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Posts Tagged ‘brain’

Screw that, get a tissue.

Harold Ramis dead.  This ranks up there with the loss of Leslie Nielsen in Lemur King’s world.

I collect spores, molds and fungus.

The man directed GroundHog Day, which is one of my favorite movies.  It took a stroke of genius to find the right balance between comedy, smug satisfaction at Phil’s fate, pity at the horror of his fate, and transformation of a vile creature into a human.

Thanks Harold.  RIP.

Any movie that includes Scott’s work or the work of Oscar Wilde wins with me.  This one won’t be applied to Mr. Ramis.

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch, concentred all in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.

****

For me, and for me alone…

 

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Cruel Wife said to my daughter as they were getting ready for her bedtime “Don’t forget to turn off the game controller.”

Sighing loudly, “Oh, okayyyyy…”

“Yes,” I said, “You should always remember to turn off the controller or there’s the possibility that three kittens could die if you don’t.”

“Daaaaa-aaaad, kittens won’t die if I don’t turn off the controller.”

“They might!  Is that really a risk you’re willing to take?” I hollered after her.

Cruel Wife said reproachfully “A girl should always be able to look to her father as being a source of truth and trust…”

I glanced up “Yes, she should.  Sad that she doesn’t, isn’t it?”

Later, as we were reading Harry Potter for her bedtime story she saw a picture of a popping soap bubble on my computer.   “OH!  Print that!  Print that!”

“Girl, if we printed every picture you liked your mom would run out of ink and the printer would die.  Best you just print it on your brain and let your friends at school look in your ear to see ’em.”

“Daaaaa-aaad!  You can’t put pictures on your brain and people can’t look at them!”

In my best dissenting voice I stated, “Oh yes, you can.  Look in my ear.  Get right up close and see.”

She moved within inches of my ear.  “Dad, I can’t see anything.  I can’t see your brain.  No one can see it without an x-ray.”

“Maybe you just can’t see it because I loaned it out or something.”

“Dad, you can’t loan people your brain,” she said in an exasperated tone.

“Well, The Butcher of Lansing asked me just the other day, ‘Can I borrow your brain for a minute?’, so I think it perfectly possible.”

And from the background, with her trademark Betty Rubble laugh, was the sound of Cruel Wife enjoying the conversation…  I live for conversations like that with my daughter.

****

And now I shall draw your attention to something culinary.

Cool, right?

Known by many names, including hundred-year/thousand-year/millennium egg, a century egg is a preserved chicken, duck or quail egg. A paste made from tea water, clay, lime, ash and salt is packed around the eggs, then they are rolled in rice hulls to keep them from sticking together and left to sit for 3 years.

The result is a greening-brownish egg that smells like flatulence and urine, which is hopefully the only reason why it is called “horse urine eggs” in some Southeast Asian countries.

I found that on a blog entry “18 Stinky Foods from Around the World“.  Sounds scrumptious.

What was peculiar is how many of them I either like and use, or am interested in trying.  A few would make me gag if they were within ten feet of me.  Guess which ones.

This also reminds me… tonight my daughter tried and likes fish sauce by the spoonful (I use Squid brand fish sauce, but to each his own), even straight… she makes me so proud.  She put it on the sesame-ginger noodles I made tonight.  I told her it probably wasn’t the best combination but then again, it’s not a revolting combination either, and gave her the caveat that fish sauce doesn’t taste anything like what most Americans expect food to taste like.  Didn’t faze her a bit.

I will start her on vietnamese food soon then bounce over to korean for bi-bim-bap and chap-chae then back to thai and get her interested in son-in-law eggs (one of my favorites although it takes relatively more time and less people to eat it all).

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Over at Bar Slaves, Old Iron was momentarily lucid, asking any MoronBloggers who were interested in meeting near Detroit (ish) to pipe up on his page to express interest. He then rapidly lost lucidity and degenerated into animal noises and gagging sounds. I guess it was pretty gross. Women and small children were removed from the scene in shock and grown men were seen openly weeping.

But someone slipped him a pint of Guinness or something, his limbic system rebooted, and he was right as rain. Inspirational, I tell you. The picture below shows a normal brain, and next to it is the size of that same brain after repeated abuse and pickling in alcohol. Note that it is the same in every way (sort of – perhaps instead of firm tofu consistency it is more like skim ricotta cheese) but shrunk. This is due to the skull-rending forces of the cranial fluids within the brainpan the day after. I no longer drink but assure you this is true. More than once I was required to work when the night before was a pub crawl that had lost it’s brakes (and sanity), and my brain was bruised from rattling around like Lotto balls inside the ol’ noggin.

(click the pic, it seems to get bigger if you do)

Go read about it the meeting of the minds. Have fun. Poke that old bear with a stick.

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