Is it New Years, New Year's, or New Years'...

or does it matter? Any which way you put it, I hope yours is great. Me? I'm going to go out with a few friends at 3 pm.

Yes. I shall get my drink on from 3 to 6 pm because I fall asleep by 10 usually. Ideally, I will look something like this...

Regrettably, and in a way, predictably jejeune, I'll most likely end up going out like this:

So I'll come home and get my New Years/Year's/Years' kiss and then go to sleep. Pathetic. ABOUT THE GOING TO SLEEP EARLY PART NOT THE KISS PART! THE KISS PART IS AWESOMERAD! I mean, I'm still 17 in my head but I'm not physically capable of doing what my past-17-year-old self used to be able to do. That's the pathetic part.

What are you doing tomorrow night?

So I finally get around to playing with

my birthday present: a new Bamboo Tablet and drawing software.

self portrait. Whaddya think?

It's taken me five months to get around to actually sitting down with it. Oh yeah, I got a crockpot and hairdryer for Christmas. I used the hairdryer immediately upon receipt. 

What? I had dirty hair and needed a shower. Obviously my husband was telling me something without telling me something.


I took several days away from teh internetz and am slogging through all the new stuff on reddit and catching up on my Google Reader. Happily, I am doing this while watching one of SciMan's pressies, Blue Planet/Planet Earth/Frozen Planet. Orca whales are bastards.

In which I compare the local law enforcement to cats

Here's the 411 from a 405'er... Living in this part of Durham is like living with a cat. Without fail, every night, police sirens go by our window, heading south to Brandon (and Crook, I assume but that's just too obvious).

Making the connection yet? Well, it's like this: you cat owners have a cat. Cat is in a room. Cat decides to run at breakneck speed from that room to another, bottlebrush tail bristling. Cat comes to full stop. Cat sheepishly looks at you as if to say, "What? Haters gonna hate." Yep. That is just how the Durham vehicularly mobile constabulary behaves.



I imagine the police cars in some sort of rank, a la taxis. All of a sudden, they leave at breakneck speed, sirens blaring. They're tearing down the A690 and  upon reaching some chav's terraced council home, come to a full stop.

Having never seen Co. Durham police in action in my sleepy village, I can only infer that this is all they do. I picture it like this: they tear down the road, wahwahing at top volume only to stop abruptly and park the police car.





Oh, it's quite within the realm of possibility that arrests are being made, but riddle me this... why is it that the sirens don't come back?

Alcohol is the best thing about this.

I follow MichonMichon/Jules and she had a video on yesterday's post. It was Epic Meal Time's Breakfast of Booze. I think I was in some way inspired by that yelling man, hence all the curse words.

This is the ingredient list. We're in England, so weights are grams and kilograms for the dry fruit ingredients. Yes yes, Derpina, there are some tsps and tbsps but those aren't necessary to the story.  

Assembly table #1

The cauldron. Normally used for the Christmas Chutneys, but this year, it was decided that the making of the chutney was far too dangerous for their relationships with one another. So, cakes it was.

 This is Ruth's mother, Susan. She's lining the cake tins with parchment paper. Notice the coffee mug. The cuppa is ever present in this house, in this country. Omnipresent, really...like a Route 44 Sonic drink in a teacher's classroom: ubiquitous.

 Commence round 1 with all this butter!

 It goes in the cauldron! Add lots of sugar! That's smart.

Count those mutha-fucking eggs! 12! And we ain't even done yet!

The stuff that goes in cake.

Put some peel there, bitches. Life's too short to drink alone.

Mixed fruit and currants soaked in Courvoisier

They all go in!

Divide it evenly, yo. Make some divots in the middle for the alcohol collection. Was told that one of these would be mine. Dammit.

Start round two. That's me folks. I was a mixin' fool! Roo's mom brought an industrial strength one because she learned from last year's mishap: the mixer's motor burned out.

