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  • Is this mike on? This may be the Last Post of my Life.

        At least if I heed the advice of the sadly late Steve Jobs; ‘Write your Xanga entry each day as though it will be your last.’ …something like that.
    Notwithstanding the upbeat side of this mantra, I think we need to look at the unintended side-effects of seriously adopting it.

    ‘Seasonally-adjusted durable goods plunge 73% as millions heed Jobs’ advice, cancel purchases.’

    Yeah, why buy an iPhone™ just to use it one day? Your heirs will certainly be questioning your sanity at the wake; you don’t want that now, do you?
    And why do laundry? Stock the fridge? Talk civilly to your mother-in-law?
    Yes, just about every daily activity beyond  the default: ‘Eat, Drink, and Be Merry’ will suddenly lose much of its justification. Why bother?
    But what if one does, however, want to leave a nice corpse, in clean underwear, just screaming out what a good boy ’twas I?
    I suppose that’s the corollary, the ‘do-able’ part of the maxim. Plan not to be here tomorrow, and do your best to leave the joint a better place.

    I can’t help but mention my father, of blessed memory, who died in his sleep a couple years ago at the age of 92. Cut down in his prime. He’d bought an enormous load of groceries the night before; had seen to organizing the attic nice and tidy already 20 years previously. Asked me to help, but I told him I thought the job was way premature. He’d spent the last evening making a long list of  deceased folks he wanted to be sure and look up if/when it turned out there was a Heaven. It was in his handwriting on the table.  I’m not sure which part of the Jobsian manifesto he subscribed to.

    And then there’s my own (false alarm) ‘Final Day’. I shut off the computer after reading Wiki’s
    ‘Five sure warning signs of an impending heart attack’. I was five for five. Thought good and hard, then frantically rebooted the computer. (C’mon, sucker, get to the splash screen!)
    Two hours later I’d deleted everything incriminating on my hard drive. The temptation was great to save a backup of contacts, photos, memoirs. But where to stash it? I’m not the first bloke to have this problem. Treasures have been buried, with cryptic instructions meant to be found years later by the right person. But I have a mix of ’10′ and ’20-year’ secrets, and then stuff best kept underground till 2120. Not that I wanted things to turn out that way. One little secret at a time, and pretty soon you’re ‘secretive’.
    And the worst part is that the nurse at the hospital looked at the EKG I’d handed her from the little village clinic and laughed. Yes, she laughed. I thought it was in bad taste, but then she added:  “Looks like the nurses there clipped the ground wire to your {location with-held}!” Uh huh, the dangerous anomaly was simply a ‘clerical error’, so to speak. And my chest pain was simply congestion. ‘It’ll go away by itself‘ I was told. Yeah, sorry about those classified files(!)

    Anyway, my fridge has a plastic door, but for you guys with the Sears’ ‘Best’ model, clip ‘n
    stick these somewhere. One of ‘em is certainly correct. Take your pick.
    a Rude Awakening?

    Go ahead. Make that call. Steve says it’s ok.

    You can put this on ‘Repeat’

    Jezuz, what they believed in the 60s…

  • Another crummy idea… A Party

         Don’t know what put the idea in my head to spring for, like, a block party. Just felt philanthropic I guess, whatever that is. Yeah, it was right after, on a dare, I opened the door to a pair of very dour-looking deer;
    “Our situation is dire”. the one with the horns shared with me, “and maybe… you know…”
    I took the hint and gave the buck a modest wad of dough, then threw in another buck for the doe, who ate it on the spot(!) Hmm, times must really be tough. Oh well, too late to tell her “Don’t spend it all in one bar.” They left, thankfully, with a bag of lawn clippings. Something wrong with that sentence, but speaking of lawns, I had the tables set up within an hour…

       
        My main worry was pests, actually. I’ve been bothered by killer B’s from over-C’s. Yes, that’s the ID I got from the County agent:
    “That there’s a B from the C of A-zov.”     he pronounced, looking worried, and reached out to C’s it on the spot. Now I’m just waiting for the lab, or extradition papers, who knows. One bug down.


