If a Republican Congressman with a Guaranteed Paycheck stops working, will anyone notice?

 

This may be my last FLOG

… AT LEAST FOR A WHILE.

This morning I was preparing to write my advance critique on The Fifth Estate, a “dramatic thriller” of a movie that opens in theatres later this month.  It's based (Hollywood-speak for hugely fictionalized) on real events in the life of Julian Assange, the Australian guy who is currently in deep doo-doo for Wiki-leaking submissions of secret military information and other classified dirt from anonymous news sources and whistle blowers.

Since June 19, 2012, Assange has been inside the Ecuadorian embassy in London, where he has since been granted diplomatic asylum. 

When American, Edward Snowden blew his own whistle on the NSA, Assange became his travel agent and got him as far as Russia.  As far as we know Snowden is still there.  I wonder if he has developed a taste for borscht.

I got this far in this FLOG when one of my own anonymous informants sent me an email telling me when the Government shuts down at midnight tonight, the Internet will also shutter itself.  I live in Arizona, so I assume government services will be available for three additional hours after House Republicans take their ball and go home.  I don't know how I'll be able to tell the difference, never actually having seen them do anything useful. 

My computer is already beggining to act weird.  Goodbye.

Fractured Fairy Tale Flog

Once upon a time there was a farmer named MacDonald and apparently he was old.  So they called him "Old MacDonald" and somebody composed an eponymous tune in his honor.  A version of the song is on a disc I keep in my car for my brilliant 6 year old granddaughter, Izzy, and we listen to it ad nauseam.   

There are other wonderful little ditties on the disc, but recently a television ad campaign for an insurance company featured Old MacDonald in a spelling bee.   Old Mac spells cow “c-o-w-e-i-e-i-o” and promptly gets booted from the spelling bee.

This prompted Izzy to ask me who, exactly, was Old MacDonald.  I promised I would research the complete and authentic account of Old MacDonald’s origins, certain that Old MacGoogle and MacWikipedia would have a definitive answer. Wrong!!!

My first Google search told me that, “No one wrote Old MacDonald Had a Farm.  It is a traditional folk song from Ireland that has been edited!”

A second search revealed, “Old MacDonald Had a Farm was composed and edited by Mr. H.F. Walker and his hit is published in a book that was called Ozark Folksongs in 1980. The song is primarily a children's song and it is about a farmer who was called MacDonald.”

I didn’t believe #2 because my daughters and I moo-mooed here and quack-quacked there long before 1980.

I discovered various other versions which included lyrics like,

·       Old Missouri had a mule, he-hi-he-hi-ho

·       Old MacDougal had a farm in Ohio-i-o

·       Up I was on father’s farm on a May-day morning early

I contemplated selling Izzy the story that Old MacDonald was a visionary who hated farm life and thought cows belonged on a plate next to his fried potatoes.  He believed everyone at some time or another, would like to go grab a reasonably priced quick meal without having to change into Sunday overalls.  Maybe … he could even throw in a little toy for the tots… 

Izzy’s Bubba has a FLOG
As you all well know
And on that FLOG he writes some stuff
Disam-big-u-ous-ly so

With a Wiki-search here
And a Google-search there
All day long a search
From his perch
Praying to the Internet Church

But Old MacDonald’s mystery
May forever re-main so

 

They Take Formality Seriously in Frankenstein, Missouri ... aka Young Frankenstein, Missouri

 

In 1999 the town of Frankenstein, Missouri was invaded by 25 skydiving Peter Boyle-style Frankenstein monsters in honor of the 25th anniversary of Mel Brooks' movie, Young Frankenstein.  

As they leaped from the plane they yelled, "Putting on the Ritz" and landed in the Frankenstein Community Ball Field.  

The monsters handed out Young Frankenstein DVDs and the "mayor"  re-dubbed the town Young Frankenstein.

Wasilla, Alaska jumped on this particular bandwagon (well, they formed a mob of angry villagers with torches, rakes and axes) ...

Hellhole Palms, California

A place where real estate agents REALLY earn their commission - in case you haven't noticed, I've been on a weird-named-place kick lately.  I keep wondering about the local government and chamber of commerce and how they promote their community.  I wonder what it's like to say, "I'm the Mayor of Hellhole Palms" or, "Luxury Condo for Sale in the heart of Hellhole Palms."

Stay tuned (so to speak) ... coming up next:  Big Ugly, West Virginia and Intercourse, PA

Joe, Montana

In 1993, the town of Ismay changed its name to "Joe." A Kansas City radio station convinced the population (all 22 of them) to do it as a publicity gimmick when the legendary Joe Montana was traded to the Kansas City Chiefs. Back then the champion football player was a household name, and the town voted for the name change to last at least for the duration of football season.

Montana led his team to victory, and retired from football a few years later. The town eventually lapsed into calling itself Ismay again, although signs for "Joe" remained. Funds raised from the sale of "Joe, Montana" souvenirs enabled the town to build a new fire station.

A visitor took this photo of a sign for "Joe, MT" in 2002, but couldn’t “confirm there's anything still to see.”

Political Dentistry

After losing money for years, the owner of a Clearwater, Florida bowling alley was ready to shut it down.  He tried one last thing, and now business is booming.   

Bowl-O-Bama is doing record business.  Since opening in November 2010, 963 patrons have bowled a perfect game, including strikes in the warm-up frames.  Bowl-O-Bama also has the highest bowling league average in the country, with a 237.  

And that's the senior league.


Thanks to Burton Sternoff for sharing this!

Fall-O-Up to yesterday's Literal Headers

Full layout front hand spring with a triple twist,

but sadly, didn't make the medal round.

I have my suspicions about the French judge's impartiality

Literal Headers

FALLOG 

On Fridays I pick up my brilliant granddaughter, Izzy, and take her to gymnastics class.  She runs off to tumble and flip (and flaunt her leotard-du-jour), while I take my seat in the gallery of relatives-who-transport.

 

I sit near the window where I can watch my budding gold-medalist's every move, and I day-dream about the '72 Munich Olympics where Olga Korbut (who now lives in Scottsdale) scored a perfect ten on the uneven bars.

 

When I come back to earth I notice this sign in the Gym and ponder whether to enroll, if only to pick up some style pointers. 

It’s been just about a year since I was diagnosed with osteoporosis and asked my good doctor what I should do about it. “Don’t fall,” he said. 

I promised I wouldn’t. But I think the statute of ‘liminations is looming.  You know, the one that says, "You live in a house with a spiral staircase you must traverse multiple times a day?  Really?"

Izzy shows up just in time to spare the receptionist from a confusing battery of questions.  I point out the sign to Izzy.

“Bubba,” she says sternly, “they’re talking about FALL … the season.  You know - like Halloween. They want people to sign up for classes that begin in October … you know, Fall. Get it?” 

“Got it,” I reply, shamed.   

I guess it's unlikely there will be a team of judges to hold up score cards when those stairs get me, anyway.