 Whoomp! Dere it is! Shakalaka. This one was mine. It has crystallized ginger, dates, nuts, and other mixed fruits too. I think there was mango. Not positive. It too has a divot for the alcohol. It was my "practice cake".

 Take it to the pub and eat that brick. Fucker was massive. This was only half of it. Gave the other half to Peter the Bartender. Haven't heard back from him about it, so it must've been alright.

So theoretically speaking, there'd be a cake in a tin on my counter (aka 'bench' in this neck of the woods) and I'd be "feeding" it spirits each week... Like I have some minor cake god to appease.

I couldn't wait for that though. I wanted to try it out. And you know what? It was like fruitcake. I don't like fruitcake really. Neither do SciMan and Kiddo. But you know what else? When Roo gives me the Christmas Cake that I helped to make, I'm going to eat some and be grateful that I have such a great friend in her. She drives me places that would take me an hour by bus (not counting wait times). We have a lot of laughs together; our taste in alcohol is similar: I like it straight from the bottle and not in a cake, so does she. My kid loves her and vice versa. She's my first grown-up friend* and I'm very very lucky to have one like her.







*to all my other friends that I made before I was "grown-up": I love you realhard. It isn't that I don't think you are "real" friends, it's that you met me when I was young and stupid and you liked me. You even like me now when I'm older and more stupid than before and I imagine that you'll keep on keepin' on when I'm way old and catatonically senile. I sure as hell hope so. You know my skeletons, so to speak. And maybe, just maybe it's because of that that I'm wondering what's wrong with you.

SciMan and Kiddo are forced to get to know the natives on a very intimate level

I take today's general bemusement from SciMan's Google+ entry from earlier today.

"Today's cultural exposure hit a bit of a new low. While Kiddo and I were waiting for a bus at Durham bus station, I heard something that caught my attention, turned, and sure enough, there was a man standing in the corner of the room peeing on one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Clean button up shirt, black slacks and sport jacket. He was less than 10 feet from the public restroom, which costs 20 pence to use. There is a restaurant next door. There is a pub across the street. He chose to pee on the floor inside the bus station and then trail footsteps of urine as he walked away. It was 2pm on Sunday afternoon."

This is England. Land of the pee, home of the depraved.

Want to know more? Tough.

I made Christmas Cake. In October. I'm still reeling from it. I have pictures, just have been too lazy to find the cable to connect my phone to the laptop in order to upload pictures. But really, who cares? It's a damn process of making cake, that after baking is soaked in alcohol. The only reason why I'd bother is to show the magnitude of ingredients and the size of the cauldron it was mixed in.

That's right, bitches. C-c-c-c-CAULDRON!

 So, let me know what you want me to do. If there's enough interest, I'll get off my fat ass and find that damn cable so you can see my lovely long hair tied back in a ponytail as I struggle with the mixer of mixers in the massive cauldron of a 14 egg cake.

British people have thanksgiving too.

On this day in 2010: Clubbing Seals!
Not really. I was lying.

I've been asked by a lot of people here about what all is entailed in the holiday known as American Thanksgiving (not to be confused with Canadian Thanksgiving). You know, "All I know about America is what I see in the movies" kind of questions.

Like, what do you eat? And what do you eat?

Those are very easy questions to answer. And I answer the best I can, in the only way I can. With honesty and in bold.

"TV dinners for my family, usually. One year, we had tamales! I know a gal whose family likes to BBQ crab legs on Thanksgiving."


What about the Native Americans? Do they celebrate Thanksgiving the way you do?


"Hmm, well, Chinese food is very popular with the Redskins Indians Native Americans First Peoples tribes. There's not a whole lot of interaction between the ethnic groups because you know, it'd be like Jews celebrating Hitler's birthday."

Quite, quite. I can see that being a bit awkward for you.

"Yeah, it's not like they'd want invite us onto the rez on that day."


What about presents? Do you give each other pressies?