    “Can’t believe the E’s with which you toss off these little affairs.” ‘H’ was the first to arrive, and brought that nice compliment with him. Maybe to make up for bringing both his X’s(!)
    I’d only heard about them from friends, but from the stories, I thought I’d soon understand just Y they were X’s(!) As different as two unrelated peas from different pods, they fascinated me immediately.
    One was admittedly big-boned, gruff, and mustached, but the other(!?)
       “G’s, where’d U get them I’s?” I thought to ask her but kept silent, whispering instead into ‘H’s ear: “Hey mon, FUNEX?!”
    “She ain’t pretty, she jus look that way.” he whispered back. The truth, as I was about to find out.

    “F’, (we’ll call her), the ‘fish we can’t believe you threw back in the lake’, was in fact a piranha in sheep’s clothing. Attack,  her mantra….just add victims:

    “‘I’s here!” ‘I’ announced jovially as he came around the house to the back yard.
    “It’s  ‘I’ M here’.“ ‘F’  said dismissively to nobody in particular for now. Unfortunately the ‘nobody’ in particular heard her quite well, and, setting his bottle of wine on the table edge gritted through his teeth:
    “Oh shit. U R here.” He slid the bottle even closer to his table setting and gripping it like a loose football, made it clear that she wasn’t exactly gonna be the first in line when he popped the cork.
    The table gradually filled with characters, variously bold,     cursive, and in the case of ‘Y’, who brought the Chianti, most likely italic.
    ‘Y’ whom I’d never met, radiated a kind of serene charm, warmth and wisdom. Perhaps just radiation, but that was my first impression anyway. ‘H’ asked him right off what was new on his blog:
    “Lots. Xanga, y’know… Gotta post every day or they forget you.”, ‘Y’ answered, sounding oddly proud of not being in the awe-inducing ‘Big League’.
    “What’s Xanga, anyway?” ‘F’ did ‘dismissive’ and little else. ‘Y’ for his part chose to take the question dead-pan, and explained it all, patiently, closing with:
    “It’s like..um..Huffington, only quieter and more     civil.”
    ‘F’, who hadn’t meant to be even a little ambiguous, bared her teeth. Metaphorically, for now.
    “I know, duh. I read your crap. ‘Y’s Y’s Words’, what kind of a user-name is that?”
    ‘H’ came to ‘Y’s defense, as if he needed it:
    “I think he’s awesome…he’s amazing…he’s clever…..I’d even go so far as to call him… mediocre!” ‘Y’ joined in on the tail end, laughing along with ‘H’. But ‘F’, who was born, or hatched in a land without classic cartoons, kept on biting. Trying to A-Q-Z   ‘Y’ of U-sing phrases he knoweth not thereof, she bellowed:
    “Two weeks ago…     ‘R’s gratia ‘R’s’; you got any idea what the even means?”
    ‘Y’ looked calm, secure in his ‘R’s and quietly sliced his steak with that self-assurance one must get from tons of supportive reader comments.

    “Pass the ‘P’s.” ‘H’s other ‘X’s first words.
    “She can talk?!” I joked, trying in my lame way to change the conversation lineup. “B’, who had also been silent took the ball on a lateral…
    “Yeah, how come you w-w-eren’t t-talking?” he asked innocently.
    “I could reach everything till now.” ‘N’ said grudgingly, and that was the end of that thread.

    Except that now ‘F’ had a new warm body to T’s.
    “Hmm, ‘B’ has a v-voice.” she mocked. “And I’d thought he was either dumb or subtle.”
    “She means ‘dumb‘ in a ‘good’ way.” ‘Y’ put his hand on ‘B’s shoulder, then turned to ‘N’:
    “And what shall we call U dear?” he asked pleasantly.
    “I M N” she decreed, as if being generous. (Ok, ‘I, Caligula‘? Yeah it coulda been shorter.)

