I've updated the list on the left, but I can't find MommaBear's name anywhere, so I'll just link her here. If I've forgotten you, let me know. Tally's up to $15,128 in donations and pledges. And the phones are still open. Blogathon pledges will be accepted through the end of Monday. Magen David Adom direct pledges are accepted 365 days a year.
Oh, and Gracie's fine. I'm not. Nothing that a good night's sleep won't cure. permalink
Gracie had an asthma attack, which woke me up after about three hours of sleep, which, alas, is enough to keep me awake until sometime this evening.
On the other hand, I can get back to the business of guilting for dollars. Twenty bucks? I only get twenty bucks while I'm sleeping? I can see how many readers I'm getting an hour: 75 per. Only one in more than 200 pushes the pledge or donate button?
We can do better than that. I want to maintain my number one spot. (The current number one has to be bogus pledges for hits. I'm ignoring it. But the current number three is hot on my heels.)
Thanks for pledging. When I wake up, I'll make sure the right email information goes to everyone. (WRITE BLOGATHON IN THE MEMO FIELD OF THE CHECK AND THE COMMENTS FIELD OF THE ONLINE CREDIT FORM.)
I am glad to be done with this. As Heidi and I keep telling ourselves about the overnight shift: We're getting too old for this. I do not think I will have a third go at the Blogathon.
Final tally (for now, phones are still open): $14,950 in pledges and donations.
Well, unless we reach that 60k this time. That'd get me to try again. 9:00 a.m. permalink
That's right. Last year I was mighty pissed that we had to write 49 posts in 24 hours instead of 48 posts in 24 hours, as promised. Somewhere. I even asked Cat about it in the early days of this Blogathon. She had the nerve to say that nobody ever said anything about 48 posts. Well, it may not have been stated, but it was certainly implied.
As a result, for the second year in a row, this is my protest post. It's 47b, not 48. 8:30 a.m. permalink
I knew I couldn't get away with it. Mind you, I tried. But the big lunk just showed up anyhow.
I feel like the Vaudeville comedian who's standing onstage, telling his jokes, and receiving a stony silence. So he starts tap dancing to see if that gets a reaction.
I may have to resort to posting another cat picture.
Come to think of it, I'll find one just for Marduk. 7:30 a.m. permalink
Now we're talking the home stretch. Two more hours. Only four more posts after this one. This is the part where I coast, having used up the bulk of my energy in the rest of the course. Why, I could use a Lance Armstrong analogy, but that might be overdoing it.
No yellow Jerseys here. The French are hanging onto them in case they need to wear something bright while surrending. 7:00 a.m. permalink
As always, there's more. Highly recommended. 6:30 a.m. permalink
That's a parody of a famous poem that I learned in high school. It came to be because it's 5:44 a.m. as I write this, and the first bird of the morning is singing.
I am tempted to find a rock. But you may remember from The Woodpecker Wars that there are no rocks available here. And I'm simply not in the mood to get out the ice cubes and toss them.
I worked night shift for ten years. The worst night to work was Sunday. It always felt like you and your shift were the only ones awake in the entire world. Second-worst night to work was Friday, for obvious reasons. Screwed up your weekend big-time to have to work until Saturday morning and then go out on Saturday nights only half-awake. By the time you feel normal again, it's Monday, and time to go back on night shift. That's how I learned to nap anytime, just about anywhere, so long as it isn't too noisy. I once slept through a work crew cutting down a tree in the neighbor's backyard. I moved to the sofa in the living room and slept there. It was daytime, and I needed to sleep.
Well, I'm losing my sleep for a good cause. I seriously doubt I'll be getting many donations in the next three hours, but I sure would appreciate waking up to a bunch more.
Obligatory stupid French insult: Marduk, the French suck, okay? Geez. Not liking this deal anymore. I mean, is this not the nation that gave us french fries? Is this not the nation that gave us the French kiss? What's that? No on one, yes on two? Okay, well, one out of two ain't bad. 6:00 a.m. permalink
For those of you reading this after the Blogathon has ended, you can still pledge. You can still donate directly. Cat's keeping the Blogathon databases open until Monday night. Magen David Adom accepts money all the time. Just remember to put BLOGATHON in the comments field of the online credit form, and in the memo field of the check.
I'd tally up the figures, but it's nearly 5:30 a.m. and damn, I'm tired. 5:30 a.m. permalink
Gee, there's a shocker: British WW2 documents reveal pro-Nazi mufti of Jerusalem fled to Iraq
Better luck next time.