"Yes! Especially, we give presents to newly arrived immigrants. It's not really widely known outside of the lower 48. We want to make sure it stays local and as "American" as possible and does not become an exported custom. I know how much you Europeans hate amalgamating the rest of American culture into your own. It's our gift to you."


I appreciate it! Ta, very much. Are there any special Thanksgiving carols, like the Christmas ones?

"Oh sure, lots of them. There's 'Hold on Grandaddy, Momma's dialling 911', 'Quick, quick, pick it up before someone sees'. That one's got a dance to go with it. There's 'Salty Gravy and Bland Casserole'. My mom's favorite is 'Never Gonna Dessert You', by Trick Ghastly."


I've never heard of those! You'll have to teach them to me!

"Not surprised. They're Southern traditionals. Not much good from there reaches anywhere."




And what did I get today from my friend? A pressie. A DVD copy of Peter's Friends with an all-star cast of some British actors you've heard of and some you haven't. I love it.

I am very happy and thankful for clean, potable water coming out of my faucet. I am happy and thankful for trashmen and trash collection. I am very happy and thankful for non-censored, relatively free, somewhat inexpensive internet access. You should be too. Call your congressperson ASAP to tell them so.

I am overthemoonandback for my daughter and her health status. Same goes for SciMan and all my family. I love all my friends real, virtual, and imaginary. That means you. And I hope of hopes, that if you celebrate today, that you let someone take your keys (in a non-spouse swap way, unless that's your thing, then by all means) to your car so that you do not drink and drive.

Happy Thanksgiving to all and to all a good night!

Golden Rations could be a good cereal brand name

Ever hear about the Golden Ratio? What about the idea that the closer your face is to perfect symmetry, the "hotter" you are to the opposite sex?

So in nature and art, also science and mathematics, there exists a number that provides a basis for an algorithm to indicate supreme beauty...although most likely, this is highly exaggerated.

The Fibonacci spiral approximates this... AND SO DOES MY FACE!

My friend,  DrSpach, did one for herself on Google+ and showed lots of us... I begged her to do mine and gave her a few options to choose from.
Here are the ones she used:

Here's the result of the symmetrical division of my face...

Rachel McAdams could be my twin! So too could Sister Wendy. Wee-nay-issahnce!

Thanks Stf! I've always wondered about my own symmetry. Because now I can tell photographers to shove it when they want me to photograph me from the left as now I have irrefutable scientific proof that my right side is my better side.

So why am I left-handed?

Short Saga of Discounted Pussy Energy

Oh. I couldn't make this up if I wanted to.

So, I originally saw the Pussy at Makro. It wasn't hurt or used up or bent all out of shape when I first saw it. My new friend, a fellow Amurrikan named Tammy, has a membership to this Costco/Sam's Warehouse lookalike and she invited me along; she wanted to buy a turkey, I like looking at mass quantities of shit. Long story short, I had to take a picture of this (scroll down if you haven't seen it yet. Better yet, read that post before continuing).

Anyway, the turkey wasn't forthcoming on the first trip. Hmm, methinks you're getting the long story long. No turkey meant a second visit. Also, I saw the big "Santa Present" that Natalie wanted at Costco, but didn't buy it then as I wanted to check online prices and local toy stores. I like helping where I can. However, this is not relevant.

Back at Makro the second time to get the turkey, we swing by the discounted/damaged stock section on the way to the checkout lines. Tammy likes to buy her trashbags from that section.

Lo and behold, doth the Makro provide...

See? What the customer really wants is unbent, unadulterated pussy in a can. I mean, this canned pussy is good to go for another 20 years or so. It'll still be as fresh then as it is now...maybe a little flat but who cares! There might be a little more packaging to trim but it's the (reciprocal) journey that's the fun part, not the destination.

LOOK AT ALL THIS CHEAP PUSSY THAT I DIDN'T BUY FOR MY HUSBAND! It's because it has the EXCL STD. Gives a whole new meaning for the "V" in VAT. Instead of value added tax, we now have vagina added tax.

