (drum roll please) : why the parking ramp in front of Rivertown Mall is STILL broken after having been "fixed" three times since it's construction and whether you feel safe parking either on top or underneath said ramp.

That is all.

School is in, summer is out

Fall is here,hear the yell
back to school,ring the bell
brand new shoes,walking blues
climb the fence,books and pens
I can tell that we're going to be friends

Walk with me,Suzy Lee
through the park and by the tree
we will rest upon the ground
and look at all the bugs we found
then safely walk to school
without a sound

Well here we are,no one else
we walked to school all by ourselves
there's dirt on our uniforms
from chasing all the ants and worms
we clean up and now its time to learn

Numbers,letters,learn to spell
nouns,and books,and show and tell
at playtime we will throw the ball
back to class,through the hall
teacher marks our height
against the wall

And we don't notice any time pass
we don't notice anything
we sit side by side in every class
teacher thinks that I sound funny
but she likes the way you sing

Tonight I'll dream while I'm in bed
when silly thoughts go through my head
about the bugs and alphbet
and when I wake tommorow I'll bet
that you and I will walk together again
cause I can tell that we're going to be friends


Credit where credit is due, of course, (we will not tolerate plagiarism) this song is by the White Stripes. Classes started today, amazingly enough, my favorite class so far is Anatomy and Physiology. Not so excited about the English class. This is precisely opposite of what I had anticipated. Hmmm

A call for prayer

Hurricane Katrina is hurtling toward land. This is a terrifyingly large, strong, and destructive storm and will quite possibly lay waste to parts of the Gulf Coast. Many have evacuated, but still, many are for various reasons unable to leave. We should all be in prayer for the safety of those in the path of this storm and for strength and consolation for those who must deal with the aftermath.

In accordance with prophecy...

My brother John has started a blog. Yes. Another brother. Making a grand total of 4 blogging Jurries, meaning exactly half of my parents' children spew forth their nonsense onto the internet. I'm sure they're very proud. John's blog promises to be informative (about stuff you never knew you wanted to know) and humorous (humor being a grand tradition in the Jurries blogging world). Check it out and leave him a comment. Let's make him feel at home in the brogosphere, y'all!

FYI

Just so y'all know, chocolate mousse doesn't taste the same at all when you've mistaken sea salt for sugar.
That is all.

Another installment in the great American novel...

The girls had settled in with their weekly order of buckeye bar and tea when the shaggy British accountant toddled over to their booth. “Hi girls! Sorry to interrupt! Was just going to come over when Tomas popped by. You’ll never guess what Luke and I have got going this weekend!”

Molly and Hazel eyed one another, not quite sure what to expect. With James, one never knew.

“We’re going Speed Dating!”

Stunned, the girls stared at James, then at each other, then at James again. Hazel found her voice first and managed to croak, “WHAT?”

“Yeah! Speed Dating!” James bopped his head enthusiastically and sat down next to Hazel. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

Crazy, indeed it was, but it was only the latest in James and Luke’s string of increasingly desperate attempts at finding girlfriends. Though not members of any church or professors of any particular religion, they were nonetheless semi-regular attendees at the singles group of a local mega-church, where they had been told the females outnumbered the males 3-1.

“How exactly does one ’speed date’?” queried Hazel.

“Well! You all sign up and everyone gets a card with some questions printed on it. You go about the room and ask these questions and jot down the answers. Then, when you go home, you read over the card and if there’s someone you’d like to contact, you ring the speed dating coordinator. He contacts the girl, and if she’s interested she tells him to give you her number. Then you can ring her and ask her out. Much less chance of rejection this way.”

“How so? Can’t she still say no?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s much less painful hearing it from the coordinator than from the girl.”

The girls deliberately avoided eye contact with one another. One glance, and the buckeye bar in Molly’s mouth would spew all over.

“Anyway,” continued James, optimistically, “Luke and I are going to put on suits and ties, you know, really put on the dog, and totally slay those girls. We figure that most of the guys there will be losers who don’t know how to dress, and our suits will give us an advantage. First impressions you know. Hazel, which tie do you think looks better? The blue pinstripe, or the red?”

Comida Criolla

Because I, frankly, don't feel like writing about the Perons quite yet, I am going to write instead about Argentinian food. These people have been doing the whole "global fusion cooking" thing for years and years now. Good stuff, my friends. Mediterranean (largely Spanish and Italian) meets native Indian. Yum. Not to mention the influence had by large groups of immigrants from Wales, Lebanon, Germany, and Asia.

