Those Filthy Communists......

From Last Week's "Hotline" on the website of the National Association of Rail Passengers (I never told you I wasn't a geek):

In direct contrast to our yearly battles to properly fund Amtrak here in the United States, China has announced plans to construct $22 billion (US) worth of high speed rail routes. The two primary lines would connect Shanghai and Beijing and Shanghai and Hangzhou. Trip times on the Shanghai-Beijing segment would be cut from 13 hours to 5 hours. According to the Associated Press, “China has invested billions of dollars in expanding its railway network in an effort to ease congestion and promote economic growth in isolated areas.”

I Hate My Commute

For some unknown reason having to do with my fatness, I have been driving to work lately. I don't know why. I hate driving in Seattle. It sucks, sucks, sucks, especially through "little Saigon" which is the cutesy name for the hellhole of nail parlors, beauty salons, cell phone stores and grocery stores at 12th and Jackson.

To demonstrate how stupid Seattle drivers (and yes, pedestrians also) are, I present you with this little vignette.

Characters:

*Myself (as the gracious driver)

*Retarded Driver (and I mean that as no insult to the developmentally disabled. This person was retarded in their driving skills, which means he is a typical Seattle driver)

*Middle-Aged Goateed Doffus Pedestrian (as a Middle-Aged Goateed Doffus myself, I have earned the right to call him that)

The Setting: Corner of 12th Avenue South and South King Street

The Time: Morning Commute

Act One:

Gracious Driver is heading north on 12th, Minding his own business, and is in the intersection when the light turns yellow. Retarded Driver, in front of gracious driver, stops 1.5 car lengths behind the car in front of him, thus sticking gracious driver in the pedestrian crosswalk

Gracious Driver: "beep"
(pause) "beep beep"

Retarded driver remains in position as the light turns red, leaving Gracious Driver blocking the crosswalk.

Enter Middle-Aged Goateed Doffus Pedestrian who is standing on the corner, stage right. As Gracious Driver signals, and starts to slowly pull into right lane to get out of the pedestrian crosswalk, Doffus starts to walk, even though his only option is to go behind gracious driver, which puts him in the line of traffic from King Street. He sees that gracious driver is moving and freezes, right in gracious driver's path. Gracious driver, somewhat exasperated by Middle-Aged Goateed Doffus Pedestrian's obvious stupidity, gives him a "what do you want me to do?" look. Middle-Aged Goateed Doffus Pedestrian does a weird little kabuki dance, and returns to the crosswalk, giving Gracious driver a dirty look.

Gracious driver pulls into the right lane, which clears the pedestrian crosswalk for Middle-Aged Goateed Doffs Pedestrian to safely pass. Gracious Driver pulls alongside retarded driver and gives him a look that translates to "Do you even HAVE a license?" to which retarded driver gives Gracious Driver a uncomprehending look, but THEN pulls up to a decent distance between his car and the car in front of him, just in time for the light ahead of us to change, allowing all of us to go on our merry way.

