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

Yeah, I laughed too. The programme is for real-it is supposed to encourage children to read. I think "Nuggets" might have been poorly chosen terminology given the whole Golden Sower bit.

 

You may view the original site HERE. I think you may enjoy this very mature photoshop picture better.

Click for larger view

U.S. supply of rye is depleted.

 

Shitty time to start a bakery, eh?

 

The article does not mention it, but rye flour shows up in much more than plain old rye bread. It is a popular flour for feeding sourdough starters, and sometimes a cup of rye flour tossed into a whole wheat loaf will give it depth that you’d never know was rye, but would miss were it omitted. For a commercial bakery, rye is as important as yeast.

 

The article mentions people stockpiling, but again you can’t go overboard as it has a shelf life-particularly rye. More than a year (less under humid conditions) and you’ll have rancid flour. Even a bakery that goes through large amounts will need to stay within limits. Sure, you’ll use it eventually, but it won’t be the same product it was two years earlier. I could see using it if it was subsistence-but not to sell at a bakery counter.

 

Still, there’s a degree of absurdity complaining about the price of flour in the US when people are starving in developing nations because of US economic policies. Living as I do at the epicentre of the ethanol boom, I can see what people are planting as I drive along-and it ain’t wheat. In fairness, many farmers can’t plant wheat or other crops destined for human consumption because of the fertilisers and herbicides they’ve used on the fields over the years. They also get trapped into a cycle of needing certain products to treat the hybrid seeds. These things are never as simple as the media wants to make them-and I’m certainly over-simplifying it here.

 

I’m not an economist, so I have no idea how long a cycle like this will take to correct. My economic advisor (currently asleep on the floor as he has a hurt back) likes to point out that we don’t have that long of a period to look at for "trends." Historic trends usually mean about 100 years of record keeping, which isn’t a very long period of time to try and base any predictions on. It sure as hell feels like the 1970’s (in an Eastern Bloc Soviet Occupied Country) but feelings aren’t always consistent with facts.

 

For what it’s worth-medium and light rye have a longer shelf-life than the gritty stuff.

 

I’m not really sure what good comes from holding Congressional hearings other than possibly publicising an issue. Holding Congressional hearings to investigate abuse at programmes for "troubled youth" (God, I hate that expression) won’t amount to much unless there is ultimately some sort of legislation to oversee these businesses-and that isn’t going to happen. It isn’t. What’s more, calling it "abuse" kind of minimises the institutionalised violence in these places.

 

The violence being carried out isn’t something that just started happening, and people have known about it for decades. Congress is making an issue of it because of a few high-profile cases where children died in custody-but it isn’t going to change, or be thought of again once the hearings conclude. It isn’t.

 

Every few years someone writes an expose, or films a documentary-and then nothing changes. Children continue being carted off to these prisons, the owners make money hand over fist, and there are almost never prosecutions for acts that would be serious violent felonies had they happened to adults instead of vulnerable, voiceless children. Come on, who is going to take the word of a "troubled youth" against the "professionals?

 

In a way it is worse having these Congressional hearings because they create a false hope that someone is going to be held accountable.  What sort of justice can you hope for beyond shutting these torture prisons down for good?  That isn’t going to happen-not while it is profitable. And really, unless it happens to you personally, does anyone give a shit? The typical reaction from the parents of children sent to these hellholes is to keep quiet and pretend it didn’t happen.

 

Congress should stick to things people really care about like doping in sports. Now that will get people worked up.

 

If you’ve survived one of these places, congratulations. Here are some links you may find useful.

 
 
 
 

Iowa. If you are near enough to go, here’s the information you’ll need.

Go look, they’re funny.

A few interesting examples, though you’ll need to read through the sensationalised media coverage.

 

Saudis to execute a woman for witchcraft

 

Mass Hysteria In Senegal Causes Schoolgirls To Faint

 

Lynchings In Congo Over "Penis Theft"

Did you know that thunderstorms can trigger asthma attacks? I didn’t. The storms suck all the pollen out of the atmosphere and bring it to ground level where asthmatics can breathe it.

 

I like the advice to remain indoors with the windows shut during thunderstorms. That would probably be good advice asthmatic or not.

No really, that’s not the beginning of a bad joke. Astrophysicists in Italy think they’ve found dark matter.

