Res Ipsa Loquitur

Sooo-ie!

I think this is a great idea.

What do y'all think?

Dirty Rotten Bastards

Ah, so this is what happened this morning.

Eh, to be expected from a group of ignorant swine.

Losers.

Schadenfreude

I had a post all ready to go this morning, when it just disappeared before my very eyes. So now that the server seems to be back up, I'll just point and laugh.

Can we say 'void for vagueness'?

I'll bet their attorney can.

Brewer Goes Pro

It's official, unless he withdraws before June 18th. I can't say that I blame him but....wow are the Razorbacks going to suck next year.

Cool Wind

A couple of tornadoes touched down in El Reno, Oklahoma, yesterday. Which is not cool, but this video of one of them is.

What this news story doesn't mention, but I heard on one of the local stations last night, is that this particular tornado was 1 in a 1,000. If you look closely, the tornado is rotating clockwise instead of counter-clockwise as 99.9% of tornadoes do.

Interesting.

Weird Child

Sometimes this kid is so weird.

Ma, I want some breakfast.

Ok, what do you want? Fruit Loops?

No, jellybeans.

Scrambled eggs & toast?

No, jellybeans.

Sausage breakfast pizza?

No, jellybeans.

Cheerios? Rice Krispies?

No, jellybeans.

Oatmeal?

No, jellybeans.

Apples? Oranges? Mixed fruit cup?

No, jellybeans.

PB&J sandwich?

No, jellybeans.

Milk? OJ? Sunny D? Juicy Juice fruit punch?

No, jellybeans.

Honey, you can't have jellybeans for breakfast. Jellybeans are a snack, not a food.

I WANT jellybeans for breakfast.

Well you can't have them. Now pick something else.

No. I just won't eat breakfast.

Ummm, OK.

15 minutes later. Ma, I want some applesauce for breakfast.

Alright. You can have some applesauce.

And he ate it all.

Temporary Hiatus

Blogging forecast light to non-existent for the next several days. My daughter's visiting from Arizona, WildChild is here until tomorrow, and Mike's still in Central America.

When I get a free minute, I tend to zone out & enjoy it for the brief time it lasts. I'm enjoying seeing my daughter & WildChild but honestly.....I'm ready to have my quiet house back.

And my husband too.

Another Hometown Terrorist?

An Afghani has been arrested locally for threatening to kill the President.

An Afghanistan native who applied for a job at a Van Buren trucking firm said he planned to use one of the company’s trucks to assassinate President Bush, according to federal court documents.

He's allegedly made such threats before, but this time someone took him seriously.

[Agent] Briscoe wrote that Dost told others last weekend that he and his friends were going to carry out the assassination by turning a tractor-trailer into a bomb, “or if unsuccessful with the assassination of the president, he would use the bomb to inflict mass casualties upon the public.”

One applicant, identified as Thomas Brown, told the Secret Service that Dost said he and his people would assassinate President Bush and that Osama bin Laden would be president when he came out of hiding.

Like many liberals, he doesn't seem to understand presidential succession.

Briscoe interviewed Dost on Monday. His affidavit said Dost expressed extreme anger at the United States and Bush and said they ruined his native country. Dost referred to Bush as a gangster and criminal but said he did not threaten to kill him.

His attorney naturally has asked for a mental eval. Is he crazy? Terrorist? Both? Neither? A left-wing loony in disguise?

Dunno yet.

Whistling Girls & Crowing Hens

We had a few hens over the years that did this:

The pet, called Freaky, spent eight months laying dozens of eggs until she crowed like a cock bird one morning.

Over the next few weeks, she sprouted a scarlet comb, grew red flaps called wattles under her chin and tufty tail feathers - all attributes of cockerels.

Ours never lasted long enough to make the news. Mom would chop their heads off and we'd have them for Sunday dinner. She always said a crowing hen was bad and unnatural, and so you needed to kill them ASAP.

Which I guess was the origin of this old saying:

Whistling girls and
Crowing hens
Always come to
Some bad ends.

