About the fella in the picture . . .

The guy in the picture at left is the patron saint (he would detest the name) of this Blog. His name is Henry Louis "H.L." Mencken, and although he died 52 years ago, his acerbic comments on American culture and life are as timely as today. Witness his comment on presidential politics and see if you don't recognize the candidates for president and the current sitting president:


"The larger the mob, the harder the test. In small areas, before small electorates, a first-rate man occasionally fights his way through, carrying even the mob with him by force of his personality. But when the field is nationwide, and the fight must be waged chiefly at second and third hand, and the force of personality cannot so readily make itself felt, then all the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre — the man who can most easily adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum. The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron." (Baltimore Evening Sun, July 26, 1920)

Mencken's beliefs are condensed below, and (with the exception of the afterlife, because I have never had the courage to believe in nothing) will provide the guiding principles for this blog:

"I believe that religion, generally speaking, has been a curse to mankind - that its modest and greatly overestimated services on the ethical side have been more than overcome by the damage it has done to clear and honest thinking. I believe that no discovery of fact, however trivial, can be wholly useless to the race, and that no trumpeting of falsehood, however virtuous in intent, can be anything but vicious. I believe that all government is evil, in that all government must necessarily make war upon liberty... I believe that the evidence for immortality is no better than the evidence of witches, and deserves no more respect. I believe in the complete freedom of thought and speech... I believe in the capacity of man to conquer his world, and to find out what it is made of, and how it is run. I believe in the reality of progress. I - But the whole thing, after all, may be put very simply. I believe that it is better to tell the truth than to lie. I believe that it is better to be free than to be a slave. And I believe that it is better to know than be ignorant."

Want more?

Little House, Little House au Prairie

News from Minny-ah--polish:

The Guthrie Theatre is producing a musical version of Minnesotan Laura Engels Wilder's LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE. This sent Himself spinning in two different directions: the first was his own version:

(Sung to the tune of "I'm calm" from A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM:)

MARY:
"I'm blind, I'm blind, I'm totally blind! I run into cows all the time--
Some others can see me, but darkness won't free me--yecch! Swine!
Pa-pah, pa-pah, go get my ma-mah and fetch me a dog and a cane;
My life's hit a coda here in Minnesota--what pain!"

or perhaps:

(Sung to the tune of the opening number of LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS:)

Chorus of chilly townspeople, as a little child, wearing Ray Charles Ray-bans, runs through sunflowers:

"Little house, little house au prairie
Eek! a mouse! Little House au prairie
Get deloused--Little House au prairie
No--oh-oh-oh!"

Considering that LITTLE HOUSE--which was the poster child for "family viewing" back in the day--features one disaster after another, it would seem to be perfect for grand opera, not a musical.

But lots of others are:

GEEK!
The musical version of THE BIG BANG THEORY

EAT THIS!
The musical version of Alton Brown's GOOD EATS

MY FAIR VOYEUR
The musical version of BIG BROTHER

BIGOT!
The musical version of ALL IN THE FAMILY and THE JEFFERSONS combined

and (drum roll please). . .

The one which I would go to Minneapolis to see. . .

WIPEOUT! The Musical

The point may be moo - the news is goo(d)

As a condition of my physical problems this past weekend, I had to see my PCP [not Angel Dust but my Primary Care Physician, for those who don’t speak Managed Healthcare] and my Neurologist.

Heres the good news: my problems this past weekend were caused by an ulnar neuropathy, which in effect means that my left elbow and the nerve endings contained therein are the culprit behind the weakness in my indispensible left hand. It was a case of the old vaudeville joke: “Doctor, my elbow hurts when I do this.” And the doctor says “So don’t do that. Pay the receptionist at checkout.”

So. . .instead of buying a new Black and Decker Firestorm cordless drill or treating SWMBO to dinner at Moni’s in Arlington, I fork over the same cash for a hoary old Smith and Dale routine from the 1910's. It would drive me to drink [if I still drank], but I shouldn’t bend my elbow.
Ba-dum-ching! Thank you - we're here all week - try the veal!

Speaking of hoary old Vaudeville schtick, tune into Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along . Neil Patrick Harris is very funny in a 3-part musical written by Josh Whedon. Also, for those who don’t know about Brook McEldowney, go to and check out PIBGORN, then look at his blog and check out 9 CHICKWEED LANE. My kinda funny.