I... I don't... I don't even... I don't even know how to fit this into my paradigm.

Bonfire Night 2011...FOR SCIENCE!

source and a symbol of a global movement

From last year; BONFIRE NIGHT 2010 and the pictures and video are nearly the same this year as they were last year. Consistency... the key to life.

Differences this year? Yes. Went with Roo and Big Fella and Michigan Jesse. Hey ladies, are you single and want to long-distance date a cutie pie physicist? No lie, true story. I think Michigan Jesse's around 28-30. Let me know, he's single, smart as a whip, and cute too! I can say that, right? He's new to the area, no kids, and lots of money!

So, activities? Same as last year's, held in the graveyard... only no potato and leek soup was in evidence!! I scored a few homemade cinder toffee knobs even though I took store-bought chocolate covered cinder toffee for Roo and Big Fella. Roo is Ruth because "Ru" sounds like "roo" and she lived in Australia for a time (kangaroo, anyone?). Plus, it's what Big Fella (Brian, her husband calls her).

After that, went to Aykley Heads Police Headquarters for a resoundingly boomer of a time. I'm talking fireworks, people.

The fireworks seemed, to me, more "percussive" and "tympanic" than any I remember... and that might be because it was on November 5th, rather than July 4th. What do you think, after seeing the video?

Yet...The speed of sound v relative to the current in which it is embedded is given by v = (gRT)^1/2 where g is the ratio of the specific heat at constant pressure to the specific heat at constant volume, R is the gas constant for dry air, and T is the temperature. The product gRT is then taken to the one-half power. We see from this equation that the speed of sound is proportional to the temperature and would expect sound to travel faster in a warmer air mass.

Quite right. Which is why the sound of the firework was delayed as long as it was.

According to the resident physicist, how loud something is isn't necessarily related to the speed of sound. Without giving a whole lot of time to think over my question "why?", he merely adds that moisture might have something to contribute to the effect.

I think he was busy when I asked. Guess that's how people are when they're at work.

I kid.

Not really.


And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I leave you to consider the following image taken at the local Makro (similar to Costco/Sam's):
:

Isn't it beautiful? I've never seen that much natural energy pussy in a public place. I wouldn't be up for it all in one go. I think I'd need several rounds. Makes me tired just looking at it. So, since I'm exhausted by all that pussy energy, I challenge you to see who can come up with the best caption.

The Perfect Gift for that Special Man

Ladies!!! Gay Male Readers!!! Christmas, Hanukkah, and other gift giving holidays are just around the corner! I made a video for you to help you out...

Courtesty of YouTube Search Stories

Northeast England's answer to Chicken Matzo Ball Soup

All right now. This is the shit. I shit you not. You need to eat this. Now. But not right now, because you can't. BUT YOU WILL!

So you know all about Chicken Noodle soup and the variations of such, right? Of course right. Well, imma learn you now about "BROTH".

Broth is the Northeast of England's beautiful challenge to the Yiddish cooking mavens' matzo soup. Now, I do love me some of that yummy muck that is angel farts rolled in a ball of crushed matzo swimming in yellowyoniony goodness. But I hadn't yet had BROTH!

So, here's your layout... and I have totally oversimplified the whole shmear. Because I did.

From top clockwise: Carrots, HAM SHANK BITCHES!, Dried Pulses/Soup Mix (mine is barley, peas and other crap that may be wholesome), Parsnips, and Leeks. 

My fellow amurricanz, you need to google leeks. Dey's booiful!

Cleanse the veggies, especially the leeks. Dirt is attracted to leeks. Asks it out and takes it for a coke date, I kid you not. 

For bestest results that were achieved, shred dem parsnips.

Finely slice those leeks. Inhale the heady light oniony scent. Spend your time here. You won't regret it.

Like de pah-snips, shred dem carrots. Shred a fuckton of them. 

Boil dat HAM SHANK! Boil til it fall off de bone! When it be done boiling, pull dat meat off de bone!

