F16’s Don’t Kill People, 500 Lb. Bombs Kill People

THIS. Oh just go have a look at it. I wish I’d thought of it myself.

-But somehow the execution really failed. Go have a look at my silly cake this week.

I shouldn’t laugh, but when a mock rescue drill goes awry, and the owner of the lifeboat company is named "Mr. Flood", you can’t honestly expect me to let it pass without mention, can you?

Yes, I realise smoke inhalation isn’t funny… but "Mr. Flood" is downright hysterical.

-in today’s Guardian food section.

And you thought the only noteworthy things she ever did was dump Paul McCartney.

From the article:

 "At home we don’t tuck into tiered, iced reproductions of the Albert Memorial every weekend."

The scale reproductions of Kensington are quite another matter.

My mother-in-law is having a birthday in little over a week, and will be spending it here, with us. I’ve been planning her cake, and expect to do a trial run this weekend. I will not, however he doing iced reproductions of the Albert Memorial, or any other buildings. Still, I’ve been looking around on the web at all the beautiful things people are able to fashion from cake and fondant. THIS cooking blog is amazing. I’ve never seen anything quite like her creations. Go hit randomly through the archives and prepared to be blown away.

The most challenging cake I ever prepared was for a co-worker’s 40th birthday. I needed a cake that would feed over 50 people and ended-up doing a very large wedding-like cake. I still have the giant pans, but can’t imagine ever using them again. For days before the event, I sat modeling marzipan into elaborate bunches of grapes to be pressed into the sides connected with piped-on grapevines. I believe I fashioned an entire cornucopia and fruit from the stuff as well, for the top. It was a marvel-but nothing like the cakes I’ve seen on the web.

These were pretty amusing, but scroll to the bottom of the page and look at the images of animals people had inked around their belly buttons…Yeah, exactly.

Via The Agitator.

You can’t discuss the bible as anything other than the literal word of God in a Western Civ. class-at least not in Iowa.

The case is so outrageous I can’t do it justice here, you’ll need to read it for yourself.

Wonder what goes on in the science department?

I do, and so do many others.

I must say that until about fifteen minutes ago, I’d never given it any thought. I just mentioned this to L. and gave me the oddest look-I guess he reads in black.

It’s one of those strange things, like whether you have earlopes that are connected to your head or dangle free. You’re reaching-up right now to check, aren’t you?

For months, I’d been waiting for the day I could let Daniel buy his first gumball from a machine. "Why the wait?" you’re probably wondering. It seems the machines have fallen out of favour with retailers, and they are almost as difficult to find (at least where I live) as a telephone booth. A while back, my son had run across a drawing of a gumball machine in one of his storybooks and has been after me ever since.

Today, I found a gumball machine-a whole row of them in a small grocery store in Ashland, Nebraska. Although Danny is too young to chew gum, I figured he could play with it a bit before tossing it out-which he could have, had the machines contained any gumballs-or candy of any sort. Parents must have complained that a gumball once a week at the grocer was going to lead to childhood obesity, or hyperactivity, or what have you, because my choices were limited to toy jewelry or stickers.

"Fine", I thought, "Every kid loves stickers." So I took a quarter out of my change purse and then looked again, somewhat dumbfounded that this little rite of passage was going to cost me fifty cents. Well, they had me, as I couldn’t very well say no at that point. Fine, another quarter. I helped Danny fit them into the slots and turn the knob. If you don’t have children it might be hard to visualise the absolutely joyous look on a child’s face when the plastic ball holding the prize pops through the little metal door. It’s the sort of smile parents really live for. Thank God they don’t have automats anymore or I’d be going broke. Anyway, for about five seconds my little boy was the happiest he could ever remember being, at least until he discovered the prize wasn’t all that interesting. He was still pleased with it, but the sheer delight kind of faded.

As I opened the plastic package and looked at the sticker dispenser I thought, "Oh, it’s a cute bunny." And it was-a cute bunny saying the most horrible things.

My two and a half year old is now the proud owner of stickers that read:

"Hey, dorkwad."

"It’s all about me. Deal with it."

"Hi loser."

"Let’s focus on me."

"I’m not listening."