Things that make you go OWWWWWWWWWW!

Good day to ya!

It is finally time to start fulfilling my “bucket list” of items to do in my checkered lifetime. My aspirations of pitching for the Cardinals MAY be a little out of my reach now, but I still have time for my main ambition: to become the Chief Lord of Time, Space and Motion. Also to write a blog. This is it. Please read it at your leisure. Leave me a comment or two.

Below is a little something I wrote last Friday – how was YOUR weekend?

So, it's Friday morning and Himself is checking his Email and thinking about adding to the play he's writing, when the ring finger and pinkie of his left hand lose sensation and kinda droop around, leaving him without his usual pianolike dexterity--something like slapping a pancake on the laptop keys. The Maher goes to She Who Must Be Obeyed and tells her--in a VERY calm tone of voice--that something is kinda wrong. He does this so that SWMBO doesn't jump up with eyes like saucers and yell '"Omigod! TIA! and calls every doctor and hospital in creation (I'll explain about a TIA in a minute--are you still there? Good.) I'm very proud of SWMBO, who calmly showers and dresses as I dress using one hand, then we go to the spankin' new ER at the Spankin' new Mansfield Methodist Med Center. They see me right away (!) and it's not too long until I'm in examination room 3, where a physician's assistant diagnoses the problem. To make a long story short, I end up in the spankin' new MMMC room 309 for observation.

And thereby hangs the story of THINGS YOU LEARN (TO YOUR COST) AT THE HORSE PISTOL:

Since they suspect that I've had a TIA or transischemic attack--the onset of a stroke--I get every test known to man or animal at the MMMC: EKG, EEG, MRI, BBW, BMW, BFD, the whole thang. While under observation (the nurse's station has a window with a blind on it so that you're literally under observation), I discover the following, which I dutifully share with you the reader:Men, shave every hair on your body before coming to the hospital. Don't ask questions, just do it. Trust me. Remember Steve Carrell getting the chest wax in THE FORTY YEAR OLD VIRGIN? Um hummm. I thought you would.If you are needing a good rest, the hospital is the LAST place you want to be. In the 18 hours I was under observation, I was awakened 9 times by nurses with needles, BP cuffs, probes, and other instruments of medicinal torture. And only one of them was cute. Her name is Keri, and she's a tech. Everybody else looked like Aunt Esther from SANFORD AND SON.

Remember the old days when you could fly on an airplane and get a real dinner? You can't do that any more, can you? It's because the people (ARAMARK) who supply high school cafeterias and airlines with cardboard sustenance have moved to the hospital arena. My very favorite on the menu was the Chef's Salad--without meat, cheese or egg. WTF! You might as well say "lceberg lettuce leaf with inedible dressing." I am not kidding about this. I'm a cook, and a good one, and even I know how to prepare a healthful lo-cal, lo-carb meal without making it taste like packing peanuts.

If you are awakened at dawn by a nurse that is not named Keri, and when she asks you a question, DO NOT AUTOMATICALLY ANSWER IN THE AFFIRMATIVE. Take a moment, get orientated, wipe the sleep out of your eyes, and listen closely to the question, paying close attention to the words "enema" and "vasectomy". Otherwise, some verrrrrrry uncomfortable things will ensue.Ask someone, preferably your "Executive Meal Hostess" (I am not kidding about this), where you can find some coffee. They will tell you, and it's usually the waiting room lounge. There you will find a Douwe Egbert's coffee maker, the Mother of All Senseo Machines, which will dispense glorious Columbian or Espresso (!), and you can wire yourself so tightly that when you get a blood test they'll think you've been free-basing in your room.

DO NOT actually free-base in your room. There are great honkin' tanks of OXYGEN in there, dummy.

Tell EVERYONE that you want to go home. It worked for Dorothy, it worked for The Maher, and it will work for you.The hospital is one place where you can be a complete dillweed and get away with it. As I was leaving, nay running, to the car, Keri said "thanks for being such a great patient. You're very rare around here." If someone like ME gets a compliment like that, that means they must be used to legions of Idi Amins at the MMMC.So that's it--I'm back at home, I didn't have a stroke, I had a neurological hiccup that could be related to my shoulder surgery. Most of my body remains intact after the MMMC got done with it.

Now we need a month's stay at the rest home for SWMBO. Maybe we'll ask Keri to take care of her. Or Aunt Esther.