Now, the night before, soak your soup mix and follow the directions the next day when you begin to cook. Soaking is essential. DO NOT SKIP THIS STEP. You will have some hard and chewy soup if you do. 

After the HAM SHANK has been boiling for a while, or hell, after it's done boiling, saute those veggies in butter. A lot of butter. Go Paula Deen on this shit.

Add the soaked and cooked soup mix.

Add the bits of salty, juicy, cherubic HAM SHANK meat to the pot. Add some of that stock too, while you're at it. Eyeball it, no measuring in this version!

Salt it up or not. Pepper it up or not. You can not mess this up. Unless you don't soak the soup mix. Then you will mess it up.

Now, when I make this, I need a 5.5 quart pan/pot. You do what you gotta do to handle this Broth.

Get you some good and crusty rolls for soaking it up.

And no, there's no picture of the final product. Because mostly I eat my food when it's in front of me; too busy moving my hand to my mouth to bother with a camera. You got lucky for the process pics.

I've made this twice now and will make it again. Ohmystars yes!

And now for your viewing pleasure... A butterfly walking on the sidewalk

I am from...

I am from blankets and macaroni, from Pendleton and Velveeta.

I am from the only house in the 'hood with a brick laid courtyard and no backyard fence, a carpenter's house of dreams built to give a vacation-like feel when you walk in. Leaves and branches thrusting out of solid trunks. A dense copse on the city's edge. A lake which was a pond which was a holding tank for runoff. No fishing.  The broken spillway that ripped my toenail clean off one summer afternoon. Climbing on the garage roof to watch the sunsets, hanging out on the driveway late at night...the concrete rough and warm from the summer day into night.

But I am also from a one story, 1960s brick home built for the price of a washer and dryer today. I am from a wood paneled great room with avocado fridge and stove. I am from the front room that was only for "special" and that "special" was me painting pictures on a card table. Comfortable, placid...my second home a haven from having to share.

I am from the red dirt road,  the horizon ahead jammed with Dad's classic rock station turned loud at the good parts. From a beat-up truck to plush sedans, I am from my dad's economic status.

I am from beans and cornbread and wide throated laughter, from Grandmother Susan and Momma and Modean.

I am from the self-narration of daily life and knowing everything is the key to life.

From good lips and you can be anything you want to be.

I am from Methodists, Episcopals, Judaism and AA. I am from the axiom of choice and I can be anything I want to be.

I’m from Oklahoma, 16th generation American, eating that pumpkin pie and holiday gravy. I'm from the capital city but also on every other weekend from the county seat of Pontotoc, where an Innocent Man was brought into the national spotlight.

From the conjugations of Latin verbs at the kitchen's dinner table, the evenings under the metal folding chairs along the wall of a smoky room (keep coming back, it works!), and the booth at Braum's eating an ice cream scoop, waiting to be picked up.

I am from picture frames in the 1960s hallway, picture frames on the 1960s couch's side table. I am from the compilation of a merging and diverging of lives, documented and put into suitcases.

*******************

So y'all know what this is probably, but if you don't it's a meme/outline poem about childhood: "I am from..."  that a lot of you were doing about a month ago. I decided to finally finish mine. 

How I get my mince pork fix

Happy Blog Birthday to me. One year ago today I transferred all my old blog dot com to here and even backdated all of it so that I could keep records from when we moved over starting in May. Huh. Thanks ACapp for the reminder. And thanks to all 150 odd of you that I've never met IRL. It's really weird that you're here with me.

Keep coming back. It works! And now, onwards and upwards...

*************

So I work for this company, Supercookshop, which has created a kit that allows you to make your own "McMuffin".

I got SciMan a kit for his birthday and he has loved it. We've already used up all the seasonings that came with the kit, so I got to get more.

Anyway... the gentleman in the video is my boss, Mugsy.



If you're interested in a kit, hit up their website. If you're an expat or like me, are living overseas indefinitely, and you miss the easy comfort of a Saturday morning drive-thru trip, then you may be needing to get one of these kits. If you prefer, you can also order via Amazon.

