Wednesday, December 5, 2007
I know that the Volvo is not going to be the car we take if we end up driving. That car's days are numbered, without a doubt. I can't believe I haven'd done something about it already, except that I cannot figure out what the hell to replace it with. Never have I been so uncertain about what kind of car to buy.
For more on that and just about anything else that's new, you could check out Existential Cheerleading, my new, everyday-type blog. I started it today and hope it'll be a continual sort of thing. At the same time, I think I am going to keep this blog rolling with an eye toward a return to Montana in 2008.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
- The Steelers
- Eat'n Park
- Trout Waters
- Daniel Boone
- Rachel Carson
- Bill Cosby
- Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey
- Gene Kelly
- Tara Lipinski (nah, just kidding)
- Margaret Mead and Tom Mix (salute!)
- Man Ray
- Andrew Wyeth
- Jimmy Stewart
Of course, I should also point out the whole thing about the Constitution being written there blah blah blah as well as the Declaration of Independence blah blah blah and Lincoln delivering his address at Gettysburg blah blah blah. But these three things had little to do with Pennsylvania (well, ok, Lincoln's Danbury Address would have lacked some oomph). Really, Jefferson could have written his stuff in Schenectady and we'd all still be free, happy Americans.
But let's all raise a cheer for Pennsylvania's State Fish, the Brook Trout. Hip hip hooray! And it has two whole counties without traffic lights (because no one stops at intersections?). On the downside, the state has 50 lakes and 2,500 man-made lakes. What's up with that?
And for you gourmands, please note that Pennsylvania leads the United States in scrapple production. Mmmmm mmmmmm (barf). Yes, I know. Spam. I love Spam. But Spam is not scrapple. I'll spample Spam, but I refuse to sample scrapple. Again I say, "Barf."
Residents of Idaho take note: Pennsylvania claims to lead the country in Potato Chip production. When the chips are made of scrapple, watch out, America.
I'll wrap up here with one more shining example of the greatness which can flourish in the cesspool that is Pennsylvania, proving that the most beautiful flowers are born in the stinkiest gardens: Fred Rogers. Sainthood cannot come too soon for the late Mr. Rogers, tireless educator of people (not just children) and tireless proponent of Public Television and this country's need for it.
The following excerpt from Wikipedia tells all:
In 1969, Rogers appeared before the United States Senate Subcommittee on Communications. His goal was to support funding for PBS and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, in response to significant proposed cuts. In about five minutes of testimony, Rogers spoke of the need for social and emotional education that public television provided. He passionately argued that alternative television programming like his Neighborhood helped encourage children to become happy and productive citizens, sometimes opposing less positive messages in media and in popular culture. He even recited the lyrics to one of his songs.
The chairman of the subcommittee,John O. Pastore, was not previously familiar with Rogers' work, and was sometimes described as gruff and impatient. However, he reported that the testimony had given him goosebumps, and declared, "Looks like you just earned the $20 million." The subsequent congressional appropriation, for 1971, increased PBS funding from $9 million to $22 million.
Thank you, Pennsylvania, for Fred Rogers. Looks like I owe you at least a small apology.
Now let's talk about Rocky Balboa. (barf)
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Spam Museum is a must-see. From your first spample of Spam to your last dollar spent on Spam merchandise, this place is another example of what America is all about.
Lies and deceit. Because Spam is not ham. Heck, Spam is barely even a food. Yet we love it. Oh, how we love it so! And the people who work there? They are such Spam devotees (and company people to boot) they resist any attempt to wink or nod at the joke that is Spam. Go to England and try to get one of those guards in the silly fuzzy hats outside Buckingham Palace to smile or crack up. They don't. Neither do the employees of the Spam Museum admit that, hey, maybe Spam is kinda silly. And a whole museum dedicated to it? Sillier.
Oh well. Go when you get a chance. For now, go eat your Spamburger and leave me alone.