I knew when I started this blog that attempting to post a new piece of writing every week was an ambitious goal for me. And sure enough, I have found myself at the point where I need to take a break for awhile. I don't know if this hiatus will be short or long, but I do know that I had a lot of fun writing the posts and even more fun reading your comments. Thank you so much for reading what I wrote.
Love,
Blaine
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Poetry Time!
From the archives...
Want to try your hand at writing a haiku with a movie theme? Submit it as a comment for all of us to enjoy! A quick shout-out to Eleazar for submitting a question for the next edition of Dear Pickin' Blaine's Brain! And another shout-out to Grandpa Vaughn for trying real hard to submit a comment and a question (even though it wouldn't post for him for some reason). But he was able to phone it in! Thanks, Dad!
Mommy's Side of the Bed
Every morning
I like to snuggle
On Mommy's side of the bed.
It smells so nice there
And feels so gentle
'Cause that's where she lays her head.
The blankets are warm
And the sheets so soft
On Mommy's side of the bed.
And everyone knows
That this is the place
Where the very best books are read.
It seems to me
I can't get enough
Of Mommy's side of the bed.
It's such a sweet place
Sometimes I wish
I could lay there 'til I'm dead!
Right there it seems
As warm and friendly
As a fresh-baked loaf of bread.
It's the place where
I can feel her love...
On Mommy's side of the bed!
And something new...
Nacho Libre Haiku!
Nacho is cooking.
How come we can never have
Just like a salad?
Going for glory,
Nacho and Esquelito
See what it tastes like!
Boys want to wrestle.
Fighters get all the glory,
Great creams, and lotions!
I looked like a fool!
It sucks to be me right now!
But it’s fun to wrestle!
Beautiful nun!
Would you join me for some toast?
Encarnacion!
Do you not realize
I have had diarrhea
since Easters, Nacho?
Hug hug, kiss kiss, hug
Hug, big kiss, little hug, kiss kiss,
Little kiss, love, Nacho!
It’s for fun, Chancho!
Sometimes you wear stretchy pants
When you are a man!
Want to try your hand at writing a haiku with a movie theme? Submit it as a comment for all of us to enjoy! A quick shout-out to Eleazar for submitting a question for the next edition of Dear Pickin' Blaine's Brain! And another shout-out to Grandpa Vaughn for trying real hard to submit a comment and a question (even though it wouldn't post for him for some reason). But he was able to phone it in! Thanks, Dad!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Dear Pickin' Blaine's Brain
Editor's note: From time to time, Blaine will answer questions of general interest submitted by loyal readers. No question will be considered too hard for him to answer. Don't believe it? Try to stump him! Send your questions by email to blaineparadise@gmail.com or as a comment at the end of one of his blog posts.
Dear Pickin' Blaine's Brain,
This question has been driving me crazy for a long time now. Which came first -- the chicken or the egg?
(signed) Crazy Curious
Dear Crazy Curious,
Well, ain't that just about the stupidest... ... ... ... this kinda question just shows me you ain't all that bright and you're probably a livin' in the city and don't know nothin' bout livin' in the country and all. Shoot! I had harder questions than this way back'n I was just a little feller in 2nd grade math class, where my teacher, Mrs. O' Hooligan, who was built like a red-haired Congo gorilla, with arms to match, would be a hittin' me on the head with a yardstick ever time I gave a wrong answer! So, as you can imagine, I had to get used to comin' up with the right answers real quick! But I'll go ahead and take the time to try to explain to you the answer to your question. The answer, plain and simple, is ... the chicken. You see, it's nothin' more'n common sense. There have been plenty of times when I have gone out into my backyard to poke around in the chicken coop to rustle up some eggs so's I could make me a nice spinach quiche... (heh, heh, just kiddin'. I ain't never made no quiche!) ... so's I could fry me up some over-easies to go with my Jimmy Dean sausage (dang, that's tasty stuff!), and try as I might, I could find nary a one of 'em. So... now stay with me... what I'm a sayin' is that there are times when I got plenty of chickens but no eggs to speak of. But then let's turn it around for a minute. Imagine me standin' there in my kitchen with an egg in my hand. Well, there just ain't no way that could be possible unless there's at least one chicken outside in my chicken coop! So you can have chickens and no eggs, but there's no way you can have any eggs without there bein' some chickens around! So the chicken came first. Got it! Good! I got time for one more question.
Dear Pickin' Blaine's Brain,
I think my girlfriend and I are falling in love. How do we know if this love is real?
(signed) Dreamlover
Dear Dreamlover,
OK, first of all, stop callin' yourself "Dreamlover" (that can get you beat-up around these parts). And even though I'm feelin' kinda queasy about this, I'll go ahead and answer your stupid question. Without gettin' all sentimental about the feelings you might get when you're twitter-pated by a pretty face, I would have to say that if the other person still wants to be around you at all after gettin' to know the pathetic real you (not the fake you), then there's the chance it might be love. This should take at least a couple of weeks, and during this time, the other person should experience bein' with you when you're happy, when you're sad, and especially when you're mad as hell about somethin'. If she can still stand you after all that, it might be love. But I'm talkin' about your average, everyday kind of fallin' in love. For some of us, it don't take no fortnight to decide. I knew for sure I was in love with my little lady when, on just our second date, I saw her load a hay truck all by herself. The way she was a tossin' those hay bales around impressed me to no end! And after bein' married for more'n 30 years now, I know I picked the right girl for me, as evidenced by the way she cooks them fine, fine meals and the way she tucks me in and reads me a story ever night until I go to sleep. And her bein' such an important part of my life and all, I try my best to look as good as I can and not let myself go to pot and all. It may've been good luck, or it may've been just dumb luck, but either way I really did luck out by meetin' her. Anyway, I hope this helps.
A quick shout-out to Tina, Natalie, Ladea, Vitoria, and Zar for commenting on Vampire Baby! We had a lot of fun with that story, and your comments made me laugh! And thanks to everyone else for reading!
Dear Pickin' Blaine's Brain,
This question has been driving me crazy for a long time now. Which came first -- the chicken or the egg?
(signed) Crazy Curious
Dear Crazy Curious,
Well, ain't that just about the stupidest... ... ... ... this kinda question just shows me you ain't all that bright and you're probably a livin' in the city and don't know nothin' bout livin' in the country and all. Shoot! I had harder questions than this way back'n I was just a little feller in 2nd grade math class, where my teacher, Mrs. O' Hooligan, who was built like a red-haired Congo gorilla, with arms to match, would be a hittin' me on the head with a yardstick ever time I gave a wrong answer! So, as you can imagine, I had to get used to comin' up with the right answers real quick! But I'll go ahead and take the time to try to explain to you the answer to your question. The answer, plain and simple, is ... the chicken. You see, it's nothin' more'n common sense. There have been plenty of times when I have gone out into my backyard to poke around in the chicken coop to rustle up some eggs so's I could make me a nice spinach quiche... (heh, heh, just kiddin'. I ain't never made no quiche!) ... so's I could fry me up some over-easies to go with my Jimmy Dean sausage (dang, that's tasty stuff!), and try as I might, I could find nary a one of 'em. So... now stay with me... what I'm a sayin' is that there are times when I got plenty of chickens but no eggs to speak of. But then let's turn it around for a minute. Imagine me standin' there in my kitchen with an egg in my hand. Well, there just ain't no way that could be possible unless there's at least one chicken outside in my chicken coop! So you can have chickens and no eggs, but there's no way you can have any eggs without there bein' some chickens around! So the chicken came first. Got it! Good! I got time for one more question.
Dear Pickin' Blaine's Brain,
I think my girlfriend and I are falling in love. How do we know if this love is real?
(signed) Dreamlover
Dear Dreamlover,
OK, first of all, stop callin' yourself "Dreamlover" (that can get you beat-up around these parts). And even though I'm feelin' kinda queasy about this, I'll go ahead and answer your stupid question. Without gettin' all sentimental about the feelings you might get when you're twitter-pated by a pretty face, I would have to say that if the other person still wants to be around you at all after gettin' to know the pathetic real you (not the fake you), then there's the chance it might be love. This should take at least a couple of weeks, and during this time, the other person should experience bein' with you when you're happy, when you're sad, and especially when you're mad as hell about somethin'. If she can still stand you after all that, it might be love. But I'm talkin' about your average, everyday kind of fallin' in love. For some of us, it don't take no fortnight to decide. I knew for sure I was in love with my little lady when, on just our second date, I saw her load a hay truck all by herself. The way she was a tossin' those hay bales around impressed me to no end! And after bein' married for more'n 30 years now, I know I picked the right girl for me, as evidenced by the way she cooks them fine, fine meals and the way she tucks me in and reads me a story ever night until I go to sleep. And her bein' such an important part of my life and all, I try my best to look as good as I can and not let myself go to pot and all. It may've been good luck, or it may've been just dumb luck, but either way I really did luck out by meetin' her. Anyway, I hope this helps.
A quick shout-out to Tina, Natalie, Ladea, Vitoria, and Zar for commenting on Vampire Baby! We had a lot of fun with that story, and your comments made me laugh! And thanks to everyone else for reading!
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Vampire Baby! Part The Last!
Post-It Note from Geeves, Head Butler of Paradise House, Attached to Breakfast-in-Bed Tray (with accompanying photograph)
18 May, 2009
Sire,
The staff has been worried for quite some time now. We all decided to hire a photographer to come and take a portrait of dearest Helena to lift your spirits. We hope you start feeling better soon.
Geeves
Blaine Paradise's Journal
20 May, 2009, 3:00 a.m. Another sleepless night! This makes it the fifth night in a row I have lain in my bed, eyes wide open, unable to catch a single wink (let alone forty!). This is even worse than the 3-day bout with insomnia I had some years ago after greedily gorging on a luscious, sugar-filled apple crisp baked by my dear sister Vonda, bless her heart. Well, that settles it! I am absolutely convinced I have become a vampire! My dear niece Vitoria warned that this might happen to me, and I am quite sure she is right. But she has also informed me that this is a condition from which I can be cured simply by passing it on to another unfortunate soul, much like the hot potato game I used to play with my siblings and cousins when I was but a wee lad. But who will be my unfortunate victim?
20 May, 8:30 a.m. It was the harsh growling of a Briggs and Stratton that broke my chain of thought as I paced in circles within my velvet-draped bedchamber. I went to the window and drew back the curtain. There below me, pushing a mower around my luscious St. Augustine lawn, was my groundskeeper, Eleazar. He has been in my employ for going on 6 years now, but I rarely speak to him, as he is usually dirty and smelly, and I have seldom given him anything more than an occasional nod as I inspect the grounds. It is rumored that he lives alone with his two dogs in a tool shack behind the stable, where he dabbles in grass hybridization, bread baking, and beef brisket smoking during his off-hours. I realized then that he might make the perfect recipient of the gift I so very much long to give away. Tonight will be the night!
20 May, 11:30 p.m. My plan is in place, and I am ready to embark on my fiendish errand! I am in luck that a full moon has risen in the eastern sky, making it easier for me to see as I make my stealthy way to my unsuspecting victim! The night air is a tad chilly, so I must remember to take my black cape, cane, and top hat, lest I catch my death of cold! To the tool shack I go!
21 May, 6:00 a.m. Alas, my brilliant plan has gone awry! Oh, that I could have foreseen such a horrible turn of events! My hand is still shaking, but I will write down all that happened after I left the house last night so that the reader of this journal will know the truth should I meet violent misfortune in the near future!
