The very first thing I’ve learned about this small business affair is if you mention you’re starting one, every single person you know will morph into Debbie Downer right before your very eyes.
Bob Moos for the Morning News - he doesn’t make a noise like a cow, that’s his name.
1895 words about Steampunk - 1895, Victorian, get it?
P is for Pig Piss, that’s good enough for me - using oinker urine as a cigarette flavor enhancer.
F*uck Buttons - not a great name for a band if you want radio play. Sample is really eery. Very Enya like, really! Who the hell is Elvis Costello married to?
Chloe Sevigney - pronounced Cloe-ee (knew that) seven-ee, not seh-vig-knee. Hee. MeMe rhymes with theme. So what’s up with MiMi? And shouldn’t mommy be spelled Mame? Don’t get me started rhyming.
Somebody is turning down our money. - We offered. They refused.
Vagina - It’s not a clown car. - OK, this was more than slightly amusing. I LOLd because of the picture.
Jenna Bush is getting hitched, is it today? It doesn’t make any difference. I just have a feeling that at some point in her life she is going to wish she had taken advantage of having daddy in the White House, and gotten hitched there.
I don’t buy all this “privacy” bunk she’s peddling. I think what is motivating her is vengeance. She’s really pissed at the White House press and the tabloid press. Her daddy isn’t too fond of them either, and I think the same holds true for mom, grandpa and grandma!
So it’s her little payback on behalf of her daddy and granddaddy.
Nyah, nyah, nyah, you can’t come to my wedding.
Damn, what I would give to see a drunk Dick Cheney with Condi doing the chicken dance - or the Macarena.
At some point in her life, though, she’s going to look back and give herself a dope slap because she didn’t get married in the White House - the next best place to get married aside from Cinderella’s Castle in a closed Disney World. (I wonder what Disney would charge to shut the place down for a day? Homeland Security could determine a terrorist threat.)
I know she likes bolo ties and ten gallon hats and cowboy boots. Some cowboys look downright spiffy.
But how can you beat having the Marine Band play Here Comes the Bride and tying the knot in the freakin’ Rose Garden? Dancing in the East Room? Holy crap what is she thinking?
I’m thinking stupid runs in her family.
Maybe her new husband will whisk her away to D.C. for a couple nights chasing her around in the Lincoln Bedroom while daddy and the others sober up in Crawford.
Hootin Anni gave me an award. She maintains the Bloggers Over 50 blog that I have linked to in my side bar. She made up a nice award, but I took the liberty of giving myself a sunburst on my sidebar graphic that links to her site.
I hope she lets me keep it when she finds out I’m a he.
I like the unique style of her writing…one particular thought [her monthly "aha moment"]
If you are a blogger over fifty and haven’t submitted your blog, please do.
Thank you Anni.
Followers know I hacked around on my blog design, trying to steampunk it with a newspaper theme, then Kirk came in and cleaned up afterwards.
Well it happened again. Seems that while I was just so darn proud of my theme, everybody that used IE - only 90% of the friggin’ world - was seeing crapola. I was only checking my hacking in Firefox.
Kirk has just been too much under the weather to tackle cleaning up after me, so I asked Rachel to give it a go. (Get better Kirk!) Rachael’s nice and all that, but she never drove a submarine!
I needed two things: upgrade two blogs and write CSS for IE to make this one look like I want. She did both, AND put up with my incessant picking at her while she was working. She did a great job. She blogs too. And has a new husband. And Ian. And two dimples. And lives in Michigan (my home state.)
I give Rachel my highest recommendation.
Thank you Rachel.
UPDATE: Just to be clear, Rachel didn’t design this theme, in case you think it sucks. She just made it work in IE.
I read it in the New York Times. Plaids and plaids and stripes and checkers are the hot fashion.
One day last week, Mr. Romano was wearing six different patterns: a brown-and-cream houndstooth suit from Paul Stuart, a Truzzi dress shirt in blue and white stripes of varying hues, a Paul Stuart salmon pink tie with a blue paisley pattern, a Charvet gold-and-cream pocket square, suspenders in a chinoiserie pattern of blue, orange and yellow, and color-block socks.
Now picture the guy on the right 150 pounds heavier.
I can’t wait to wear my new outfit to Le Golfing Club. I will be so sheik chic laffed at.
In high school, I had a blind english teacher. Miss Weckerly. In all the times I was making her life miserable, I never once thought about telling her “your outfit sucks.” I don’t know why that didn’t occur to me.
I was a rotten kid. She was a really rotten teacher who happened to be blind. The other rebels in class and I tested her every chance we got. As you might expect, she depended on her hearing to give her a clue to inappropriate activities, ie: screwing around. She could detect a moving object at thirty feet - about the size of a classroom.
If she thought there were some shenanigans, she would go charging down a row of desks hoping to intimidate the culprit or get a reaction that she could interpret as monkey-business.
The only thing my friend Brad could get away with regularly was removing her Braille dictionary from the shelves by him, and sit with his eyes closed and try to figure out the little raised bumps.
Eventually however, someone would notice him sitting there as if in a yoga pose, fingers moving slowly across the page, intense concentration marking his face. A silent signal would alert the rest of the class and the smothered laughter would get him in trouble. Miss Weckerly never knew what he was doing.
What made me think of this? This gadget: it reads the color.
Brad would have a great time with it.
I hate it when I have my monthly “aha!” so early. It means the rest of the month is going to be pretty routine.
Here ’tis: since all the fuss is about the price of Light Sweet Crude oil prices, shouldn’t we switch to Heavy, Bitter, Polite oil?
Our local sheriff deputies are tougher than Marines fighting in Afghanistan. At least when it comes to plant byproducts that are sold on the streets in the U.S.
This is the war on drugs Bush Style. What is it with our country and our fascination with heroin especially in war time? Oh and kids, drugs are bad…don’t do drugs…
The Associated Press says: Last week, the 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit moved into southern Helmand province, the world’s largest opium poppy-growing region, and now find themselves surrounded by green fields of the illegal plants that produce the main ingredient of heroin.
…Yet the Marines are not destroying the plants. In fact, they are reassuring villagers the poppies won’t be touched. American commanders say the Marines would only alienate people and drive them to take up arms if they eliminated the impoverished Afghans’ only source of income.
93% of the opium from poppies grown in Afghanistan ends up in the U.S. as heroin.
Marijuana is Kentucky’s largest cash crop. When the sheriff and his Fifes go into the woods, they are looking to slash and burn. They aren’t all that concerned that it may force the Hatfields and the McCoys to join up with the Bloods and the Crips.
One soldier said this,
Poppy fields in Afghanistan are the cornfields of Ohio…
Southern Indiana has a wine tour. Having a town named French Lick with a winery is finally paying off. Our favorite wine is made just a few cornfields away, in Bloomington. Oliver Wineries. Oliver Red. Sweet, fruity, just like Welch’s.
A wine tour of south-central Indiana! Tourism bureaus just crack me up. I bet they got some of our tax money to fund the eco-agri-wino-tourism. Paid a vat load of money for their website too. But they still haven’t figured out it’s OK to ship out of state.
Indiana Lawmakers better watch out for the Baptists.
But a Baptist leader is protesting the idea of luring tourists with booze.This time it looks like the heathen booze-lovers won: brochures will list the eight participating wineries in Alabama. Those who visit all eight will get a special wine glass with all the logos from the wineries on it.
Heathen booze-lover?
Present.
