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Poor Gillian Gibbons. If you haven’t heard this one, you’re in for a double-shot, espresso eye-opener. Gillian Gibbons, a British citizen teaching in Sudan, was sentence to 15 days in jail and deportation. Her crime? She let her elementary class name the class mascot, a teddy bear, Mohamed.
This has set off a chain of events that include:
The British ambassador’s apology to the Sudanese government
Statements from British Muslim groups decrying the sentence
Relief by some that she wasn’t given a harsher sentence which included 40-lashes
Riots in Khartoum demanding that she be put to death
The newest factionalization of Islam is at hand and the players are lining up geographically. Historically, Eastern and Western minds have drastically different views of the world and this proves Islam is not immune.
Western Muslims, like those in Britain, are baffled by the verdict. Some groups have issued statements requesting clemency for Gibbons. Eastern Muslims, like those in Sudan, are equally baffled. Some of them are demonstrating that the punishment isn’t harsh enough. They are even demanding Gibbons’ execution.
Clearly, religion is only one component shaping one’s view of the world. Customs adopted from the local society, read “country”, frame our image of the world. With that as a disclaimer, I’ll freely admit to being of a Western mindset. In turn, I’m appalled at the verdict. I’m even more enraged that Gibbons was even charged.
What kind of law, civil or religious, makes naming a teddy bear a capital offense? One of the ironic twist of the story is the Sudanese ambassador is named Omer Mohammed Ahmed. You can name a person after Mohamed, but not a teddy bear? My Western brain is spinning on “WTF?”
You know what? I’ve just named my slong Mohamed. That’s right. Henceforth, you must refer to my wedding tackle as Mohamed. If you add, “Piece be upon him,” that would be great. As I type this, I know there is an offended Muslim somewhere who is getting a fatwa issued against my faithless action. I fully expect to be scooped off the street in a windowless van, only to have my lifeless body, possibly sans-Mohamed, tossed on the side of the highway. That kind of rational behavior always converts the infidel.
Bring it on. This ain’t Sudan. Here we have the 2nd Amendment. You guys in the van are in for a surprise. In addition to little Mohamed actually being my package, big Mohamed is packing. In the East versus West game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, bullet beats fatwa every time.
Tune in next week when we’ll play “Name My Nuts.” Your advanced suggestions are welcomed.
When writing about narcissist, expect every neurotic, bed-wetter on the net to assume you’re writing about them. Xenu loves a good drama queen and I inadvertently found one.
On 2 Nov, I wrote an AC tip of the day which included a short rant about egotistical assholes who think they are the 21st century Shakespeare. It was loosely based on a real person and real event, but mostly a generic extrapolation of observed behavior at Associated Content. Apparently, it hit close to home with a passer-by. I won’t bore you with the details. You can check the comments in the aforementioned post to see for yourself.
The first bread crumb was a massive spike in blog hits. Not having just fallen off the internet turnip truck, I realized someone had linked to one of my ravings. I followed the trail back to a forum. I’ll remain purposefully vague to protect the guilty.
Part of this forum is dedicated to finding people who write poorly about particular topics. They have a very active discussion as to how hard this dude sucks. The beauty of it all is I didn’t even know this guy existed, but he thought I was writing about him. He even blogged some delusional post about it. I guess he saw too much of himself in the closeted world of his own fabrication. He even thought I worked for AC and was his Content Manager. Super-putz is the only word that comes to mind.
That’s the most exciting thing to happen in my pathetic world this week. I caught the eye of a narcissistic drama queen, but found some of the smartest, snarkiest people I’ve net-met in about 10 years. That reminds me, what ever happened to AOL?
The label said “Young & Fresh.” Man, was it ever. Four days in a brine and four hours in the oven made for one delicious bird.
My youngest decided to try her hand at her first Thanksgiving meal on her own. Baby’s first Thanksgiving was a big success. She had a beautiful turkey with all the trimmings at her place Wednesday night. She invited her boyfriend’s mom and aunt, along with the two of us and her sister/sister’s husband. We had a wonderful time totally devoid of the usual holiday drama at my in-law’s.
But she and her sister spent Thanksgiving Day running to their respective in-laws and in-law’s-in-waiting. That gave me all day Thursday to prep a feast for Friday. Having everything prepared except the stuffing and the turkey, made it so easy to cook. I would have thought someone catered the whole thing if I weren’t so tired.
Naturally, I made all our traditional favorites. Everyone has their own special dish that makes Thanksgiving their own. Many have that special holiday tradition of opening old wounds to created a family fight. This year I’m thankful that we kept it small and didn’t have to deal with that drama. I hope your Thanksgiving was as drama-free as mine.