Hometown Meme

Jim asked for volunteers, and since I know y'all are just dying to learn 4 interesting things about my hometown, the big city of Marshall, Arkansas and the surrounding area, here we go:

1. Marshall, the county seat, will celebrate its sesquicentennial on June 3rd of this year....which means it's only 30 yrs. younger than the state of Arkansas. There's a big to-do planned, and everyone's invited to come dressed as someone from 1856. I'd thought about showing up in overalls, raggedy cotton shirt, brogans and carrying a jug of moonshine, just so as to represent my ancestors authentically of course. But then I realized I'd also have to have a big chew of tobacco so.....no. Not going to happen.

2. Nearby boomtown of Leslie once had the world's largest barrel making factory. They're largely the reason there's next to no virgin timber in the state, I guess. After WWI, better methods of shipping were developed and the town dwindled to the small, sleepy little place that it still is.

3. When I was a teenager there, the main entertainment was drinking drugs and sex the Marshall drive-in. You could get high just from walking around the back 2 rows in those days. It's still in operation, one of the few left in the state.

4. For all its attempt to capitalize on the Buffalo River tourists, it's still a very insular area. If you weren't born there, you will always be someone from 'away', even if you live there till you're 100. If you were born there, you will always be from there, no matter where you live. I can still write a check at just about any business in town....even though it will have an out-of-town address. Sometimes the proprietor might peer at me quizzically for a few minutes, then say, "Oh, you're [my parents'] girl ain't you? Why sure you can write a check, for a little over if'n you need some cash."

Which used to irritate the shit out of me when I was younger. Not the check writing, but the recognition. How could all these old people see my parents in my face? Now I'm one of them, and I know how. You just do.

All of which gives me a tremendous sense of my roots, my history, of my belonging somewhere. I didn't appreciate that when I was young. But I do now. And there are days when I long for the time when I can return. Return to a quieter place where clocks are only important when you have a doctor's appointment.

Life moves much slower there. Which gives you time to better appreciate the finer things in life....like how a cool breeze on a hot July day rustles the trees with its promise of rain. Or how the little creek sometimes seems to almost giggle as it rushes around the rocks.

And that ain't a bad thing.

If you want to tell 4 things about your hometown, leave a comment or trackback to your post.

Baby Needs New Shoes

We're planning a trip to Vegas next month, and I hope this will be me.

Last night, Josephine Crawford, a Galloway Township, N.J., grandmother was playing nickel slots at Harrah's Atlantic City when she won the biggest jackpot in city history.

The prize, $10,010,113.48, had been building for years among machines electronically linked at various A.C. casinos, said Harrah's spokeswoman Alyce Parker.

Though I could never find any nickel slots last time we were in Vegas. I used to play them all the time in Tunica, and in fact, the biggest jackpot I've ever hit was on a nickel slot. Wasn't much, $50 or so, but I promptly cashed it in & walked away. Which is why I was always the only one to return from Tunica with any money. I know when to walk away.

I'm not much for gambling. It's boring, mostly because I'm smart enough to know how they pay for those big fancy casinos. Sucker money, a/k/a simple statistical probability. For slots anyway. Cards are different because there's an element of skill involved. A skill I lack so I don't play. Mike, OTOH, is deadly at cards, so we have a system. He plays cards while I people watch or play slots....and stay the hell away from him. For some reason, I'm the kiss of death if I watch him play. He starts losing every time. And it's not from him knowing I'm there. I've tried slipping up & watching him and it's still the same. And he'll start winning again as soon as I walk away. He claims it isn't me, that I'm just coincidentally coming by at the same time the cards turn against him. But I ain't buying it.

There are no coincidences.

Bad Taste

If you needed any more proof that Tom Cruise was flaky, here you go. Yeah, what a joke. Ha ha, you so funny. (Actually, when I heard about it, an old farmer's joke was the first thing that popped into my head. I'll put it after the fold, cuz it's kinda gross if you're unfamiliar with the realities of farm life.)

The whole Scientology thing just cracks me up anyway. What a scam to help flaky rich people expunge their guilt by getting rid of money. Not too surprising that it attracts a lot of actors. Just think about it, they're paid to pretend they're someone else. And most of them take that way too seriously. Frankly, if they weren't actors, we'd call them by another title.

Crazy.

And we in society hold them up to be our role models? Puh-lease. If I wanted a crazy person for my role model, I'd find someone more interesting. Like a schizophrenic.