And the (sigh) obligatory French Insult: What kind of country is it whose lasting American childhood impressions are in the nursery rhyme "I see London, I see France, I see so-and-so's underpants"? 5:00 a.m. permalink
Back is sore, check.
Listening to loud music late at night to keep you awake (but not so late as to wake your neighbors), check.
Too much junk food and soda aftertaste, check.
Desperately want to go to bed, check.
The feeling that you're getting too old for this shit, check.
It must be the Blogathon.
Here's the Hourly French Insult that I wouldn't let ruin the previous post:
LT Smash promised he'd call this year if he could, and he's a man of his word. He called last year and helped me stay awake. This year, he got to talk for twice the usual amount of time.
I know, I'm a rube, but that was the first call I've ever gotten from overseas, let alone the Middle East.
He says it's only 104 degrees this morning, instead of the usual 112. And we both laughed as a helicopter flew overhead and he told me I was hearing a live "military operation" from the sandbox.
LT's readers are contributing to the Magen David Adom fund, and they're mostly doing it because he asked them to. There's a word in Yiddish for people like him: mensch.
It was a nice conversation, and I'm very much looking forward to LT's Richmond stop on the vacation tour. And for once, I'll be wide awake when we chat. 4:00 a.m. permalink
Past four thousand! Woo-hoo!
And the current totals are: $14,800 in pledges and donations.
And while I'm at it, I'm on the phone with LT Smash.
Jealous? You should be. 3:30 a.m. permalink
It's schizophrenic post time! Probably due to my listening to Alice Cooper's "Billion Dollar Babies," the album with such classics as "Sick Things," "Elected," "No More Mr. Nice Guy," and, of course, "I Love the Dead," the song that got him the attention that sold albums. I loved Coop when I was younger. I still rather like him from time to time.
Some people think he's rather tame compared to the groups we have today, but I don't think so. "I Love the Dead" is about exactly what you think it's about. So Coop didn't use swears. Well, nobody really did in those daysit wasn't allowed. Lenny Bruce kept getting arrested for swearing during his shows. Imagine Eddie Murphy being arrested for swearingyou can't conceive of it.
I saw Coop's "Welcome to my Nightmare" tour. I loved it. Come to think of it, I saw an awful lot of last tours of seventies bands. I caught Led Zeppelin's Swan Song tour at Madison Square Garden. I saw Black Sabbath just before Ozzy left it. I saw Mountain not long before Felix Pappalardi was shot (but who knew?). A then little-known group called Rush opened for them at Asbury Park Convention Center. I remember thinking, "Cool guitarist. Weird voice on that lead singer. Bring on the man-mountain!" (That would be Leslie West.)
Hey, I also liked the mellow stuff. I saw Renaissance, and ELP, and Billy Joel, and Pink Floyd (v2), CSN, and even a Lilith Fair.
But I liked the Y101 Birthday Bash better. Especially Chevelle. I won't be slowing down anytime soon.
Obligatory French Insult, from Milt K.:
Lynn B. sent me this before she went to bed.
You have to find and capture Saddam Hussein using the following five items from the ACME catalog:
The posts will be up at the various blogs at 2:30.
(P.S.: Thanks to everyone who just donated to Lair and me. We feel so much less jealous now. Heh.)
Hourly French Insult:
I do believe the stream-of-consciousness time of night has arrived.
I'm not jealous. Really I'm not. But in the last hour, Michele has gotten $350 in donations, and Lair and I have gotten, well, none. But we're not jealous. Nope. Nuh-uh.
Along with the flat tire, I hit my thigh on the lever on the back of the driver's seat. It is an ugly shade of reddish-purple, and this is after having iced it, immediately. Alas, a bruise.
See, here's the problem with staying up late and eating junk food. Or eating any food, really. Your stomach just feels crappy after a while. You have put too much caffeine in it, and it is objecting. Time to get the Zantac, I think.
I just took another look at this post so I could smile at the picture. Rebecca has an amazing smile. She's incredibly cute. And boy, was she smiling when Tig deigned to rub up against her. Babies and cats are a nice way to start the day. Well, if neither of them is crying, that is.
This is the 34th post I have done today. I've written most of them. There are 15 more posts to go. That kinda sucks.
We all have monitors this year. I don't know if I'm breaking any rules or not. I suppose not, as I have not received a letter, or a yellow flag, or whatever the monitor is giving us. For all I know, it's a note like hall monitors used to give you in high school. But I never got one of those. I was an angel.