Also, if you're willing to do a write up about it on your blog, I might be able to get Mugsy to give one to you for free.

Bus Stop Man

Having wasted  wisely spent the morning reading my blogroll and eating figs, dates and manuka honey on toast, I'm finally ready to put Kiddo's laundry out on the line. Because it's sunny. What a gas.

It wasn't an interesting week. SciMan returned from Munich and while he was gone, I again was reminded how much of a badass my mom is/was for being single mom for so long. But I'm more of a badass because I did it while wrangling public transportation schedules and without a dryer. Kiddo started school. Yeah, yeah...so did your kids. But guess what? My kid's four.

They start 'em young here.

Last year I met an elderly gentleman at the bus stop down the road from Kiddo's school. It was during the cold snap when we had weeks of snow and ice covering the sidewalks aka "pavement". We had a lovely conversation about him. I had a great view of his nose hairs. And then the bus arrived.

A few months later, we encountered each other again and it was like brand new acquaintanceship, for him at least. Took me way to long to figure out he didn't remember me. No big whoop, just minor ego bruising that is so trifling, I'm embarrassed to admit to it. Maybe I'm not really all that embarrassed. Americans are a dime a dozen here. And then the bus arrived.

One afternoon after work last week, I'm waiting for a bus to take me to Kiddo's school. This same lovely gentleman and I had the exact same conversation we had in December 2010. And then the bus arrived and I know no more about him now as I did then. But I sure do like him.

Edit 9:05 pm: I guess at some point I'm going to have to publish the post I wrote on December 23, 2010. But I don't fucking want to. Based on the comments from more than one of you by this point in the day, it appears that you don't know the story of me and my grandmother. Understandable, since this blog is not about my past, only about the daily conniptions I experience here in County Durham of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. So, for once, I suppose I'll address this. I'll get personal...but don't expect more of the same later. My grandmother was my best friend. I think I was hers, as only a little girl can be.

But then she began to forget me.

It was subtle at first. She began to address me as "Sheila", her daughter's name, who was alive and hale and hearty...just not in the state. The questions began to be repetitive... then tiresome. I got other best friends and other interests on which to spend my time, rather than taking the time to travel the 65 minutes to Ada, Oklahoma.

I grew up. She grew older.

Alzheimer's is a terrible disease. It scared me. I learned I was a coward. I stayed away, rarely initiated phone calls, never replied to letters.

So when I say "minor ego bruising", what I'm really saying is "my fucking heart bleeds still for the beautiful, talented woman who helped raise me and tried to teach me about what was good in life but died before she could finish".

So yeah, I know about dementia. And I'm fucking scared for my dad, for me, for Kiddo.

Fun Video Friday

Oh you crazy Scandinavian kids! Summer's too long for your parents.

Campaign for Real Ale

Know your rights, especially as a drinker, when you go next to your local. You could be drinking crap for all you know.

I had the amazing, once-in-a-year opportunity to go to the Durham Beer Festival held at the Durham University Student Union.


Yeah. I'm in Alice's world where you can drink pretty much what you want on a university campus. Ring, ringring, ring. Um, hello OU? Yeah, I'd like to open you up for this cool thing called adult discretionary activities where you could allow the adult students and adult faculty and staff to partake of the wonderfulness that is Delirium Tremens....

source

It's such a wonderful Belgian beer, I didn't even mind the pink elephants I saw...

I mean really, OU... If a #3 university in a CIVILIZED COUNTRY can have a family room for the underaged at a beer festival, surely too, you could as well. What better way to keep tabs on our youth than right under our noses as we imbibe?

You could even have security! They have such smooth butts to polish the handrails with! There's bathrooms for the washing of the hands afterwards! WE CAN DO IT! We can be the change we want to see!

