Good Old Mitt

January 4th, 2012

Wow! The voting results are in from the Repubican presidential caucus in Iowa!

After all the millions spent and lies told, former Governor Mitt Romney of Massachusetts — the zillionaire guy with the magical underwear best known for strapping the family dog on the roof of the family car while driving to Canada for a vacation — got nearly 25 percent of the vote. That means he “won.”

Wow! Warms the cockles of yer heart, eh?

Still, 25 percent of nothing is nothing…

Drinking at the ‘best’ Western Inn in Pembroke, Ontario

July 24th, 2011

I’m in the Best Western Inn in Pembroke, Ontario, late Saturday afternoon following a charming shade-tree wedding ceremony in a public park.

I go to the small temporary cash bar outside the wedding reception room, quickly grok the miniscule booze possibilities, and instantly become all Irish-apprehensive.

There is no Jamesons, Bushmills, Tullamore Dew…

Jane has asked for a sherry, so I start with that request:

“A Bristol Cream Sherry please,” I say.

“Sorry. We don’t serve fancy mixed drinks here.”

“Fancy mixed drink?” I say.

“Yes,” the young lady says. “No fancy mixed drinks.”

I think: Which word threw her off – Bristol or Cream?

Do you have wine?

She points to a large jug one the left. It’s red.

Do you have white wine?

She points to the large jug on her right.

Behind her, I see a bottle of Prince Igor vodka. Well, better than nothing. But not by much.

“Please,” I said, remaining courteous. “A glass of white, a glass of red, and a vodka on the rocks.”

She destroys a twenty dollar bill and I carry the drinks – she did loan me a tray – inside the reception hall.

I relate the booze quest to my son’s father-in-law, and we have a laugh. Soon he heads to the little temporary bar.

“I asked for a whiskey and water,” he says.

What did she say, I ask.

“We don’t serve fancy mixed drinks here.”

He also asked for a cold beer. She told him he couldn’t have it in a cold bottle, so she poured it into a warm plastic glass.

A little later he went back for a refill. There was no one behind the bar. He eventually located a manager.

“Sorry,” the manager said. “We’re short-staffed tonight.”

Don’t get me started on dinner…

The 11th Commandment

July 18th, 2011

Herman Cain, the former Godfather’s Pizza guy who now wants to be the Republican presidential candidate, thinks Americans have the right and power to ban Muslims building new mosques.

"Let’s go back to the fundamental issue," Cain says. "Islam is both a religion and a set of laws — Sharia laws. That’s the difference between any one of our traditional religions where it’s just about religious purposes."

Cain, from Atlanta, Georgia, is a professed Baptist and, as you all know, Baptists — or any other Christians — don’t have any rules and laws they must live by.

Well, not too many. Just the Big Ten:

1. Thou shalt have no other gods before me.
2. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image.
3. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.
4. Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.
5. Honour thy father and thy mother.
6. Thou shalt not kill.
7. Thou shalt not commit adultery.
8. Thou shalt not steal.
9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.
10. Thou shalt not covet.

I’m just saying…

Hands off my commas

July 1st, 2011

I was nibbling a Nun’s Fart* and swilling pear-tinged vodka when the news broke on Salon.

The Punctuation Nazis at Oxford University have banned the serial comma.

I could not believe what I was reading: “As a general rule, do not use the serial/Oxford comma: so write ‘a, b and c’ not ‘a, b, and c’.”

I have always agreed with Strunk & White and the Chicago Manual of Style: “In a series consisting of three or more elements, the elements are separated by commas. When a conjunction joins the last two elements in a series, a comma is used before the conjunction.”

Now, Oxford U has decreed “No More!”

Misterman, I am disappointed, angry, and pissed off. Plus, I’m not going along with those snooty Brits, as you can see.

* A Nun’s Fart, in case you think me rude, is leftover pie dough buttered and coated on the inner side with a cinnamon and sugar, then rolled up, slice into one-inch sections,baked, and consumed. French Quebeckers call them "Pets de Soeurs." Delicious, by any name.

President Obama, I am ashamed of you.

December 15th, 2010

And I am ashamed of my birth country, which you were elected to lead and where you promised to end government-approved torture and other heinous practices.

While you are sneaking cigarettes and playing basketball, do you ever think of Pvt. Bradley Manning who "lives" 34 miles from your house?

I put "lives" in quotes Commander-in-Chief Obama because Pvt. Manning, one of your soldiers, has been in solitary confinement for more than five months under the most severe conditions, yet he has never been convicted of any crime.