       I could go on. About two hours into the gala ‘F’ XQ-sed herself to run to the bathroom.
    “Here’s our lucky break.” ‘H’ said. grabbing my arm. I watched as he skillfully used a broom-handle and a handy box (my rock-collection from the Rockies trip in ’64) to trap the ‘offending creature’ in my ‘powder-room’. Possibly not the first time.
    “Let her out in the morning.” he instructed me. “You can crash at my crib.”
    “A little extreme, no?” I had misgivings, visions of her swimming out via the toilet into the sewer system, and thence, albeit be-shmutzed, to The World. We did let her out, after about an hour, but during which ‘C’, ‘Y’s ‘Y’s wife, who arrived late after doing her car-pool thing for the Dance Academy, showed us just what ‘charming’ (and exhaustively productive) oughta be like. She and ‘Y’ run “C and Y’s Candy Shoppe”, turns out, and on top of that the poor thing works until the wee hours with her sister I-lean baking and packaging their ‘C ‘n I’ Dog Biscuits. She was nice enough to go get me a free sample from her minivan, even though I don’t have a dog. Something about the name just grabs me. (Plus they don’t taste that bad, in a pinch). But I’ll prolly save ‘em for my deer friends, who I’m sure will be coming back shortly. Uh oh, another party.

  • Don’t know where you get *your* news…

         I just write my own. Doesn’t need to be true, just ‘truthy’ and stylish. I start with a personal ‘fabricated’ story, and then on to the News… Takes about 15 minutes, this did.

    Don’t pull the wool over my eyes.
     
    The arrogance of those ostensibly-innocent little lambs! Me, sign a support petition for Big Mama Bo Peep as the all-species rep on the school board? No way, Jose.
    My neighbor to the south, a human who wishes to be anonymous, (we’ll call him ‘U’) mentioned the problem a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been watching the sheep, binoculars and camera in hand, ever since. He’s got this gorgeous postage stamp forest he planted, like twenty kinds of trees in it, all healthy and trimmed. Well, at least till last Thursday, when the herd of woolly rug-rats finally succeeded in tramping down the fence between their pasture and the grove. Since then they’ve been carousing about in the woods, pooping and fressing with reckless abandon, and worst of all, scratching their backs on the low-hanging branches of ‘U’s pride and joy, a half dozen yew trees, and tearing the crap out of them.
    And then they want me to sign a ‘model citizen of the biosphere’ letter? Dream on, mutton-breath. I Refuse! Youse ewes use ‘U’s yews like it’s your private playground. Karma’s a bitch now, ain’t it. Ba ba ba./ JS Tel Aviv

    IN THE NEWS:

    Testosterone Tester TASE-ed: ‘Tossed her own toaster on cop’s head’: Police.
    Sometimes you feel like a nut; sometimes you shouldn’t.
    Veteran lab-worker Patti McCarran may wish she hadn’t lost it and thrown  her office toaster out the open window at Highland Biologicals yesterday morning. “Ok, maybe it’s my endocrine system acting up, but you try to make an edible slice of toast with that piece of shit!” she was quoted as explaining after being treated and released on the scene. The ill-starred patrolman who happened to be the appliance’s unintended target similarly departed from protocol in his “raging bull” apprehension of Ms McCarran, according to eye-witnesses. “I would have said I’m sorry and that’s that,” Patty adds, “but he was like a buck in full rut. And me on an empty stomach…” Source valued the toaster at ‘less than $5 given its condition.’


    Filler Item:

    Speedy Seamstress?
    It would seem stress would slow her pace, but reports of a seemingly seamless dress sewn easily by a highly stressed seamstress prove the opposite. -More-


    Prurient Interest:

    ‘Don’t let ‘Francis of Asisi’ see ‘C’ see-saw’. That’s the gist of a court order handed down this morning in Juvenile Court against Franklin Paul Assidy, arrested earlier this week on voyeurism charges near the playground of Ladies of Assumption Private School. The child in question, an unidentified minor, prevailed, through her attorneys, in being allowed to ‘freely use the specified recreation equipment in an ‘active’ manner’, despite claims by the defendant that her style was ‘provocative. A restraining order accompanied the verdict. Assidy was further required to carry legitimate ID at all times, and to fore-go his ‘costumes’, deemed an ‘unattractive nuisance’ by the court.

    Gossip:

    Cybill wore
    Civil War
    sable, where
    wash ‘n wear
    woulda (we’re
    jes saying)
    worked wonders.

    Actress Cybill Shepherd likely shot at but missed the hearts and minds when she appeared for the Seattle Women’s Collective’s ‘Moonlight Walk for Equality’ adorned in a rare and expensive 1860′s fur coat. Not saying she had to all-out slum it, but still, people talk.