Yeah, I didn't think you'd believe it, but I had to try.
I do not have to include a stupid French insult until 2 a.m. Good. (Have I mentioned how tired of them I'm getting?)
By the way, I rock. (I needed one of those Stuart Smalley moments.) 1:30 a.m. permalink
Starhawk was kind enough to send me this guest post. (Of course, now I'm on my own until 9 a.m. That was it. We're done. Finis. Over. No more.)
The Hourly French Insult comes via Max Power's blog, on the slide of the French gaming industry:
What a timely post. I can receive email, but not send it. The mail server is screwed up again, like it was a few days ago. I don't expect it to get better by itself, and I don't really want to get a new hotmail account. (I don't remember any of my old ones.) We'll see. I may get one for the evening. In the meantime:
Update: [email protected] is my temporary address for the night. If you need a response for your email, send it to that address. Note, I can still get email at my normal address. I just can't send you anything back.
Update update: Normal email's back. Screw the hotmail account.
This is actually a fairly average letter from Combustible Boy.
It's midnight. We have received, so far, $14,135 in pledges and direct donations. Michele is only four dollars away from $3,000; I'm $52 away from 4k, and Lair is $109 away from two grand. Well done, people! Let's get over those markers and see what else we can do. We've got nine more hours! And I'm stuck in exclamation mode! Help! Stop! Please!
Of course, my biggest problem right now is trying to decide if I'm going to change over the date in my permalinks, as technically this post will be midnight, July 27th. But I don't think I want to bother.
Oh, all right. It's really not that much more effort. I'll change the date.
Lame French Insult of the hour: I took French in junior high and high school, and the teachers grew progressively worse each year. (It was a series of bad luck with teachers, not by choice.) My tenth grade French teacher also taught German and we all said he spoke French with a German accent, but we were too young to get the humor of that. I quit in eleventh grade, when, on the first day of class, I realized I was sitting with the C-D average students (I was an A-B average). So I had the hour free, instead. I think I learned more during free period than I ever had in French class. 12:00 a.m. permalink
I have maintained for years that I think God's greatest gift to mankind is the fried potato in all of its myriad forms. Growing up, my father never thought it was worth the time saved to make those crappy frozen fries, and we children soon learned to disdain them and make our own, all the time. Over the years, I have bought many different kind of vegetable peelers and slicers and fryers. For the past few years I've been buying the Daisy electric frying pot for about $17 from Target or K-Mart, and tossing it when it gets old and crummy. I'm on my third version of the "V slicer" or "Super slicer," plastic models of the mandolin slicer that professional chefs use. My peeler of choice is my Swiss peeler that I picked up in Englishtown, NJ for five bucks (and I don't know what happened to my spare, but damn, I wish I had it).
I make homemade potato chips, potato sticks, french fries, waffle fries, and various shapes in between. Not so often as I used to, but I get the urge from time to time. My absolute favorite kind is just taking the vegetable peeler and peeling a potato down, slice by slice. Those are the thinnest, crunchiest, best ones. And old potatoes taste better than new, though new ones cook better. All potatoes taste better after soaking in water in the fridge for a day. The starch turns into sugar and sweetens the flavor of the potato. Yukon Gold and russets are the best; red potatoes the worst (too moist). You're supposed to soak the raw sliced potatoes in ice water for at least an hour before cooking, but I rarely have the time or inclination for that. Sometimes I just peel the slices right into a frying pan of hot oil. They never make it to the bag.
Well, a few weeks ago, while looking for things to wash off the paint on my car, I found a restaurant equipment shop nearby. I walked in, and was in heaven: Right inside the door were the industrial-sized fryers that I've dreamed of having in my kitchen someday. That someday won't be now, because they're (sigh) about $1,300 on sale. And because I live in an apartment. The countertop version drew my interest for a while, until I asked the price: $350. Still too much to spend. But I did get something I've wanted for ages, that is increasingly difficult to find: A wire fry basket and a steel pot for the stovetop. (I was there a couple of days ago; alas, it's not in yet.)
The other "alas" in this story is the mandolin slicer, which is beautiful and has a julienne attachment, and a crinkle-cut and waffle-fry portion as well. But it's about $130. (Plus, it's French. I don't think I'm allowed to buy it.)
On the serious side, it's not in my budget. Yet. I wonder if I could find one to put on my wishlist. But the catalog has no website address, and in fact, hasn't even got a price on a single item in there. D. M. Jeffers. Oh, well. I'll have to settle for the fry basket. Can't wait. 11:30 p.m. permalink
We're nowhere near the home stretch. Right now, I'm trying to figure out how to conserve my strength, which pitches to come up with that will work, which to save for laterand how to do it without falling asleep.