After I left Paradise House, I made my way down the lane to the stable. When I turned the corner, I espied the rustic tool shack just ahead, with the faint, greenish glow generated by a computer monitor emanating from its only window. Quietly as an alley cat I advanced to the window and peered in. There he was! My hapless victim! He had his back to me, with a black and tan dachshund curled up on his lap and a golden lab sleeping at his feet, and he appeared to be typing furiously on a keyboard. And I could hear him giggling like a lunatic as he posted doctored-up photographs on his Facebook wall for all to see.
My eyes drifted from his computer screen to the back of his neck, where I assumed I would have to bite him, and it was then that I noticed how grossly hairy his neck actually was! YUCK! It must have been months since he had received a haircut from his sister Natalie (a well-known hair stylist in Austin, Texas. Mention this story and receive a 10% discount!) Rumor has it that the smell of his hot, sweaty scalp has caused her to gag more than once! I then noticed that his ears were hairy as well, with the bristle-brush hairs growing from them adding a pointed, elf-life appearance to his overall mien. Even the back of his arms were covered with thick dog-like hair, and his filthy, grease-stained t-shirt appeared to be ripped in many places. Just then, an antique German Cuckoo Clock, located on the wall above the rakes and weed-eaters, struck twelve, and I watched in horror as he turned his head to look at it!
Now let me pause a moment to say that I have seen him on more than one occasion with an unshaven face, looking as if he has an aversion to razors and shaving cream, but this was ridiculous! His face was that of an abnormally grotesque wolf! The kind that gets kicked out of the pack for being so appallingly ugly! I must have let out a loud gasp, and he turned around and saw me gaping in the window! Immediately he let out a long and hideous howl that startled more than just beeswax from me this time, if you know what I mean! And then the realization hit me... he was on Team Jacob! TEAM JACOB!!!!! Oh, no!
I turned and started running, and I could hear the beast breaking through the window as he (and his two devil-dogs) began the chase! The ground was literally shaking, and I could feel the hot breath of the furious monster on the back of my neck as I ran like a bat outta hell! (Wait a minute, that's another story!) Anyway, I knew I would not be able to outrun a pack of dogs, so I headed for the nearest pecan tree and made an incredible leap into the lowest branch. I then scrambled up as high as I could go. The three foul-smelling beasties (werewolf, dachshund, and lab) busied themselves leaping and baying at me until they were absolutely exhausted. Then they took turns sniffing the base of the tree and peeing over where the others had previously peed (I think that's another story, too). Finally, they got bored and went home. I jumped out of the tree and dashed back to my humble abode just as the sun began to rise. And now I am writing this final journal entry, bringing to a close this entirely ridiculous and made-up shaggy-dog story because I cannot think of anything else to write to prolong it! And so, I wish you Good Day!
18 May, 2009
Sire,
The staff has been worried for quite some time now. We all decided to hire a photographer to come and take a portrait of dearest Helena to lift your spirits. We hope you start feeling better soon.
Geeves
Blaine Paradise's Journal
20 May, 2009, 3:00 a.m. Another sleepless night! This makes it the fifth night in a row I have lain in my bed, eyes wide open, unable to catch a single wink (let alone forty!). This is even worse than the 3-day bout with insomnia I had some years ago after greedily gorging on a luscious, sugar-filled apple crisp baked by my dear sister Vonda, bless her heart. Well, that settles it! I am absolutely convinced I have become a vampire! My dear niece Vitoria warned that this might happen to me, and I am quite sure she is right. But she has also informed me that this is a condition from which I can be cured simply by passing it on to another unfortunate soul, much like the hot potato game I used to play with my siblings and cousins when I was but a wee lad. But who will be my unfortunate victim?
20 May, 8:30 a.m. It was the harsh growling of a Briggs and Stratton that broke my chain of thought as I paced in circles within my velvet-draped bedchamber. I went to the window and drew back the curtain. There below me, pushing a mower around my luscious St. Augustine lawn, was my groundskeeper, Eleazar. He has been in my employ for going on 6 years now, but I rarely speak to him, as he is usually dirty and smelly, and I have seldom given him anything more than an occasional nod as I inspect the grounds. It is rumored that he lives alone with his two dogs in a tool shack behind the stable, where he dabbles in grass hybridization, bread baking, and beef brisket smoking during his off-hours. I realized then that he might make the perfect recipient of the gift I so very much long to give away. Tonight will be the night!
20 May, 11:30 p.m. My plan is in place, and I am ready to embark on my fiendish errand! I am in luck that a full moon has risen in the eastern sky, making it easier for me to see as I make my stealthy way to my unsuspecting victim! The night air is a tad chilly, so I must remember to take my black cape, cane, and top hat, lest I catch my death of cold! To the tool shack I go!
21 May, 6:00 a.m. Alas, my brilliant plan has gone awry! Oh, that I could have foreseen such a horrible turn of events! My hand is still shaking, but I will write down all that happened after I left the house last night so that the reader of this journal will know the truth should I meet violent misfortune in the near future!
After I left Paradise House, I made my way down the lane to the stable. When I turned the corner, I espied the rustic tool shack just ahead, with the faint, greenish glow generated by a computer monitor emanating from its only window. Quietly as an alley cat I advanced to the window and peered in. There he was! My hapless victim! He had his back to me, with a black and tan dachshund curled up on his lap and a golden lab sleeping at his feet, and he appeared to be typing furiously on a keyboard. And I could hear him giggling like a lunatic as he posted doctored-up photographs on his Facebook wall for all to see.
My eyes drifted from his computer screen to the back of his neck, where I assumed I would have to bite him, and it was then that I noticed how grossly hairy his neck actually was! YUCK! It must have been months since he had received a haircut from his sister Natalie (a well-known hair stylist in Austin, Texas. Mention this story and receive a 10% discount!) Rumor has it that the smell of his hot, sweaty scalp has caused her to gag more than once! I then noticed that his ears were hairy as well, with the bristle-brush hairs growing from them adding a pointed, elf-life appearance to his overall mien. Even the back of his arms were covered with thick dog-like hair, and his filthy, grease-stained t-shirt appeared to be ripped in many places. Just then, an antique German Cuckoo Clock, located on the wall above the rakes and weed-eaters, struck twelve, and I watched in horror as he turned his head to look at it!
Now let me pause a moment to say that I have seen him on more than one occasion with an unshaven face, looking as if he has an aversion to razors and shaving cream, but this was ridiculous! His face was that of an abnormally grotesque wolf! The kind that gets kicked out of the pack for being so appallingly ugly! I must have let out a loud gasp, and he turned around and saw me gaping in the window! Immediately he let out a long and hideous howl that startled more than just beeswax from me this time, if you know what I mean! And then the realization hit me... he was on Team Jacob! TEAM JACOB!!!!! Oh, no!
I turned and started running, and I could hear the beast breaking through the window as he (and his two devil-dogs) began the chase! The ground was literally shaking, and I could feel the hot breath of the furious monster on the back of my neck as I ran like a bat outta hell! (Wait a minute, that's another story!) Anyway, I knew I would not be able to outrun a pack of dogs, so I headed for the nearest pecan tree and made an incredible leap into the lowest branch. I then scrambled up as high as I could go. The three foul-smelling beasties (werewolf, dachshund, and lab) busied themselves leaping and baying at me until they were absolutely exhausted. Then they took turns sniffing the base of the tree and peeing over where the others had previously peed (I think that's another story, too). Finally, they got bored and went home. I jumped out of the tree and dashed back to my humble abode just as the sun began to rise. And now I am writing this final journal entry, bringing to a close this entirely ridiculous and made-up shaggy-dog story because I cannot think of anything else to write to prolong it! And so, I wish you Good Day!
Cast of Characters
Blaine Paradise, played by Himself
Helena Paradise, played by Herself
Helena's mother, played by Tina
Helena's mother, played by Tina
Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante, played by Vitoria Belle Dante
Eleazar, the groundskeeper, played by Eleazar Paradise
Devil Dogs, played by PJ and Bubba
English Maid, played by some weirdo we found in downtown Austin
who was willing to play the part
who was willing to play the part
Credits
All Photography by Eleazar Paradise Photography (eleazarparadise.com)
Special Thanks To:
Vitoria Belle Dante, for helping to write Part II
Helena, for being a really spooky baby vampire
Tina, for being a wonderful mommy for Helena
Natalie, for her love, inspiration and haircuts
Eleazar, for his great photos
Eleazar, for his great photos
and most of all
Teresa, for cooking great Mexican meals and being a fantastic kisser!
BONUS PHOTO GALLERY
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Vampire Baby! Part 2
Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante's Diary
10 May, 2009, Miss Peckham's Finishing School for Girls, Castle Rock, Colorado
Dear Diary,
I have just received a very strange letter from a very strange uncle of mine in Texas! It seems he is worried about his granddaughter, my own dear cousin Helena, and he seems to think she might be transforming into a vampire! How exciting! And he is asking for my advice about what he should do about the situation. Of course, I shall write him back at once, even though I am very busy with my own studies for my triple major of Pre-Med, Pre-Law, and Pre-Supermodeling (with a minor in Shakespearean Acting)! Now, where have I placed my stationery and goose-quill pen?
Letter from Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante
10 May, 2009
Dearest Uncle Blaine of the Estate of Paradise House,
It was such a pleasure to receive news from you, though I am distraught at the circumstances concerning my cousin, the beautiful baby Helena. I, too, am worried, for I fear that she may be showing signs of one of the rarest of conditions, Vampirism! Her photo was breathtaking, yet... her skin was as pale as Snow White, her eyes were as violet and vivid as those of Heidi, a Volturran Vampire that I have studied, and her teeth are as sharp as a shark's. Other than that... she sure is cute!
I appreciate all of the details that you put into your 12-page letter. It has helped me in the upmost of ways. I will certainly help you decode this situation. Helena has many of the same symptoms that young Vampires have. The only thing that makes me believe she is not fully transformed is that she still drinks milk. It is only blood red from the food coloring and not from... well... you know. She is also still very obedient. That is a good sign. Her personality has not yet changed. Hopefully, it will not. In all of my years studying and learning about Vampires, I have never heard of such a unique case of Vampirism. I am praying that the side effects don't kick in. We may have caught this at exactly the right time.
I, too, have been diagnosed with this rare, special, and awesome condition. However, I asked for it, so it is a totally different situation (Go Team Edward!). Promise me that you won't tell my Dad! As hard as it is to hear, Vampirism is contagious. There is a small possibility that I could have given it to my precious cousin. I did smother her in kisses when she was here at the ripe old age of five months. I couldn't help myself. She was too cute! If this is the case... then we must act quickly. There is no time to waste!
It is treatable. She is still young enough to get rid of this. First things first... you must make a big batch of my Dad's garlicky Shrimp Pasta. Eat two full plates, loaded with Parmesan cheese. Don't brush your teeth for two days (apologize to Aunt Teresa for me... it really is the only way to protect yourself). This will saturate your body and hopefully keep Helena from gnawing on you. We must complete this mission before midnight on All Hallows Eve. She must give it to someone or something else by then. If she doesn't, she will become a Vampire forever. This is the easiest, as well as the only, cure that I know of.
I am sorry this letter is so short, but I am the captain of my badminton team, and I am being called away for my match. Give Helena a big kiss for me! Ta, Ta! And Bonne Appetite!
Vitoria B.C. Dante
Blaine Paradise's Journal
14 May, 3:00 p.m. I have finally received my long-awaited reply from my dear niece Vitoria, and I am heartened to hear that we have a bit of hope after all! I shall do everything she advises in her letter post-haste! I have already dispatched my valet to the town to procure from the local grocer all the necessary ingredients for a double batch of her father Vito's Garlicky Shrimp Pasta, and I have immediately ceased brushing my teeth (not that I brush very often - my standard rule has always been to brush once a month whether I need to or not). As soon as my valet returns, I shall prepare the pasta myself!
