In A Perfect World

Members of Congress would have to abide by the level of regulation that physicians have to abide by.  Via Whitecoat, Throckmorton gives us a picture of what it would be like:

A man can dream, can’t he?

In Which I Realize I’m OLD!

I was recently invited to a bachelor party, one that is happening this very weekend. You can tell the planner is a single guy in his twenties, from that very sentence, can’t you?

Well, aside from the week’s notice, they’ve got a full day planned of paintball, a barbecue, pinball, and then strippers, from 1000h til 0200 the next day.

Now, paintball has potential to be fun. I do prefer target shooting or skeet.  I haven’t put any rounds downrange for a quite a while, and it has been too long. The pinball arcade is fun, though my skills are rusty.  The best ones are in the back of some bar somewhere.  The very best one was The Comet that was in the back of the Blue Goose in Lewiston, particularly because you got five balls for a quarter.   I have no objection to naked people, though it’s a little too much like work. I can see naked people any day.  OK, at work they tend to be either messy or elderly.  The thrill, the shock value of seeing naked people has long since passed.  My academic department is ANATOMY, for crying out loud.  Certainly, I have strong objections to PAYING to see naked people, particularly bored naked people whose job it is to get me to spend more money who don’t particularly like me. (A non-bored individual, who actually is willing; one who likes me, or better yet cares for me is another kettle of bouillabaisse entirely)

You will notice, however, there’s no real chance to sit down and talk with anyone. Let alone the putative groom. Any of these things would be interesting. All together, really, it strikes me as quite overwhelming, but I realize that such a day would have been wonderful about fifteen years ago.   Heavens, eighteen years ago, at AP’s bachelor party we went out to dinner, went to a comedy club, and then wandered around Harvard Square.  At that one, I think the women went to the strip club.  Different bunch of guys, in many ways.  OK, we did plan to hijack the USS Constitution, but that never got beyond the planning stage.

The current plan of attack is to go to the pinball arcade, hang out, and go home. The life of an international adventurer.

Chaucerian Pub Joke.

Hat tip, Robbubba.

Call For Limericks

I was inspired by Sparrow’s haiku contest. She’s been running it for some time, and she’s taking a well-deserved break. But, recognizing a good idea when I see it, I’m running a William the Coroner LIMERICK contest.

Using this weeks theme, leave a limerick in the comments. The winner, the one deemed by me to be the best, will get a care package sent in his or her name to a serving service member in harm’s way; one listed on AnySoldier.com. This week’s theme, in honour of the equinox, is FALL
Of course, a limerick is a five line poem, with an A-A-B-B-A rhyme scheme. Most of the popular ones are dirty “There was a young man from Nantucket…(and so forth)” It’s harder to keep them clean, and those will get more points.

Knock yourselves out!  This post is open until the end of business FRIDAY 26 September 2008.  The announcement will go out on SUNDAY, 28 September, 2008.

When Textile Arts Attack

From Becki, two monstrosities from What Not To Crochet:  (Short answer, EVERYTHING), but I digress.

Single-Action Army Colts (they THINK they’re Smith & Wessons, but I think they’re SAAs.  What kind of a gun geek does that make me? And a pink gun cosy for your S&W M&P 9mm. (that IS a S&W, BTW.)

My Old Man–Ewan McColl

My old man was a good old man
Skilled in the moulding trade
In the stinking heat of the iron foundry
My old man was made
Down on his knees in the moulding sand
He wore his trade like a company brand
He was one of the cyclops' smoky band
Yes, that was my old man

My old man wasn't really old
It's just that I was young
And anybody over twelve years old
Was halfway to the tomb
He was loyal to his workmates all his life
Gave his pay packet to his wife
Had a few jars on a Saturday night
Yes, that was my old man

My old man was a union man
Fought hard all his days
He understood the system
And was wise to the boss' ways
He says, you want what's yours by right
You have to struggle with all your might
They'll rob you blind if you don't fight
Yes, that was my old man

My old man was a proud old man
At home on the foundry floor
Until the day they laid him off
And showed him to the door
They gave him his card, said, things are slack
We've got a machine can learn the knack
Of doing your job, so don't come back
The end of my old man

My old man he was fifty-one
What was he to do?
A craftsman moulder on the dole
In nineteen thirty-two
He felt he'd given all he could give
So he did what thousands of others did
Abandoned hope and the will to live
They killed him, my old man

My old man he is dead and gone
Now I am your old man
And my advice to you, my son
Is to fight back while you can
Watch out for the man with the silicon chip
Hold on to your job with a good firm grip
'Cause if you don't you'll have had your chips
The same as my old man

Cat Blogging

Via Tam, I read this disgusting story.  Accident?  I don’t think so.  If he’ll do that to an animal, he’ll do that to a child or spouse.

Close Encounter of the Warthog Kind

From Strategypage.  I like Warthogs.

I Gotta Get Me Some of These!

Hat tip, Brigid!

Argh

It’s the catering that’s the good part.