"Plotting revenge is fun"

I know that I am going to sound impossibly old saying that I find this sort of smart-ass stuff for children offensive. I was in college when the phrase "It sucks" became widely used, and I still remember the utter look of horror on my mother’s face the first time I casually used it. It wasn’t until Johnny Carson uttered the phrase on air that it was finally acceptable to her. I’m trying to imagine Johnny Carson calling someone a "dorkwad" and I just can’t do it. I do however, recognise it isn’t that horrible.

Honestly, I’d be more upset to hear my child saying "It’s all about me, deal with it", as that seems to be the prevailing attitude these days. Do we really need arrogant toddlers? These sayings show up on everything from children’s clothing to book covers, and at times seems inescapable. It is passed off as cute, harmless fun though I’d beg to differ. Is it harmless fun when children are instructing their parents to "Shut-up?" I hear it constantly. It’s my position that a responsible parent does not permit that level of dismissiveness from a child-be it through something as outright rude as "Talk to the hand", or the somewhat more accepted, "Whatever."  Those are conversation enders-there’s nowhere to take a discussion after "Whatever."

In the teeniest print on the back of these charming stickers was a website for the creator that you can look at HERE. Yes, that’s right-glowing reviews and a contract with Scholastic. You’ve got to be kidding. Even better, the PSA ads featuring anti-drug propaganda. I’m not honestly sure which is more harmful to society at large-this sort of sarcastic, self-absorbed rubbish, or drugs. Either way, you grow into an asshole that no one wants anything to do with.

I suppose the lesson from this was to examine everything I purchase beforehand, though I honestly don’t think a few stupid stickers will cause Daniel irreparable damage in respect to his emotional growth. As an isolated item, they are simply a collection of not-terribly-cute stickers. In a wider context however, they do fit in to our ideas about self-importance, self-absorption, and how we chose (or chose not to) interact with others. I’d offer that greeting someone with "Hi loser", or "Hey dorkwad", probably isn’t the best place to start.

Heather Mallick on the tasering of the university student in Florida.

She hits on a good point that out-of-control cops and stupid politicians aren’t hard to understand, but the members of the audience that simply sat there, gazing ahead were pretty pathetic.

I have a commentary at Unknown News this week, that can be read HERE.

Marcel Marceau dead at 84.

Some links for the needlework lovers.

I’m at long last returning to my lacemaking, and embroidery as Danny is old enough to understand leaving the pillow lace bobins alone (attractive nuisance, I know). After trying my (unskilled) hand at quilting, I’ve returned to the things I know best. Sort of. Argh, fine, I confess-I started another one. This quilt is much smaller, and only two sheets of fabric (front and back) to be assembled. I’m hoping the stitching will be attractive enough to make it interesting.

The problem is that my first effort was a disaster, and then I figured out all the, "what went wrong" aspects of a project, and feel like it is worth trying again. Meanwhile, I have a half-finished tablecloth embroidered in single thread satin stitches waiting to be completed.

We won’t even discuss the king sized embroidered quilt, except to say that at last (after six years) the blocks are at least fitted together. It will probably take another six years to baste and quilt the bloody thing. Then, I’ll promptly decide I loathe the binding and pull the damn thing apart and begin anew.

Perhaps there’s some sort of pledge one can take to swear off the fabric store, as I’m clearly unable to control my purchasing impulses.

You know, the odds of Earth being hit by an asteroid are…OK, pretty unlikely, but don’t you feel better knowing there are people thinking about it…so you don’t have to?

Whew, I know I’ll sleep better tonight.

Becky has more details on the Paddington shilling for Marmite story. It turns out that The bear’s Papa didn’t "sell out" after all.

It is a bit sickening how these characters end up on everything from diapers to cereal. Even without television, Danny is still exposed to advertising around every turn. I’ve taken to calling the characters by the "incorrect" name (Elmo has become "Red Guy", and no, not in a Marxist way), but someday he’s going to find out that "Shy Mouse" has a real (corporate) name.

I really do. I wonder if the McCartys would adopt me?

Ten Things To Remember When Confronted By The Police.

Bonus fun-try to spot which comments are law enforcement trolls-hint, it isn’t hard.

Not again.

Quick, everybody run, there’s an MIT student wearing  the motherboard from her computer around her neck-it must be a bomb.

I don’t want to sound like a jerk. I’m going to risk sounding like a jerk. Let me say here at the outset, I’m not defending the actions of people who are driving drunk. I am however really uncomfortable with the idea of police doing surveillance of the public by standing in the drive-through window of the local fast-food joint. Yes, that’s right-they are watching over the shoulders of employees as they take orders looking for people that appear drunk.