14 May, 9:00 p.m. Oooooh. I am soooooooo unwell! I do not know which is worse, the violent projectile vomiting or the explosive looseness of my bowels! Ohhhhhhhhhohohohooooooo! I do not understand what has happened! I prepared the pasta dish the traditional way, the way I was taught by Vito himself when I was but an eager young apprentice in his Italian kitchen (though I found it extremely odd that today the intense vapors from the garlic repulsed me to no end). And though I have never had any trouble eating the pasta before (in fact, I have always found it to be extraordinarily sumptuous, especially when it is coated in a 2-inch layer of grated Parmesan cheese a la Dante-style), I could barely force the two platefuls into my gullet. And now I am violently ill, and I do not know why! Oh, no! I fear my stomach and my bowels are both about to explode yet again, perhaps at the same time! Back to the chamber pot I go!
2nd Letter from Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante
(sent by overnight express mail)
14 May, 2009
Dearest Uncle,
Now that I think about it, I am surprised that you haven't changed into a Vampire yet yourself with all the gnawing that has been going on with Helena. Wait a second... THAT'S IT! Uncle Blaine, I am giving you fair warning, you may change into a Vampire! YES!!!!!!! THAT'S IT!!!!!!! She knows that she must trade the Vampire Venom to you to save herself!!!!!!!!!!!! That explains all of the gnawing. All you have to do is trade it to another to be rid of it and get it out of your family's system before All Hallows Eve night!!!!!!! Forget the garlicky Shrimp Pasta (it might make you very, very sick). Instead, let her chew on you as much as possible!
All Hallows Eve is five and a half months away. You have time to transform and then pass it on. You should be fine. Unless... oh, it doesn't really matter, it's impossible that would happen, so don't worry about it. We'll just hope for the best! Keep me up-to-date on the progression of the transformation. Give baby Helena big kisses from her cousin, and let her know how much I love her. Good luck, Uncle Blaine!
Love,
Your niece,
Vitoria
Blaine Paradise's Journal
15 May, 6:00 p.m. As I sit here holding Vitoria's second letter in my hand, I cannot help but wonder how it came to be that she forgot to mention this very important information in her first letter!!!!!!! Then I might not have eaten all of that garlic!!!!!!! And then I might not have gotten so sick!!!!!!! But at least I know now everything she wants me to know, so that I might be able to formulate a brilliant plan to rid myself of this insidious infection. What to do... what to do? Perhaps I should take my two ferocious Watch-Dachshunds for a walk around the estate grounds so that I might clear my head. Yes! That's it! A long walk with my ferocious and deadly guard dogs! To the kennels I go!
15 May, 8:00 p.m. (Gasp!) (pant! pant!) Oh, thank heaven I (gasp!) made it back alive! (pant! pant!) I was nearly torn to shreds (gasp! pant! bleed! gurgle!) by my formerly trustworthy Watch-Dachshunds! The foul-smelling brutes literally chased me around the entire estate twice before I managed to elude them and make it back inside (pant! pant! bleed! bleed! gasp! whine!)! Why, oh why is this happening to me?
3rd Letter from Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante
(sent by Western Union telegram, delivered by messenger on 15 May, 8:30 p.m.)
P.S. (stop) Stay away from wolves or dogs of any kind for the moment (stop) They don't like Vampires (stop) And they smell really bad!!! V. (end)
A big shout-out to Vitoria Dante for co-writing this installment! You are a wonderful writer, Vitoria Bella! Thanks for your help!
10 May, 2009, Miss Peckham's Finishing School for Girls, Castle Rock, Colorado
Dear Diary,
I have just received a very strange letter from a very strange uncle of mine in Texas! It seems he is worried about his granddaughter, my own dear cousin Helena, and he seems to think she might be transforming into a vampire! How exciting! And he is asking for my advice about what he should do about the situation. Of course, I shall write him back at once, even though I am very busy with my own studies for my triple major of Pre-Med, Pre-Law, and Pre-Supermodeling (with a minor in Shakespearean Acting)! Now, where have I placed my stationery and goose-quill pen?
Letter from Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante
10 May, 2009
Dearest Uncle Blaine of the Estate of Paradise House,
It was such a pleasure to receive news from you, though I am distraught at the circumstances concerning my cousin, the beautiful baby Helena. I, too, am worried, for I fear that she may be showing signs of one of the rarest of conditions, Vampirism! Her photo was breathtaking, yet... her skin was as pale as Snow White, her eyes were as violet and vivid as those of Heidi, a Volturran Vampire that I have studied, and her teeth are as sharp as a shark's. Other than that... she sure is cute!
I appreciate all of the details that you put into your 12-page letter. It has helped me in the upmost of ways. I will certainly help you decode this situation. Helena has many of the same symptoms that young Vampires have. The only thing that makes me believe she is not fully transformed is that she still drinks milk. It is only blood red from the food coloring and not from... well... you know. She is also still very obedient. That is a good sign. Her personality has not yet changed. Hopefully, it will not. In all of my years studying and learning about Vampires, I have never heard of such a unique case of Vampirism. I am praying that the side effects don't kick in. We may have caught this at exactly the right time.
I, too, have been diagnosed with this rare, special, and awesome condition. However, I asked for it, so it is a totally different situation (Go Team Edward!). Promise me that you won't tell my Dad! As hard as it is to hear, Vampirism is contagious. There is a small possibility that I could have given it to my precious cousin. I did smother her in kisses when she was here at the ripe old age of five months. I couldn't help myself. She was too cute! If this is the case... then we must act quickly. There is no time to waste!
It is treatable. She is still young enough to get rid of this. First things first... you must make a big batch of my Dad's garlicky Shrimp Pasta. Eat two full plates, loaded with Parmesan cheese. Don't brush your teeth for two days (apologize to Aunt Teresa for me... it really is the only way to protect yourself). This will saturate your body and hopefully keep Helena from gnawing on you. We must complete this mission before midnight on All Hallows Eve. She must give it to someone or something else by then. If she doesn't, she will become a Vampire forever. This is the easiest, as well as the only, cure that I know of.
I am sorry this letter is so short, but I am the captain of my badminton team, and I am being called away for my match. Give Helena a big kiss for me! Ta, Ta! And Bonne Appetite!
Vitoria B.C. Dante
Blaine Paradise's Journal
14 May, 3:00 p.m. I have finally received my long-awaited reply from my dear niece Vitoria, and I am heartened to hear that we have a bit of hope after all! I shall do everything she advises in her letter post-haste! I have already dispatched my valet to the town to procure from the local grocer all the necessary ingredients for a double batch of her father Vito's Garlicky Shrimp Pasta, and I have immediately ceased brushing my teeth (not that I brush very often - my standard rule has always been to brush once a month whether I need to or not). As soon as my valet returns, I shall prepare the pasta myself!
14 May, 9:00 p.m. Oooooh. I am soooooooo unwell! I do not know which is worse, the violent projectile vomiting or the explosive looseness of my bowels! Ohhhhhhhhhohohohooooooo! I do not understand what has happened! I prepared the pasta dish the traditional way, the way I was taught by Vito himself when I was but an eager young apprentice in his Italian kitchen (though I found it extremely odd that today the intense vapors from the garlic repulsed me to no end). And though I have never had any trouble eating the pasta before (in fact, I have always found it to be extraordinarily sumptuous, especially when it is coated in a 2-inch layer of grated Parmesan cheese a la Dante-style), I could barely force the two platefuls into my gullet. And now I am violently ill, and I do not know why! Oh, no! I fear my stomach and my bowels are both about to explode yet again, perhaps at the same time! Back to the chamber pot I go!
2nd Letter from Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante
(sent by overnight express mail)
14 May, 2009
Dearest Uncle,
Now that I think about it, I am surprised that you haven't changed into a Vampire yet yourself with all the gnawing that has been going on with Helena. Wait a second... THAT'S IT! Uncle Blaine, I am giving you fair warning, you may change into a Vampire! YES!!!!!!! THAT'S IT!!!!!!! She knows that she must trade the Vampire Venom to you to save herself!!!!!!!!!!!! That explains all of the gnawing. All you have to do is trade it to another to be rid of it and get it out of your family's system before All Hallows Eve night!!!!!!! Forget the garlicky Shrimp Pasta (it might make you very, very sick). Instead, let her chew on you as much as possible!
All Hallows Eve is five and a half months away. You have time to transform and then pass it on. You should be fine. Unless... oh, it doesn't really matter, it's impossible that would happen, so don't worry about it. We'll just hope for the best! Keep me up-to-date on the progression of the transformation. Give baby Helena big kisses from her cousin, and let her know how much I love her. Good luck, Uncle Blaine!
Love,
Your niece,
Vitoria
Blaine Paradise's Journal
15 May, 6:00 p.m. As I sit here holding Vitoria's second letter in my hand, I cannot help but wonder how it came to be that she forgot to mention this very important information in her first letter!!!!!!! Then I might not have eaten all of that garlic!!!!!!! And then I might not have gotten so sick!!!!!!! But at least I know now everything she wants me to know, so that I might be able to formulate a brilliant plan to rid myself of this insidious infection. What to do... what to do? Perhaps I should take my two ferocious Watch-Dachshunds for a walk around the estate grounds so that I might clear my head. Yes! That's it! A long walk with my ferocious and deadly guard dogs! To the kennels I go!
15 May, 8:00 p.m. (Gasp!) (pant! pant!) Oh, thank heaven I (gasp!) made it back alive! (pant! pant!) I was nearly torn to shreds (gasp! pant! bleed! gurgle!) by my formerly trustworthy Watch-Dachshunds! The foul-smelling brutes literally chased me around the entire estate twice before I managed to elude them and make it back inside (pant! pant! bleed! bleed! gasp! whine!)! Why, oh why is this happening to me?
3rd Letter from Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante
(sent by Western Union telegram, delivered by messenger on 15 May, 8:30 p.m.)
P.S. (stop) Stay away from wolves or dogs of any kind for the moment (stop) They don't like Vampires (stop) And they smell really bad!!! V. (end)
A big shout-out to Vitoria Dante for co-writing this installment! You are a wonderful writer, Vitoria Bella! Thanks for your help!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Vampire Baby! Part 1
Blaine Paradise's Journal -
3 May, 2009, Manor, Texas I had another disturbing dream last night. I was running away from something, but I don't know what. And I heard music, children's music. I had heard it before, but where? Keep trying, keep trying, don't give up... never give up... It was eerie, I tell you.
5 May Something strange is happening here at my country estate, Paradise House, though I cannot put my finger on exactly what it is. I got up normally, and, as per my custom, hobbled to the kitchen to ensure the coffee was going. I then tightened my velvet robe's sash around my ample waist and made my way out the front door into the chilly morning air to retrieve my newspaper, hoping against hope that it would be lying on the dewy grass to be easily procured, rather than thrown up under my motorcar on the driveway, thus forcing me on my hands and knees to grope for it (the last time that happened, a neighborhood cat was under there as well, and its startled hiss scared the living beeswax out of me, if you know what I mean). Though I searched high and low, I could not locate my morning read, and my heart sank as I realized I would have nothing to peruse this day as I sat in the water closet.