 

I want you to know I resisted titling this piece, "Dude, That’s Heavy", or "Shining Some Light On A Dark Matter."  Anybody have a question they want to axion this subject?

 

I think it is time to power-off the computer and go to sleep.

Every evening, my husband reads our three-year-old son two bedtime stories. One, read from a book with the light on, he calls "Electric Light Stories." Then, once the lights are off, Papa tells stories that are either made up or memorised. Those are "Dark Stories."

 

For the past few weeks, Danny’s  "Dark Story" has been the story of Phaeton-at least as my husband remembers it. Or, interprets it.

 

"So then all the kids were taunting him saying, "You ain’t got a daddy! You ain’t got a daddy!" And this made him pretty mad. And his mama couldn’t tell him either, which made him even angrier. Grrr. So he decides he’s going up that mountain to find out what the deal is."

 

So tonight, my husband was thinking out loud and decided he’s going to need to drag that story out for another four or five years, because Danny is not going to like the ending.

 

I’d have to agree.

We were driving along, listening to the "oldies" station when Night Moves began playing. A few seconds into it, I looked at my husband and remarked:

"You know, I’ve never really paid attention to the lyrics. They’re kind of vulgar, don’t you think?"

"It’s a song about going to the bathroom at night."

 

 

For better or worse.

This might be a good time to stock up on staple items like rice, beans and flour. Large retailers have been rationing purchases-which can’t be a good sign.

 

I hear things like this and then look around and see no evidence of it. Granted, I live in a state with a small population, but I don’t even see people trying to be thrifty.

 

If you decide to stock up, keep in mind that you need to transfer the large bags of rice into either plastic tubs with tight fitting lids, or jars. If you have space in the freezer, it keeps well in plastic bags. I often advise people against hoarding staple items, but under the current circumstances, it seems a bit more prudent. You must however, store these items correctly.

 

Beans also freeze well. Flour will keep for about a year in a tightly closed container.

 

A while ago I took up canning as a serious activity (rather than a fun hobby). I have tested recipes and advice ready to pass along to interested parties. It is easier than you think, but the time to begin isn’t when there’s an actual crisis.

 

In the United States we’ve been fortunate to have good food available to us for very little money. Sometimes it is difficult to understand how much of a person’s income goes to food/survival in other parts of the world. While it is too early to tell if this is simply as case of panicked buying (like people who run out for milk and bread before a snowstorm) I stand by my assertion that when retailers begin rationing staple items, things ain’t rosy.

 

 

 

Quiet around here, eh?

 

 

Eh. Blech.

 

 

And in other news, I have like; fifty projects all going at the same time. I did manage to get the winter clothes cleaned and packed away, so that’s something. I’m still sick. Oh God, am I sick. I dragged my sick-arse out to the craft store today and bought far too many skeins of pearl cotton so I can embroider this piece of Irish linen (I’ve been hanging on to for years) into a Fractur as a gift. If I finish the stupid thing in the next 60 days I can return the extra thread for a cash refund. I hope I finish it in the next 60 days. I hope I’m alive in 60 days.

 

 

Figuring there’s a reasonable chance I might be dead soon, I wanted to get in as many of those important childhood experiences with Danny-just in case. So I bought him a package of Circus Peanuts Candy. For those of you reading this in other parts of the world-a circus peanut is a squishy marshmallow-ish orange candy shaped like a peanut that smells like Play Doh and tastes like banana. I know that sounds horrible, but I actually like them. I do! I also like Necco Wafers, and C. Howard’s Violet Gum-so I’m a bit of a weirdo. Anyway, I resisted buying the five-pound bag I saw at Walgreen’s earlier in the week and settled for a small .50-cent serving bag.

 

 

The thing about circus peanuts is they need to be fresh. A hard circus peanut is…well, icky. Have you ever caught yourself momentarily becoming your mother? Sometimes I do completely out of character things like stuffing a tissue up my sleeve (in case I need one and can’t be bothered to walk over to the box), or lifting and trying to peek beneath the cardboard part of the package of turkey bacon so I can get the "meatiest" package-which is utterly insane given that it is 99% lean turkey bacon-and I’m not even phobic about fat. I can’t help it, at some point my inner mother took over and before I knew it I had cinnamon disc hard candies in my purse and I was arranging my closet by colour. Even as I gently (ever so very, gently) squeezed the package of circus peanuts to make sure they were not hard (and then squeezed another package for comparison lest I overlook and even softer, fresher bag) I knew it would be a very short road from squishing candy to insisting the counter person at the deli stack the slices of cheese perfectly even so the corners don’t break off in the bag leaving a pile of little cheese triangles at the bottom. OK, maybe not-but the peanut squeezing bodes pretty poorly for my future old lady behaviour.

