Everyone talks about P.T. Barnum. Barnum Barnum Barnum.
What about Bailey? Doesn’t he get any love? Are his contributions just forgotten?
Everyone talks about P.T. Barnum. Barnum Barnum Barnum.
What about Bailey? Doesn’t he get any love? Are his contributions just forgotten?
The old Tower Records here is gonna be a Walgreens.
I just bought show tix (Mountain Goats in March at the Troub!) on the web from Ticketmaster. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a rich dot-com twit, and I didn’t fight the power. Anyway.
There’s the usual hilarious set of charges reminiscent of a Near Eastern hotelier or a bank. Heifer Mastication Charge, Plonk Fee, Spline Adjustment, bla bla. The $32 for two tickets balloons into $52 by the end.
Then there are two new kinds of Ticketmaster fun. First, they charge you $2 extra to print the tickets out on your own printer right away. But it’s free to get them by regular mail. In my putative Near Eastern Hotel, this is like providing free bottled water but charging for running water in the room. It only makes sense if your business model consists of “we’ve got them by the short hairs now, boys!”
Finally, there’s the checkout line sales pitch. The usual items like insurance for your tickets show up, but now there’s a new one! They try to get you to buy music by the artist from iTunes.
In this particular case the artist has loads of stuff available in friendly DRM-free mp3 via emusic, so the temptation is particularly low.
Maybe the next step should be a hard drive search for downloaded music, followed by a pop-up auto-sue device that charges you $150,000.
I’m going to go see people play pop music anyway, and it’s not the kind of monopoly that kills little kids or strangles the free internet to death; it’s essentially trivial.
But it sure is fucking funny!
http://blog.ocsd.org/post/A-message-from-Sheriff-Michael-Carona.aspx
Bye, Mike. Please DO let the door hit you on the ass.
I really like pea soup, and I made some again tonight. I’m not averse to putting bacon or ham in the soup, or using meat broth, but I just didn’t tonight.
It was very good pea soup. I’m putting the “recipe” here mostly for my own reference. It’s not too different from what you’d find on the back of the bag of peas, so don’t consider it to be special or worth saving.
Ingredients:
16 oz./2 cups of dried split peas
One largeish potato, like a russet, or equiv potato mass, peeled and cubed
Two quarts of water
1/4 cup olive oil
One tbsp ground cumin seeds
Four tbsp ground dill weed
Four or five threads of saffron
One tbsp. coarse ground black pepper
1 bay leaf
Salt to taste, if necessary
Get a deep saucepan.
Dump the olive oil in the bottom of the pan and drop in the bay leaf, the cumin, and the pepper. Heat the olive oil until the bay leaf is browning.
Dump in the water and the peas. Bring to a boil.
Dump in the potato cubes and bring to a boil again.
Reduce heat. Add the dill and the saffron. If you have favorite spices of your own, this is the time to put them in.
Simmer for an hour, stirring occasionally.
Check the soup for consistency and flavor. Adjust flavor with your choice of the herbs above or other herbs you like. Salt to taste.
Simmer for another 30 minutes. Watch and stir frequently so the soup doesn’t get lumpy. Cook until the consistency is thick and the potatoes are mostly dissolved, but it’s not glue or on fire. This varies with your pot and your idea of “simmer” and also with the will of the Gods.
Cool until it isn’t deadly and serve.
Notes:
You can get away with no salt if you flavor it right. One good idea is to put in some cayenne or other hot chili spice, just enough to make it interesting.
I find that the combination of potatoes and saffron and olive oil produces a “mouth feel” that will make you forget the vegan nature of the soup even if you’re a hamatarian.
So this is a very simple pea soup and again not much different from the back of the package, but I like it so I’m putting it here. Cheers.
I woke up at the shocking hour of 3 pm today, neatly missing Steve & Keri’s first visit to civilization in months. Damnit.
Also: 3 pm? What the hell?
I am now atoning for my sins by making a pot of delicious pea soup, with which I will feed my aging saintly mother.
I am going to try to work at the patio more this week, because I can and because getting out of the house seems like a BIG BONUS right now. See you there.
Nick brought something to my attention just now that stopped me in my tracks.
You know how it is, when you find something that just seems made for one person? The food, or the gift, or the song (especially the song!) that says: this is who you are, this is who we love, this is our relationship with you?
Well, I’ve found that for zebulon_y.
snow.mp3 (2.5M) is a duet between two artists who have in some way defined his life, and therefore our friendship. And I’m sharing it not just with him, but with the world!
Let joy ring out!
I wrote once before about the strange personal ads I saw when I worked at the Los Angeles Reader years ago. One of my duties at first was typing in classifieds, partly because I was junior and partly because the classififed ad system was also used for the entertainment listings and capsule reviews I had charge of.
Reading last week in The Slacktivist about a proto-blog on paper in a college library reminded me of another oddity at the Reader: the free classifieds.
We had the usual personals and ads, but anyone could send in a card with a few sentences on it and it would be put in the free classifieds section. Nothing in the real classifieds categories could go there, and nothing commercial, but it was free and almost totally uncensored.
The result was a tiny, paper-based social network. Anonymous confessions a la Postsecret were common. “Missed connections” as seen in Craigslist also showed up.
And, inevitably, a running cast of characters turned the free classifieds into a forum. They all had nicknames. Some of them disliked each other. There were running gags and pranks. Occasionally someone would depart in a huff and return. Flame wars went on for weeks. And periodically we had to drop one of the ads because of some violation of policy, and the residents of the free zone would call us tyrants and rage for weeks.
Some members of the group met in person sometimes. I don’t think it went very well.
Working at the paper added another dimension to the experience. We could see by the postcards which people had multiple characters, for example. The same was true for personals. There was one sixtysomething couple who were regulars (as one person) on the boards, and had two other recurring ads: an appeal for a cute young woman to form a threesome with them, and an ad offering 24-hour prayer and spiritual counseling for free. Only we knew that these were all the same people.
These weirdos prepared me perfectly for my later adventures on BBS’s and the Internet. Perceived anonymity, role-playing, multiple false personae, flame wars, socially inept people forming dysfunctional communities, and outsized complaints about censorship? Nothing new! I already knew about the Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory, the perils of sexual encounters in a virtual world, trolls and flamewars, and the dissociative and fraudulent nature of virtual personalities.
As I was writing this I thought: hey! I wonder if our parent the Chicago Reader still has these? Our classifieds were an exact copy of their much more successful section.
It appears that they do. They’re called Bulletin Messages there, and there are definitely some similarities, and this one in particular looks very much like one of our old regulars. There are obvious differences, but something of the same character is present.
I miss the original, though. There were only 20 or so characters that recurred, and it was a little porthole into a very weird tank of fish.
Bonjour substitute!
Pardon! On est désolés! Le serveur a mangé trop de bûche
à Noël et nous avons du retard pour l’envoi des brouzoufs.
Nos petites mains ont travaillé dur et le problème est
maintenant résolu : voici 222 brouzoufs.
Avec toutes nos excuses!
A bientôt sur [REDACTED]
L’équipe [REDACTED]
1. I have no idea why they’d owe me 222 euros.
2. I had to look at an online French slang dictionary to find out that a brouzouf is a euro.
Edit:A commenter has the real story: it’s some kind of bonus point scheme at LaFraise.com, and not 222 euros. So it is for real and not incomprehensible! Yay!