    Shipping News:

    The heavily-laden Panamanian-flagged cargo ship ‘Can-Tanker Uspinado’ was ordered back to the high seas earlier this week after attempts to reconcile crew unrest failed. ‘Cantankerous’ was the one-word description given by the Maritime Workers’ Union for the ship’s Captain, who battled back with “I’m surprised we even got into port with these loonies, and now they can’t anchor us?” Negotiations continue via Ship-to-shore.


    Curiosity Item:

    Infinitesimal fin-de-siecle Finn dolphin-fin finishes museum tour… Finally.

    Billed as the shortest but longest-running bone in history, the artifact, discovered in a long-defunct fish-packing house dumpster near Helsinki in 1899 ranks as the smallest bone fragment known to man. Viewable only through a high-magnification microscope, it was likely created in a last-ditch attempt by the firm to down-size portions. After nearly a century of continuous exhibition in venues ranging from Paris’  Louvre to ‘Franji’s Roadside Curios’ in Tempe, AZ, it will be returned to Finland later this month.


    History in the making:

    ‘Rasputin’s Rin Tin Tin‘ likely suffered from tintinitus.’ Divers, assisted by none other than Vladimir Putin in the lead role, have succeeded in recovering the almost century-old skeleton of the famous German shepherd owned by court-adviser Grigori Rasputin. The canine was reported to have attempted to assist his master’s efforts to evade capture and assassination until he mysteriously put paws to ears, yelped in pain, and plunged headfirst into the frozen muddy waters of the River Neva. No cause had been proffered for the strange turn-about, but forensic studies of the carcass now show credible indication of the ringing in the ears one reads about frequently.

    That’s all folks. No ads. Cool, huh?

  • Seven in one blow; a new personal best

         As long as I can remember there’d been a Mom and Pop Notions store, down near the corner with Tremont, where the El casts its mechanical shadow. Two brothers, Italian, first generation and as unlike as imaginable ran the place, selling patterns, yarn, yard goods, scissors, stuff like that. They also took in alterations and repairs, and, near the end of this story, opened night classes.
    Facto, the older one, thin and gaunt to where a string of spit looked downright pudgy hanging next to him, was probably the boss, de facto at least. Ipso, jovial and of ‘generous‘ dimensions, spent the longer shifts of the two, and for those reasons most of us kids called the place ‘Ipso Fatso’s. I recall my Mama several times a week screeching out my name, then handing me through the tear in the screen door a piece of yarn. “Run down to Fatso’s and get me a hank of this. Oh and some of that brown I used last week. Here’s a quarter now. Bring back the change.”
    Down I ran, dodging delivery trucks on and off the sidewalk, then waited in line, timidly like a pet spaniel. Always the standard mix of mousy locals, raven-haired Northeastern students, flaxen-locked Beacon Hill beauties, and plain old Boston blue-hairs. They were the worst, time-wise; nothing to look at, plus they often gave the impression that instead of scheduling psychiatric counseling, they’d decided to save money and spill their hearts out to Fats. I’ve never learned to interrupt heart-spilling-ness episodes, and so, till I got home with the goods, the season for warm scarves had often passed us on by. Just kidding, but so it seemed.
    Enter Facto. The fellow had surprisingly ‘modest’ public relations skills, especially in a business where relating to the public is a large part of the equation. Always openly criticizing his brother’s sewing skills, he seemingly cared not a whit about tact. He was, in his words, “tired of watching Ipso sew so…’so-so.’” So ‘Sew up a Storm’, the  night school he’d just established, was a logical vent for his frustrations I suppose.
        I could go on, about the fire, about Ipso’s surprise appearance at my son’s bar mitzvah, oh, and the time he did kinda hurt my feelings. For my final project in the sewing classes, I’d lovingly  but at the last minute of course put together not one but two ballet outfits, in separate styles. Hoping for praise (or at least a C-), I was hurt, not deeply but still moderately pissed, when Fatso eyed them up and down, then opined”
    “I’d call ‘Impromptu Tu-tu 2′ too Teutonic, Solberg.”
    Probably the sequin Maltese cross is what done it for him, but we got over it.
    Anyway, I’ve already made my point here, so ta ta for now, I’m off to atone for my errors, grammatical or financial. Kinda tough to do in a manifestly atonal country like ours. Yom Kippur is the only day of the year when nobody pulls out in front of me in traffic without signaling.   /JS

  • ‘It’s’ in action, fighting the elements

    It’s raining, Queen; our fragile kingdom can’t afford to lose

    Its reigning Queen, you may catch cold. I do suggest you choose…

    My option for rebellious silver iodide: Repress!