I dont' have a kitchen timer. If I want to nap, I'd have to set an alarm. Or the microwave. Which probably would be a bad idea, as you should be cooking something in it if it's running.
The thing is, the only caffeinated beverage in the house that I like is Coke, and I'm tired of it. I wonder if I should try drinking coffee? I hate the stuff, but maybe if I could drink, like, half a cup, it would wake me up.
There's chocolate milk, but that's not very caffeinated. On the other hand, it tastes really good. Like liquid ice cream. Perhaps I will have that, after all.
And I'll drink it like a guy, too. Straight from the bottle.
Ah, the small joys of living alone. Not having to share your favorite foods is one of them.
And it's time for the Hourly French insult, which is actually starting to piss me off. Damn you, Marduk, and your stupid hoops.
I called my brother tonight. He ran into an old friend of mine in a bakery last week. I haven't seen or spoken to her in years. Of course I was curious, and asked about her health, and her children and her husband and her father. Got the mini-update. We talked for a while, and then my brother said the former friend of mine said she had no idea why I had terminated the friendship.
"That's why it ended," I told him. "Because no matter what, it's always my fault."
We were friends for decades. We met when I was thirteen and she was twelve. She lived across the street from me, and we became best friends. Stayed pretty close through our teens and twenties. It was in our thirties that things started falling apart. You'd think that as she got older, she'd get out of the habit of always having things her way.
When we were teenagers, she got into Transcendental Meditation and harried me until I broke down and got "initiated" and started meditating. I ultimately dropped it. She went vegetarian and tried to get me to do the same. I refused. She gave up on that when she realized it wasn't going to work. She got married and pregnant, and after she had her son kept bugging me to get married and have babies. Yeah, that didn't work out too well, either. But that didn't stop the insistence on sameness. She sold a certain long distance plan; I should join her. She worked with the Natural Law Party; I should help her. She even bought me a coat identical to hers, so we would look the same. Everything was her, her, her, her, her. My plans, my likes, and dislikes were given only nodswhen I came over for dinner, the vegetarian food was put aside for chicken or beef, to the great relief of her husband. But the sales pitch to come work with her wasn't. It culminated one day in a screaming match between us when she simply would not hear the words that I was saying, which were effectively that I would never sell that phone service, that I hated sales, and was not and did not ever want to be a salesman.
That got through to her, but our relationship went downhill from there. She stopped calling. So did I. I started thinking. I realized that in every single fight we'd ever had as children (by which I mean teens and twentysomethings), she had apologized only once. Once, in twenty years. She never took responsibility for her actions then, and she's not taking responsibility now. She told my brother she doesn't understand why I terminated the relationship?
Right. It wasn't just me. It takes two. I simply grew tired of having a take-take relationship. If you want to be my friend, you have to understand a few simple things: Every relationship is give and take. If I'm doing all the giving, I'll be taking my leave of you. Oh, and don't try to force your likes and dislikes onto me.
It's as simple as that. 10:30 p.m. permalink
It's very amusing, even if you're not Jewish. Thanks, Eric.
The Hourly French insult, from reader Greg:
Lair is in rare form fisking an editorial in the Arab News that takes issue with the deaths of the Hussein monster spawn.
Michele is still into pop culture mode.
The three of us have surpassed the $14,000 mark. Yay you! (Yay us?) And $35 more to Lair jumps him up another notch, to fourth. Less than $46,000 to go.
Tim Blair's effing hilarious. (Tim, howsabout a Blogathon plug? They can keep donating even after we fall asleep!)
Charles, as always, is on the job.
And I'm tired of blogging, and we're only at the halfway point. I suspect my "This is aggravating rant" is going to come far earlier this year. But I'm also going to repeat my protest post. It's 49 posts in 24 hours, not 48. (Believe it or not, I'm also tired of posting French insults. One or two once in a while, okay. 24 in 24 hours? Bo-ring. Not unlike my high school French class. Does that count?) 9:30 p.m. permalink
Lair linked to an article in the Jerusalem Post that about blew off the top of my head again. No, I never stop getting angry over it. No, I never will. There are days when I am less angry than others. But this is why I will not stop writing about anti-Semitism, and particularly Arab and Muslim anti-Semitism, which has overtaken European Jew hatred in the top spots on the Kill the Jews chart:
Fired for being Jewish. Fired for being Jewish. Let me put that to you one more time: He was fired for being Jewish. As to the rest of the Iraqi Jewish population?