I think we had it right when back in the day, entertainers in general were held in the same esteem as prostitutes.

It goes something like this:

The farmer's wife goes into labor, and the doctor isn't able to get there in time. But he tells the farmer to go ahead & deliver the baby, that it really isn't any different than helping a cow birth a calf.

So later the doctor calls back to check on them, and asks the farmer how it went.

"Pretty good doc, but I had a helluva time getting her to eat the afterbirth."

For all you city folk, animals routinely eat their own afterbirth....I imagine it's an instinctual behavior to keep predators from being attracked by the smell. And I've read that it also contains certain things that help the animal recover quickly from the birth.

Kinda gross yes, but real life generally is.

By Request

Keith asked to see Tesla's bio that went along with this post, and I've finally gotten around to adding it. Tesla was a pretty interesting guy, IMO.

And I'm really not much like him except maybe the weird part. And I don't have an aversion to hair except back hair.

That's just...eewww!

*Scream* Update

Forgot to mention earlier, but I talked to the Health Dept. today. They said they'd sent me a notification letter....to my old Fayetteville address. I'm still wondering how they got that address, as it certainly wasn't the one I used when I bought my tickets.

Anyway, I have a little less than a week before I'm completely in the clear but it's unlikely I'll get the mumps. Or give them to anyone else. Thank goodness. In the interim, there's nothing to do but wait. Or go immediately to the doctor if I develop any symptoms, I suppose so I can expose everyone there.

*rolls eyes*

Traveling Man

Just talked to Mike, and he's made it to Newark okay. He has a couple hours layover before his flight to Central America, so he's exploring the airport. So if you're in or around EWR, he'll be the old guy with a light blue backpack desperately searching for a place to smoke.

Hook a brother up.

Good Kind of Crazy

Thanks to Keith, I found out I'm the good kind of crazy. I think.

You are Nicola Tesla, inventor of the Tesla Coil!

A minister's son from Simljan in Austria-Hungary, you were precocious from an early age. At three you could multiply three-digit numbers in your head and calculate how many seconds visitors to your home had lived. In awe of your older brother Dane, you shot a pea-shooter at his horse, causing it to throw him and inflict injuries from which he later died. This tragedy haunted you ever after. You frequently suffered bouts of illness with hallucinations throughout your life. During one affliction of cholera, you encountered the writing of Mark Twain, with whom you were later to be close friends. Later, another, this time mystery, illness inexplicably heightened your senses to a painful extent, only relenting when you hit upon the idea of the alternating current motor.

You developed an aversion to human contact, particularly involving hair, and a fear of pearls; when one would-be lover kissed you, you ran away in agony. Later, you insisted that any repeated actions in your day-to-day life had to be divisible by three, or, better yet, twenty-seven. You would, for example, continue walking until you had executed the required number of footsteps. You refused to eat anything until you had calculated its exact volume. Saltine crackers were a favourite for their uniformity in this respect. In the midst of important work, you forgot trivial details such as eating, sleeping or, on one memorable occasion, who you were.

Your inventions, always eccentric, began on a suitably bizarre note. The first was a frog-catching device that was so successful, and hence so emulated by your fellow children, that local frogs were almost eradicated. You also created a turbine powered by gluing sixteen May bugs to a tiny windmill. The insects panicked and flapped their wings furiously, powering the contraption for hours on end. This worked admirably until a small child came along and ate all the creatures alive, after which you never again touched another insect.

Prompted by dreams of attaining the then-ridiculed goal of achieving an alternating-current motor, you went to America in the hope of teaming up with Thomas Edison. Edison snubbed you, but promised fifty thousand dollars if you could improve his own direct-current motor by 20% efficiency. You succeeded. Edison did not pay up. It was not long until you created an AC motor by yourself.

Now successful, you set up a small laboratory, with a few assistants and almost no written records whatsoever. Despite it being destroyed by fire, you invented the Tesla Coil, impressing even the least astute observer with man-made lightning and lights lit seemingly by magic. Moving to Colorado Springs, you created a machine capable of sending ten million volts into the Earth's surface, which even while being started up caused lightning to shoot from fire hydrants and sparks to singe feet through shoes all over the town. When calibrated to be in tune with the planet's resonance, it created what is still the largest man-made electrical surge ever, an arc over 130 feet long. Unfortunately, it set the local power plant aflame.