He is accused of leaking classified information to WikiLeaks but has yet to be brought to trial. Yet, this is how you have treated him for more than seven months:

  • He is locked up, completely alone, for 23 hours a day.
  • He is not allowed to exercise in his cell, and is watched to make sure he doesn’t.
  • During the one hour each day he is let out of his cell, he is forbidden access to any news or current events information.
  • He is not allowed to have a pillow or sheets.
  • He is being pumped full of drugs to keep him from going outwardly nuts from this inhumane treatment.

    "In sum, Manning has been subjected for many months without pause to inhumane, personality-erasing, soul-destroying, insanity-inducing conditions of isolation similar to those perfected at America’s Supermax prison in Florence, Colorado: all without so much as having been convicted of anything. And as is true of many prisoners subjected to warped treatment of this sort, the brig’s medical personnel now administer regular doses of anti-depressants to Manning to prevent his brain from snapping from the effects of this isolation." — Glenn Greenwald, Salon

When tuck your two lovely daughters in at night, do you ever think of Pvt. Manning?

When you and Michelle settle down for a drink or two on a quiet evening, do you ever think of Pvt. Manning?

Or do you even know what is happening to your 22-year-old soldier who is supposed to be considered innocent until proven guilty of wrongdoing in the Home of the Free and Land of the Brave.

Are you able to care about this wicked act of inhumanity happening on your watch?

Happy Birthday, World

October 23rd, 2010

Happy Birthday, World

You’re nearly 6000 years old and have much to feel bad about, eh?

The back story: At 9 a.m. today in in 4004 BC, according to James Ussher, a Church of Ireland bishop born in Dublin, God created the world.

The story continued: Adam and Eve walked with dinosaurs, there was serious flooding and pyramids, slavery helped the economy, Jesus Christ appeared and founded America.

Bringing it up to date: Now there is Sarah Palin, who quit being governor of Alaska in mid-term and became a multi-millionaire, and Christine O’Donnell, who is no longer a witch and who does not put her hands Down There. Ever.

Bad job, God.

On the road until Saturday

October 10th, 2010

Jane and I are taking this week off to visit family and friends. Weather forecast is GOOD!

Starting with a family Thanksgiving dinner in Ottawa, followed by a leisurely drive to Northampton, Massachusetts, and a brief visit in Buskirk, New York before wending our way back to Cobden on October 16.

We’ll wind up the week with a birthday party on Saturday in Beachburg, Ontario, with our four sons, their wives, and ten grandchildren — Old Grumpy turns 75 on the 26th and he remains bewildered at how quickly this came about.

I’ll try to update the LCC if I can get on-line. You folks have a good week.

All God’s Critters, Small and Hungry

September 9th, 2010

Two years ago, Jane and I planted two purple grape vines in front of our Tiny Chapel of Minor Earthly Delights. We hoped they would climb the front, then join to frame the view of the swampy end of Muskrat Lake, just across the street.

They have and are wonderful to behold, inside and out.

This year the one vine produced two small bunches of grapes. I tasted one the other day — they were almost ready. “Tomorrow,” I thought. “Tomorrow…”

The steaks were on the barbie, the Lindemann’s Bin 50 shiraz was breathing. I strolled over to the Chapel. “I will pour us a glass of wine and we’ll savor our very first grapes,” I thought.

Gone. All gone. Each and every grape.

Pissed, was I.

One of God’s furry varmints had gotten there first.

Greedy racoon? Nasty red devil squirrel? I don’t know.

But whatever critter got my grapes, let it be known that I hates them.

Beck/Palin have it right

August 29th, 2010

Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin hit the nail on the head on Saturday: Americans need to "Restore Honor" in their country.

They were dead on.

Here are a ways to begin the Long March Back to Decency:

Stop torture.

Close Guantanamo.

Stop preventing gay people from entering into legal marriage.

Become the “employer of last resort” in a serious way.

Get real about investing in the restoration of America’s highways and bridges and railroads, and education.

Stop the hating.

What would Jesus pack, and one other question

July 15th, 2010

Now that Christians in Louisiana can carry legal concealed weapons into their houses of worship, I began thinking about what kind of gat Jesus would conceal under his Holy Robes.

(I assume he would pass a mandatory background check and undergo the required eight hours of training each year.)

As a Jew, Jesus might opt for an Israeli 941 compact Desert Eagle as his defense weapon of choice.

But the choice is maddeningly wide;

  • Austrian Glock 19
  • Bulgarian Arcus 924
  • Chinese 77
    And down through the mind-boggling alphabet soup of handguns to the
  • Venezuelan Zamorana, which translates to: "One step closer and I’ll blow your ass off, dude!"

Jesus must be weeping.

And then we have Sarah Mama Grizzly Palin who has been telling whoever will pay her big bucks that "Moms just know these things…"

If that’s so, how come Mama Grizzly Palin didn’t know her then-underage daughter Bristol was boinking boypal Levin Johnston?

Huh? Huh?

Just asking…