Fin

~~~

As you can see, Gracious Driver (as played by me) was trying to do the right thing, but surrounded by what are doubtless Seattle Natives (as evidenced by their complete and utter unawareness of the world around them. Please note: This assessment of Seattleites does not apply to any Seattle-born readers of "The Good Taste Chronicles, as you have evidenced yourself to be of a superior intellect and discriminating taste, based on your choice of blogs)

It's enough to make one take the bus.

In which I traffic in illegals....

We had this HUGE pile of yard waste down on the parking stip. Appallingly huge. Impressively huge. Huge-O-Rama. Chock full O' Huge. It was a Saturday, and I was wondering what to do with it when suddenly the dogs went nuts. That in itself is not unusual, as they are of the less then mentally stable type, but I looked out the window and, low and behold, there was a rather attractive Mexican guy by the gate. After quickly patching my make-up, putting in a fall, and slipping into an imaginary pair of Pucci lounging pajamas, I ventured out to see what the matter was.

The matter was the yard waste. He had a truck, and he offered to clean up the front yard for me for a very attractive price, which i immediately took him up on.

He was an industrious young man, and only annoyed me when he turned up some particularly appaling rap and told me it was Christian Rap because he was a Christian. I gave him my best Gracious Lady smirk and offered a non-committal "how nice for you"

Mrs Kravitz, who appears out of nowhere when anything happens at the house, was quite concerned that he was just going to take the yard waste to a gully somewhere and dump it, which was probably a valid concern, but only to those who care about such things. But to appease her, I did ask him to show me the receipts, which he did.

In a noble example of sub-contracting, he hired a passing vagrant to help him with the job, and paid him $25 for his trouble (I heard this through Mrs. Kravitz, who apparently lurked in her backyard to listen in on their conversation.) so I gave him a $25 tip.

My point (yes, I have one) is this: I have no idea whether he was an illegal or not, and I don't care. There is no way in hell I would ask him for his "papers", as I do not live in a 1940's Warner Brothers film, and have no desire to do so. Yet that is what the Republicans would have us do with their Immigration legislation.

I recognize that illegals are a problem: They drive wages (like those for yard waste collection) down, and they are often victimized by unscrupulous people. But I don't blame them - we all gotta eat, after all - I blame the corporations that want the cheap labor, the stock market analysts that put the unrealistic expectations on the corporations, and the politicians (of both stripes, but mostly Republican) who are bought and paid for by the corporations, and don't care about the impact on the middle class. Those are the real culprits - not the poor schmucks who are desparate for cash.

Yeah, but will they be tested on it?

Georgia has said that it's OK to have Bible Classes in School

Now, I must say that when I was a high schooler at Abraham Lincoln High School in Council Bluffs Iowa (no, I won't link to them. I don't think Hooterville has "the internets" yet) We had a "Bible as Literature" class - which is why you will note that I specialize in Furnishings, China and The Bible as Literature.

The class was just that: The Bible from the standpoint of literature, and it was a damn good class. It was taught by the Latin Teacher, who had been a brother in a Catholic Monestary (or something like that - by the time he washed up on the shores of dear old Abraham Lincoln, he was just another screaming queen. But a good teacher)

I believe that the Bible or "intelligent design" can fit into a normal person's curriculum. It's just a matter of placement: Intelligent design has no place in a science class, but can find a cozy home in a Philosophy Class (only poets and stoners take philosophy, so there's no harm done. Any good poet is at best an agnostic.)

Biblical readings belong in a literature or world history class unless, of course, it's a religious institution - and none of the cool kids in those schools pays any attention to their religion courses anyway, so no harm's done there either.

Somehow I think that the Bible in the Georgia classrooms will not be considered a literary device however. Silly crackers.....

The reviews are pouring in!

Everybody loves the new kitchen wall thing-y, although members of the design and architecture community express legitimate concerns about the fate of the glassware should we experience an earthquake. One member of the Beacon Hill architecture community in particular is advocating for translucent backing and is bombarding me with links to product samples. However, she is not a member of the reality-based community when it comes to the finances of Chez Vel-DuRay, so we try to pass it off with a carefree laugh and a non-committal "Oh, you!".

We, too, have been concerned. Not really that concerned because most of that stuff you see is just kitsch or tchotskies - i.e. who cares if it breaks - but being exemplary hosts, we are concerned about safety.