And the clientele that would attend are the good ol' boys with money types. With a festival like this, people are there to spend money to drink beer. To drink beer. And to drink the beer. It's classy. See? The bartenders have official festival uniform polo shirts. There's a manly smell that you just can't get from the 50 yard line at Owen Field. Toby Keith knows this.

*****

I went this last weekend to the Durham Beer Festival, obviously. I really enjoyed myself...sensibly. I thought I caught a glimpse of a "minor" celebrity and was thrilled that I might get a chance at a reddit post, "Guess Who I Ran Into?" Alas, the fat man was just a fat man.

The fat man sitting under the PROMOTES DRINKERS RIGHTS sign, to me, looked like Nick the Greek from Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels. 

CAMRA, or Campaign for Real Ale, is an organization that was started in the 70s here in England as a way to keep drinking from being commercialized, a la Budweiser and to promote small pubs. I had several Englishmen (okay, two) tell me about their perception of Americans and the American beer (they think it's shit). 

According to these two Geordies, and if I'm honest others from the area here as well, think that all Americans drink is Budweiser varieties and the odd Coors and Miller Lites. I didn't totally disabuse them of that notion because well, those beers have their place. But I told them about how when I did go out to Louie's after a hard day of teaching 6th graders, I'd usually get a Sam Adams or a Corona. With lime. No salt. Or a Negro Modelo. With shredded lime on the goblet rim. The bigger the better. No salt. See? I can be a beer snob too.

First beer of the night.

So, the Durham Beer Festival. Really cool in many ways. First, it was on a university campus. Paradigm shift for me. Second, £10 for four half pints and I get to keep the glass? Bargain. Third, I got to go to a part of the University that I hadn't been motivated to explore prior. Really. Fourth, I got to go with my buddy, Ruth.

And I learned a lot about myself that night too. I learned that I LOVE Belgian beer. Best beer of the night? Delirium Tremens, hands down. It won "Best Beer in the World" in 1998 at the World Beer Championships. 

Also, I like the Dumbo reference.

Furries in Durham

Another surreal market day. Am thinking the remnants of the Edinburgh Fringe are trickling south and today was the day they hit Durham.

Tons of street performers and comedians. Gave a pound to a couple of teenaged buskers who aren't able to shave their faces yet; it was a pity donation. One of them tried to "Harpo" but forgot to not talk.

And then these buggers loomed out of the crowed. No. They "loped".




Srsly. What are two grown men doing in gender correct kangaroo aviator suits?

Unhinged Jaws

A few things...

After ingesting our morning carbs and dairy the other morning, Kiddo, SciMan, and I got to experience the spectator sport of watching "Fee Fi Fo Yum", a children's TV game show. It was really interesting that this is quality programming. It was similar to "Double Dare" but the carrot of the game show's premise is to NOT BE EATEN! BY A GIANT!

Oh yeah. Every so often, there'd be "commercials" like these embedded in the game show...because the show is on a fake network for giants, GTV. In the land of the giants, Hairy Mary is the spokeswoman of choice. Go ahead, take some time to watch them. It's only 3 minutes. Just make sure you don't have a mouthful of liquid.



See?

Now close your mouth. You know we could totally use a "Guff Muffler" to help us be in control of our output.

Want to see more? Try this or this. Totally worth your time, especially if you've got kids.

*******

Came across a few more jawbreakers...

Pay toilet outside of Trencher's restaurant in Whitby. Price?
Adults: 40p = $0.65
Children: 10p = $0.16

I think this is a little pricey to pay for #1 and #2. The pay toilet in the bus station in Durham is just a flat rate of 20p ($0.33)

Yeah. I get the rationale for pay toilets. But cleanliness is not always guaranteed. Neither is the prevention of an assault on your ol' olfactory senses.

 

Kiddo got this as a birthday present from one of her little schoolmates. OBVIOUSLY, schmuck means jewelry.
You paint it, then you bake it.
Heart warming. It warms the cockles of my heart.
There's nothing like hot cockles.

While waiting for Dad and Sis to arrive via train...