    Yes it’s ‘rein-in’, Queen, the forces who precipitate this mess

    One dark and stormy night I was called in to advise Her Majesty, Figurehead VIX.
    I left her an elegant yet modestly dry sweatshirt, several bottles of reagents…oh, and this short poem. (above) Hasn’t rained since, and she’s still reigning, but the populace is at the dew-or-die point. Perhaps my suggestion was a bit extreme?

  • LUBIADA 2011! Never been so excited about an idea before

    (Ok, well maybe once a long time ago, when I was just dying to see what would happen if I fit something I had into something I didn’t. Yeah, it worked fine)

    But speaking of earthy delights, I’m way psyched about my idea for a lubia-shelling contest. (that’s string-beans, or black-eyed peas for you southerners) I’ll make it a community event, hold it during Succot. (a holiday which is coming up where nobody does much in the afternoons)
    I’ll have two categories: over-12 and under-12. Yup, no one 12 years old will be allowed to participate. Hey, I don’t make the rules…
    Wait a minute, I do make ‘em, so here goes:
    You get time to warm up/practice, but I keep those beans. And no tossing out half-open pods just cause they pissed you off.
    And then, a timed run for each participant, probably 30 minutes, but I’m open to ten or twenty. Every contestant gets to sit comfortably, the supply box to his/her right or left, a pan in the lap, and I’ll probably let ‘em throw the empties on the ground, like peanut hulls, for a carnival atmosphere. I/we weigh the beans and record the fact in the Book of Life.

    What to do with all those beans?

    Not sure yet. Hell, I don’t even know if anyone’s coming. I’ll probably offer free drinks and snacks, maybe quiet pea-picker music in the background, and prizes(!) Yeah, that’ll be why they show up; to claim the fabulous prizes.
    Now I could offer First Prize: a kilo of lubia, then Second and third prizes: five and ten kilos respectively (*rim shot*) Sorry,  little bit of bean-humor, but it might not go over, plus it’d be tough scraping together 16 kilos fresh anymore; the giving season is mercifully winding down.
    No I think the First Prize should be a custom tee-shirt that says ‘Lubia Shelling Champion, Kadima, 2011.
    Still, there are a lot of details. Like should people kinda ‘register’, (so I know how much soda to set up), and where to hold the Games; at my place (where I have tons of parking and quiet) or somewhere central, so they can walk there and pose, bein’ seen and seein’ bean . Hmm..
    Oh, and the     big issue: Who gets to keep the beans?
    First of all, unless someone comes up with a secret weapon or competes on steroids or meth (allowed, by the way), ten minutes of straight-ahead hulling nets me at least about 50-60 grams. That about covers the bottom of a tin cup, to give some perspective. So we’re not talking about dump-trucks here, more like a couple kilos, dry. The beans sell for 10 shekels a kilo, or about a buck fifty a pound. Big deal?
    Well, I planted ‘em, watered, tied up the vines for hours every day, picked the suckers, and dried ‘em in the sun. So in terms of time and money invested, to me they’re worth closer to 50 shekels a gram (!) The price of meh weed here (so I hear)
    I know what you’re saying: I picked the wrong crop if I want to make money. Yeah, but like I mentioned in the last post, the sewer at the prison really smells bad.
    And to answer the question: depending on public-relations needs at the last minute, I’ll try to keep the shelled beans for my very own. Hope they enjoyed the challenge, the hopes and dreams, the soda, the beer, and the atmosphere. Wish me luck.