Why is that again? Oh, that's right.
There are about 28 Jews left in Baghdad. Twenty-eight, out of 130,000. Most of them are in Israel now. Whoops, I keep forgetting. Israelis are all descended from European colonial settlers, not the 700,000 Jews forced out of Arab countries in the 1940s and 50s.
That's why I blog for Israeli charities. It puts the top of my head back where it belongs.
Hourly French Insult:
Things are starting to pick up again. We're at $8600 even in pledges, and $5,300 in donations, for a grand total of $13,900. C'mon, folks, ten bucks puts us at $14k. (Choose Michele or Lair, we want the 1-2-3 spots again.)
Sorry for the lameness of this post. It's been eleven and a half hours. Plus, my fellow bloggers keep distracting me with chats. I knew I shouldn't have downloaded Trillian.
I'll do better at 9. 8:30 p.m. permalink
Currently on the lasertable: Chevelle, Wonder What's Next, track one. Next up: Tool, most likely. My selection of CDs from which to choose (this is for the early part of the night, nothing mellow yet):
Nope, not in the mood for Mary Chapin Carpenter or Loreena McKennitt or Stephen Sondheim yet. But with loud tunes playing, I expect the intelligence level of the posts might, er, suffer. And Michele is making cracks about my taste in music in our chat room, but she can kiss my CDs. Bon Jovi fan.
This Hourly French Insult is by reader Gary R.: As long as we're telling French jokes, here's one from Jay Leno albeit a couple of years old:
(The previous post was thanks to a URL send from Lynn B.)
Yep, Saudi women have their own ID cards now. Except, well, it doesn't seem to matter in the slightest.
Yes, getting a card that identifies you as a separate entity, rather than your husband's or father's property would make me feel a bit more independent, too. Well, except that you have to beg for it first.
Permission to get her ID card. Howliberating.
American female pioneers: Doctors, lawyers, scientists, soldiers, astronauts. Saudi female pioneers: Own their own ID card.
But wait! Our Pioneer is encountering problems.
So what will Our Pioneer do?
Of course! Get your family to help you pioneer.
That's some concept, a woman having a separate identity from her father or husband. Too bad the Saudis can't seem to get it through their kaffiyehs.
Please. Don't use logic. It's racist and humiliating.
Religious police! Over here! Got another one for you!
Yeah, and he also said that the 15 hijackers weren't Saudis, either. The Truth Is Not In There.
You got that right, sister. And they will continue to lag behind as long as they refuse to utilize fifty percent of their human resources. Not that I expect it to change anytime soon. Well, maybe come the revolution. 7:30 p.m. permalink
Haven't peeked in on Kevin in a while. I he still boringer, I mean, posting about tech?
This one is fun. Silly, Flash-heavy, but fun.
I like this one because the ads are in Chinese.
This Hourly French insult is from Mac Thomason again:
F is for the failure of their economy...
Put them all together and they spell "FRANCE", but I don't know why you'd want to do that. 7:00 p.m. permalink
And it's not even Insult the French Hour.
Wait a minute. The similarities are eerie. Muscular Dystrophy Assocation. Magen David Adom. He's a Jew. I'm a Jew. Pledges. Money. Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming urge to shout, "Hey, LADY!"
Where's Ed McMahon?
Latest tally: $7,840 in pledges, $5250 donated directly, for a grand total of: $13,090.
The good news: Pledging will be open through the end of Monday. The better news: You can donate to Magen David Adom anytime (don't forget to put BLOGATHON in the comments field of the online credit form or in the memo field of your check). The not-so-good news: We're far shy of the $60,000 it costs to buy the ambulance.
But I still think we can do it. Maybe not today, and maybe not Monday, but I think we can achieve that goal. 6:30 p.m. permalink
Hey, you try posting every half hour and see how much free time you have to cook.
The following is a guest blog by Jane Finch of The Daily Rant.
Who Would Win?
I'm so excited that Meryl has invited me to guest-blog this weekend, as she goes the blogging distance for a great cause by the way, I'm still waiting for that FedEx shipment of Lair's pretzels to put me in that giving mood.
So, what to blog about socialized medicine? Boring, and besides, the US already has it, albeit disguised as a benefit for the elderly and needy. Iraq? It's the weekend, for goodness sake. The virtues of big government? Not even I, a pinko, could promote that one with a straight face on my own blog, much less as a guest here. And it would be too, too cruel to mention the twins whose name shall not be spoken this weekend.
