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Archive for the ‘Huh?’ Category

There’s So Much Teaching To Do

So there we were, capping off “Hockey Day In America” with an episode of Rockford Files instead of the Caps/Rangers game. And the episode was the second of a two-parter featuring a goofy elderly dude who’s being cheated convolutedly out of his farm — “The Birds, The Bees, And T.T. Flowers”. We’d hit up the first half last week, but this in this half the dude, in a stand-off with an LAPD SWAT team at his homestead, started waxing poetic about his beloved trees. Trees he’d listened to on farmy evenings, making their tree music rustling in the wind. Trees he had planted, nurtured, staked against the wind, and taught to sing. The dude was acting pretty certifiable, but as people who are very married to their beloved garden and orchard, we kind of understood where he was coming from. In the seven years we’ve been at Stately IPB Manor we’ve committed tons of blood, sweat, and tears to bettering the land; we’ve put in a big vegetable garden, planted berry canes and bushes and grapevines, and weaned over a dozen little fruit trees that are now starting to show their thanks by bearing fruit. We’d probably dig in against a SWAT team, too, if confronted with losing our beloved land.

But as people who were deep into a second bottle of wine, we started to panic — we’ve never taught our trees how to sing. Well. Mark our words — some time after the sun comes up tomorrow, when we’re finally awake and have had some aspirin, we’ll be out front, coaching our little orchard. With this ditty:

Because when you’re a farmer who drinks too much, you’re a farmer who takes teaching your trees how to sing seriously.

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So Schnookie was driving to work the other day listening to John Zorn’s version of “The Ballad of Hank McCain”, and had an amazing realization:

Dude, that song is about Devils fans! Especially Devils fans who just watched Game 3 of this series. Seriously —

No one knows better than a Devils fan after Game 3 of this series that life’s a filthy dirty game, very very hard to win.

No one knows better than a Devils fan after Game 3 of this series how to to disregard the pain, never, never let it in.

No one knows better than a Devils fan after Game 3 of this series that a man who thinks he’s free knocks his head against a wall.

No one knows better than a Devils fan after Game 3 of this series just how bitter it would be to be beaten after all (by Clemmer).

No one knows better than a Devils fan after Game 3 of this series that they’d get him all the same, and they made him pay the price.

Of course, no one knows better than a Devils fan after any Devils game that when all is said and done, that’s the only way to live.

We meant to put up a post about this before Game 4 made it sort of irrelevant, but we’re lazy. The point remains, though, that losing playoff games to Scott Clemmensen is a sort of pain that only Devils fans know, and only Ennio Morricone can put into music appropriately.

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Swarmy Tooch

There seems to be some mystery surrounding the design of the Devils playoffs gear. We think we have the answer…

It’s the Numberwang Code!

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Knock Knock! Who’s There?

A new thread!

Bet you didn’t see that coming.

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Devils vs. Kings, 10/25/11

We realize we haven’t really said a single word about the Devils yet this year, but there’s a good reason for that. You see, the time we used to spend thinking deep thoughts about the Devils and then maybe even blogging about them has been taken up by a new hobby. This new hobby has completely and utterly consumed our lives — when we’re not actually engaged in the time-consuming aspects of actively engaging in it, we’re reviewing our past successes, dreaming big dreams for the future, or just sitting back and admiring our handiwork.

Pear and Pumpkin Ale Preserves Cinderlla Edition

So, while we have no opinions to offer about the Devils, we can highly recommend that Travis and JJ take some of their downtime while recovering from their injuries to enjoy the wonderful world of home preserving.

Yeah, we’re cool.

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Have you ever found yourself wishing you could live somewhere as cool as stately IPB Manor? Think again. This is a recap of the actual, impassioned discussion/argument we had tonight:

We were watching a two-part episode of “Deep Space Nine” (yes, you can stop reading now. Our point has been conclusively made.) in which Earth is being threatened by the encroaching threat of the Dominion. (Yes, this gets dorkier.) Much of the action, such as it is, is set in Sisko’s (zzz…) father’s (zzz…) restaurant (zzz…), and, half-buzzed after a big glass of wine, Schnookie cut off a serious expository scene by exclaiming how dumb it is that restaurants haven’t apparently changed at all in 400 years. It looks exactly like a late 20th-century restaurant, dammit.

Pookie, perhaps also half-buzzed, has a bone to pick with Schnookie’s bone-picking. She feels that there can’t honestly be that much a person could think would change in table settings over 400 years.

“SPORKS!” Schnookie proclaims.

“Pfft,” Pookie dismisses.

The battle lines are drawn: Schnookie feels that 400 years ago people weren’t using forks, so it’s not at all unreasonable to think that table settings on Deep Space Nine would be different, and Pookie feels they were using forks, so Schnookie’s a complete idiot.

Boomer happens to have her computer on, so, perhaps also half-buzzed, she gets to googling. Schnookie shouts, “Google ‘when were forks invented?'” and Boomer discovers they were invented in the Middle East in about 1000 CE.

“HA!” Pookie triumphantly slurs.

“WAIT!” Boomer hiss/shouts. “Forks weren’t adopted in Europe until the 1600’s.”

“HA!” Pookie triumphantly slurs louder. “That’s 400 years ago!”

“NO!” Schnookie bellows. “Google ‘did the pilgrims use forks?’!!”

Boomer does so. And it turns out that no, they did not use forks. Why use a fork when you’ve got fingers, yo? Furthermore, forks weren’t adopted in Colonial America until the mid-1700’s.

“BOOM!” Schnookie screams in Pookie’s face. “FORK!”

Pookie tries to make a point that Schnookie’s a moron by demanding to know what should replace forks 400 years from now. Schnookie insists that if she knew that, she’d invent it and patent it now to get rich off of it. Pookie concludes our not-at-all-stupid debate by announcing, “Well now I’ve found a reason to have my head cryogenically frozen when I die, so I can be thawed out 400 years from now to see what they’re using instead of forks.”

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We sometimes get asked by friends and colleagues how we manage to be so happy all the time (they clearly don’t read this blog), and our answer is always that we just happen to be very good at letting the little things in life delight us. And when we say “the little things”, we really mean it. For example, we’re having spaghetti with a simple tomato sauce for dinner tonight, one of our favorite meals, and we had this exchange about it:

Schnookie, smugly: There’s a special surprise ingredient in tonight’s dinner, Pookie.
Pookie, excited: Oh? Really? What?
Schnookie: What ingredient can turn a weeknight… into heaven?
Pookie: SAUSAGE!

Seriously. It takes so little. It really makes us wonder how the Devils have gone so wrong by us.

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