    Wu: Assuming you give away the beans, what esle you get out of it, buddy?
    Me: Duh, a chance to present myself as a fun-loving socially-outgoing character.
    Wu: Quite a feat for a reclusive little misanthrope…
    Me: You know what they say: “Plus je rencontre des gens plus j’aime les haricots”

  • Shitty post about ‘its’ and ‘it’s’

    Dawned on me today, (at daybreak), as I drove past Tel Mond Prison’s failed sewage treatment plant… to never, never ever do anything illegal!
    No, actually, I realized that the usage Troubles with Its and It’s likely stem from the lack of
    parallelism with ‘shits’ and ‘shit’s’. Yes, that’s what dawned on me. Sad, ain’t it? Well, if anyone‘s entitled to dig through excrement it’s probably moi, having spent half my childhood knee-deep in it.So let’s dig in, shall we?
    Here are some example sentences for you to clip and magnet to the fridge.
    Shit happens
    Yeah, we all know that. Next…

    This shit’s gettin’ old.
    Talking about either shit that happened some time back in the past, or more commonly, shit that like, just keeps happening. The continual form of the verb ‘get’ is ‘getting.

    Weird shit’s been happening to me!
    Here the {apostrophe-s} in the word ‘shit’s’ takes the place of ‘has’. Somehow, saying ‘Weird shit has been happening to me.’ just sounds too formal and analytic.

    Anyway, it all started, I believe, with the alien; small, menacing, and grey, who conked me on the head a week ago while I we feeding the chickens. That’s some weird shit for ya! I told my Mom about it… but she don’t give a shit.
    Yup, not even one. Maybe  Dad?
    “Son, I don’t give two shits.”
    Ok, after the disappointment and sense of abandonment wears off, one can at least enjoy having learned that ‘shit’ has a plural, ‘shits’ for two or more…um.. ‘excretory events’. Fine, but what keeps you up at night is wondering which is the more apathetic, not giving one, or two?

    Anyway, I called the alien ‘It’. Didn’t have any recognizable gender manifestations. Oh well, what did I expect?  It’s an alien.
    Short for “It is an alien.” Most folks encountering creatures from outer space feel rushed for time, and use the handy contraction. That’s why it’s there. Uh oh…

    Contractions! The stupid book just says if they’re less than (ed- ‘fewer than’?) ten minutes apart, see your doctor. Oy, there’s another one, no time for grammar. But why me? Not only past the prime child-bearing age but also male. Men don’t have babies, except for maybe cannibals, who have them for appetizers. That’s gross. And I’m pregnant? Why? How? When? Must’ve happened when the second alien knocked me out cold. Yes, there were two of ‘em. I was unconscious for about fifteen minutes, I’d guess. That’s  fairly short for an amorous episode, at least where I come from. Pisses me off, the whole thing; I’ma gonna call this one ‘It’ too.
    Looks like there are two ‘It’s.
    True, one doesn’t encounter this situation that often, but when it happens it’s nice to know there’s a word for a pair of ‘em: ‘Its‘.

    This Alien doesn’t know its ass from a hole in the ground.
    ‘Its’ here is a simple neuter possessive pronoun. No apostrophe. It doesn’t deserve one.

    Your spouse? Um…its name is ‘It’.
    Guess that’s what I’ll have to tell the lackeys when I register the demon-child’s birth downtown.Yes, Ms. Feinberg,     ‘It’ is It’s name, duh.
    Here we get to use an apostrophe, since the name belongs to ‘It‘. But don’t get used to seeing it. In most cases, one has to suffer seeing ‘its‘ as a possessive but without a ‘postrophe.
    Sickening but correct. Now where were we?

    Oh yeah, in deep shit. Shit’s bad name stems most likely from its odor. Humans learned olfactory preferences the hard way, over a period of millions of years (or about a day and a half, depending on your IQ.) Anyway, the wiser Neanderthals learned from the bears to shit in the woods, not in the bath-tub. The tub’s for trying out rose-petal scented soap, stuff like that there. Man, I’m gonna take a long bath when this shit’s over. Meanwhile:

    If yer looking for a neuter possessive pronoun well, it’s ‘its’.
    But if something’s neuter, and simply is what it is but you’re short on time, than use “it’s”,
    the contraction for… Damn. how do you breathe and push at the same time?
    F*cking irresponsible alien,     I hope only bad shit’s happening to It’s ass.