However, you people are a whole new audience out there what better time to spread the word about Canadian World Domination! I can hear the scoffing already "as IF" "get out of here, you Canuckian hoser" ."Blame Canada!"
Well, let's test it out in a little trial of "If America fought Canada, who would win?" Forget politics and social policy and all that stuff, and let's get to the heart of the matter, the deciding factor, the one thing near and dear to North American hearts on both sides of the 49th parallel: junk food.
And you'll see that it's no contest:
So, without further ado, you may as well start studying the map of your future land now:
There is one thing that can hold the Canuckian hordes back .and that's cash for MDA. As many of you no doubt know, CMDA is fighting through the various appeals courts to retain its charitable status in Canada. I don't know what set off the Canada Customs and Revenue yapping dogs off to revoke the CMDAs status, but I can say at least that department is continuing to allow the CMDA to operate as a charitable organization until the case is finished with all the legal appeals. It just sucks here's an organization that operates on the front lines and knows no politics other than the politics of saving lives and treating the injured and sick. And I can't think of a worthier cause to stay up 24 hours for, and think Meryl, Michele and Laurence are doing one hell of a job even if I didn't get any pretzels and have to learn to make my own.
And the obligatory Hourly French Insult, this one from the French themselves:
MommaBear sent me a guest growl.
That goes along with the definitive study of the so-called "massacre" that I blogged a few weeks ago, and that was mostly ignored by the major media. Who cares about the truth when the lie has become so widespread? 5:30 p.m. permalink
Found a bunch of funny ones, and some that just make you go "huh?!?!"
UNDERWEAR THEFT IN NEW JERSEY: That was an AOL search.
So was this: puking jewish men
One has reason to wonder about the quality of some of the upcoming AOL blogs.
Altavista has the weirdest combinations of all: terrorist potato idaho ahmed FBI. Uh-huh. (Run away! Run away!)
How do I find a word that sounds like angry: Can't think of a way at all. Mangry? Gangry? You're SOL, poet wannabe.
interesting facts about Saudi Arabia: Watch for a post on Saudi women and IDs later on today.
is ann coulter a man: Well, that would explain a lot.
overweight pictures of sex positions: I have yet to see an overweight picture, but if I do, I'll be sure to post one. If it isn't too heavy for my computer.
one weekend a month my ass: Hehehehe. National Guard, eh?
wild gnu: On my site? This phrase got you to my site?
tunafish lawsuits: WHO let my cats find a lawyer? Who?!
watch out for low flying planes: Okay.
big butt post: I am not!
how do i make my dog start eating chickens: Why do I get the feeling this searcher wasn't talking about chickens that are already dead and packaged for home consumption?
how much child support will i have to pay in kansas: I'm guessing the same amount you have to pay in your current state, asshat.
"hulk roar": No, get it right. Hulk smash!
And our French insult for the hour:
Damn. Only four o'clock and I'm blank. This bodes ill for later on. But no, dammit, I'm going to save Jane's guest post for when I really need it.
Well, I could send you elsewhere. Kevin has insulted me, for that he must die.
NZ Bear says the ecosystem is fixed. NZ Bear already contributed; I think I forgot to add him to the sidebar.
It absolutely is fixed, I'm back ahead of Kate for the first time in ages. [waving to Kate] It won't last long, but it's good to be back in the mid-40s. Oh. Hey. I probably shouldn't say that.
More donations are coming in; look at the renewed totals. Thanks, everyone!
By the way, Cat finally wised up and is leaving the pledges open through Monday, so everyone who reads this back at the office and slaps their forehead saying, "That's what I forgot!" can still donate through the Blogathon. 4:30 p.m. permalink
Kevin went and got me to download and install Trillian, and then get an AIM screen name. So we've been chatting. Which means this post is not going to be of the highest quality. Well, I could include Kevin in my hourly insult fest.
All donors can ask for my AIM screen name. Anyone else wants to chat with me, you have to give me a guest post. And may I say that the guest posts are going to come in mighty handy around dinnertime, and again in the wee small hours of the morning (eh, C.B.?).
Hourly French insult, this one also a food-oriented one:
Years ago, Heidi's husband, G., read us aloud an article in the newspaper on the French custom of eating ortolans, a small songbird that they have eaten to near-extinction (it is now a protected species). The eating of this bird is so disgusting that it is done under a napkinthat is to say, the bird-eaters wear hoods so no one can see them eating. Why? Because the bird is so tiny it can't be cleaned.
