MacPhoenix: WebSpaceI’m going to create a window sticker that says, “Hey! Self-Centered Asshole! Learn how to park!” See if I don’t!
I don’t care how nice your car is, or how much of a hurry you’re in. When you’ve got to quickly run into a Dunkin Donuts to get your Mocha Coolata, get yourself a parking space, like everyone else in the damned shopping center. If you don’t, and I see you, I’m a-gonna slap one of these imaginary stickers on your car. Just you wait. Jerk.
Sigh…
A few other blog articles that I found interesting during these interesting times:
Spinsanty has a helpful primer on Iraq and our reasons for going to war. It is, I’m sure, important to realize that almost every reason that the administration gave for this war has been misdirection or an outright lie. Via name of blog.
The shocking, awesome Coalition of the Willing roll call is highlighted at Pandagon.
Notes on the Atrocitieswrites a thoughtful piece on American nationalism that points out correctly that the odd, idiosyncratic thought of 40 years ago is as quaint to us now as our thoughts will be to our country in the future.
Soundbitten gives us a bit of historical perspective.
And finally, TalkLeft points out the round up of Iraqi nationals on American soil. Via Atrios.
This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco
This ain’t no fooling around
This ain’t no Mudd Club, or CBGB
I ain’t got time for that now
—Talking Heads, “Life During Wartime”
Sir, turn up the TV sound
The war has started on the ground
Just love those laser-guided bombs
They’re really great for righting wrongs
You hit the target and win the game
From bars three thousand miles away
Three thousand miles away
We play the game with the bravery of being out of range
—Roger Waters, “The Bravery of Being out of Range”
The crushing weight of the obvious and inevitable is still less than the overwhelming fear that we have released a catastrophe upon ourselves. I hope it is quick; I hope death and destruction is kept to minimums. We drew a line in the sand, (and erased it, and drew it again, and erased it, and drew it again, ad infinitum…) and now we have crossed it: A war of our own making.
Interesting. Scary, too. Very scary.
It is a good thing that I was born in this country. I love it here. I can go about my normal business, today and tomorrow, with just slight mental damage from the war. America is blessed. Scary, too. Very scary.
Naladahc, once again, has a very though-provoking post on his opinions on the current state of affairs. It is scary, too.
For those of you lucky enough to be in the Long Island area (scary!), please feel free to join me at Münchaba Lounge this evening, where I will be a featured artist. I will try not to freak out about all this war stuff (really scary!).
Onward to victory.
Oh, Auntie America is in a tizzy again. No matter how popular Uncle Gov may be in the neighborhood, some local kids keep pestering him to clean up his own house before he goes off to work for iRaq Oil Concerns®. Auntie forgets that these kids with their slogans and marches and ideals are actually direct descendants of our father, Mr. Foundings. We are all related, and just because some of us don’t particularly agree with Uncle Gov, that doesn’t mean that we hate Auntie America. She’s a bit batty, sometimes, but a good ol’ broad, nonetheless.
Auntie also forgets that Father Foundings felt it ideal that those of us with grievances should be able to address them to Uncle Gov, even if Uncle Gov doesn’t want to hear it. Dissent isn’t treason; although, little Johnny Ashcroft down the block thinks it is. So maybe, we can say, it is just Auntie American to take issue with protestors.
Poor Auntie America. Her lap-dog, Media, kept barking and barking at the Frenchys’ house across the pond. Now, even Auntie’s husband, Uncle Gov, can’t take the noise and has started to threaten the Frenchys with gross, unmindful rhetoric.
But Auntie forgets just what our long time friends, the Frenchys, have meant to us. The supported us during our property dispute with the Englunds so many years ago. We, in turn, gave the Frenchys a couple of ideas on how to redecorate their own garden. The Frenchys have influenced the way we speak, the way we dress, and even the way we drink and eat, what with all the fine wines and cheeses they bring over to our pot-luck dinners. And the Frenchys have been ever so grateful to us since we helped repair the damage of that horrible storm back in the 40s.
Yes, the Frenchys can be arrogant. They are, in this situation, looking out for their own interests, before ours. And we often don’t understand their foreign ways, but, no doubt, we’re appearing the same way to them. Auntie America would do well to remember that a difference of opinion with her neighbors is no reason to throw the baby out with the bath water. Let’s not fight with a neighbor that we’re not at war with, Auntie. And let’s keep the nice statue that they gave us that sits in our front lawn. It means so much to both families, and it brightens the place up.
But that is just the way Auntie America is. I guess one could say it like this: It is Auntie American to belittle an ally over a disagreement.
!!!UPDATE!!! – This entry is 4 years old! If you’re looking for a review of the fish sandwich Wendy’s introduced in 2008, read the new review.
Well, local Wendy’s are now serving fish sandwiches. I don’t know if this is just for the Lenten season. I hope not, because, while I don’t eat red meat and am trying to give up eating chicken, I am addicted to Wendy’s French Fries. <topical humor>I’m sorry, Freedom Fries.</topical humor> Anyway, Wendy’s also serves Dr Pepper, always have, unlike the schizophrenic McDonald’s in the area, which run about 3 to 1 against having it. What’s worse is that Taco Bell had just recently solidified it’s Pepsi-block of soda selection, meaning that instead of Dr Pepper, Taco Bell offers some crap called Wild Cherry Pepsi. Oh, the horror.