  • Found a peanut… underground!

    I was just innocently digging in the garden today when I came across this(!)

    Probably those same atheist nut cases who spent all that time burying giant fake bones they cast in their garages working with the lights off. Just to prove that the Almighty God needed billions of years to get it right (?) with homo sapiens. Most of us know better, and it won’t work on me, infidels.
    Not this time. Like millions of other unashamed Believers, I happen to know that peanuts are created in them there fancy metal boxes with the lighted up buttons. You find lots of ‘em in office hallways. The Mommy and daddy Peanuts feed on the little  metal discs we push through the slots, and if we are Kind and Patient, they come out to say a big cheery ‘Hi there!’, dressed in their festive transparent plastic finery. Ok, some of them are created at high altitudes, where passenger jets harvest them to give out as souvenirs to the travelers. But underground? Don’t make me laugh.
    There were no tracks or signs as to how the perpetrators might have worked this deception, and the peanuts themselves tasted just perfect. Still. it’s a thoughtless thing to do, to wrench them from their natural, well-oiled dispensing machine, remove their clothing (!), and bury them alive underground. Whoever done this seriously needs to Get Right with God.

  • My most thoughtful Xanga comment ever

          I’m in tears. For the rest of my life I’ll never think about footwear without remembering the time and effort an anonymous guy or gal named, modestly “g1827“ spent composing this comment (below) on yesterday’s ‘Gnutrino’ post. Never mind that it has zilch to do with the topic. What’s a dumb sub-atomic particle worth anyway, compared to this heartfelt gift?
    I’ll let the Readers appreciate the text, and my thoughts (in red) as I read it, becoming more overcome with emotion with every line:


    “The quantity of days perhaps you have noticed your toes had been miserable from the shoes or boots you have put on?
    {Yes, truly a non-trivial quantity, as we mathematicians put it. And ‘miserable? I have indeed taken to calling my feet ‘Les Miserables’ lately.}
    The quantity of days perhaps you have were required to drench your toes right after putting on an awfully uneasy boot?
     {Ah,‘ drenching’. If it only worked as advertised. Before today I’d reconciled to probably wearing my ‘uneasy’ boots unto my ‘unquiet grave,} 
    Most certainly women’s check simply no additional with the option is here plus it will come beneath manufacturer T boots?
    {Have to differ with ya there, bro. Women’s check, in my experience, does often come with an ‘additional, but why nit-pick?}
    Inside several models which range from bridal flowers printing to make sure you gorgeous leather-based, most of these residences try to make your toes seem like that you’ve completed all of them a massive like.mbt shoes ,
    {Right on. The bridal flower motif shoulda worked its magic, but no luck. I’m on pins and needles now. Do go on.}
    Simply consider the particular HB Deep blue Inflammed Trainer.moncler weste , The application evokes the look about ease andcomfort as well as reliability and will become put on since constantly to religious organization as it might into a supper party.
    {Oy, a way with words you have, Sir or Madame. And what good is a shoe, religious or secular, which is not ‘become put on’? Never looked at it that way.}
    Should you become out of the house more frequently yet can’t stand in order to cramp an individual straight into a past, smelly sneaker?
    {Yup, that’s me to a ‘T’. trying to cramp them damn individuals whom I can’t stand into the past.So, shoes are the answer, you say?}
    Look at the actual HB African american Running shoe 237. Through only 1 check you are able to notify it is the ideal match regarding walking throughout the playground and window searching around.
    {Bingo. And I’d thought dumbly to stick with my Italian fence-climbers with the pointy toes. I’m sold already, and we needn’t discuss pedophilia or voyeurism. Expect a check in the mail for a couple dozen pair of ’237′s What I do with ‘em is my business, right?}} 
    You could start to provide the HB Black color Suede Running shoes 201 a go? There’re since breathable because they usually are more comfortable. HB athletic shoes provide you with each feasible set of sneakers you’ll need for virtually every celebration you can actually come up with.
     {Hell, I feel like celebrating already! Who’da thought I could come up with something feasible right here on Xanga?}