It is cooked in its entirety, and the custom is to turn the bird around and suck the entrails out through its ass (I am not making that up), then you pop it into your mouth and crunch it whole, bones and all. Appetizing, isn't it?
By the time G. finished reading the article (which I have been unable to find on the Times-Dispatch's archives), Heidi and I were breathless from laughing so hard. The story has turned into a saying for the three of us when something disparaging about the French comes up: "What do you expect? They eat ortolans." 4:00 p.m. permalink
Hey, feel free to send letters. They're a lot easier to post than original material.
Remember the fuss from the sexist top 20 list?
Wayne T. has a Susan B. Anthony story. Well, sort of.
Channeling my inner Lair
Rejected Blogathon Themes:
That's about all I can come up with at the moment. Can't wait to see what Kev's doing.
Hourly French insult, from reader Glenn F.:
Lair is having a bit of a tiff with the guy who runs the coyly named "Book of FSCK". I say let's call a fuck a fuck, shall we?
Now, Jonas is upset that Lair went off on his plan to sit a candlelight vigil for deceased ISM member, Rachel Corrie. You remember her, don't you? She was killed while trying to stop a bulldozer from destroying a tunnel used to smuggle weapons into the territories. It was a horrible accident, but she is lionized as someone who gave her life for peace. And her death is being used for propaganda purposes: They say she was murdered. Uh-huh. (I have this bridge in Brooklyn...)
She didn't give her life for peace. She gave her life for terrorists. The ISM is an organization that has been covering for terrorists, and providing cover for terrorists. They work only for the palestinians, they are run by the PA, and they are staffed by the PA. What more proof do you need than to have a terrorist found cowering inside the ISM offices while the IDF searches for him? A true champion of peace would be working to end palestinian terror, not ignoring it as a "legitimate" form of resistance.
I said nothing, even though Jonas took a slam at me simply for supporting MDA:
But now, well. Time to have my say. Howcondescending. Why would I know anything about the charity for which I am trying to raise enough funds to buy an ambulance? Hell, I must be one of those racist goons from "Little Brown Shitballs." (What, you can say "shit" but you can't say "fuck"? Loosen up, dude. Try it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.) (Apologies to my readers for the return of the pottymouth, but hey, sometimes you just have to say, what the fuck.)
You got your ears pinned back by a Holocaust survivor for daring to call Lair a Nazi? Good for you, you little pisher. Except you haven't quite learned the lesson.
There is no such thing as "nazism." There is only "Nazism." By changing it from a proper noun to a common noun, you are minimizing the horrors of the Nazi movementwhich was unique in human historyto something that can be ascribed to anyone.
Try again. Yeah, Lair can be an asshole and an idiot from time to time. But he's not the one going to a candlelight vigil for someone who worked with terrorists who work overtime to kill Jews. You go to your vigil. We'll go buy an ambulance that will pick up the pieces of the people Corrie was working against, after her buds blow them up.
Hourly French insult: From a Fox News article by Julia Gorin:
I've added Marduk's $25 per insult to the direct-donation total, as his word is good, and I expect him to be happy with the ones we've put up. And if not, dammit, we'll add more until he is. Lair's pledge total is $1,401. Michele's got $2,356. Added to my pledges and the direct donations, which I've been getting both from Magen David Adom and from your emails (you are emailing me if you're bypassing my Blogathon pledge page, aren't you?), we've got $12,555. Only $47,501 to go before we can buy an ambulance. (We've also got at least a thousand from the Purple Shamrock Crew via LT Smash, and perhaps another $2,000 from Emperor Misha's readers.)
Thanks! Thanks! Thanks! 1:30 p.m. permalink
The kind people from Pop-A-Lock have been and gone. I gave them some of Sarah's cookies, which they loved. Pictures will be added shortly. And Chrysler's automated service just called to tell me that my roadside service should already have arrived. (Yeah, don't hold your breath waiting for me to take the customer service satisfaction survey today. I'm a bit busy.)
I may need a new tire. Sigh.
The French insult, from Sarah G., who saw Dennis Miller on Leno: "Only the French would have the leader in a bike race wear a yellow jersey." 1:00 p.m. permalink
From the online site final screen:
How they stack up: I submitted the form just before noon. I received an email at 12:20 and a phone call at 12:22. They both say I'll have someone here in 30 minutes. And you've gotta love the name of the company they're sending to fix my tire: Pop-A-Lock.