Again, I don’t want to sound like I’m defending some idiot getting pissed drunk and driving, but when did police start using places of business to carry out their sting operations? This was a large chain, but I wonder, do the companies have the right to refuse having officers manning their drive-throughs? I’d think, once word got out, it would be pretty damn bad for business. Even if you were completely sober, would you want to stop for something to eat knowing Officer Friendly was peering in the camera checking out your every move? I wouldn’t. In fact, there’s one less place I’ll be spending my money.

Does this sort of thing take place everywhere, or is it just a Lincoln specific police state tactic? Anyone know?

Want to see the very pretty pink pie I baked? It’s Rhubarb Apple.

Have a lovely weekend everyone.

Ever notice the feature on Blogger’s main page that lets you see the titles of the most recently updated blogs? Two just ran by, that I swear were like something out of a comic strip with the devil on one shoulder egging you on, and the angel on the other giving a moralising lecture.

"Journey To Lose 200 Pounds"

               vs.

"Let Yourself Go Girl."

Hmmm.

-But still pretty bad. Here’s my short list of the most glaring -you’ll likely find more.

"simple nomadic Masai herdsmen"

("simple? Is that the new "primitive" or "savage"?)

"an ancient, proud tribe"

("Tribe?" There are no "Tribes" to speak of in Kenya. There are ethnic groups. "Tribe" is a Western construct that came out of colonialism when they forced people to relocate and live among people they’d never interacted with before. Then some white guy in a pith helmet would declare, "OK, you’re a tribe, you’re a tribe, you’re a tribe…" The concept of a tribe is as foreign to Kenya as white guys in pith helmets telling people who they are).

"men gather to talk, to decide, to rest beneath the tree, and in general while away the day delightfully"

(Those lazy savages!)

"It isn’t for me to criticize or judge…"

(But as a white Westerner (sans pith helmet) it’s just so much fun, I can’t help myself…)

"They chattered happily with each other, stroked the heads of the children and cared for each other – and all the while they smiled and seemed happy. As they toiled and bore the burdens of village life, one word came to mind – acceptance. They accept their lot. Even so, I thought, I wouldn’t want to be a Masai woman; but I wouldn’t mind being a Masai man at all. "

(I’ll bet you wouldn’t).

I’m not shocked anyone is THIS stupid, but I am shocked that she’s managed to get as far in life as she has.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go bang my head against a wall in hopes of losing enough brain cells to be competitive with my fellow Americans.

Might just want to sleep on your next flight, as your choice of reading material is being recorded in a database.

Maybe they can just nix the onboard movie and use the projector to show propaganda films.

This sounds like a lovely, new playground however…

Can’t we just let the kids play without obsessing over developing this or that strength or skill? Now the playground designers are getting into that racket where every thing the child does (from building reading skills from alphabet soup to developing sense perception from brightly coloured blocks) must be with a certain improvement goal in mind.

"Promote collaborative play?" Good Lord, are they serious? People that use phrases like "collaborative play" ought to be tethered to said piece of playground material and…well never mind-they just shouldn’t use phrases like that. Playing together? Is that what they are trying to say? Besides, you can’t "promote" it. Kids are going to play with whomever they choose. My goodness, let them at least get out of training pants before we start getting them ready for the exploitation of low-level office work with all the rubbish of "collaborative groups" and "Teams." I’m sorry, ever time I hear and adult say their job is a "team leader" I think, "Oh, how nice-softball or hockey?" How about "Den Mother" if a woman has the position?

Because clearly, the guy is so (self) important he should not be subjected to hearing anyone else’s heavy breathing during a work out at the gym.

-Or does it seem like a bad idea to call out a SWAT team for a suicidal individual who is alone (no hostages) and no one else is in danger? I’m glad they were able to get him out of there without greater use of force, but come on-does a depressed man in a detached garage really warrant the use of a SWAT team?

The Shrewsbury Housing Authority, Shrewsbury, Mass.

You know why they’re doing this-because they can. It makes some official feel powerful to lord it over the elderly poor who are essentially helpless. Bastards.

Give ‘em back their flags and chairs and find someone a little less vulnerable to pick on.