Sage Advice

Thanksgiving is almost upon us.

My California daughter, Debbie, is winging her way from Santa Monica and my unofficially adopted daughter Christina is braving the elements all the way from Washington DC to help my Arizona daughter Ruth, granddaughter Izzy and me celebrate grandson Kazuki's first Thanksgiving. Izzy has been industriously producing paper turkeys (even disguised one as a ballerina) in her kindergarten class. I bet she could craft a heckuva centerpiece out of dryer lint. 

Ruth is busier than Karl Rove's spin doctors. So busy, she initially planned to find a store or restaurant that would produce a Thanksgiving dinner ready to serve. However, Debbie is severely allergic to sage, which is often used in turkey seasonings and stuffing.  Ruth’s attempts to determine whether the ready-to-serve dinners contained sage resulted in answers that ranged from, “what’s sage?” to a very unconvincing, “um ….nooooooooo?” 

I put on my Super Dad cape and dashed to her rescue.   There was still plenty of time to buy and defrost a bird and I found a fabulous sounding stuffing recipe which involved no sage.  My recipe plans were dashed when I turned on the news and discovered the Hostess Bakery which produces Twinkies, and a variety of other ridiculously named empty-calorie vessels, had ceased operations and filed bankruptcy with the intention of liquidating.  Damn the bad luck – Twinkies, an integral part of my sage-free turkey stuffing, are now an extremely hot commodity and available only on eBay. 

Mean Eileen, who is not known to be a culinary adventurist, stopped gagging and heaved a sigh of relief at the news.  She pointed out that the local newspaper's website featured a list of more than thirty area restaurants were open and serving dinner - no shopping, cooking or dishwashing.  Then she downloaded a smart-phone app which reveals how long a wait to expect at various local emergency rooms (in case some sage sneaks into Debbie's dinner).  All I had to do was get Ruth to pick one of the restaurants on the list and make a reservation.

About then, Ruth reappeared and before I could even get Mean Eileen's idea fully articulated, she had reclaimed Thanksgiving dinner and shamed me for even thinking of denying her children the opportunity to etch in their little heads the memory of their mommy desperately examining the electrical switch box to figure out why the oven stopped working and wondering aloud for the umpteen-millionth time how her mother managed fabulous holiday dinners with such ease.  

I will sit very quietly like a mouse in a cage with a boa constrictor.
 

A FLOG-Gobble Feast

November, 1975.  The annual Thanksgiving feast (fiasco) at my mother's house (Mom was the militant hostess with the mostest) was scheduled to commence at 5pm (after two hours of noshing on hors d'oeuvres which typically left everyone too stuffed to eat dinner).  About 25 guests had been drafted and dared not go AWOL.  I had no official responsibility so I appointed myself surreptitious place-card switcher.

At o-nine hundred hours, General Mom called my wife to ask if she had electricity.  A wicked autumn storm had claimed hers a mere fifteen minutes after the Butterball went into the oven.  Margaret told her to bring it over, but before Mom could get the giant bird out of her oven and into her car, our power went out.

Frantic calls were made only to find the storm was spreading its wings like a fleeing turkey.  Mom's close friend, Helen Sommers, a Washington State Representitive and Legislative Budget Committee leader, apparently had clout and power to roast a turkey.  The formerly feathered entree made the journey to Ms. Sommers kitchen where it cooled its hallux for a few minutes having arrived shortly before the Budget Committee Chairwoman lost her electricity.  So much for clout.

More calls.  My sister-in-law, Susan, lived on Mercer Island east of Seattle.  No storm damage there - but no power either.  Mom called her sister, whom she had initially left off the disaster relief list because Dorothea had a two bedroom apartment with a five-foot by nine-foot kitchen.  But Auntie Dor had power, so the well traveled bird ended up in her oven for several hours.  Meanwhile, a quickly formed Communications Committee passed the word by means of antique social networking (landlines...ones with handsets attached with curly cords); dinner would be served at eighteen-hundred hours at Dorthea's.

Dinner in Dorthea's tiny abode brought the family closer together than ever before - literally (I still have impressions on the skin of my arms from being squeezed between two cousins).  Johnny Carson once said, "Thanksgiving is an emotional holiday.  People travel thousands of miles to be with people they only see once a year - and then discover once a year is way too often."

The traveling turkey was the best I ever ate.

So, who's he Dun lately?

General Joe Dunford is allegedly going to take the place of tarnished General John Allen (allegedly the possible paramour of Jill Kelley who allegedly tried to poach an already poached General Petraeus) as the leader of the International inSecurity Assistance Force in Afghanistan.   The word according to CNN is Dunford is the sole nominee appearing before the Senate Armed Services Committee this morning.

BIG MISTAKE.  First, with so many people out of work, why would the Senate talk to just one potential job seeker?  Second, what does this guy know about e-males.  And e-females (we've learned it's best to get this stuff out up front).  Third, should the Senate Armed Services Committee interview only the guy who wants to see a "robust US troop presence in Afghanistan after the end of 2014"?  Won't that bunch up Joe Biden's undies?  The VP professed in his debate with Paul Ryan that it was sink or swim time for the Afghan National Security Forces and that US troops would be o-u-t out by the end of 2014.  