So that's why we have invested in Earthquake Putty This stuff really does work. I've used it for years because Sputnik likes to think he's still a dainty young thing that can walk among the fragile without breaking anything, and Gladys likes to use her nose to knock things over. If it can (and it does) withstand Sputnik's huge ass and Gladys' powerful snout, it can withstand our average earthquake - at least long enough for people to get away from the damn things - and if "the big one" hits, we'll have much more to worry about than some cheesy glassware. Besides, that opens up space to buy new things, no?

So rest assured that we are not operating a deathtrap just for the sake of aesthetics. Although, when you get right down to it, wouldn't that be worth it?

The unveiling......

I know I've been teasing you, dear readers, about the things that have been happening in the kitchen - and I'm not talking about my pot roast!

Here it is: The new display wall:

This, of course, replaces the OLD wall, which was dreary. Here it is:

But that's not all. We also modified a cabinet so that we now have a stylish wine rack AND a Nutone Kitchen Center!

Publishing note: I can't get this text to line up right with the pictures, at least not on my computer, and I'm too lazy to fix it. Not to mention the fact that there are several crisise this morning at Today's World that require my attention. So it if looks weird, it is weird.

Good for the Catholic Boys

As a former Catholic boy, whos father was a Jesuit Educated Lawyer, It's good to see some spirt amongst "today's youth".

Ha! I knew it!

Can you imagine being Ann Coulter, Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh's, Sean Hannity's, etc nursery school teacher?

It might as well be Spring.....

OK, I really do think that it's safe to assume that Spring has Sprung here at danlangdon.com, and in the Puget Sound as well. The thing about Seattle is that if you take your eye off the ball for even a second, blackberries, ivy or moss is going to grow on it, so it is also the time for gardening.

The colonel (who handles these things - I have a brown thumb) has already started clearing the front yard, which hasn't been cleared since the Reagan administration. So far, he has caused quite a stir in the architectural and academic circles in which we tend to travel, but they are the tense and nervous types, so I try to deflect things with a smile and carefree laugh, with occassonial well-timed reference to current affairs. So far, it has worked.

We're finding all sorts of interesting things as we dig through the wilderness: handbags, construction materials, a really stunning collection of ashtrays, and - most astoundingly - a large piece of teal plastic roofing material of the sort that people use for covered patios or carports. I have no idea how it got there, but since the couple that owned the house before us were quite elderly, and hadn't had the ability to care for the yard for several years, it's entirely possible that someone lived there for a few weeks at one point.

Of course, there are practical as well as esoteric reasons for all this land clearing; Not only are were hoping to keep it from becoming a HAVEN FOR CRIME, we also have something of a vested interest in making sure the hill doesn't go anywhere, as we would undoubtedly go with it. So we are going to go rather nutso planting plants that are the sort of plants that tend to keep slopes in place. I keep the aforementioned archetectural and academics types all edgy by speaking vaguely about illuminated American flags and ten foot statues of the Blessed Mother, but in all honesty, I don't think we'll go there.

In other news, we are edging, edging, edging closer to the point where the work in the kitchen will be done, at which point I can post pictures for you to eye enviously. I am assured by both the Colonel and the Greek that once it is done, we can start the painting (or rather THEY can start the painting. I am not a good painter. I'm more of the conceptual type, but I promise to make a nice post-painting dinner) which means that even more pictures will be forthcoming, and then we can finally have a party.

Well, after the deck gets rehabilitated that is. It's always something.

More Classiness....

On Wednesday, March 1st, 2006, in Annapolis, at a hearing on the proposed Constitutional Amendment to prohibit gay marriage, Jamie Raskin, professor of law at American University, was requested to testify.

At the end of his testimony, Republican Senator Nancy Jacobs said: "Mr. Raskin, my Bible says marriage is only between a man and a woman. What do you have to say about that?"

Raskin replied: "Senator, when you took your oath of office, you placed your hand on the Bible and swore to uphold the Constitution. You did not place your hand on the Constitution and swear to uphold the Bible."


The room erupted into applause.

Helen Thomas: The epitome of class

Sometimes you just see something of such amazingly good taste - far more tasteful than even the most tasteful coffee table or fabulous light fixture - that we have to comment on it. Today's example of that is long time journalist Helen Thomas.

Helen is a little old lady with a huge set of balls. Much more than idiots like Wolf Blitzer, Sean Hannitty or Bill O'Reilly. She did the unthinkable today. She called bush on his line of crap. And bush, as to be expected, failed miserably.

Here's a link to a page that explains it much better than I could. Suffice to say that it was complete and utter shit on bush's part of course. If only more of the Washington press corps had the guts of this little old lady