You returned to New York, incidentally toying with the nascent idea of something eerily like today's internet. Although the wealthiest man in America withdrew funding for a larger, more powerful resonator in short order, it did not stop you announcing the ability to split the world in two. You grew ever more diverse in your inventions: remote-controlled boats and submarines, bladeless turbines, and, finally, a death ray.

While whether the ray ever existed is still doubtful, it is said that you notified the Peary polar expedition to report anything strange in the tundra, and turned on the ray. First, nothing happened; then it disintegrated an owl; finally, reports reached you of the mysterious Tunguska explosion, upon which news you dismantled the apparatus immediately. An offer during WWII to recreate it was, thankfully, never acted upon by then-President Wilson. Turning to other matters, you investigated the forerunner of radar, to widespread derision.

Your inventions grew stranger. One oscillator caused earthquakes in Manhattan. You adapted this for medical purposes, claiming various health benefits for your devices. You found they let you work for days without sleep; Mark Twain enjoyed the experience until the sudden onset of diarrhoea. You claimed to receive signals in quasi-Morse Code from Mars, explored the initial stages of quantum physics; proposed a "wall of light", using carefully-calibrated electromagnetic radiation, that would allegedly enable teleportation, anti-gravity airships and time travel; and proposed a basic design for a machine for photographing thoughts. You died aged 87 in New York, sharing an apartment with the flock of pigeons who were by then your only friends.

Ridiculed throughout your life (Superman fought the evil Dr. Tesla in 1940s comics), you were posthumously declared the father of the fluorescent bulb, the vacuum tube amplifier and the X-ray machine, and the Supreme Court named you as the legal inventor of the radio in place of Marconi. Wardenclyffe, the tower once housing your death ray, was dynamited several times to stop it falling into the hands of spies. It was strangely hard to topple, and even then could not be broken up.

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

Lively Discussion

Usually depositions are deadly boring....I'd rather watch paint dry. But this one got a little interesting. (via The Corner)

Hoppy Easter!

Or whatever the politically incorrect term is these days.

*Scream*

Guess who was on this flight?

Anyone who traveled on April 2nd and flew American Airlines flights 3617 from Dallas to XNA, or 5399 from XNA to St. Louis should contact the Arkansas Department of Health and Human Services. Here`s why: On April 2nd, a man infected with mumps began a trip that took him from Tucson, Arizona, to Dallas, Texas, then here to Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport, and then onto St. Louis, Missouri, before reaching his final destination in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Son of a bitch. I was.

The health department says they have contacted most of the passengers from the flights mentioned above, but not all of them.

No, not all of them because this is the first I've heard of it. On Easter weekend when there's no chance in hell of getting in touch anyone from the Health Department.

I think I'm relatively safe. Due to a paperwork foulup, I've had 3 freaking MMR's, the last in 1988 or 89. And my sister had the mumps when I was little & I didn't catch them despite sitting on her bed eating a dill pickle at every opportunity. (Yes, I was a mean little shit)

But still. It's going to be a very long weekend.

Out & About

I've been out & about this morning, first installing this in my car. Which I'm happy to report works like a charm and so far I rilly rilly lurve it. I love the online access even more. The real test, however, will be the next trip to Marshall. If I keep a signal even most of the way, I'll be impressed.

And I'm even happier to report that Fred's still has the best French dips in NWA. omg I am sooooo full.

Pardon me while I go digest.

Another 'Un

Found another Arkan-blogger via my referral logs this morning, Val's Bien. Valerie's bravely living in Fayette-nam.

Go tell her howdy.

Discretion Better Part of Valor

What makes a pug a pug and not a cat? Courage! As Sollie demonstrated this morning, he has an almost ample supply. When I took him out early this morning, I noticed Sassy poised in waiting-to-attack mode over by the neighbor's fence. Since it was just coming daylight, I couldn't quite make out what kind of critter it was until I got closer.

It was a big ol' possum....with big sharp teeth that he was baring while hissing at the dogs and me. Big as in bigger than Sollie big. Not that Sollie minded. Much. He started barking his fool head off.