 

 

"Danny! These are the best candy ever. I’m buying you a bag of your own."

"Are they chocolate?"

"No, they’re fake banana."

"Danny likes chocolate."

"You’ll like these, wait and see."

 

 

(Sniffing candy and examining it suspiciously) "Danny really likes chocolate."

"Aw, come on kid, this is a rite of passage-your first circus peanut. These are one of the oldest candies made in America" (why I thought that bit of trivia would impress a three year old, I can’t say).

(Takes a bite, makes a face) "Danny doesn’t like the manufacture of these. Danny likes chocolate."

"Can mama eat yours?"

(Shoves Circus Peanut at mama)

 

 

"Manufacture?!"

 

 

Oh well, I guess I keep my title as the last living person that enjoys a (fresh) circus peanut.

 

 

Seriously, he said, "Manufacture" and used it correctly enough to not be a fluke.

"It’s Fucking Checkers!"

 

I never had an Atari system of my own, but I remember some of these games (obviously, not as depicted).

 

Via

Poor Mojo.

I went to great pains keeping our child away from television. Great pains. Three years later, my boy is sitting on his papa’s lap in front of YouTube watching 1970’s advertising for Rainer Beer. It’s not even a good ad-it’s a guy on a motorcycle with the voice over saying:

“Rrrrrrrraaaaaiiineeeerrrrr Beeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

 

 

It’s all my fault-I started it by searching for a Moo and Oink commercial.

You’ve got to be shitting me. Clinton is trotting out Bill Ayers as her scary threat to America if Obama is elected?

 

Pathetic. Just pathetic.

 

A story from The Collected Works Of Mama Magruder.

 

 

 

 

This is the story of how the Hoooode Oooode Gooode Cheese (That’s Gouda to those in the know) came to America. You see, for many years Americans were unaware of the delights of Hoooode Oooode Gooode Cheese, that is until two cheese makers named Hugo and Pieter decided to send some. One day, Hugo said to Pieter:

 

 

"Jah, let us put on our wooden shoes and clop over to the windmill to make Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese so we can send it to America for people to enjoy." Said Pieter.

"Jah, good idea Hugo."

 

 

And so they put on their wooden shoes (for everyone in Holland wears wooden shoes) and Clop-Clop-Clop, walked over to their windmill where they made cheese. It was an old windmill, and when they opened the huge wooden door it made a terrific "squeak", that was really more of a groan. Pieter and Hugo removed their wooden shoes at the door as they had seen the Japanese do when they visited Japan (except of course the Japanese worse soft shoes, not wooden ones) and set about making the Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese to send to America.

 

 

First, Hugo boiled a huge vat of milk. Then, Pieter added the cultures. With a huge curd knife that was really an old battle sword, they took turns cutting the curds, for that was tiring work. Then, Hugo poured the curdled milk into cheesecloth and they hoisted it way, way, way up to the very top of the windmill’s ceiling and let it drip. When it had drained, they lowered the cheese, placed it in a press and then Hugo melted some bright red paraffin wax and coated the cheese.

 

 

Said Pieter:

 

 

"Goodnight, little Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese. We be back in three months to see if you are stinky enough to send to America."

 

 

And so they returned to their little cottage to watch The Price Is Right on their satellite dish. Hugo had a wall calendar featuring milkmaids that wasn’t exactly exploitive but probably not in line with contemporary Dutch milkmaid reality. Nonetheless, he took a bright red marker and drew a happy face on the first day December as a reminder to check on the sleeping Hoooode Oooode Goode cheese.

 

 

A few months later, Hugo and Pieter were watching The Price Is Right, and Hugo got up to use the water closet. On the way, he passed the calendar and noticed the bright red happy face and yelled to Pieter in the next room:

 

 

"Jah, Pieter! Today we must check the Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese to see if it is stinky enough to send to America."

