Monday, October 31, 2011
There's a new movie about an old subject. Somebody thinks Shakespeare was written by somebody other than Shakespeare. Every time this comes up, the new candidate is always better educated, or of a higher class, than the historical Bard. Because, see, they teach this stuff at college, and the actual Will Shakespeare simply wasn't qualified to write at a university level. But unlike tenure, talent is capricious. You can't learn it or earn it. And genius always attracts small minds seeking to reduce it to their own scale. Next you'll try to tell me that Bob Kane didn't write Batman.
Monday, October 24, 2011
I like things simple. I like to decide what my position is on a whole class of ideas all at once. That way I can know what my opinion is just by checking to see who is on which side. So right now, Alabama has me flummoxed. That's because an unintended consequence of their new and scary immigration law is to make it absolutely clear that one reason we eat so cheap is because we have people working for us for less that we'd take ourselves. And I'm thinking any difference between slave labor and slave wages is purely semantic.
Monday, October 17, 2011
One of the things that starts to dawn on a guy as he grinds his way through his sixth decade is that if he was ever going to get a cool nickname he would probably have gotten it by now. More than likely, there will be no Pee Wee, Doc, or Big D for me. Not Sparky, Bucky, Lucky, or Duke. Not Scooter, Skeeter, Slats, Slick, Slam, or Slim. No Shorty, Sleepy, Specs, Spike, Spud, Tiny or Tubby or Chubby or Chink. Nickname acquisition is a young man's game: George Foster wasn't more than 29 when got tagged with Pops.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Last week I wrote my 250th rant in a row, which I didn't notice until now. That's a lot of rants. It's a good time to pause and reflect. I feel that I have thus far accomplished as much as any one man could hope to achieve in terms of keeping the public eye focused on extremely large watering cans and also gigantic pencils. I have written about the best way to buy bananas, what I think of Jerry Lewis, and interesting things I've noticed while riding my bicycle. Admittedly, there has also been a certain amount of trivial filler.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Your choice of pet says a lot about you. Like, getting a dog means you crave unconditional devotion, and keeping a cat indicates you're a sucker for emotional abuse. So what does ferret ownership signify? It certainly makes a statement, something on the order of, “I have so little personality that I prefer to be represented socially through a proxy rodent.” It's still a better pet than a rabbit, though. Did you know those cute floppy eared little balls of fluff eat their own babies? They also eat their own poop, redigest it, and poop it out again. Nature's postmodernists.