"If it weren't for this leash, I'd tear you limb from limb. Rip you to bits. Why I'd...I'd...I'd murderlize you" he seemed to be saying.

So I decided to see just how brave he was and gave him some slack on his leash. He took a step or two forward, and the possum hissed at him. Sollie promptly ran backwards to stand beside me, still barking in his most threatening manner.

"Yeah so there's some slack on the leash. It's not enough to reach you or I'd....I'd...I'd tear you to ribbons"

Cracked me up. Now I can't throw rocks worth a damn these days, but I pitched a few in the possum's general area, hoping to make him turn & run out of the yard. Instead of into the garage where he was headed when Sassy stopped him. (What a great dog!)

No dice. Ol' Mr. Possum continued to bare his teeth and hiss. Not caring to get possum bit first thing in the morning, I searched around until I found a fairly long, sturdy stick and whacked ol' Mr. Possum in the snout.

And if the mental image of me in my pj's & bathrobe whacking a possum on the nose with a stick while trying to hold on to a furious pug on a leash amuses you, well, glad to cheer you up. But I didn't want a possum taking up residence in our garage.

Believe it or not, the first whack on the snout just pissed ol' Mr. Possum off and he lunged towards me growling. Which was more than Sassy could take (NOBODY threatens the momma when she's around and I do mean nobody) and she started trying to break her cable to get at the possum. It took quite a few whacks on the snout to convince Mr. Possum that flight was a better option than fight, but he finally turned & ran out of the yard. We raised quite a ruckus before it was over.

Sollie gave him a few parting barks, and promptly ran over to where the possum had been....and peed on the spot, as if to say "Guess we showed you!"

Yeah right. If I'd left it up to Sollie, that possum would still be out there. The only thing he was scaring was himself.

But he did a real good job of that.

Wow!

ROTF!

(via Chaz)

News Flash!

Gas prices higher this summer!

In other news, Pig's Ass Continues To Be Pork!

Spellcheck vs. Editing

I've never actually worn a sun burro, but it looks like fun.

Medi-Blogging 4.01

Apparently my spine didn't appreciate flying or my son's lack of real furniture....hence the sparse posting. I can't sit, stand, etc. for very long. Plus intense pain tends to make me rather....irritable.

I've a referral to a new neurosurgeon, so hopefully relief is in sight. And hopefully this one isn't a complete idiot/asshole who will make me want to punch him/her in the nose. I have very little patience with stupidity. And it drops to none when I'm in a lot of pain. As one local doctor might confirm.

Ahem.

Anyway, better news is that now that I'm almost off the prednisone, my blood sugar levels are returning to normal. Still not to the point where I can eat anything I want, but it's better. And I'm losing (slowly) the weight the prednisone made me gain.

Gotta keep looking on the sunny side, right?

Must See

Luke Stricklin will be performing at Club West on April 21st. Tickets are on sale now, and are going fast. Get yours now before they sell out.

As some of you know, our (ex)SIL is the drummer, and a good kid. So if you like country, make plans to stop by.

I rilly wish I could go, but it's not looking like I'll be able. A) Mike's going to be out of the country then, and Club West is nowhere I want to go by myself; and B) I'm supposed to have WildChild that night. He's a little young for the bar scene.....like 16 yrs. too young.

But if I can work something out, I'll be there. And if you get a chance to chat with the band, tell the drummer his favorite Ma sent you.

That and $5 might get you a beer.

The Big 4-0

Everybody go make fun of Matt for turning 40 today. Uh, I mean, wish him a Happy Birthday!

40, phfft. He's still just a puppy.

Homeward Bound

I wish I was. Not that I'm not enjoying my visit. I am. But I'm ready to be home again. Which I'll be tomorrow afternoon.

I'm babysitting while my son & DIL take in a movie. They were reluctant to leave, but I finally convinced them I was perfectly capable. They were so funny. The bottle's in the fridge, my son kept saying. Are you sure you want to do this? he'd ask. Over and over.

Go. Away. I finally said. We'll be fine.

Do you know how to heat the bottle he asked.

Ummm, pot, water, turn the stove on?

Don't let it get too hot he said.

Rilly? Is that how it works? I've always wondered about that. Go. Away. Now. I said.

Jeez. Kids.