Later, after my usual breakfast of soft boiled eggs, English muffins, and menudo (garnished with finely diced green onions and fresh Chilean cilantro), I retired to the drawing room to relax in my chair. Feeling of good temperament, I requested that my granddaughter be brought to me, that I might watch her play for awhile. She was carried in forthwith, and her beaming mother let it be known that she had an important announcement to make. The child had grown her first baby teeth that very night! How wonderful, I thought! But after she placed the not-quite-six-month-old nursling on my lap, I noticed that her two new teeth protruded from her mouth in an odd way, much like the fangs of an Amazonian vampire bat (with which I had had an unfortunate encounter years ago as I led an expedition in a fruitless search for the fabled El Dorado, but that's another story).
Not wanting to worry the little one's mother with my concerns, I "oohed" and "aahed" about how white and shiny and sharp those new teeth were. The compliments appeared to please her mother, who then informed me that it was time for the baby's bath. I was left alone with my thoughts, puffing on my pipe in my chair, but I couldn't shake a vague feeling of uneasiness that had settled uncomfortably on my chest, leaving me with a bad case of heartburn and putrid-tasting burps.
6 May Today I had yet another strange experience that has left me even more perplexed than usual. As I was taking my customary stroll around the house, I happened into the nursery and found my granddaughter playing with her teddy on the ceiling. I thought that a bit odd (if not somewhat dangerous), and I told her to come down from there that instant and play on the floor like a normal child. She is an obedient little girl, so she floated down immediately upon hearing my command. I rewarded her with a pat on the head, but she then grabbed my leg and started gnawing on my left ankle. I sensed she was hungry, so I rang for the maid to bring a warm bottle right away. While we waited for the bottle to arrive, I gathered the diminutive anklebiter into my arms to give her a kiss, and I noticed that her eyes, rather than their usual slate-grayish-blue, had changed to a deep and vivid purple!
3 May, 2009, Manor, Texas I had another disturbing dream last night. I was running away from something, but I don't know what. And I heard music, children's music. I had heard it before, but where? Keep trying, keep trying, don't give up... never give up... It was eerie, I tell you.
5 May Something strange is happening here at my country estate, Paradise House, though I cannot put my finger on exactly what it is. I got up normally, and, as per my custom, hobbled to the kitchen to ensure the coffee was going. I then tightened my velvet robe's sash around my ample waist and made my way out the front door into the chilly morning air to retrieve my newspaper, hoping against hope that it would be lying on the dewy grass to be easily procured, rather than thrown up under my motorcar on the driveway, thus forcing me on my hands and knees to grope for it (the last time that happened, a neighborhood cat was under there as well, and its startled hiss scared the living beeswax out of me, if you know what I mean). Though I searched high and low, I could not locate my morning read, and my heart sank as I realized I would have nothing to peruse this day as I sat in the water closet.
Later, after my usual breakfast of soft boiled eggs, English muffins, and menudo (garnished with finely diced green onions and fresh Chilean cilantro), I retired to the drawing room to relax in my chair. Feeling of good temperament, I requested that my granddaughter be brought to me, that I might watch her play for awhile. She was carried in forthwith, and her beaming mother let it be known that she had an important announcement to make. The child had grown her first baby teeth that very night! How wonderful, I thought! But after she placed the not-quite-six-month-old nursling on my lap, I noticed that her two new teeth protruded from her mouth in an odd way, much like the fangs of an Amazonian vampire bat (with which I had had an unfortunate encounter years ago as I led an expedition in a fruitless search for the fabled El Dorado, but that's another story).
Not wanting to worry the little one's mother with my concerns, I "oohed" and "aahed" about how white and shiny and sharp those new teeth were. The compliments appeared to please her mother, who then informed me that it was time for the baby's bath. I was left alone with my thoughts, puffing on my pipe in my chair, but I couldn't shake a vague feeling of uneasiness that had settled uncomfortably on my chest, leaving me with a bad case of heartburn and putrid-tasting burps.
6 May Today I had yet another strange experience that has left me even more perplexed than usual. As I was taking my customary stroll around the house, I happened into the nursery and found my granddaughter playing with her teddy on the ceiling. I thought that a bit odd (if not somewhat dangerous), and I told her to come down from there that instant and play on the floor like a normal child. She is an obedient little girl, so she floated down immediately upon hearing my command. I rewarded her with a pat on the head, but she then grabbed my leg and started gnawing on my left ankle. I sensed she was hungry, so I rang for the maid to bring a warm bottle right away. While we waited for the bottle to arrive, I gathered the diminutive anklebiter into my arms to give her a kiss, and I noticed that her eyes, rather than their usual slate-grayish-blue, had changed to a deep and vivid purple!
I was both con- and dumb-founded at the same time! What was going on? I had heard that a baby's eyes could change color, but this was ridiculous! When the maid returned with the bottle, she took the baby from my arms and sat in the rocker to feed her. I then noticed that the liquid inside the clear, glass bottle was as red as blood! Seeing my looks of disgust and consternation, she said, "Oh, 'tis her formula for sure, Guvna'. Ain't a one of us knows why, but she won't drink it 'less we add some red food colorin' to it, don't ya know." I left the nursery feeling a bit shaken, with questions whirling around in my head - questions that require answers that I may not want to hear!
7 May, 4:00 a.m. I did not get much sleep this night, for I am absolutely possessed with both fear and the desire to find the reason for my granddaughter's metamorphosis. I locked myself in the library so that I might conduct my research undisturbed, with nothing but a bottle of Forty Creek, two Red Bulls and a bag of Cheezits to keep me company, and for hours I have poured over tome after tome, volume after volume of vampire lore. Yes, I said it! Vampire lore! That is my suspicion! That my poor little granddaughter is a vampire! Now, on to the DVD's!
7 May, 11:59 a.m. Alas, I cannot be certain of that which I fear, though I greatly increased my store of knowledge regarding the vampire by watching a number of well-researched videos on the devilish subject, including (but not limited to) Bram Stoker's Dracula; Abbot and Costello Meet Dracula; Dracula, Dead and Loving It; Love at First Bite; and Blacula. Oh, the horror of it all! I feel that my bloodshot eyes are ready to fall from their tortured sockets! Oh, that I could get some sleep! But there is one more task that I have to do before I seek the blessed repose that can only be found in my velvet-draped bedchamber! I have decided to write a letter pleading for help and advice from an expert in the area of vampirology; the only person I know who knows everything there is to know about these hard-to-know creatures; the one person I trust whole-heartedly because of her vast store of vampire knowledge -- my niece Vitoria Bella Cullen Dante! She is a budding legend in the Twilight world, who simply devours each new book in the series as fast as they are churned out (it is rumored that she read Twilight in little more than two hours, that she read Midnight Sun before it was officially published, and that she has plans to read the next novel in the series, Solar Flare, before it is even written!) No one could know more about vampires than she! So, I am taking pen in hand and dashing off a short, ten-to-twelve page letter to her describing the symptoms suffered by my beloved granddaughter in order to find out, once and for all, if there is any hope for us! And, God-willing, she will write back before it is too late!
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Welcome to Snake City!
Interesting fact:
According to reliable sources (real Indians), the word Sioux means "snake". Thus Sioux City, the place of my birth, means "Snake City." Ironically, I have a phobia of snakes.
Go to http://www.snowowl.com/ for more info.
Some things I learned the hard way:
Don't listen to First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (Leona Lewis version) when you're driving home to get a little rest from the hospital where your wife is being treated for symptoms of a stroke. You can easily get into a wreck, trust me.
Don't buy generic Hamburger Helper. Pay the big bucks and get the real thing.
When you are asked to propose a name for your "Biggest Loser Contest" weight-loss team at work, don't suggest "The Hungry, Hungry Hippos".
Something I learned the easy way:
There aren't many things in life sweeter than getting a kiss on your cheek from your granddaughter.
Wisdom from others:
The more education you get, the older you get, and the wiser you get, the more you realize you don't know squat. (submitted by Teresa)
Anything with testicles is dangerous. (submitted by Tina)
The problem with experience is that you don't get it until just after you need it. (submitted by Anonymous)
Wisdom is accepting that some days you're the pigeon and some days you're the statue. (submitted by Anonymous)
You can't go wrong with cocktail weenies. They look as good as they taste. And they come in this delicious red sauce. It looks like ketchup, it tastes like ketchup, but brother, it ain't ketchup! (submitted by Homer Simpson)
THIS DAY IN HISTORY
One Year Ago Helena, after feasting on sweet potatoes and rice cereal, pooped her pants. Her father, Eleazar, who had to change her diaper, gagged.
Twenty-seven Years Ago Eleazar had an unusually heavy and saggy poopy diaper. Because it was a cloth diaper, his father, Blaine, had to rinse it out in the toilet before placing it in the soak bucket. He gagged.
Forty-eight Years Ago While hurrying home from visiting his father at a construction site in Lawton, Iowa, four-year-old Blaine could hold it no longer and pooped his pants. He had to waddle the last block home and tell his mother, Lorna, what he did. As they were cleaning him up, both his mother and his older sister, Vonda, gagged.
A quick shout-out to my colleague John and sister Ladea for commenting on the last blog post. Thanks, guys!
According to reliable sources (real Indians), the word Sioux means "snake". Thus Sioux City, the place of my birth, means "Snake City." Ironically, I have a phobia of snakes.
Go to http://www.snowowl.com/ for more info.
Some things I learned the hard way:
Don't listen to First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (Leona Lewis version) when you're driving home to get a little rest from the hospital where your wife is being treated for symptoms of a stroke. You can easily get into a wreck, trust me.
Don't buy generic Hamburger Helper. Pay the big bucks and get the real thing.
When you are asked to propose a name for your "Biggest Loser Contest" weight-loss team at work, don't suggest "The Hungry, Hungry Hippos".
Something I learned the easy way:
There aren't many things in life sweeter than getting a kiss on your cheek from your granddaughter.
Wisdom from others:
The more education you get, the older you get, and the wiser you get, the more you realize you don't know squat. (submitted by Teresa)
Anything with testicles is dangerous. (submitted by Tina)
The problem with experience is that you don't get it until just after you need it. (submitted by Anonymous)
Wisdom is accepting that some days you're the pigeon and some days you're the statue. (submitted by Anonymous)
You can't go wrong with cocktail weenies. They look as good as they taste. And they come in this delicious red sauce. It looks like ketchup, it tastes like ketchup, but brother, it ain't ketchup! (submitted by Homer Simpson)
THIS DAY IN HISTORY
One Year Ago Helena, after feasting on sweet potatoes and rice cereal, pooped her pants. Her father, Eleazar, who had to change her diaper, gagged.
Twenty-seven Years Ago Eleazar had an unusually heavy and saggy poopy diaper. Because it was a cloth diaper, his father, Blaine, had to rinse it out in the toilet before placing it in the soak bucket. He gagged.
Forty-eight Years Ago While hurrying home from visiting his father at a construction site in Lawton, Iowa, four-year-old Blaine could hold it no longer and pooped his pants. He had to waddle the last block home and tell his mother, Lorna, what he did. As they were cleaning him up, both his mother and his older sister, Vonda, gagged.
A quick shout-out to my colleague John and sister Ladea for commenting on the last blog post. Thanks, guys!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Introducing the Paradise and Son "Consistency" Award!
As many people know, my son and I formed a 70's style rock/folk (fock? rolk?) band many years ago (which could easily be the topic of a future story or two), but we had a devil of a time trying to think of an appropriate and catchy name (that's another crazy story). We settled (for the time being, until we think of something better) on Paradise and Son Music Construction Company (sort of an homage to our true founder, and Master Carpenter, Vaughn Paradise, who in many ways is ultimately responsible for our very existence, if you know what I mean). Though we have been on a bit of a hiatus from the music biz lately (thanks to the toils and troubles life keeps throwing at us - thanks a lot, life!), we still nurture the lofty dream of perhaps, just perhaps, one day working up enough courage to take the stage at Open Mike Night at Poodies Hilltop Bar and Grill out on Highway 71.