Oh, and I crashed my computer trying to put up the photo. You'll have to wait for that. I'm four minutes behind schedule. Which is far better than Chrysler, though. 12:30 p.m. permalink
I picked up a screw in my left rear tire last night. It's all Kroger's fault. They have to carry Shenville Farms chocolate milk, and I wanted some for the Blogathon. Anyway, flat tire today, and I discovered that Chrysler has an online roadside assistance service. So I'm trying it. Just submitted the information. Let's see how long it takes them to get to me. (By the way, the nutty keyboard strikes againthere are sixes in my VIN number, and my six key is broken. Again.)
Ooh. Pictures to come. This Blogathon stuff can be educational!
The hourly insult, also from G.: The French never engaged in a war that someone else couldn't win for them.
I've finally gotten the donors in the left margin. If you don't want your full name there, send me an email and I'll take care of it. (I also finally remembered that if I signed into the Blogathon site as a member, I'd get all your names in one easy-to-post list.) If I missed you, email me.
Although it is not French Insult Hour, I did receive a spam email that begs to be made fun of. The title is "Want to make love like a teen?"
What, you mean awkward, inexperienced, quick, sloppy, and sub-standard?
No thanks. 11:30 a.m. permalink
Sarah and Rebecca G. delivered my homemade challah and a tin of Sarah's three-chip chocolate chip cookies. Rebecca was enthralled with Tig, who was less than enthralled with her, however.
We kept trying to get a good picture. This is the best we came up with. Gracie came to sniff at Rebecca, but left before I could get a picture. I don't remember the cats being quite as mellow last year, but then, we had all six G.'s last year, including two young and active boys who I taught to extend my Slinky all the way down the stairs.
The French Insult Hour has struck:
(And Belgians.) 11:00 a.m. permalink
(Show tunes. Blame Michele.)
Found a referrer from a blog I'd seen a couple of times before in my logs: Crossing the Rubicon. She has excerpts from an article in Psychology Today about the differences between men and women. A few of my favorites:
Which answers the question I've alway been unable to answer: Why do men spit so damned much? Also, her post on her son and his friend tormenting her daughter rang far too close to reality for me. (Two brothers, one older, one younger, teenage years were sheer hell.) Well, except I've always thought dead baby jokes are funny. Sick, but funny. Go visit her, and leave a comment. (Ergo the title of this post.) 10:30 a.m. permalink
Michael L. has figured out the omens of the owls.
That's what I like about my readers. They're so helpful.
On the other hand, I've been meaning to publish this letter from Mario F. for a while now.
Thanks, Mario. It's nice to know I'm not hated. Much.
And the 10:00 insult: My best friend's husband, G., is a car afficionado. He rebuilds things like Triumph Spitfires (which is a real hoot to ride in). He told me that the American car designs had elements borrowed by the British and Germans, the British and Germans had car designs borrowed by the other designers, but nobody ever copied a French car design. (Or Belgian.) 10:00 a.m. permalink
I'd forgotten how fast half an hour goes when you're not putting up something you prepared. Remember, folks, if you want to guest blog, email me and we'll talk.
I got enough sleep, but damn, it takes me a while to wake up. Go check out Michele's blog. Chris Muir made her her very own Day By Day strip for her them. And let's all go see what Lair is doing. I'll have those two up in my windows for the rest of the day. Oh, yeah. Marduk said we have to insult the Belgians, too. But they're so close to the French as to be up their butts, so we'll just assume that insulting one is insulting the other. 9:30 a.m. permalink
And we're off. Here's one thing you're going to see throughout the day: An insult to the French every hour on the hour. Marduk has promised $25 per insult, which is $600 by the end of the Blogathon. He didn't say I have to make them all up myself. And my first one is borrowed from Mac Thomason's post on the fire in the Eiffel Tower: Only the French could manage to set a steel tower on fire.
In all the ensuing posts, the Marduk insult will be set off from the rest of the post.
Sarah G., who brought the entire family here last year, is due soon. She's bringing me a homemade challah. If you were a studio audience, I'd say give it up for Sarah. But then, she's also going to the Amelia County Beef Festival later today, and I am not. Perhaps the challah is a guilt gift, because she and Larry invited me.
Last week's blogs are archived. Looking for the Buffy Blogburst Index? Here's Israel vs. the world. Here's the Blogathon. The Superhero Dating Ratings are here. If you're looking for something funny, try the Hulk's solution to the Middle East conflict, or Yasser Arafat Secret Phone Transcripts. Iseema bin Laden's diary and The Fudd Doctrine are also good bets if you've never been here before.