I KNEW there was something fishy about him....

Maybe it was his over-use of the word fabulous

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Like most Americans, I am something of a mutt, but I am predominantly Irish (about 50%. The rest is split between German and English)so I am proudly wearing green today.

My Mom's family is sort of the stereotypical Irish: Happy-go-luckyish, with a tendency towards overdrinking. Dad's side of the family was more the "every-cloud-has-a-pitch-black-lining" sort of Irish: Their idea of fun was sitting around in the front parlor talking about the departed. And actually, they drank a lot too. At least the men did.

Religion (Roman Catholic - no Irish protestants in OUR gene pool) played a huge part in everything of course, but it wasn't the uber-annoying, in-your-face kind of Christianity you see today. It was more their own private misery. Grandma Langdon, for example, always went to 5:30am mass, and had to walk there because the streetcars didn't run that early. She could have waited and gone to 8am mass, but that wasn't her thing. On Mom's side of the family, Great-Aunt Genevive Melia's house (inherited from her parents) was full of the most dreary religious art you can imagine. Today it might be considered high camp, but to me it was always depressing. I think they've torn it down by now. I don't know and I don't care.

They were all solid Democrats, and most of the offspring still vote Democrat (except fot those who have renounced the pope and become "god-dammed protestants" of course - they tend toward Republicans). Personally, I've got enough Irish superstition in me that, even if I were vulgar and naive enough to espouse Republican "Ideals", I would still vote Democrat out of fear of being haunted by the dearly departed. Since I have a standing committment to come to St. Joseph's Cemetary and tell my Dad's grave when Bush is finally impeached, this is no idle threat.

In keeping with tradition the corned beef is, even as I type this, cooking in the crockpot - and tonight I will force the Colonel to eat it (I keep telling him that if there is some Croation holiday where he wants to force some appaling slavic delicacy on me, turnaround is fair game. So far, nothing) But I'm not going to the Seattle St. Patrick's Day parade. That's just too much to ask.

Pillow Talk

The Colonel, as many of you know, starts work at an insane hour and is a very light sleeper anyway. What with Gladys and the bad mattress things were not at a pretty point, so we decided to go search for a new mattress.

Both of us had recently experienced Tempur-pedic mattresses on our various travels (he in Delaware, me in Portland) so we took a look at those. After our respective heart attacks at the price, we thought that perhaps we would have to go with a traditional spring mattress.

But then I, being the resourceful type, decided to take a look at Costco, and found a tempur-pedic clone for only 500! So off to Costco we went.

So far, it has been fun, but then again we haven't slept on it yet. It came in a big square box, because it is vacuum packed. In a scene reminiscent of an episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show, we cut into the vacuum bag, and it started to grow. and grow. and grow. Soon it was the size of a regular mattress!

They said that you could sleep on it right away, but that it would take 24-72 hours to get it to it's normal size, so we decided to spend the night on the sleeper sofa in the rumpus room, which is something I hope not to repeat anytime soon.

I had read on the internet that these things stunk when first unpacked, but this one didn't. So, if everything goes as expected, we shall have a restful night tonight on the new mattress.

I'll keep you posted.

Tuna and Powdered milk casserole

Those darlings in the Bush administration are at it again. They are now advising us that we should stock up on tuna fish and powdered milk, and keep it under the bed, of all places, when the bird flu hits.

These people really are idiots, you know. And while I'm sure that none of my readers were foolish enough to vote for them, we all have to live with the consequences. So, in the interest of National Security, and Preserving Our Way Of Life, I present you with this recipe for Tuna and Powdered Milk Casserole.

Ingredients:
One can of Tuna, oil or water packed is fine
One can of Powdered Milk.

Directions:
Get under bed.
Open cans and combine.
Mix well.
Take Tuna and Powdered Milk mixture, and throw it at the nearest republican you can find.

Be sure to wash your hand well, and wear a mask.

Seriously, dear readers, "Pandemic" is a scary word, but just remember this: We've had 'em before, and we'll have 'em again. It's not because Jesus is angry or because there's a terrorist under your bed (with your tuna and powdered milk).

Don't get caught up in the Republican fear machine.

Why I hate "American Idol"

I thought I'd continue on my negativity roll and go off on this odius program.

I really, really, really wanted to like it. I think talent shows are an awful lot of fun. The Bon Marche (a Seattle department store that is now absorbed into the Macy's name) used to sponsor high school talent shows that were really fun to watch. But those involved the whole gamut: Singing, dancing, recitation, comedy, instrumental solos, etc, etc, etc. Some of them were hideous, some of them were great, and it was a neat local thing.