There are several national gastrointestinal delights, the least of which is certainly not their beef. The Argentinian people are obsessively proud of their beef. Some even claim to be able to identify the breed of cow by the taste of the steak. Steak is the most common cut, and a grateful world thanks Argentina for chimmichurri sauce, which is delightful. Apparently, American palattes take time to get used to Argentinian beef. We're used to aged beef (which the Argentines think tastes "cadavorous") and eating beef fresh is quite the experience.

Never ones to waste, these resourceful folk pretty much eat all of the cow. And I mean ALL of it. Eew. Lamb and goat are also popular in this protein crazy nation. Another popular meat item is the empanada, which is a fried pastry pocket stuffed full of meat, cheese, and whatever else happens to be lying about the place.

Dulce de Leche is quite definitely the greatest contribution the Argentine people have made to the world of sweets. This sauce, made by boiling sweetened milk and sugar for hours and hours and hours, is a thick caramel suitable for filling pastries and spreading on anything (Dulce de Leche is to Argentina as peanut butter is to America, and Nutella is to Europe). Some sickos use it to make flan, which is a particularily nasty and slimy concoction. Decent people pour it on their ice cream. Which is more likely in Argentina to be ice cream's creamier cousin gelato because...

Italian cooking is extremely popular, especially in Buenos Aires. Pizzarias positively litter the city, and some seem to believe Italian food is more popular in Argentina than in Italy. This seems a silly idea, but some people will have their crazy notions...

Outside of the city the food is less sophisticated, it seems. The yocals take advantage of the many fresh products, making stews and meats pies and such. If you enjoy stuff made with beans, maize, squash, pumpkin, and chiles, then you'll want to leave Buenos Aires. You won't find it there.

In all my vast research into the topic of Argentinian cuisine, one thing continually cropped up. In addition to beef and dulce de leche, one thing unites this diverse country. That is yerba mate (mate to locals). Yerba mate is a brewed herb drink (questionable? oh yeah!) and apparently tastes something like green tea, though other sites I checked said it's closer to coffee. Yerba is a plant in the holly family and is, seemingly, quite caffinated. Still seems a bit sketchy to me...

Well, I've only scratched the surface of Argentinian food, but I figure as long as you remember that the beef is way good, the pizza plentiful, the dulce de leche yummy, and the mate rather questionable, you'll be okay.

That is all.

Housecleaning

It being the weekend and all, there will be no educational posts. Saturdays are meant for relaxing and housecleaning, and even blogs need occasional tidying.

First off, I will be eating potato salad for the rest of my life. I made WAY too much for the party the other night. Next year I'll just skip it. And get more torches. And more Christmas lights. And a croquet set. Yeah.

Secondly, there have been unstable brogospheric conditions this week. Due to reasons beyond the control of both, "In My Opinion" and "The Ministry of Vocabulary" have been shut down. Also, "Don't Write Yourself Off Yet" closed it's doors for business. These are all sad developments. However, do not be downcast. Maggie is reportedly working on a new blog (yay!) and there are rumors afoot that the MOV may resume with it's humanitarian mission to improve the world through better English. I am also pleased to announce new blogs on my links list - Petey's Pro-Action Pics and Life on Union Avenue. I also have been given to understand that yet another new blog is in pre-production. News updates on this as they become available.

Thirdly, in what I consider to be a fine move, ABC reality show "Dancing with the Stars" will be holding a Dance-Off on Sept 20 (results on sept 22). Many (including myself) felt that Kelly and Alex's win over John and Charlotte was somewhat unfair. I resigned myself to their loss though. After all, I have a tendency to root for the losers. (I still wish Bo Bice had won American Idol) For deadpan grannies out there, no, I do not watch alot of reality TV. Just these two. So don't even start.

Fourthly and lastly, Celebration on the Grand is coming up! That means fireworks on Friday, Sept 9! I'll be camped out on Pearl Street bridge, which is the best spot for fireworks viewing. I'll be saving seats for all interested parties. Who knows, maybe I'll bring potato salad...

Tango Argentino

To keep y'all entertained while top notch research into the Peronist era of Argentina is being conducted, I have provided a link on the history of .....The Tango. We see again how the many immigrants to Buenos Aires influenced the culture of the entire country. Good stuff, this.

Early Argentine history in ten minutes or less

Amerigo Vespucci, being an enterprising gentleman, was in 1502 the first European to visit the region of South America. Prior to the arrival of the European, the country was sparsely inhabited by various native Indian tribes (with lovely names such as the Diaquita) and groups of rabidly carnivorous nomads. The Spaniards being at the time mad for exploration and colonization, sent Juan Diaz de Solis round and about 1516. He, with the help of his minions, established the colony of Buenos Aires. It remained a backwater for a century or two. Much of the region remained poor, with the exception of estancieros (ranchers) and gauchos (cowboys), who capitalized on the, um, cash cow that was beef.