But that is not what this story is going to be about. Instead, I want to tell you about the debut of the Paradise and Son Consistency Award. This is a prestigious award created by an obscure, and slightly overweight, 2-man band to honor praiseworthy examples of consistency, products for the most part made in America that are consistently excellent and that never, I mean never, let us down. Products whose decades of consistency literally put us to shame. I, for one, am impressed with their consistency because I know how hard it is to be consistent in my own life (except for my consistently failing at most things I attempt). And over the years, Eleazar and I have not been shy about vociferously praising a product that we have recognized to be consistently excellent and that has made our miserable lives just a tad bit better.
Kraft Foods Miracle Whip!
This All-American beauty is well-deserving of this great honor for all of the joy she has brought to us for so many years. In fact, many people consider her to be nothing less than a "jarful of happiness". The consistent excellence of her tangy zip never fails to brighten and improve everyday foods like hamburgers, potato salad, and BLT's. And she enjoys a special love-relationship with tuna, making it virtually unthinkable that they would not go hand-in-hand everywhere. But it is her ability to elevate the lowly bologna sandwich to the rarified heights of culinary ecstasy that truly sets her apart from all other condiments. Did I say "condiment"? How crass of me! She is hardly "just a condiment" when she can stand alone just fine all by herself, as lovers of Miracle Whip sandwiches know all too well!
The ubiquitous Miracle Whip can be found in almost every refrigerator in America, and it is probably the only thing besides milk that makes a person feel a bit of panic about when he runs out of it. Eleazar Paradise, President of Operations and Experimental Cooking at THE (Tina-Helena-Eleazar) Paradise Household (Southside Manor branch) would like to add that Miracle Whip is simple in appearance but complex in taste. The zip it provides to sandwiches, and not surprisingly to fish sticks as well, elevates the taste from just "tasty" to "Oh, My Goodness Gracious!" "I've been tasting and testing various spreads for many years, and I must say that Miracle Whip always satisfies, and it consistently tops the list in our human test labs," raves the multi-talented taste-tester. " I can't think of any other product that deserves the Paradise and Son Consistency Award more than this heavenly product which is emulsified by some fine folks at Kraft Foods (Miracle Whip Division). Keep up the good work, boys!"
CEO Blaine Paradise (left) and President Eleazar Paradise (right) of Paradise and Son Music Construction Company pose with the certificate and two representatives of the Kraft Foods Miracle Whip Division.
And so we will wrap up this award presentation by once again expressing our heart-felt thanks to Kraft Foods for their great service to mankind. I am sure that just about everyone on Planet Earth will agree with us when we say that Miracle Whip is Number 1. Thank you for consistently being so good to us, Miracle Whip. Thank you for making us so happy. Thank you for being you.
A quick shout-out to Teresa for her lovely first-time comments, as well as to Ladea and Eleazar for their comments on Elephant Hunt! Thank you to Genesee for becoming a follower! Also, I just realized that it was really confusing trying to figure out how to leave comments after a blog post (I tried to do it myself and couldn't figure it out). Eleazar has made some changes to the settings that make it a lot easier now to leave a comment. So if you couldn't do it in the past, try it again sometime.
But that is not what this story is going to be about. Instead, I want to tell you about the debut of the Paradise and Son Consistency Award. This is a prestigious award created by an obscure, and slightly overweight, 2-man band to honor praiseworthy examples of consistency, products for the most part made in America that are consistently excellent and that never, I mean never, let us down. Products whose decades of consistency literally put us to shame. I, for one, am impressed with their consistency because I know how hard it is to be consistent in my own life (except for my consistently failing at most things I attempt). And over the years, Eleazar and I have not been shy about vociferously praising a product that we have recognized to be consistently excellent and that has made our miserable lives just a tad bit better.
But now we want to take it one step farther (or further, I never know which). After much brainstorming, googling, and shouting at each other, we have managed to create a handsome, genuinely frameable, paper certificate that anyone would be proud to have on their wall. We have signed it, and by golly we are going to mail it to the CEO of the company that makes the award-winning product as a small token of thanks for the happiness we have received from consuming said product for so many, many years (we'll probably mail it on Monday or Tuesday depending on which one of us can get to the post office before it closes). I am sure you are wondering what magnificent American-made product has won the very first Paradise and Son Consistency Award. I will not keep you in suspense any longer. I am extemely pleased to announce that the oh-so-worthy recipient of this award goes to .......................drum roll..................................................
Kraft Foods Miracle Whip!
The proud recipient of the first Paradise and Son Consistency Award is standing tall and looking sharp!
This All-American beauty is well-deserving of this great honor for all of the joy she has brought to us for so many years. In fact, many people consider her to be nothing less than a "jarful of happiness". The consistent excellence of her tangy zip never fails to brighten and improve everyday foods like hamburgers, potato salad, and BLT's. And she enjoys a special love-relationship with tuna, making it virtually unthinkable that they would not go hand-in-hand everywhere. But it is her ability to elevate the lowly bologna sandwich to the rarified heights of culinary ecstasy that truly sets her apart from all other condiments. Did I say "condiment"? How crass of me! She is hardly "just a condiment" when she can stand alone just fine all by herself, as lovers of Miracle Whip sandwiches know all too well!
Miracle Whip is so unbelievably magical that it can even improve the taste of a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, something absolutely unheard of in the thousands of years of human history before it was invented.
The ubiquitous Miracle Whip can be found in almost every refrigerator in America, and it is probably the only thing besides milk that makes a person feel a bit of panic about when he runs out of it. Eleazar Paradise, President of Operations and Experimental Cooking at THE (Tina-Helena-Eleazar) Paradise Household (Southside Manor branch) would like to add that Miracle Whip is simple in appearance but complex in taste. The zip it provides to sandwiches, and not surprisingly to fish sticks as well, elevates the taste from just "tasty" to "Oh, My Goodness Gracious!" "I've been tasting and testing various spreads for many years, and I must say that Miracle Whip always satisfies, and it consistently tops the list in our human test labs," raves the multi-talented taste-tester. " I can't think of any other product that deserves the Paradise and Son Consistency Award more than this heavenly product which is emulsified by some fine folks at Kraft Foods (Miracle Whip Division). Keep up the good work, boys!"
This is the award that is being sent to Kraft Foods as soon as we find a frame for it and one of us gets it over to the post office.
And so we will wrap up this award presentation by once again expressing our heart-felt thanks to Kraft Foods for their great service to mankind. I am sure that just about everyone on Planet Earth will agree with us when we say that Miracle Whip is Number 1. Thank you for consistently being so good to us, Miracle Whip. Thank you for making us so happy. Thank you for being you.
A quick shout-out to Teresa for her lovely first-time comments, as well as to Ladea and Eleazar for their comments on Elephant Hunt! Thank you to Genesee for becoming a follower! Also, I just realized that it was really confusing trying to figure out how to leave comments after a blog post (I tried to do it myself and couldn't figure it out). Eleazar has made some changes to the settings that make it a lot easier now to leave a comment. So if you couldn't do it in the past, try it again sometime.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Elephant Hunt!
So one day I got this urge to shoot an elephant. I thought it would be really cool having its gigantic head on the wall of my den -- what a conversation piece that would be! Everybody would admire me for my great courage and daring going toe-to-toe with the true King of the Jungle! And not some weenie circus-type elephant, no sir! What I wanted was a big African one, with those giant, floppy, Dumbo ears, and a good set of tusks that would provide me with enough ivory to make a custom set of billiard balls for my pool table.
From what I had heard, there were lots and lots of elephants in Africa, and in some areas they were supposed to be as numerous and pesky as Fire Ants. I figured that going there to "harvest" one of them would actually be doing a favor for the locals, who were probably good and sick of the elephants digging up their rutabagas and leaving nothing but destruction and droppings behind. So I packed up what clothes and gear I thought I might need into an old Army duffel bag, grabbed my cowboy hat, my well-worn LA Times Sunday Omnibus Crossword Puzzle Book (with attached astronaut pen), and a tube of fragrance-free Aveeno 50 SPF sunscreen and headed for the airport. Serengeti Plains, here I come!
I caught a red-eye to Nairobi, and before I knew it, I had secured a professional hunting guide/ chewing gum salesman named Adongo Mwanaidi Munim Chumachienda, who preferred to be called Larry, and whom I fortuitously met next to the taxi cab stand at Jomo Kenatta International Airport. I was impressed with the fair price he quoted to take me on safari, though I thought it a bit irregular that we would be riding together on an antique motor scooter; and I thought his gun, a pistol he kept in his shoe, was a tad on the smallish side for elephant hunting. But he assured me that everything was cool, and that I would bag a big elephant in no time at all. He even said he would take a picture of me with my elephant for no extra charge! That sealed the deal, so I said, "Let's do it!" and we gave each other a high-five.
So off we went into the bush on our 2-man safari, bouncing down a fairly rustic red-dirt path into the Serengeti, with our first stop the little village Larry grew up in. He told me, as we were noisily puttering along on his motor scooter, that his father was a tribal chief, and that we would have to get his permission and blessing before we could take first-blood. That seemed reasonable to me, since I've watched a lot of African safari movies, and the white hunters always had to appease the natives in some way to avoid upsetting them and getting gruesomely massacred or something. I got a little nervous when I remembered I didn't really know too much about Larry's tribe, so I was hoping they weren't going to go all "Naked Prey" on me when we got there, if you know what I mean.
I sensed we were nearing the village when I heard the ominous drum beats that were most likely signaling our arrival. I immediately recognized the beats as an "old skool" rap song "Fight the Power" by Public Enemy, thus signifying that these people were primitives for sure. Soon, we rolled to a stop in front of a small, thatched-roof hut near the center of the village. While Larry went on in to inform the chief of our arrival, I busied myself by whacking the dust off my clothes with my hat and picking as many bugs out of my teeth as I could. I had swallowed enough of them during the trip that I really wasn't very hungry, even though it had been hours since my last square meal. Soon, Larry came back out and told me the chief was ready to see me.
I entered into a darkened room, lit only by the glow of an 80's vintage 19-inch Toshiba color television set that was showing the Oakland Raiders/ Denver Broncos game, and, to my surprise, Denver was only ahead by three points. The chief rose from his La-Z-Boy to greet me, a tall-boy can of Schlitz beer in one hand and what looked like a barbequed chicken wing in his other. He put the wing down, came over to me, gave me a welcoming hug, and motioned for me to sit down on the sofa. Larry whispered in my ear that it was not considered polite to discuss business until the game was over, so I forced myself to be patient for approximately two more hours. I partook of the traditional feast of wings and beer while watching the game, but after consuming my sixth can of Shlitz, I had to excuse myself to go outside and puke.
Finally, the football game came to an end. Larry and the chief spoke to each other in their native tongue for a couple of minutes, and then Larry turned to me and said, "The chief demands a token gift from you before he can give you his blessing." I had expected this, so I opened my duffel bag and started looking for the Maxim magazine I had bought in the gift shop of London's Heathrow Airport during a brief layover on my way to Africa. As I was doing so, my crossword puzzle book with attached astronaut pen fell out of the bag and onto the floor. The chief's eyes immediately went wide, and he started speaking excitedly and pointing at the book. I knew he wanted it, but it had over 200 Sunday-sized puzzles in it, and I had only completed about a hundred of them, so there was no way I was about to give it up. Besides, I had pegged him on sight as most likely being a New York Times crossword puzzle man, and my book was an LA Times Omnibus. Things got pretty tense there for a minute, and I thought we might have to come to blows. In a last-ditch effort to calm things down, Larry jumped between us and said, "The chief understands how precious that book is to you, so you will not have to give it to him. However, he will accept the astronaut pen in its place!"
