Miss Emily as you've never seen her

I never know when something transcendently silly will give me the giggles (in much the same way you, Constant Reader, never effing know when or if I'm going to post). This did it for me tonight. Why? Soldier, ask not.

balloon man

in Just- 

spring        when the world is mud- 
luscious the little 
lame balloon man

whistles        far       and wee . . .

                  --ee cummings

The airport gate waiting area is crowded and loud and all I want is to be aboard the plane with my soothing  ear-buds in. A standard-issue family gets in the line, mom and dad and a little girl in sparkly flip-flops. But wait: Dad carries a cardboard pizza box with enough care that you can't doubt there's a pizza in it, and mom is balancing atop her tote bag a Tupperware bowl full of something that looks like cucumber slices. Does this herald a new era in the airline business?  

Theodicy, or, God is an Iron*

Touchdown Jesus is off to the showers . . .Big Butter Jesus is melted... Drowning Jesus has gone under for the final time.

On Tuesday an Ohio megachurch’s 62-foot-tall statue of a wildly exuberant Christ, commonly known as Touchdown Jesus, was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. 

Little wonder: It seems the thing was made mostly of Styrofoam and fiberglass.

Lightning strikes are generally considered “acts of God” for insurance purposes, aren’t they? This puts the Solid Rock Church in an interesting position, and its insurance company in an even more interesting one. It would be great grins to evesdrop on the phone call when they report the casualty--or to see the wording of the claim form where the church tries to explain the circumstances leading to the loss of ole T.J.

One thing’s certain: The wacky tacky cheesy world of American roadside attractions will be the poorer for the loss of  Touchdown Jesus/Big Butter Jesus. How could one not love the whimsical way He was frozen in mid-leap from the pond, like a huge, frisky trout?

But dry your tears, my dears:  There will always be Eggbeater Jesus.

* "If a person who indulges in gluttony is a glutton, and a person who commits a felony is a felon, then God is an iron." --Spider Robinson

Blue over Green

Today's inchoate musings are brought to you by a simple bag of chips.

The chips in question are 'Merican chips, not British chips (which don't come in bags, except when they do). They're called "Sun Chips,"  a sort of corrugated chip whose particular marketing schtick is that they're supposed to be made out of stuff that's, well, not so terribly bad for you.

I don't do grocery shopping. It's an activity I find intolerable; my reasons are a neurotic mix of profound introversion, a craven loathing of vast clamorous spaces bathed in fluorescent light, and poor impulse control.  My partner, Jah bless her patient soul, does virtually all of the grocery buying; she actually enjoys it. We make our weekly meal plan and off she goes, with cheerful countenance and a fistful of coupons, and returns, still cheerful, with bags and bags of consumable swag, including, I must confess, a rotating repertoire of processed snack foods in their shiny-happy packages.

Today was grocery day; thus, fulfilling an urge for a salty-crunchy snack, I discovered a new bag of Sun Chips in the cabinet (French Onion flavor, if you must know).

As my fingers closed on the bag there was a sharp crunching sound like demons beating on sheet metal with hammers. WTF?! Against all reason, my senses told me the sound had come, not from the underworld, but from the bag in my hand.

Keyboard closure. Or not.

I know my avid readers, all 3 of them, have been fussing and fretting, poor dears, about the dodgy condition of my carpal canals. The update, then: Soon after I last rabbited on about ergonomic keyboards, the Gold Touch I'd been using crapped out. It was old, and tired, and it suddenly went all demented; some of the keys would only type nonsense. I tried it on a few different computers; no joy. So back into storage it went, and out came the Microsoft 4000--again--and back to teh Interwebs I went--again--to seek the subject of the next grand keyboard experiment.

Since we're in the mood for geek humor

--aren't we always? ... and we're on the topic of the utility (or not) of hand-held devices, I ran across this excellent flow chart today. It will clarify any lingering doubts you may have on the topic of That Tablet Device. You know the one. Enjoy.

A first on the First

... well, phooey. This is the first time I wish I had a smartphone--In particular, a smartphone running Android. Then I'd get to enjoy the lulz from Google Translate for Animals.