 

 

And so they did. First, the put on their wooden shoes. Clop-Clop-Clop they went, out to the windmill. "Squeak", went the gigantic wooden door, and off came their shoes in the doorway.

 

 

"Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese, it is us-the cheese makers Pieter and Hugo. We have come to check on your stinkiness. Are you stinky?"

 

 

Pieter leaned into the room where the brightly wrapped cheese lay sleeping. He sniffed deeply "sniiiiiiiiif"

 

 

"Nope. Not stinky enough. Go back to sleep Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese-we see you in another three months."

 

 

Three months passed, and now Pieter and Hugo were at home watching re-runs of Sex And The City when Pieter said to Hugo:

 

 

"Jah, we should go check the Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese."

 

 

And so they did. They put on their wooden shoes and clop-clop-clop, out to the windmill they went. They opened the great wooden door, "squeak", and removed their shoes inside. Hugo stuck his nose into the Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese’s room and asked:

 

 

"Are you stinky?"

 

 

And it was. Oh, it was so very stinky. This made the cheese makers Pieter and Hugo very happy, for now the Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese was ready to ship to America. Pieter went to his small desk in the corner of the windmill and took a large quill that he dipped in an inkwell. On a sticky label he drew a picture of a windmill and the words:

 

 

Hoooode Oooode Gooode cheese from Holland, with hugs and kisses from the cheese makers. Pieter took the label and slapped it on the wheel of cheese in bright red wax and took it to the post office to send to America.

 

 

One day, Danny’s mama was shopping in the Hy-Vee grocery store on Q Street in West Omaha. Danny needed to use the bathroom, which was unfortunate as the bathroom at the Q Street Hy-Vee in West Omaha, Nebraska is the loudest bathroom in the entire world. It’s true, ask anyone. What’s worse, the loud flush is amplified by the tiled floors and high ceilings. Oh, it is a ferociously loud bathroom-but Danny had to go.

 

 

"I have to go, I have to go I have to go!" wailed Danny.

 

 

So Mama parked the grocery carriage by the cheese department next to the bathroom and they went. Danny made sure to place both hands over his ears as mama flushed because he already knew that the bathrooms at the Hy-Vee grocery store at Q Street in West Omaha, Nebraska were the loudest bathrooms on Earth. It’s true, ask anybody.

 

 

Still walking with his hands over his ears, they returned to the grocery carriage they had parked next to the cheese department, which was less a department, than a single case display.

 

 

"Look mama", said Danny, "What is that bright red cheese with the windmill on it?"

 

 

Mama looked, and read the label.

 

 

"It is Hoooode Oooode Goode cheese from Holland, with hugs and kisses from the cheese makers."

"Can we buy it?"

"Well, I don’t know-it is awfully stinky."

"Can we have it? Can we have it? Can we have it?" Danny clamored.

 

 

Surely you know it is impossible to resist the lure of brightly waxed Hoooode Oooode Goode cheese festooned with a hand drawn windmill and a love letter from Holland.

 

 

And that is the story of how the Hoooode Oooode Goode cheese came to America, specifically the Hy-Vee grocery store on Q Street in West Omaha, Nebraska.

 

 

 

This time of year I like to do a post reminding everyone to have a severe weather plan and at the very least, check the batteries in the weather radio and flashlight. In the midwest we tend to get a little too comfortable with severe weather, thinking we know exactly what to do and how much time we have in an emergency situation. I’m guilty of watching the severe weather from a window when i should be taking cover.

 

But I’m not THIS bad.

 

That photo above-that’s not good storm safety. Good photography, but bad, bad, bad storm safety.

If I hadn’t seen this in the World Herald, I’d be convinced it was from the Onion.

 

If teens want to attend an all ages show they will need a notarised permission slip from their parents.

Like most kids, when Danny gets excited he just blurts out whatever his brain sparks. Yesterday, I stopped at a Walgreens after going to the park so he could get a special ice-cream treat. Just as I was at that age, Danny was captivated by the Good Humor Strawberry Shortcake on a stick. You have to admit, as ice cream goes, it is beautiful.

"We’d better hurry up and pay, before it melts." I told him.

 

Danny raced up to the counter and in a voice that I can only describe as Jerry Lewis, he thrust the ice cream pop at the cashier and said (loudly):

 

"Hey lady! I’m getting a strawberry shortcake, lady!"

 

Thankfully, she thought it was pretty funny too.