So Wendy’s is probably my favorite fast food. The Spicy Chicken Sandwich is probably the best chicken sandwich made on an assembly line somewhere in Peoria, period. But, as noted, I’m waffling on the chicken. I keep meaning to give it up, but that would mean that I would have to have a garden salad or a baked potato whenever I went to Wendy’s, just to get my French fries and Dr Pepper. A baked potato and French fries? Please. So, I’ve always had fantasies about the legendary Wendy’s Fish Sandwich. (I have a very mundane fantasy life.) I just knew Wendy’s would make it better than any other fast food chain.
Incidentally, it has recently come to my attention that I mispronounce “Wendy’s.” Apparently, I am unable to combine the simple phonetic combination of “when” and “dees.” I say, “wind” and “dees.” This has caused me much embarrassment and soul searching. I don’t even hear the difference when others say the two words. One, of course, means that conditions are brisk and breezy; the other is the best fast food chain in America, but it sounds the same to me.
So, one can imagine my excitement that the mythological Wendy’s Fish Sandwich finally arrived on our Long Island shores. I am deeply saddened to tell you that it sucks. Sucks balls nasty. Okay, not really balls nasty, but it ain’t good. The fish is the standard chopped up white fish that all American’s enjoy in our fish sticks, and, in fact, the breading is similar in constancy to a high school cafeteria’s Friday Selection. The similarities to high school food do not end there! The fish patty is soggy and limp (yet the coating is crispy when bitten into. Isn’t modern science amazing?), and the taste is bland and, well, really bland. They throw the obligatory single iceberg lettuce leaf that is a signature of all Wendy’s sandwiches, add a bit of tartar sauce, and put it on the always tasty, always moist, potato bread bun. The bun is the best part, but the tartar sauce wasn’t bad.
Sigh. So that still leaves the lowly McDonald’s Filet O’Fish as the best drive-thru fish sandwich out there. Checker’s is close, but they only offer it around Lent. Burger King just went through another test-market-liked-this-one-better change of their secondary menu items, which made their once huge, meaty BK Big Fish sandwich into an almost perfect clone of the Filet O’Fish, but the McDonald’s still remains champ because their tartar sauce has dried onion in the mix. Oh, Wendy’s, where did we go so wrong?
And yet, I will order it again, the next time I visit Wendy’s, in the naïve hope that my purchases will speak to the boys upstairs that there is a market for this type of thing. And I’ll probably ask ’em to throw a slice of cheese on it, too. Because, really, all I’m looking for is a sandwich to go along with my fries and drink.
What the hell is wrong with CNN (and by extension, all our American media outlets)? This little propaganda gem was found on their web site today. The linked article goes on to talk about how cable news might be playing some role in helping the Bush administration link Saddam and al Qaeda without any real evidence to support it. Well, duh.
Fast Food Patron: I’d like a fish sandwich, please.
Counter Person: (smiling) Oh, are you Catholic?
FFP: Hmm? Excuse me?
CP: Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Friday during Lent, and you’re ordering fish. I was just asking if you are Catholic.
FFP: Oh, ah, no. (smiles) I never eat red meat. I always order fish.
CP: (disappointed) Oh…
Suddenly, inexplicably, I was in the mood for a Super Big Gulp. I used to have a Super Big Gulp, 48 oz. of pure caffeinated, bubbly sugar water, 5 or 6 times a week, but then I got into the coffee habit to cure my caffeine fix, so now I’m down to only one Super Big Gulp per month. Last Thursday, my time had come.
We were at the Nautilus Diner in Massapequa, and there’s a 7–11 just east of it. I went in expecting the usual assortment of sodas and was sorely disappointed to find that Dr Pepper was not one of the dozen sodas I could choose from. Taco Bell recently changed from Dr Pepper to Wild Cherry Pepsi and have pretty much lost the biggest reason that I ever eat at Taco Bell in the process. I take my soda consumption pretty seriously. I resigned myself to Pepsi, which is my favorite soda bottled or canned, but Dr Pepper is my favorite fountain soda. I take my soda consumption way too seriously.
Anyway, this was also one of the growing 7–11s to decide that straws are their most valuable consumable. I could take all the cups and lids that I wanted, but the straws were only available at the cashier’s counter. Since I have estimated that straws cost 7–11 less than 1/10 of 1 cent, even the admittedly low-profit margin on all convenience store goods led me to believe that the difficult access to straws was a weak kind of anti-theft device. Because you could easily walk out of 7–11 without paying for a Big Gulp or Slurpee, but HOW WOULD YOU DRINK IT without a straw?
Finally paying for my Pepsi Super Big Gulp, an amazing bargain at 99 cents, I noticed that all the straws at the counter were for Slurpees, which, for the uninitiated, meant that the straws were all cut to have little scoopy-spoons at one end. This makes drinking soda with them next to futile, because it severely lowers the vacuum power of the straw. I asked the young, pierced man behind the counter if he had any regular straws that I could have. He took out a Slurpee straw and held it next to the Super Big Gulp container. I wasn’t too sure what he was doing, but I figure he was just going to give me a Slurpee straw and damn the torpedoes. Instead, he went off to the side with the straw. Then he took a pair of scissors — I swear this is true — and cut the scoopy-spoon neatly off the bottom.
Needless to say, I, being the good WASP that I am, took the straw with a thank you. I was going to have my Super Big Gulp, because, after all, I take my soda consumption very seriously.