Memorial Day

The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it.

-Thucydides

Pop Culture Frenzy, Round 47

Welcome once again to Pop Culture Frenzy. 

Last week in Pittsburgh, a burglary suspect running from police, taunted them with a nursery rhyme. Which nursery rhyme?

Molly?

 

Hark hark the dogs do bark?

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  incorrect. 

Byron?

 

 

 

 

Three Blind Mice?

 

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  incorrect.

Fluffy?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tom, Tom the piper's son.  Stole a

pig and away he run.

 

 

 

 

The pig was eat and Tom

was beat.

 

 

 

And Tom went roaring

 down the street.  

 

 

 

 

Police brutality is a real

problem.

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  incorrect.

Cyndi, with which nursery rhyme did the burglar taunt the police?

 

 

 

 

They shouldn't chase suspects.

Someone could get hurt.

 

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  still waiting for your answer.

 

 

 

 

 

Hey diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle. 

The cow jumped over the moon.

 

 

 

 

The little dog laughed

to see such sport.

 

 

 

 

And the dish ran away

with the spoon!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you suppose most poets take

psychedelic drugs?

 

 

 

 

 

Some say it enhances the imagination.

Didn't Edgar Allan Poe take drugs?

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe the Pittsburgh burglar

was a poet.  He stole

 to pay for drugs!

 

 

 

 

 

 

If he did, he needs help,

not police misconduct.

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  he'll have lots of time to write poetry in jail.  By the way, the answer is The Gingerbread Man.

 

 

 

 

 

Run run as fast as you can.

You can't catch me, I'm the

Gingerbread Man.

 

 

 

 

 

So ends another round
 with no winners. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nevermore!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Round 47

Fluffy/Molly  21

Bryan/Cyndi   18

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pop Culture Frenzy, Round 46

Welcome once again to Pop Culture Frenzy.  In honor of National Reentry Week, the Department of Justice created a new policy aimed at avoiding the words "felon" and "convict" when referring to felons and convicts.  Use of such harsh, accurate words are "disparaging", might hurt convicts' feelings and put a damper on felonial success.

What should we call them now?
Bryan?

Crooks?

 

Hostmaster:  incorrect.

Fluffy?

 

 

 

 

Credit Risks?

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  incorrect.

Molly?

 

 

 

 

 

Jail Birds?

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  incorrect.

Cyndi?

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunate?

 

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  the DOJ just might approve of that one.

Bryan?

 

 

 

 

 

Criminals?

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  incorrect.  Are you even trying?

 

 

 

Not really.  I can't

seem to get worked up over
hurting a hoodlum's feelings.

 

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  good thing you don't work for the government.

 

 

 

 

Indeed.
 My tendency is to call a

law breaker a law breaker.

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  Fluffy?

 

 

 

 

How about peccant?

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  that's pretty.  It's still offensive.

Molly?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm confused.

If calling them what they are

is wrong, why call

 them anything?

 

 

 

 

Hostmaster:  don't forget, this is government.  Groups of people must be labeled.  Some of these groups need special handling. 

Minds more nuanced than ours have come up with a couple of suggestions to replace the unacceptable "convict" and "felon".  These are they.  "A person who committed a crime" and "an individual who was incarcerated."
 

 

 

They can do better than that!

That's still belittling people
who are reintegrating into
society after serving
 their sentence.

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes the truth be little.
So ends this Round.  Nobody wins.
 

 

 

 

 

Round 46

Fluffy/Molly  21

Bryan/Cyndi   18

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is Spring

 

 

 

 

 

What's My Name

I've been married to The Handsome One for over twenty years. 

 

 

When we married, I kept my name.  This was not due to some notion of modern womanhood or  feminist whatnot.  I'd had the same name for 33 years, that name was who I was.  The name thing was non issue to THO.  Had children occurred, I would have changed the name.  Well.  Children did not occur. 

 

It is a little embarrassing to admit that a big reason I didn't change my name is that it was inconvenient.  You might say I kept my name out of laziness.  All this wouldn't matter now, if it were not that I seemed to have changed.

 

 

 

 

My identity is now very much THO's wife.  So.  Should I change my name 21 years after the wedding? 

 

 

 

 

There's something else.  The Handsome One's mother's name was Lynn too.  I never met my mother-in-law, she passed away before I met her son.  It felt wrong that our names be the same- like it was somehow disrespectful, audacious.  Now, I wonder if it would be in honor of her son, that fine man who is my husband, that I share her name.

 

 

 

They're Back and So is My Cussing Habit

For the past several years, I have made a sincere effort to reduce my swearing.  It has gone fairly well- most of the time.  Then there are times when the effects of outside forces negatively effect my peace of mind.  After that, an explosion of bad words flow like a waterfall down a sheer cliff.

 

The latest cussed avalanche began when after a short time strolling around the grounds, Lois sported over a dozen hanger-ons.  My initial response was to yell, "I will kill you!"  Then collecting the tools to do the job, I continued, "I will **** kill you!"

Henry too, was tick ridden.  Tweezers poised, I exclaimed, "you ***** tick bastards!  You will die a **** horrible death!"

 

 

 

 

After removal from their unwilling hosts, the ticks were dropped into a deadly alcohol bath.  "Die!  Die!  Die!  You evil ****  ****!"

 

 

Later, as the Tick Killer was showering, the swearing increased considerably.   "How dare you!  You ****!" 

Two ticks were upon my body.  Gripping them between my thumb and finger, I stepped out of the shower, dripping all over the floor.  Seizing a pair of cuticle scissors, I cut each tick in half and then in half again.

"Take that, you **** parasitical ****!"

The bathroom nightmare wasn't over, though.  Soon, a horrible discovery.  There was a tick nestled between my toes.   "Ahhrrgggh!  ****!  You are not welcome here, ***** !"  

This tick too, was cut in half and in half again.  "I will kill you all!  You, and all your **** brethren!  **** ***** *****!!"

Lois, the voice of reason, suggests that the ducks be called upon to dispatch the ticks at ground level.

If needed, wild reinforcements are also at the ready.

OK, birds.  Get out there and kill, kill, **** kill.

There's Been a Breach

Sacks of duck feed are kept in the garage, inside a large plastic tub with a secure lid.  All winter long, the duck food has remained clean and dry and easy for the Duck Keeper to access. 

Then came Spring.

That there are mice in the garage is not news.  They've been leaving their droppings on the lid of the duck food container and lots of other places too.  For example, there are mice droppings intermingled with crumbs of soap surrounding a little plastic container holding a bar of soap.  (This soap is in the garage now.  In season, the soap sits beside a rain barrel so the Duck Keeper can wash her hands without having to go inside the house.)

The soap crumbs tell us that mice can get through plastic.  Still, they had not breached the tub holding the duck food.   That changed.  Perhaps energized by the Spring Equinox, they ramped up their efforts.

One day a hole was present in the side of the container.  Employing low tech ingenuity, the Duck Keeper stuffed a rag in the hole.

The rag held, but a second hole appeared.  The Duck Keeper stuffed an second rag in the second hole.

The Duck Keeper transferred the duck food into a metal container.  Will there be another breach?  Stay tuned.