Well, he might as well have kicked me in the teeth right then. To ask a man to give up his astronaut pen, which as everyone knows allows the crossword puzzle addict to get a steady flow of ink while writing upside down when laying on his back in bed, well, that was just too much. I started thinking that my dream of shooting an elephant was about to end badly. But then I thought some more, about what I had already gone through to get this close to my goal, and I realized that maybe, just maybe, I could give up the pen, even though it meant that when I got home I would have to dig around in the junk drawer just to find a cheap, 20-year-old, capless, blue-ink Bic pen that would quit working every time I pointed it up. So I gave up my resistance and handed the pen over to the chief. The chief grinned broadly and gave me a bear hug. I got my blessing, and Larry and I got the hell out of there.
We roared away on the scooter, straight into the dark heart of the Serengeti, resolved to find and shoot the biggest, baddest beast in the whole animal-infested region. After about an hour, Larry stopped and announced that from here on we would travel by foot (I didn't find out until much later that we had run out of gas). With no native porters to carry our gear, we left it all with the scooter and started our trek. Larry handed me the pistol and told me that he "had my back". That made me point man, and my "guide" was now behind me. We hoofed it through the tall grass and brush for upwards of an hour until Larry grabbed the back of my sweat-stained shirt and whispered frantically, "Get up a tree! Get up a tree!"
We swung ourselves quickly into a nearby baobab and climbed as high as we could. Less than one minute later, I saw in horror what had spooked Larry so badly. It was a pack of wild Dachshunds on the prowl, led by a mean-looking black and tan buck, hunting the same prey that we were. This was bad news. If the elephants find out that the wild Dachshunds are hunting them, they clear out for miles around. But there was nothing I could do. I watched as the black and tan sniffed around the base of the tree, lifted his leg to pee, and then moved on, followed closely by about 30 others, some short-haired, some wire-haired, and even a few long-haired, both standard and miniature. It took over an hour before each one of them had had the chance to sniff the tree, pee over the previous dog's pee, and go on.
About 30 minutes later, after making sure they were good and gone, Larry and I crawled back down out of the tree. We stood there for a minute in the soggy, pee-soaked grass, and then resumed our journey, making sure to go the other way. We wanted no part of meeting that pack of wild Dachshunds again. I noticed that my hands were shaking from the close encounter, and I started wondering if I would even be able to shoot straight when the time came. And just then, I saw him. I couldn't believe it. Right there, no more than a hundred yards away, the biggest elephant I have ever seen in my life! Luckily, we were down wind, so he hadn't noticed us. I could tell my palm was sweating around the pistol handle as I moved stealthily closer to the unwary beast. Closer and closer I moved, with Larry crouched right behind me. And then, SNAP! I accidentally stepped on a dry tree branch, and the sound echoed like a gunshot! The bull elephant's head turned, and he saw us! His trumpeting roar of anger almost knocked me flat on my back, and the pistol fell out of my hand. Larry shrieked and started running, and I was right behind him! The ground was literally shaking, and I could feel the hot breath of the furious monster on the back of my neck as I ran like a bat outta hell! I could hear Larry screaming, "I quit! I quit!" I couldn't blame him. But then I remembered what he had promised me. "What about my picture?" I shouted. I saw Larry's hands go above his head as he was running, and in them was a small, Kodak Easyshare M555 digital camera pointing at me. The flash went off, and then Larry threw the camera up into the air. It came down right in my own hands, and I quickly jammed it into my pocket.
We must have run for miles before the elephant finally gave up, and I think I ran for a few more miles before I realized it. I don't know what happened to Larry, but I think he went back for his scooter. I ended up hiking back to Nairobi and caught a plane back home. And on that plane ride back home, I got to thinking about that elephant, and how noble and majestic he was, and how it really would have been a shame to shoot such a magnificent creature. So I didn't want to shoot an elephant any more. A panda bear would be better.
A quick shout out to my baby sister Ladea for her amusing and kind comments. A big thank you to everyone for their thoughts and prayers for Teresa during her illness - she is starting to feel better now. And if anyone wants to "pick my brain" about a topic of interest, send me an email at blaineparadise@gmail.com. Thanks for reading!
From what I had heard, there were lots and lots of elephants in Africa, and in some areas they were supposed to be as numerous and pesky as Fire Ants. I figured that going there to "harvest" one of them would actually be doing a favor for the locals, who were probably good and sick of the elephants digging up their rutabagas and leaving nothing but destruction and droppings behind. So I packed up what clothes and gear I thought I might need into an old Army duffel bag, grabbed my cowboy hat, my well-worn LA Times Sunday Omnibus Crossword Puzzle Book (with attached astronaut pen), and a tube of fragrance-free Aveeno 50 SPF sunscreen and headed for the airport. Serengeti Plains, here I come!
I caught a red-eye to Nairobi, and before I knew it, I had secured a professional hunting guide/ chewing gum salesman named Adongo Mwanaidi Munim Chumachienda, who preferred to be called Larry, and whom I fortuitously met next to the taxi cab stand at Jomo Kenatta International Airport. I was impressed with the fair price he quoted to take me on safari, though I thought it a bit irregular that we would be riding together on an antique motor scooter; and I thought his gun, a pistol he kept in his shoe, was a tad on the smallish side for elephant hunting. But he assured me that everything was cool, and that I would bag a big elephant in no time at all. He even said he would take a picture of me with my elephant for no extra charge! That sealed the deal, so I said, "Let's do it!" and we gave each other a high-five.
So off we went into the bush on our 2-man safari, bouncing down a fairly rustic red-dirt path into the Serengeti, with our first stop the little village Larry grew up in. He told me, as we were noisily puttering along on his motor scooter, that his father was a tribal chief, and that we would have to get his permission and blessing before we could take first-blood. That seemed reasonable to me, since I've watched a lot of African safari movies, and the white hunters always had to appease the natives in some way to avoid upsetting them and getting gruesomely massacred or something. I got a little nervous when I remembered I didn't really know too much about Larry's tribe, so I was hoping they weren't going to go all "Naked Prey" on me when we got there, if you know what I mean.
I sensed we were nearing the village when I heard the ominous drum beats that were most likely signaling our arrival. I immediately recognized the beats as an "old skool" rap song "Fight the Power" by Public Enemy, thus signifying that these people were primitives for sure. Soon, we rolled to a stop in front of a small, thatched-roof hut near the center of the village. While Larry went on in to inform the chief of our arrival, I busied myself by whacking the dust off my clothes with my hat and picking as many bugs out of my teeth as I could. I had swallowed enough of them during the trip that I really wasn't very hungry, even though it had been hours since my last square meal. Soon, Larry came back out and told me the chief was ready to see me.
I entered into a darkened room, lit only by the glow of an 80's vintage 19-inch Toshiba color television set that was showing the Oakland Raiders/ Denver Broncos game, and, to my surprise, Denver was only ahead by three points. The chief rose from his La-Z-Boy to greet me, a tall-boy can of Schlitz beer in one hand and what looked like a barbequed chicken wing in his other. He put the wing down, came over to me, gave me a welcoming hug, and motioned for me to sit down on the sofa. Larry whispered in my ear that it was not considered polite to discuss business until the game was over, so I forced myself to be patient for approximately two more hours. I partook of the traditional feast of wings and beer while watching the game, but after consuming my sixth can of Shlitz, I had to excuse myself to go outside and puke.
Finally, the football game came to an end. Larry and the chief spoke to each other in their native tongue for a couple of minutes, and then Larry turned to me and said, "The chief demands a token gift from you before he can give you his blessing." I had expected this, so I opened my duffel bag and started looking for the Maxim magazine I had bought in the gift shop of London's Heathrow Airport during a brief layover on my way to Africa. As I was doing so, my crossword puzzle book with attached astronaut pen fell out of the bag and onto the floor. The chief's eyes immediately went wide, and he started speaking excitedly and pointing at the book. I knew he wanted it, but it had over 200 Sunday-sized puzzles in it, and I had only completed about a hundred of them, so there was no way I was about to give it up. Besides, I had pegged him on sight as most likely being a New York Times crossword puzzle man, and my book was an LA Times Omnibus. Things got pretty tense there for a minute, and I thought we might have to come to blows. In a last-ditch effort to calm things down, Larry jumped between us and said, "The chief understands how precious that book is to you, so you will not have to give it to him. However, he will accept the astronaut pen in its place!"
Well, he might as well have kicked me in the teeth right then. To ask a man to give up his astronaut pen, which as everyone knows allows the crossword puzzle addict to get a steady flow of ink while writing upside down when laying on his back in bed, well, that was just too much. I started thinking that my dream of shooting an elephant was about to end badly. But then I thought some more, about what I had already gone through to get this close to my goal, and I realized that maybe, just maybe, I could give up the pen, even though it meant that when I got home I would have to dig around in the junk drawer just to find a cheap, 20-year-old, capless, blue-ink Bic pen that would quit working every time I pointed it up. So I gave up my resistance and handed the pen over to the chief. The chief grinned broadly and gave me a bear hug. I got my blessing, and Larry and I got the hell out of there.
We roared away on the scooter, straight into the dark heart of the Serengeti, resolved to find and shoot the biggest, baddest beast in the whole animal-infested region. After about an hour, Larry stopped and announced that from here on we would travel by foot (I didn't find out until much later that we had run out of gas). With no native porters to carry our gear, we left it all with the scooter and started our trek. Larry handed me the pistol and told me that he "had my back". That made me point man, and my "guide" was now behind me. We hoofed it through the tall grass and brush for upwards of an hour until Larry grabbed the back of my sweat-stained shirt and whispered frantically, "Get up a tree! Get up a tree!"
We swung ourselves quickly into a nearby baobab and climbed as high as we could. Less than one minute later, I saw in horror what had spooked Larry so badly. It was a pack of wild Dachshunds on the prowl, led by a mean-looking black and tan buck, hunting the same prey that we were. This was bad news. If the elephants find out that the wild Dachshunds are hunting them, they clear out for miles around. But there was nothing I could do. I watched as the black and tan sniffed around the base of the tree, lifted his leg to pee, and then moved on, followed closely by about 30 others, some short-haired, some wire-haired, and even a few long-haired, both standard and miniature. It took over an hour before each one of them had had the chance to sniff the tree, pee over the previous dog's pee, and go on.
About 30 minutes later, after making sure they were good and gone, Larry and I crawled back down out of the tree. We stood there for a minute in the soggy, pee-soaked grass, and then resumed our journey, making sure to go the other way. We wanted no part of meeting that pack of wild Dachshunds again. I noticed that my hands were shaking from the close encounter, and I started wondering if I would even be able to shoot straight when the time came. And just then, I saw him. I couldn't believe it. Right there, no more than a hundred yards away, the biggest elephant I have ever seen in my life! Luckily, we were down wind, so he hadn't noticed us. I could tell my palm was sweating around the pistol handle as I moved stealthily closer to the unwary beast. Closer and closer I moved, with Larry crouched right behind me. And then, SNAP! I accidentally stepped on a dry tree branch, and the sound echoed like a gunshot! The bull elephant's head turned, and he saw us! His trumpeting roar of anger almost knocked me flat on my back, and the pistol fell out of my hand. Larry shrieked and started running, and I was right behind him! The ground was literally shaking, and I could feel the hot breath of the furious monster on the back of my neck as I ran like a bat outta hell! I could hear Larry screaming, "I quit! I quit!" I couldn't blame him. But then I remembered what he had promised me. "What about my picture?" I shouted. I saw Larry's hands go above his head as he was running, and in them was a small, Kodak Easyshare M555 digital camera pointing at me. The flash went off, and then Larry threw the camera up into the air. It came down right in my own hands, and I quickly jammed it into my pocket.