I've heard rumors that Biden frequently sends amorous emails to a woman named Jill - maybe that's what he was doing when Obama signed the Strategic Partnership Agreement with Afghani President Karzai.  Or maybe he forgot.

I believe we are missing a rare opportunity to extract our soldiers and get them home for the upcoming holidays.  Simply round up Generals Petraeus, Allen, McChrystal and throw in Rod Blagojevich, Bernie Madoff, Elliot Spitzer, Mark Sanford, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Anthony Weiner, Larry Craig and John Edwards, then exchange them for our troops.  Who better than those guys can explain to Afgani leaders the consequences of poorly thought out choices.  Except for Ahhnold who apparently is incapable of thought (but he's a five star a-hole and I'd just like to see him gone from the USA)?

Lips Zipped; Pants, not so much

 

David and Paula and John and Jill (and Scott and the other Scott and an FBI guy and...)

 

Like a lot of people, I've been reading about the exploits of the top keepers of our Nation's secrets and safety and like a lot of people, I'm not feeling so safe.   These people are operating on taxpayer dollars and I want my money back.  Thirty thousand "flirtatious" emails?

 

I read Ms. Broadwell's resume and it is extraordinarily impressive which makes the idiocy of her "hands off, I stole him first" emails that much more bizarre.  And Petraeus?  The head of the CIA didn't know email can be traced?  I'm sensing a new ...For Dummies book in the works.

 

Bring our troops home from Afghanistan pronto ... I'm sure when Rupert Murdoch's regional tabloid (Al Ja-yowza!) gets out, the Afghani troops being trained by the US are going to have a tough time focusing on combat tactics anyway.

 

And no, I will NOT watch Paula and Jill's upcoming reality show, Call of Booty (probably sponsored by General Mills and General Motors).

 

 

Useful Vocabulary Words

Peanut Butt-er - (n.) one who launches peanuts
from his forehead to entertain grandkids

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are the winners:

 

1.     Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

 

2.     Intaxicaton : Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

 

3.     Reintarnation : Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

 

4.     Bozone ( n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

 

5.    Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

 

6.    Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

 

7.    Inoculatte : To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

 

8.   Osteopornosis : A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

 

9.   Karmageddon : It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

 

10. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

 

11. Glibido : All talk and no action.

 

12. Dopeler Effect : The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

 

13. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

 

14. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
 

The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. And the winners are:

 

1.     Coffee , n. The person upon whom one coughs.

2.     Flabbergasted , adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

3.   Abdicate , v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4.    Esplanade , v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.

5.    Willy-nilly , adj. Impotent.

6.     Negligent , adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

7.     Lymph , v.. To walk with a lisp.

8.     Gargoyle , n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.

9.     Flatulence , n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash , n. A rapidly receding hairline.

11. Testicle , n. A humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude , n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon , n. A Rastafarian proctologist .

14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men







Shoulda Coulda Woulda - Vote Tuesday November 6

To the campaign-sick kid in Colorado - I'm with ya!

It’s five days until Election Day.  I apparently am more crucial to the Obama campaign than voter registration, rallies and even the state of Ohio.  I know this because yesterday at 8:38am Michelle Obama emailed me to tell me how important I am. 

At 9:36am Ann Marie Habershaw emailed with the same sentiment. 

At 10:25am, Jim Messina sent a message requesting a donation to the Red Cross to assist in dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. 

At 12:37pm, Rufus Gifford sent an email with 7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Ignore (I assume he meant ignore his email requesting another campaign donation). 

At 3:38pm, Joe Biden sent me a campaign donation request so “you can stop the other side from buying and bullying its way to a win right at the end.”  That statement leaves me to wonder if my donation wouldn’t be used to buy a win for, uh, this side.

At 7:59pm, Obama for America sent an email offering me a chance to win FRONT ROW SEATS to his election night speech in Chicago, including airfare and hotel – all I have to do is donate to his campaign.  If his election night speech was going to be in Hawaii, I might have bitten.

At 10:40pm, Obama for America sent the first useful email I’d seen all day … click here to read it

At  8:41am this morning, the Big O himself personally emailed me  (see, I told you I was crucial).  He said “we” got outraised pretty badly in the first half of this past month by Mitt Romney and the Republicans (also the name of Mitt’s garage band).  Because I “am one of Obama’s most committed supporters” the Prez was writing to invite me to commit some more.

Now, I do in fact support Obama and think he did a good job as president in the last four years.  Hurricane Sandy aside, I find it incredibly difficult to believe anyone who can remember where they were in November of 2008 does not think we as a country are in significantly better economic condition four years later (Bernie Madoff  and the mortgage crises ring a bell?).  I hope Obama will be re-elected.

That said, I will be enormously grateful when this election is over and the hundreds of millions of dollars raised and spent on all the campaigns is not rubbed in my face on an hourly basis.  I’d expound on that thought but Stephanie Cutter has just sent me an email of critical importance .

forego the campaign donation - storm victims need your help more

www.redcross.org