    HB young ladies shoes or boots certainly are a required product or service for virtually every girl that beliefs a powerful footwear for women which will looks just like the idea supports. HB shoes or boots provides you with the obviously outlined and also dependable houses designed for tired foot which can be tired with hard stiletto heel shoes but they also even so support the lovely pattern which usually virtually any young lady would love to have. HB young ladies shoes or boots possess this type of vast choice of boot designs in which possibly even in case you wanted yet another wide range stiletto heel shoes; a person pleased to see answers to that cramping pains and also unpleasant versions by means of other sorts of manufacturers.
    {Perfect! My young virtual ladies are all powerful, and so we have here a perfect fit. And stilleto? I may need restraints.}

    HB Shoes and boots provides flower, brown leafy leather-based, black color leather-based, merged coloured leathers, suede within the diverse vary as well as various other unheard of types that can definitely come across their particular method directly into each individual woman’s sneaker carrier.
    {Wow, that’s some heavy organic unheard-of styling.}
    HB sneakers would be the great organization you might have become waiting giving you solutions within the critical pair of shoes to produce everyone easy when you are away from home.
    {Man, you read my mind. I die every day from the effort to produce easy. And here I finally found the right organization.} 
    How might you deposit all the ease and comfort as well as wonderful rates associated with HB Shoes or boots for virtually every several other product which may almost certainly result in very seriously wounding your shoe subsequently after getting damaged for the purpose of days or weeks at any given time?
    {Great question. Yeah, wounded shoes gather no moss, as the saying goes.}
    It’s not possible to none in the event you deposit that fabulous and also practical patterns on the HB girls footwear assortment. There’re geared towards eliminating always be used and as you are requiring a set of shoes or boots intended to withstand the examination of energy equally well mainly because they might impress your pals within whatever function, HB Shoes or boots produces precisely what thinking of.
    {Amazing. That’s me in a nutshell. What you said.}

    Proceed outside the time connected with irritating, stuffy footwear in which get away from your toes through anguish subsequently after simply several hours involving sporting all of them.
    {I think I love you. Getting away from my toes has always been , you know, a dream of mine.}
    Investigate HB girls shoes and boots for the purpose of cool solutions which are secure, sturdy, stylish and as well affordable. If it is time for you to redefine oneself, begin from the ground upwards having HB trainers.
    {No need to add a word. Today will be the first day of the rest of my life, redefined by your incalculable prescience in sending me this personal message. Thank you from the bottom of my feet.}

    I must point out that 95% of the sweet comments I receive here move me deeply. Just that this one moved me somewhere I’d never been. Now to try on these new shoes…

  • Nu, nu, nu, Moti !

         It’s been known about in tight circles for 30 years or so; the existence of yet another neutrino, the fourth to be discovered, after the electron, muon, and tau ‘flavours, and named the ‘gnuon’, after its associated ‘particle’ 
    ‘Who ordered this shit?!’ has never been more appropriate than in the case of the ‘gnuon’, (Vgn) which, unlike its featherweight brothers carries a sizable rest mass. (on the order of 268.017 kilograms!) It moves in a vacuum (but not for very long) at velocities up to 17.7 meters/sec. (40 miles a hour for you stuck-in-the-mud types) Strongly interacting with matter, (oddly, for a neutral lepton,) the ‘gnuon’ makes cosmic detritus out of any enclosure one is brash enough construct to enclose it. Yet it can be constrained (like the American Bison, about which the owner’s manual dryly states ‘…this animal will stay inside any fence it feels like staying inside of…’
    Anyway, our Israeli possibly well-meaning whistle-blower/traitor, Mordecai Va’anunu, working at the Dimona nuclear research site in the Negev desert, {sources have revealed to this writer}, was aware of this dangerous novelty being occasionally spit out in experiments with Tritium decay products. And it was for this reason, and not the open secrets he in fact revealed, that his little Show ‘n Tell episode with the British tabloid ‘Sunday Times’ needed to be nipped in the bud sooner rather than later. Thanks, Cindy, now go take a shower and try to forget about it.
    I myself am risking  personal freedom by stating out loud, here on an uncensored Xanga, that:
    “Va’anunu knew new ‘gnu’ neutrinos were being created”.
    There, I said it and I’m glad. Give me a call, Cindy. And don’t bank on subduing me before the grand climax this time.