But this American Idol is just too much schmaltz for even me to stomach. The only reason I even see any of it is because The Colonel and The Greek like it (there's no accounting for taste, is there?)

Here's why I hate it:

1.) The songs - especially the songs the audience goes nuts over - tend to be over the top crap, augmented with screechy "R & B" affectations.

2.) The judges are annoying. Especially that closet queen.

3.) The host is cheesy.

4.) If I hear one more reference to Jesus on that show (All of them ALWAYS thank God and/or Jesus, and Mom) I am going to throw the TV out the window and threaten to sell the house if anyone buys a replacement. As I have said, on many, many occassions, I have nothing against Jesus. He's one my favorite liberals. But this calculated mega-churchy sap in the name of the Lord just makes me want to barf.

5.) The audience seems comprised entirely of the retarded. And I mean that as no insult to the developmentally disabled, who are a different type of people entirely. Sometimes you just have to use the word retarded when explaining "normal" people.

All in all, it's a reflection of the absolute worst in America right now. But want to know the frosting on the cake?

Nine presumably ex-fans of Idol Winner Clay Aiken are considering launching a class action lawsuit against the singer and his record company bosses following US tabloid allegations he's gay.

On Our Own...

As I think I said before, the Colonel is in Delaware this week, attending to rather important railroad business, and apparently going to (ladies) strip bars with "the guys". That leaves me and the Greek, as well as the livestock, to keep the homefires burning. All has gone well so far (knocking on wood) except for the rather remarkable windstorm we had yesterday. The offices of Today's World Magazine were literally moving, and the elevators at One Today's World Plaza were scraping against the elevator staff. I was never so happy to get off THAT ride.

Back at the house, We managed to get things somewhat cleaned up from the first round of Fun With Carpentry. They will be back for round two someday, and in the meantime we wanted to eat things that didn't have plaster dust imbedded in them. The good news is that the new lighting in the kitchen is in place, which is a relief for all of us. We are now only waiting for the hall lights, the nook lighting, the cabinet doors, and the fabulous thing I am itching to tell you about but won't, because if there's one thing I can do it is keep a secret.

Why I hate Tatoos

I realize, dear readers, that this is a controversial subject, even amongst this population: Educated, erudite individuals who are trend setters in their own right, yet look to me to set a standard. But there it is. I hate tattoos.

It wasn't always so. Years ago, when your correspondent was just a young thing, I thought that they were kind of cool. People who got them were the edgy type, interesting people that bucked "society's norms"

But then it just got boring and tacky. Kind of like male ponytails, but more permanent.

I knew it was fading when they started talking about tattoos on AOL and in TV commercials. That's always the seal of doom for anything. And then when you started to see Fraternity boys and Sorority girls getting tattoos, you knew it was all over.

The final straw had to be my 62 year old librarian aunt getting a tattoo. Then I knew it had become entirely too mainstream.

And originally, many tattoos were kind of cool. Interesting designs, either classical or contemporary, that you didn't see in other places. Designs you might even approve of as a piece of art in Your Gracious Home.

But now, with the plethora of cheesy floral motifs, wacky animals and - worst of all - Gothic/Germanic lettering - all hope has been lost. Indeed, many tattoos you see these days look like particularly appalling china patterns or 70's-era upholstered furniture.

I'm afraid the trend has "jumped the shark", and has become the sort of thing that the dimwitted engage in as a right of passage. Sort of like trips to Vegas or beer bongs.

But no one ever went broke underestimating the intellect and taste of the American people, so who knows what the future will bring. In the meantime, the savvy investor will be looking to invest in tattoo removal parlors. Once these tattoo enthusiasts start to sag, and that extravagant arrangements of orchids begins the inevitable slide downward, it's going to have to go.

Set Adrift

Dear Readers, I know you must think I've abandoned you these last few days, and it really isn't true. It's just that one has been so busy with one's household obligations.

Big Blue, the late great oil burner, is gone, and in it's place is a shiny new uber-efficient furnace that is no where near as loud and keeps the homefires much warmer. While this new one lacks the brutish handsomeness of Big Blue, he does have a certain technocratic charm that is not unagreeable.

Tomorrow begins the final phase of the kitchen facelift. I won't spill all the beans: Suffice to say it will just tie up some loose ends nicely.

But I must run. The colonel is off to Delaware this weekend to tend to pressing Railroad issues. While I've urged him to just throw a few office dresses in a hatbox, I feel certain he is going to go his usual route and pack his anvil collection in an old refrigerator. It's my job to censor the packing so that the plane can get off the ground.