mmmm . . . floorpie

Seen on the side of a refrigerated juice truck somewhere between Richmond and DC:

Veryfine

Lovingly
mass-produced
for over
4 GENERATIONS

Industrial agriculture used to be so homey. And now, look at the state of things. Some mad genius at ConAgra is most likely busy right now breeding a brainless, featherless, spherical chicken (they'll pump nutrients in and waste out through plastic tubes; when the thing hits 30 pounds, they'll just slap on some shrink-wrap and ship it to your local grocery store.)

Freedom Kiss

"WASHINGTON (CNN) --The cafeteria menus in the three House office buildings changed the name of "french fries" to "freedom fries," a culinary rebuke of France, stemming from anger over the country's refusal to support the U.S. position on Iraq.

'This action today is a small, but symbolic effort to show the strong displeasure of many on Capitol Hill with the actions of our so-called ally, France,' said Rep. Bob Ney, R-Ohio, the chairman of the Committee on House Administration."

My friend Margie suggests that maybe we should start calling filet mignon "steak . . . through the heart of the axis of evil!"

Lord of the Rings

Hey, it’s 3-3-03.

Last week, W spoke at the American Enterprise Institute about, shockingly, Iraq. My favorite line was "We will not allow the triumph of hatred and violence in the affairs of men." The affairs of men? Who wrote this speech, J.R.R. Tolkien?

Wouldn't surprise me if Tolkien wrote the whole drama with which we are now faced. Dark lord who seeks to rule the world—a single weapon which will make him invincible—a small and slightly ridiculous, yet noble hero poised to stop him (and here you think I’m talking about W when in fact I’m talking about outspokenly anti-war Senator Robert Byrd (D-WV)).

Right now my housemate, Seth, is playing "No Rain" on his guitar. Suddenly, it's high school again. This feeling is intensified by the fact that I just drank a Zima. Yes, it's true, while I usually favor martinis, Erin and I were reminiscing about that deceptively alcoholic malt beverage the other day, and at the liquor store this weekend I couldn't help but buy a pack for old times' sake. It's true, they still make it, and I'm sure that teenage boys still press it upon teenage girls with enthusiasm.

One of my proudest moments as a 15-year-old was the time I was in the Taco Bell parking lot late one night and discovered a totally unopened, pristine 4-pack of Zima sitting on the median. I remember it was just before the 4th of July, and I brought the 4-pack along to a secret, alcoholic celebration with my best friends, Nelle and Jill. Those four clandestine Zimas were enough to put the three of us right under the table.

I think I might go listen to some Nirvana now. Cheers.