So in 1776, while we here in America were otherwise occupied, the Spanish integrated Argentina into the Viceroyalty of the Rio de la Plata. Buenos Aires became the capitol of said viceroyalty, and flourished. The rabble, as is their wont, became discontent, and this soon spread to all levels of Argentine society. They had, they felt, outgrown their need for Spain. Things festered and simmered until the need for change became overwhelming, and in 1810 they decided to hold a revolution. General Jose San de Martin led what the Argentines still revere as a brilliant campaign, and independance was secured in 1816.

The problem was, you see, that no one had much considered what to do once Spain buggered out. The reality was that there were many factions, and that each faction would have been highly gratified to rule the country with an iron fist. It eventually boiled down to two main rivaling parties. The estancieros, gauchos, and rural working classes were in favor of the Federalists, who rather liked the idea of provincial autonomy. They were opposed by the Unitarists, a party comprised of mostly urban peoples who favored European immigrants and European ideas, and they were inclined to belive that authority should be centralized in Buenos Aires. After a diastrous try at the Federalists' plan, the Unitarists took over, and eventually (1853) adapted a constitution.

Under this government, the usual mixed bag of results took place. There was quite a bit of growth and prosperity, as the province of Pampas in particular was developed and cereal crops were propogated. Sheep were introduced to the country, and trade with and investments from Europe enriched the economy. Buenos Aires itself became a microsm of Europe as immigration increased, and the exploration and settling of Patagonia by General Roca fascinated the world. By the end of the century, Argentina was one of the world ten wealthiest nations. However, power had been placed in the hands of too few, and the economy was largely at the mercy of world economic downturns and whims and such. This did not bode well...

I'm just here for the steak...

Argentina is quite a fascinating country. More to come.

Advice for life

Be courteous, kind and forgiving,
Be gentle and peaceful each day,
Be warm and human and grateful,
And have a good thing to say.

Be thoughtful and trustful and childlike,
Be witty and happy and wise,
Be honest and love all your neighbours,
Be obsequious, purple, and clairvoyant.

Be pompus, obese, and eat cactus,
Be dull, and boring, and omnipresent,
Criticize things you don't know about,
Be oblong and have your knees removed.

Be tasteless, rude, and offensive,
Live in a swamp and be three dimentional,
Put a live chicken in your underwear,
Get all excited and go to a yawning festival.

Be courteous, kind and forgiving,
Be gentle and peaceful each day,
Be warm and human and grateful,
And have a good thing to say.

Be thoughtful and trustful and childlike,
Be witty and happy and wise,
Be honest and love all your neighbours,
Be obsequious, purple, and clairvoyant.

Be pompus, obese, and eat cactus,
Be dull, and boring, and omnipresent,
Criticize things you don't know about,
Be oblong and have your knees removed.

Be tasteless, rude, and offensive,
Live in a swamp and be three dimentional,
Put a live chicken in your underwear,
Go into a closet and suck eggs.

Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing glove.

Nothing can brighten your day more than a good old P.G. Wodehouse quote. I'd go into all the details of Plum's volumnious career, but no doubt he shall be featured one of these days as a linquist of the week on the MOV. Details thus spared, I'll provide you with a few favorites.

""What ho!'' I said.
"What ho!'' said Monty.
"What ho! What ho!''
"What ho! What ho! What ho!''
After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation."


"Chumps always make the best husbands. When you marry, Sally, grab a chump. Tap his head first, and if it rings solid, don't hesitate. All the unhappy marriages come from husbands having brains. What good are brains to a man? They only unsettle him."


"The only thing that prevented a father's love from faltering was the fact that there was in his possession a photograph of himself at the same early age, in which he, too, looked like a homicidal fried egg."


"I can detach myself from the world. If there is a better world to detach oneself from than the one functioning at the moment I have yet to hear of it."


"He settled down to dictate a letter to the Consolidated Nailfile and Eyebrow Tweezer Corporation of Scranton, Pa., which would make them realize that life is stern and earnest and Nailfile and Eyebrow Tweezer Corporations are not put in this world for pleasure alone."


"Alf Todd,'' said Ukridge, soaring to an impressive burst of imagery, ``has about as much chance as a one-armed blind man in a dark room trying to shove a pound of melted butter into a wild cat's left ear with a red-hot needle.''


"Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to speak French."