We must have run for miles before the elephant finally gave up, and I think I ran for a few more miles before I realized it. I don't know what happened to Larry, but I think he went back for his scooter. I ended up hiking back to Nairobi and caught a plane back home. And on that plane ride back home, I got to thinking about that elephant, and how noble and majestic he was, and how it really would have been a shame to shoot such a magnificent creature. So I didn't want to shoot an elephant any more. A panda bear would be better.
A quick shout out to my baby sister Ladea for her amusing and kind comments. A big thank you to everyone for their thoughts and prayers for Teresa during her illness - she is starting to feel better now. And if anyone wants to "pick my brain" about a topic of interest, send me an email at blaineparadise@gmail.com. Thanks for reading!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Pick o' the Day: For my love, Teresa
I took you for granite
For too many years
I thought the slings and arrows
That keep coming at us
As we try to make our way through this life
Would always bounce off
Never inflicting too much damage
But I was wrong
Instead, I have found
That you are as delicate as a butterfly
With translucent, gossamer wings
Who has been buffeted by the storms
For far too long
And I have found you
Quivering on a leaf, too exhausted to resist
As I pick you up
As gently as I can
And cradle you in my hands
To protect you from the wind and rain
And whisper "I love you"
Over and over
Until you regain your strength
And you are ready to fly once more
But I will never
Take you for granite
Again.
For too many years
I thought the slings and arrows
That keep coming at us
As we try to make our way through this life
Would always bounce off
Never inflicting too much damage
But I was wrong
Instead, I have found
That you are as delicate as a butterfly
With translucent, gossamer wings
Who has been buffeted by the storms
For far too long
And I have found you
Quivering on a leaf, too exhausted to resist
As I pick you up
As gently as I can
And cradle you in my hands
To protect you from the wind and rain
And whisper "I love you"
Over and over
Until you regain your strength
And you are ready to fly once more
But I will never
Take you for granite
Again.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Fire Ants Must Die !!!!!!!!!!
That's it. I've had it. No more. Ain't gonna put up with it any longer. I tried to be nice. I tried to understand. I tried to live and let live. But you blew it. You blew it. You're to blame. It's not me. It was never me. It was you. All of you. You and your kind. There's no compromise with you. No "meet me halfway". No "let's be neighbors". No 'let's share this yard". No. You want it all. You want me dead. You want my family dead. But guess what? That's not gonna happen. You can't have me. You can't have my family. It's you who will be dead. And soon. Why? Because I have decided to use the nuclear option on you. That's right. The nuclear option.
It's been more than four years that we have been fighting. As long as World War II. Nothing I have done has convinced you to stop the attacks. Nothing. I have bombed your cities and razed your towns and burned your villages. Yet you don't give up. You quietly rebuild. You plot your revenge. You initiate counter attacks. You don't quit. You never quit.
You try to ambush me every time I venture out into the yard. You swarm my vulnerable, sandled feet like a Mongolian Horde, making me shout and curse and hop around and run for the garden hose, which I then can't get to dispense the cooling waters fast enough because of the many kinks that develop as it hangs on the hose hook. And you take to the air like Kamikazes when I accidentally run over your latest, hidden mound with my lawn mower, descending on my upper body like Death From Above and inflicting bite after stinging bite on my sweaty neck and arms. You once even initiated a midnight raid into my house, which I assumed was off-limits, hunting me down as I slept with my right arm hanging over the side of the bed, and rousing me in a screaming fit of agonizing pain from the biting and stinging of the tips of my fingers.
And so I have decided to end this little war of ours. You did not know that I have an ally called Home Depot, my weapons dealer of choice, that happens to sell a product called Ortho BugBGonMax. It is easily dispensed over the entire yard by my impressive, state-of-the-art Scott's 74101 Basic Broadcast Spreader. And now I have gone and done it. And you will soon be dead. All of you. And I will laugh and celebrate by watching the Texas Longhorns smear Rice by at least 50 points today at 2:00 pm central time in the season opener on ESPN. So goodbye! It was not nice knowing you! Hasta la vista, baby! Don't come back, y'hear? Ha...HaHa...HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa...HeeHeeHee...HaHaHaHaHaHaHa...HAH!
A quick shout out to Mexican from Mars, Mateo, and Eleazar for their comments. Muchas gracias, amigos!
It's been more than four years that we have been fighting. As long as World War II. Nothing I have done has convinced you to stop the attacks. Nothing. I have bombed your cities and razed your towns and burned your villages. Yet you don't give up. You quietly rebuild. You plot your revenge. You initiate counter attacks. You don't quit. You never quit.
You try to ambush me every time I venture out into the yard. You swarm my vulnerable, sandled feet like a Mongolian Horde, making me shout and curse and hop around and run for the garden hose, which I then can't get to dispense the cooling waters fast enough because of the many kinks that develop as it hangs on the hose hook. And you take to the air like Kamikazes when I accidentally run over your latest, hidden mound with my lawn mower, descending on my upper body like Death From Above and inflicting bite after stinging bite on my sweaty neck and arms. You once even initiated a midnight raid into my house, which I assumed was off-limits, hunting me down as I slept with my right arm hanging over the side of the bed, and rousing me in a screaming fit of agonizing pain from the biting and stinging of the tips of my fingers.
And so I have decided to end this little war of ours. You did not know that I have an ally called Home Depot, my weapons dealer of choice, that happens to sell a product called Ortho BugBGonMax. It is easily dispensed over the entire yard by my impressive, state-of-the-art Scott's 74101 Basic Broadcast Spreader. And now I have gone and done it. And you will soon be dead. All of you. And I will laugh and celebrate by watching the Texas Longhorns smear Rice by at least 50 points today at 2:00 pm central time in the season opener on ESPN. So goodbye! It was not nice knowing you! Hasta la vista, baby! Don't come back, y'hear? Ha...HaHa...HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa...HeeHeeHee...HaHaHaHaHaHaHa...HAH!
A quick shout out to Mexican from Mars, Mateo, and Eleazar for their comments. Muchas gracias, amigos!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Is Avatar Anti-American? My Final Say on the Matter
I read in the newspaper yesterday that Avatar is being re-released in 3-D and will soon be in theaters again in all its computer-generated glory. That might be a big deal to some people, but not to me. Nope. Ain't gonna see it again. No way. Why? Because of that sick feeling I still have in my craw from the first and last time I saw it (a couple of months ago). The biggest movie ever, with enough digital effects to make all the 20-somethings swoon in ecstasy, is the biggest dud in my book of movie duds (and that's a thick book).
Let's start with all the bad guys being Americans. Avatar is supposed to be set in the future, kind of like Star Trek, when we are supposed to be able to visit other star systems and planets. But the crew of Star Trek was not made up entirely of Americans. The Enterprise was a Federation starship, and the crew reflected all manner of humans (American, Scottish, Japanese, Russian, African, etc.) along with a sprinkling of E.T's like Spock and an odd Klingon or two. So if the crew of the Enterprise did any bad things to beings from other planets, well, you couldn't just blame the Americans. It was a "Federation" thing.
But in Avatar, the problem people are Americans. They are greedy, selfish, mean, cruel, and nasty, and that's just for starters. Now I have to admit that we aren't perfect, but by golly it's hard to think of any other Earthlings that can be considered better than us. I know that the Radical Muslims think we're no better than toenail fungus, but we can't make everyone happy. So if they were to make a movie about Americans in order to show the world how they feel about us, they would probably make a movie very much like Avatar. But they didn't need to make such a movie. They have the great director, James Cameron, to do it for them.
And then there is the problem of the poor native beings who inhabit the planet that the nasty Americans want to pillage. Using every time-worn cliche in the book about the great beauty of the natives and their way of life, how they live in perfect harmony with nature, how their pagan religion is far superior to ours, and how they would be oh, so happy if the Americans hadn't come along. But what James Cameron fails to reveal about the Na'vi are the very darkest facts of their culture: how their male-dominated society devalues the role of the female, relegating their better halves to roles of housewife, nanny, or exotic dancer without the right to vote or even drive a car! It's easy to see through the propaganda when you watch a lot of Fox News and come to realize that most media has a liberal bent. We are not stupid, James Cameron!
I could go on and on, but I will make one last point. During the exciting, action-packed climax to the film, we are treated to the spectacle of hundreds of American Marines dying by the helicopter-load at the hands of the beautiful natives, and we are supposed to cheer. WE ARE SUPPOSED TO CHEER! We are supposed to cheer because American Marines are dying! The natives are winning! Yayyyyyy! They even got a few American Marines to turn against other American Marines and kill them. Yayyyyy! What was the production company that made this film? Osama Bin Laden Productions? Are you kidding me? What kind of scumbag would even think of proposing this as an idea for a movie? And what kind of toenail fungus would have the nerve to try to screen this piece of crap movie on American soil? You know. Thanks a lot, James Cameron!
A quick shout-out to Eleazar, Chris, Dad, and Natalie for posting comments. I get a little thrill reading them. Until next time, Earthlings!
Let's start with all the bad guys being Americans. Avatar is supposed to be set in the future, kind of like Star Trek, when we are supposed to be able to visit other star systems and planets. But the crew of Star Trek was not made up entirely of Americans. The Enterprise was a Federation starship, and the crew reflected all manner of humans (American, Scottish, Japanese, Russian, African, etc.) along with a sprinkling of E.T's like Spock and an odd Klingon or two. So if the crew of the Enterprise did any bad things to beings from other planets, well, you couldn't just blame the Americans. It was a "Federation" thing.
But in Avatar, the problem people are Americans. They are greedy, selfish, mean, cruel, and nasty, and that's just for starters. Now I have to admit that we aren't perfect, but by golly it's hard to think of any other Earthlings that can be considered better than us. I know that the Radical Muslims think we're no better than toenail fungus, but we can't make everyone happy. So if they were to make a movie about Americans in order to show the world how they feel about us, they would probably make a movie very much like Avatar. But they didn't need to make such a movie. They have the great director, James Cameron, to do it for them.
And then there is the problem of the poor native beings who inhabit the planet that the nasty Americans want to pillage. Using every time-worn cliche in the book about the great beauty of the natives and their way of life, how they live in perfect harmony with nature, how their pagan religion is far superior to ours, and how they would be oh, so happy if the Americans hadn't come along. But what James Cameron fails to reveal about the Na'vi are the very darkest facts of their culture: how their male-dominated society devalues the role of the female, relegating their better halves to roles of housewife, nanny, or exotic dancer without the right to vote or even drive a car! It's easy to see through the propaganda when you watch a lot of Fox News and come to realize that most media has a liberal bent. We are not stupid, James Cameron!
I could go on and on, but I will make one last point. During the exciting, action-packed climax to the film, we are treated to the spectacle of hundreds of American Marines dying by the helicopter-load at the hands of the beautiful natives, and we are supposed to cheer. WE ARE SUPPOSED TO CHEER! We are supposed to cheer because American Marines are dying! The natives are winning! Yayyyyyy! They even got a few American Marines to turn against other American Marines and kill them. Yayyyyy! What was the production company that made this film? Osama Bin Laden Productions? Are you kidding me? What kind of scumbag would even think of proposing this as an idea for a movie? And what kind of toenail fungus would have the nerve to try to screen this piece of crap movie on American soil? You know. Thanks a lot, James Cameron!