The "ice-cream-shoppe-vomited-all-over-baby-seal-boots" look.
I hope this look is catching on in the States... I don't want to be all alone with this.

At least VPL is still vogue.

You KNOW they called each other to coordinate!

Seen on the shelf in the children's library... The Ministry of Niceness

Initially, cute premise... but...

the message of the story is that cool people are not nice...therefore, BE NICE.

And then it becomes a governmental policy.

I can imagine...

...12 months probation for not holding a door open for the person behind you,

...2-4 months jail time for not giving up your seat in the front of the bus to an elderly or disabled person,

...10 years for buying Abercrombie hoodies and wearing them in public*. Plus five more if worn while rioting**.

Okay, okay... so that's really stretching it.

But this... THIS takes my breath away...

We're made of PORK! Our business is our own.

Can you imagine the commercial for this one?

interdental lisping: Yay MEAT!

Thank you so much, Tesco!

*Guilty as charged. Oops. My bad.
**I have nothing more to say about this, just thought there needed to be a double asterisk because that's what my teacher told me when we learned about writing outlines in junior high.

I drank the Kool-Aid...

...and it tastes all pink, green, and blue.

...because pink and green and blue were the colors for the day.

Took Kiddo to the park nextdoortoournewhouse! Packed a picnic bag (Thanks SJ!) and felt content after arrival. I had the kind of contentment that is a barrier to ever leaving this country.

DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE I'VE BEEN CONTENT?

Too long.

So here's some eyecandyporn for Friday's Fone Fdump

BEFORE

AFTER

I highly recommend to you Brookeshields wannabees that you immediately go find your nearest Indian lady and beg her to thread your eyebrows. If no Indian lady can be found, try some Iranians. Oh so much better than wax. Only, I recommend you not go get it done if you've just done really awesome eyemakeup. Smudged City. Ah, imperfections. How I love mine.

When Dad came for his visit (<3!!!), he brought the Lego set he bought me in 1988, The Black Monarch's Castle. 

And every good castle has to have a dragon... SO I BUILT THAT BADASS DRAGON! Design and implementation all from my brain...no showsies from a how-to booklet! Look, look! He even doubles as a T-Rex!

Also of note... We hosted poker for the first time in over 3 years. And here's what's cool about it => present at poker were the following people: A Cuban, an Englishman, a Taiwanese, a Belgian, a Frenchwoman, and two Americans.

This is the Cuban! They really do exist outside of Cuba and Florida.

Guess who won?

THE REALLY STYLISH FRENCHWOMAN OF COURSE!

Anyway. Like I was saying... if I was saying anything, which I doubt, my point is that I've now entered the phase of the ex-pat {wait, do I even qualify as 'ex-pat'?} experience where I'm reluctant to contemplate going home. I've found myself making plans that do not involve considering a move homewards. I enjoyed having people here to visit and found myself wishing for more time so that I could show them more of what I find wonderful about this place, like hot chocolate from a bar/lounge that really should be called hot liquid cake.

I really do still hate a lot about this country...and if last week's riots were any indication, so too do a lot of other people and for probably what's tantamount to the same things as me. Like, for instance, a 23 year old guy gets jail time for knowingly passing on herpes to his now ex-girlfriend. He got 14 months.

14 months?

How's that going to do anything to his future behavior? Would that deter you if you were determined to use a disease as biological revenge? It's just not common sense. The jails are basically full, from what I've read and it's not solving the fundamental problem. Does anyone even know what the problem truly is? I most likely don't, but I've got the outsider's perspective and shit ain't looking good from out here.

When I read about this crap or when I watch the result of economic and opportunity poverty unfold, my gut response is "I gotta get out of here." When I have to call the NHS Health Visitors to cancel an appointment that they set up but that I didn't want in the first place, I'm all like  ಠ_ಠ . 

But then there's being in places like this...

And this....

And this...

And so, yeah. I may have drank the Kool-Aid already...and I didn't realize it.