Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Monthly Archives: May 2006
President Al Gore
Al Gore delivers great standup (or sit down, actually) on SNL. Who knew the guy had a sense of humor?
Crooks and Liars has the vid and the transcript.
D.
OMFG Karl Rove indicted ?!
Truthout’s Jason Leopold reports that Special Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald “instructed one of the attorneys to tell Rove that he has 24 hours to get his affairs in order, high level sources with direct knowledge of the meeting said Saturday morning.”
Boys and grills
About a month ago, I foolishly offered to give recipes on demand (but only for that day!) I’ve satisfied most requests, but not all of them. This one is for Leslie, who asked me for simple grill recipes.
By the way: this guy knows how to grill.
Recipes below the cut.
Happy Fitzmahannakwanzaakah to You
Hat tip to Dusty.
From Truthout:
Within the last week, Karl Rove told President Bush and Chief of Staff Joshua Bolten, as well as a few other high level administration officials, that he will be indicted in the CIA leak case and will immediately resign his White House job when the special counsel publicly announces the charges against him, according to sources.
My question: what will this do to Bush’s approval ratings? Can’t be good.
Let’s do da Dubya limbo. Say it with me: How low can you go?
D.
Cross-posted at Kos. Go gimme some love!
Excuse me. Could you take a look at this?
I seem to have something on my forehead.
It’s the damnedest thing. Maybe what we need is a bit of strong light and a magnifying glass . . .
Come for the manties, stay for the dry discourse
I mean, stay for the insightful analysis of the current rhetorical flamewar over illegal immigration. Yeah. That’s what I meant to say.
I’m guest-blogging over at Blue Gal’s place today. She found me some mighty fine undies to wear, yessirree. Come see.
I was going to link at “come see,” but that would waste a Google-tweaking opportunity. How about this: come see hot men’s underwear. That’s better.
D.
Where’s the basement?
Bush hits 29% in new Harris Poll, and that’s before the latest bad news on domestic spying — you know, the fact the bastards are sniffing their way through millions of American phone records.
“Domestic data mining” — aw, come on. Call it what it is: domestic spying.
Don’t worry about the government.
D.
Pre-adult Swim
Temple City had one bowling alley, one miniature golf course, and one movie theater, the Temple Theater. This last caused me no end of confusion as a kid. “We’re going to the Temple” could mean a baffling and stressful trip to the theater (Dad liked his war movies) or the interminable boredom of Temple Beth Shalom. Why, oh why couldn’t my parents leave me with a babysitter?
We had one mall (by the early 70s), one small library, one park. The mall had not yet succeeded in killing off our one short but thriving Main Street. We had a few big nurseries nearby — always fun for catching bugs and lizards — and a few elementary schools, which in those days were ungated and stayed open on the weekend.
And we had one public pool.
Thirteen things I wish I’d said
. . . to that nice young man who gave me a speeding ticket last week. Seems I got up to 70 mph when I passed a Mazda truck.
Caveat
for my auto insurance provider and various and sundry individuals in law enforcement. This is SATIRE, capisce? Not an admission of guilt. Heck, most of this isn’t even true.
Thirteen things I’d like to say to that strapping lad from the CHP:
1. You mean there’s a law against that?
2. You may have clocked that Mazda truck at 55, but when I passed him, he was doing 54. I swear it.
3. While we’re on the subject, this 55 thing? Doesn’t work for me.
4. But anyway, that was pretty slick passing, huh? I mean, the way I slipped around that guy, it was like he was standing still.
5. Yes, it DOES matter to me if I get home forty seconds sooner.
6. Huh? Why? Because my childhood sucked. (The My Parents were Mean to Me defense. Hey, it worked for Zacharias Moussaoui.)
7. Live hard, die young, eh? You know what I mean. I saw you strutting back to your car, fondling your big hard billy club.
8. I don’t understand why you can’t let me off with a warning, like those last six officers who pulled me over for speeding. Excuse me — alleged speeding.
9. What if I promised to spend the remainder of my working career helping the old and sick?
10. It was just my crappy luck, you being there at that instant. You wouldn’t want to penalize a guy for bad luck, would you?
11. Look at the way my hands are shaking. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to drive again, let alone speed. I’d say I’ve been punished enough, wouldn’t you?
12. Tell you what. You rip up that ticket for me doing 70, I’ll take off like a bat out of hell, and you can nail me for doing 85. Think how much better that will look.
13. Look, over there in the redwoods — I saw a flash of orange. It’s an escaped Pelican Bay prisoner, I’m sure of it! Hurry, you have to hurry!
D.
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!
You know what to do. Do it.
Sigourney Weaver’s acting skills suck.
Ever get the feeling your best posts were behind you?
I’m idea-starved this week. Is it possible I’ve so thoroughly ransacked my memory that there’s nothing left inside but recipes?
Naw. Ain’t true. But as I’ve mentioned before, all my best stories are off limits. I mean, I have to live with these people.
I have a great Thursday Thirteen in store for you tomorrow. Maybe that will make up for this otherwise anemic week. For tonight, here’s a quickie memory. Not my best story, but over the years, its appeal to me has never faded.
We grew up next door to an old Southern nurse named Sadie. Sadie was so benign, even my mother couldn’t hate her, and my mother hated all of our neighbors. Worst thing my mom could say about Sadie: her floors were filthy. Which was true.
Sadie had a Cocker Spaniel named Baby. Every day, she played fetch with Baby, and she encouraged us kids to throw the ball for Baby, too. We liked Sadie because she didn’t mind if we played keep-away on her front lawn or pretended her overgrown backyard was the Congo. She never lost her temper with us, not once, not even when I ate her hibiscus flowers*.
One day, while all us kids were playing touch football in the street, Sadie tossed the tennis ball into the bushes and Baby dashed after it. He came back with not one but TWO tennis balls. Okay, now you have to imagine this old lady with a genteel Southern accent. Ready?
“Wah Baby, lookah that! Baby’s got two balls, don’t you Baby? You got two balls!”
We kept repeating this to each other — Baby’s got two balls! — laughing ourselves silly. To this day, I’m sure I could get my brother to crack up just by saying, “Baby’s got two balls!” With the appropriate accent, mind you. And now I’ve passed the story on to my son, who says the same thing at every opportunity. Baby’s got two balls!
Us Hoffmans, we’re easily amused.
D.
*I had pica — remember?
PS: I pinched that photo from this website. (Evil me . . . but at least I’m giving attribution. That’s a step forward.) Lots of great Spaniel photos, but do yourself a favor: turn off your speakers first.