A quick shout-out to Eleazar, Chris, Dad, and Natalie for posting comments. I get a little thrill reading them. Until next time, Earthlings!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Pick o' the Day: Avatar is Anti-American! Part 2
Shoot! Twenty miles at least back to Austin to find one of them little red box deals to rent me and the little lady a movie! By now I'm sure she's a wonderin' where I'm at and probably thinkin' I'm a dilly-dallyin'. Hey, it wasn't my fault it took so long in H-E-B trying to find that dang cheddar cheese popcorn. You never know where you'll find anything in those great big stores. I mean, think about it for a minute. Where are you goin' to find the microwave popcorn in a store that's bigger'n the town I was born in? And not just any popcorn, mind you. I shell out the big bucks for my little lady and get her the "gor-may" brand like Orville Redenbachers's (Note to the young-uns: That's how you treat a lady!). Course, I don't think there's anything wrong with Jiffy Pop (I guess I'm still old-school), but I get the little lady what she wants.
I guess I was standin' there lookin' kinda stumped when some young 20-somethin' kid in a red H-E-B apron come up to me and asks if I need some help. I almost back-handed him for being so presumptuous, but I didn't have time to make a scene, so I told him what I was lookin' for. He told me to wait right there and he'd fetch it for me. 'For I knew it, he was back with the Orville Redenbacher's and askin' me if there was anything else he could do for me. He was startin' to bug me because I ain't no dad-burned invalid, you know. He kinda slunk off, so I headed for the check-out line.
So I finally got back on the road headin' for Austin. It took me dam-near 2 more hours to get to the McDonald's and then back home on account of the distance and also the fact that I had a slight error in judgement by pickin' up a hitchhiker as I was drivin' through Maynor. I don't want to bore you with the details, so I won't bother to tell you about how I see this young teen-age kid a standin' by the side of the road with his thumb in the air and a wearin' clothes that made me at first think he was a escaped clown from the Ringlings Brothers circus with his baggy pants hangin' down and his underwear a showin' like that and how he made this face when he first climbs into the cab like he never smelled a farm truck before and how he wasn't much for polite conversation on the way and how I told him I could take him all the way to Cameron Road like he wanted but I first had to stop at the little red box at McDonald's and how he kept lookin' like he was disgusted and finally how we got to McDonald's and when I got out to get the movie he jumped out the other side and took off a runnin' and how I ended up takin' the first movie that showed up on the screen (Avatar) and how I got back into my truck to find out that escaped clown had took my wife's Orville Redenbacher's. I guess he was hungry. Anyway, I figure this movie review has gone on long enough, so let me recap by saying that's why I believe Avatar is Anti-American. Thanks a lot, James Cameron!
A quick shout-out to Eleazar and Joe for their comments on Part 1. Thanks a lot, I think.
I guess I was standin' there lookin' kinda stumped when some young 20-somethin' kid in a red H-E-B apron come up to me and asks if I need some help. I almost back-handed him for being so presumptuous, but I didn't have time to make a scene, so I told him what I was lookin' for. He told me to wait right there and he'd fetch it for me. 'For I knew it, he was back with the Orville Redenbacher's and askin' me if there was anything else he could do for me. He was startin' to bug me because I ain't no dad-burned invalid, you know. He kinda slunk off, so I headed for the check-out line.
So I finally got back on the road headin' for Austin. It took me dam-near 2 more hours to get to the McDonald's and then back home on account of the distance and also the fact that I had a slight error in judgement by pickin' up a hitchhiker as I was drivin' through Maynor. I don't want to bore you with the details, so I won't bother to tell you about how I see this young teen-age kid a standin' by the side of the road with his thumb in the air and a wearin' clothes that made me at first think he was a escaped clown from the Ringlings Brothers circus with his baggy pants hangin' down and his underwear a showin' like that and how he made this face when he first climbs into the cab like he never smelled a farm truck before and how he wasn't much for polite conversation on the way and how I told him I could take him all the way to Cameron Road like he wanted but I first had to stop at the little red box at McDonald's and how he kept lookin' like he was disgusted and finally how we got to McDonald's and when I got out to get the movie he jumped out the other side and took off a runnin' and how I ended up takin' the first movie that showed up on the screen (Avatar) and how I got back into my truck to find out that escaped clown had took my wife's Orville Redenbacher's. I guess he was hungry. Anyway, I figure this movie review has gone on long enough, so let me recap by saying that's why I believe Avatar is Anti-American. Thanks a lot, James Cameron!
A quick shout-out to Eleazar and Joe for their comments on Part 1. Thanks a lot, I think.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Pick o' the Day: The Movie Avatar is Anti-American! Part 1
Okay, so we got this hankerin' to see a movie, so I fired up the old truck and headed over to Elgin (El - hard g - in) figurin' I could pick up one of them DeeVeeDees at Blockbuster. I was makin' good time considerin' the truck was still loaded down with about 10 bales of hay (I thought I told the little wife to unload it the day before -- guess I'll have to get on her about that) when I see this sign alongside the road pointin' me to a yard sale. I thought it couldn't hurt to check it out (you never know when you might come across some old tools) and dam-near lost the whole load when I took the turn a bit too fast and almost ended up in the ditch. But I self-corrected in time, and before I knew it, I was stopped in front of some old lady's house. My normal high spirits took a bit of a nose-dive when I saw that her yard sale looked a bit heavy on women's clothes, purses, children's junk, and knick-knacks. Good luck finding some tools there, I thought. I didn't even bother to get out of the truck, just jammed it into first and tore off in a cloud of dust.
So now I get to comin' into Elgin, and what do I see but that big old Southside Barbeque sign just a beggin' me to stop and sit a spell. I was in no particular rush, so I pulled in, and in no time at all I was sittin' there in front of a beautiful plate of sliced brisket and tater salad and sippin' on a glass of lemonade (they give you free refills on the lemonade, so it's a pretty good deal). About a hour later, I'm walkin' out the door feelin' pretty much satisfied, but I felt like I needed somethin' else to to top it all off. Lo and behold, there was a Dairy Queen right next door beckonin' me to come over and have a little ice cream and whatnot. So, I finally get out of there feelin' pretty good and I remembered where I was originally headed, so I climbed back into the truck and got back on the road. Before I knew it, I was pullin' into Blockbuster's parkin' lot (it wasn't no more'n a hop, skip, and a jump from Dairy Queen). And wouldn't you know it... it was closed. Not just closed, but closed for good. Out of business. Shoot! What's this world a comin' too? It was probably the work of the Tallyban or something, you never know.
So I sat there in the truck a thinkin' about what I'm goin' to do. Since I keep pretty current on things, I remembered something about a big red box rentin' movies for just a buck a day over at McDonalds. Course, that was about 20 miles the other way over in the outskirts of Austin. Shoot! Oh well, what else I got to do? I can't go home empty-handed, cause then I'd have to face the wrath of the little lady. Speaking of which, I thought I had better stop by at H-E-B and get her some of that cheddar cheese popcorn she likes when she sees a movie. So before long, I was headed back towards Austin.
END OF PART ONE
Hey, a quick shout-out to a couple of readers of this blog who were the first ones to leave comments. Thanks Joe! Thanks Natalie! And for the rest of you, don't be afraid to leave comments, good or bad. Anyone who leaves a comment gets a shout-out next time!
So now I get to comin' into Elgin, and what do I see but that big old Southside Barbeque sign just a beggin' me to stop and sit a spell. I was in no particular rush, so I pulled in, and in no time at all I was sittin' there in front of a beautiful plate of sliced brisket and tater salad and sippin' on a glass of lemonade (they give you free refills on the lemonade, so it's a pretty good deal). About a hour later, I'm walkin' out the door feelin' pretty much satisfied, but I felt like I needed somethin' else to to top it all off. Lo and behold, there was a Dairy Queen right next door beckonin' me to come over and have a little ice cream and whatnot. So, I finally get out of there feelin' pretty good and I remembered where I was originally headed, so I climbed back into the truck and got back on the road. Before I knew it, I was pullin' into Blockbuster's parkin' lot (it wasn't no more'n a hop, skip, and a jump from Dairy Queen). And wouldn't you know it... it was closed. Not just closed, but closed for good. Out of business. Shoot! What's this world a comin' too? It was probably the work of the Tallyban or something, you never know.
So I sat there in the truck a thinkin' about what I'm goin' to do. Since I keep pretty current on things, I remembered something about a big red box rentin' movies for just a buck a day over at McDonalds. Course, that was about 20 miles the other way over in the outskirts of Austin. Shoot! Oh well, what else I got to do? I can't go home empty-handed, cause then I'd have to face the wrath of the little lady. Speaking of which, I thought I had better stop by at H-E-B and get her some of that cheddar cheese popcorn she likes when she sees a movie. So before long, I was headed back towards Austin.
END OF PART ONE
Hey, a quick shout-out to a couple of readers of this blog who were the first ones to leave comments. Thanks Joe! Thanks Natalie! And for the rest of you, don't be afraid to leave comments, good or bad. Anyone who leaves a comment gets a shout-out next time!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
OK, OK. I give up. I'll start writing a blog.
As you can see, I have decided to start writing a blog. I have resisted doing this for years and years for various reasons*, but I have finally caved-in to the pressure coming mostly from my son, Eleazar. Once in a while I find him to be right about something, and his reasoning for me to do this seems sound. He says I should stop talking about writing a book someday and actually start writing something (he says the only way to "keep my chops up" as a writer is to write on a daily/ weekly basis). He says I should join the 21st century and stop resisting technological change (I bought my first I-Pod six months ago, used, from him). He says I should take a bath (I don't know what that has to do with anything).
So to show him and everybody else who has ever gotten on my case about how seldom I write anything, I am officially beginning my blog today. It shall be called "Pickin' Blaine's Brain," and each new post shall be referred to as the "Pick of the Day". I shall try my darndest to let you know what's going on inside my head as I try to relate to the crazy world around me. I hope to do this in an informative and entertaining way, and I promise I will not be boring. I promise to try to add new posts on at least a weekly basis. You are invited to read what I write, and I encourage you to comment as you see fit. And who knows what doing this might lead to? Maybe I'll be nominated to join the prestigious Facebook organization and get my own page! Who knows?
Anyway, this new journey of mine has now begun. Until next time.
* I am a long-time member of ACRONYM (the Anti-technological Change Resisting Oldguys' Never Yielding Movement - hey, give me back my chalkboard!). I also didn't want anyone to think I was gay.
So to show him and everybody else who has ever gotten on my case about how seldom I write anything, I am officially beginning my blog today. It shall be called "Pickin' Blaine's Brain," and each new post shall be referred to as the "Pick of the Day". I shall try my darndest to let you know what's going on inside my head as I try to relate to the crazy world around me. I hope to do this in an informative and entertaining way, and I promise I will not be boring. I promise to try to add new posts on at least a weekly basis. You are invited to read what I write, and I encourage you to comment as you see fit. And who knows what doing this might lead to? Maybe I'll be nominated to join the prestigious Facebook organization and get my own page! Who knows?
Anyway, this new journey of mine has now begun. Until next time.
* I am a long-time member of ACRONYM (the Anti-technological Change Resisting Oldguys' Never Yielding Movement - hey, give me back my chalkboard!). I also didn't want anyone to think I was gay.
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