In Memoriam

They say time heals all wounds. Yet, even after all these years, we still miss him. That way he sat there, exchanging c02 for o... it seems like it was yesterday. Out of respect, we republish his obituary.

Chia Pet, Nigel - age unknown
passed away recently of a rare combination
of underwatering, overwatering, and owner separation anxiety.
Nigel passed on to his eternal reward alone and thirsty,
devoid of the love and support of family or friends.
Mr. Pet was a former Green Beret and an avid tap-dancer.
He loved a good drink every now and then
which was, unfortunately, his ruination.
Survivors:
owner, Marion Lanning,
last seen in the ironically green mountains of Vermont;
caretaker, Joy "Dr. Death" Jurries;
life partner, "Mr. Turkey" Baster;
a host of nieces and nephews.
Composting to be performed pending notification of next of kin.
Nigel (what there is of him) reposes on the kitchen counter;
there will be no visitation.
No flowers, please.
Memorials may be made to Miracle-Gro or Chia Pets for Life.
Arrangements by Ronco Fine Family Undertakers
(Fine Families Undertaken Daily)
"To know Nigel was to love him"

The Church Caste System - an exerpt from the great American novel

The room was rapidly filling with young men and women between the ages of 18 and 30- but not 17 and definitely not 31. Another commonly accepted rule among churches: never never never allow people of varying generations, marital status, or other societal distinctives occupy the same church group. The singles, marrieds, highschoolers, grade-schoolers, and seniors can’t possibly be expected to learn anything from each other, much less find anything to talk about.

At birth, a young parishioner is first introduced to the Nursery Set… Infants and THEN toddlers. Never both. Eventually if one applies oneself diligently, one attains acceptance into the Kindergarten Sunday School, where for a year or two one may taste the delights of flannel-grams and saltines after the morning worship service. Having successfully embarrassed oneself at the Church Christmas program, one graduates to the Grade-School set, and partakes in gender specific clubs. The little girls learn to crochet and craft their way to godliness and purity, while the young gentlemen camp, fish, and set off bottle rockets… to what purpose, heaven only knows.

Eventually one finds oneself in the hallowed grounds of catechetical instruction. Everyone meets once a week to study the creeds and confessions of the church, under the tutelage of some unlucky elder, and it is at about this time that one becomes a full fledged member of the highschoolers group. Here, the sexes are allowed to meet at well chaperoned service projects, road rallies, sock hops, ski-trips, and the mother of them all, THE YEARLY CONVENTION.

After four years of learning the catechism, discussing sexual purity, “Just saying NO” to drugs, alcohol and all the other artifices and tools of the Devil, one is encouraged to publicly profess their faith in a small ceremony that consists of standing before the congregation Sunday Morning and answering in the positive to the minister’s questions. The member vows that the Bible and Confessions are true, and promises to be a loyal member of Christ’s church on earth, and agrees to submit to the discipline of elders and pastor.

At this point, one is consigned to the ignomy of The Singles Group. These members are generally left to shift for themselves, languishing unremembered in drafty basements and outbuildings. Even the chaperones desert at this point. It is the goal of nearly every young single person to attain the status of Young Marrieds, where the milk and honey are said to flow freely. However, the journey is not yet finished; for when parenthood is attained there are several groups to progress through. The New Parents, Your Grade Schooler and You, Parents with Teens, and Empty Nesters. Once the grandchildren start rolling in, one is ready for the Seniors.

The Seniors take “Mystery Trips” to Branson, Missouri to see The Lawrence Welk Revue, venture out on color tours in the fall, and attend church dramas at any time. They also arrange the occasional sortie to local glee club singers, and tour area nursing homes. The only way out of this group is, as some of the more humorous members say, ‘in a pine box.’ It’s the pinnacle of the Church Caste System.

Social revolutionary mourned

Famed revolutionary NotLiberal is being mourned the world over today. NotLiberal bravely took one for the team and was sent into exile where he was denied free expression within the brogosphere. Administrators of SIO, angered by recent "acts of webrog hooliganism", made an example of NotLiberal, who was caught in the act of posting a comment. He sent a message to fellow revolutionaries after being banned, encouraging them that he would continue the fight for free speech. "My voice will be heard, no matter how many punishments I am given. I will be a marytr to my cause. Peace be with you, for I am one of you."
Candlelight vigil to be held Friday at the park. Donations may be made to the Me Fund.

So it's illegal... so what?

Well, this looks like fun. I'm sure most of the people who go underground in Paris are freaks and worse, but it sounds beautiful nonetheless. Maybe I'll go there on my mythical future trip to Europe.