Here’s a bonus. If you like balsamic vinegar, this is a quick, tasty slaw you can make for any occasion.
1 head of purple cabbage
2 bottles of bacon bits
Extra-virgin olive oil
balsamic vinegar
1 small onion
Coarsely chop the onion. Mix onion, EVOO , a splash of balsamic, and 1 bottle of bacon bits in a very large bowl. Chop the cabbage. Alternately add cabbage, a splash of EVOO and splash of balsamic. Stir well with each addition. With the last of the cabbage add the second bottle of bacon bits. Chill in the refrigerator. Stir well before serving. Hint: it gets better the longer it sits. Give it 24 hrs for full flavor.
I had my Thanksgiving grocery list neatly typed. I even arranged the list in the order of aisle number. Yes, I’m anal that way and I have a cursed visual memory that burns maps and spacial information into my brain. But juggling a list while controlling a cart is something I haven’t mastered.
The cardboard Jello Pudding display on aisle 4 didn’t stand a chance. It wasn’t the speed that did it. It was the sheer inertia of my half-loaded cart. Snag. Drag. Bang. Jello everywhere. Humiliated, I reassembled the display and help the nice young man restock.
I was already feeling sheepish and in no way prepared for the humiliation of the meat department. Turkey was my goal. The pale, white fowl begging to be brined then baked to a golden brown. God, I love Thanksgiving. I love the cooking, the eating, the family. I love putting the first fire of the season in the fireplace. But I must focus on the bird.
Suddenly I was confronted with the birds. They were all stamped with the words “Young and Fresh.” I started to push and pick through them, looking for one of the right weight. As I fondled the young, fresh birds, I felt other shoppers staring at me. They weren’t, but I felt they were. I felt dirty. I felt like a pedophile. These young, fresh things were taunting me.
I quickly dropped a 12 pounder into the cart. My eyes darted around the store. No one saw. No one knew my shame, but me. But it got worse.
My young, fresh flesh is currently in the garage refrigerator in a cooler full of brine. As I type that, I realize how very “Silence of the Lambs” it sounds. It puts the butter on its skin or else it gets the gravy again. God, I love Thanksgiving.
“I’m going to the store, honey. You need anything?” I shouted from the doorway.
“Grape juice . . . and pick me up a trash magazine,” was the feminine response from the other room.
She used to have a subscription to People, but I pay the bills and let it expire. They just pile up in the bathroom anyway. As punishment, I undergo the humiliating experience of buying People, The Star, and occasionally the National Enquirer at the grocery store checkout.
The ultimate humiliation is buying the double-thick sexiest man alive edition of People. I made sure to buy beer and beef jerky so the clerk wouldn’t think me gay. No eye contact was made. “Debit. No cash.” and I was out of there. I opened the beef jerky in the parking lot. I felt so dirty.
I tossed the rag . . . er . . . mag on the kitchen counter. My wife was giddy. I said, “I’m really anxious to see how People got a photo of me for this edition.”
She replied, “Every year they pass you over. Their loss. My gain.” She thumbed the magazine, tossed it down, grabbed a grape juice, and continued, “You’re better looking than half the guys in there and you pay my bills. That is so sexy.”
That and the fact I have insurance. Yeah, benefits make women moist. Screw you Matt Damon. Did you have sex on the kitchen floor with your high school sweetheart today? Didn’t think so. So what if I didn’t make the list . . . again? I’m still dead sexy and the dogs are really weirded out.
That magic moment came Friday morning. My back stopped spasming long enough for the kink to leave. Just in time to move a sofa to my daughter’s upstairs apartment. Yeah, really looking forward to that experience. Thanks to my bud Jon, his new hardwood floor and his every-thing-must-go strategy for clearing out the living room, I got a free couch and chair. Well, nothing is really free. I have to expend the energy to get it to it’s destination.
Then it’s off to the grocery store to spend a weeks grocery money on one meal. I love Thanksgiving. We’re going to celebrate at least twice. The youngest is doling out a spread on Wednesday night. Then we do it up right at the old homestead on Thursday. Throw in some leftovers and we’ll eat for 5 days. Until then I’ll just rest up and watch some porn. My definition of porn is the Food Network and this is sweeps week. Oh yeah Alton, brown that bird!
It couldn’t even be one of the fun sick days where you feel too bad to go to work, but not to play. Today was a crappy sick day. If it could have just been one where my brain still functioned, it would have been OK. The level of meds required to kill the pain fogged my brain so much, I couldn’t do much of anything. I have a couple of writing project started, but there was no working on them today.
The old lumbar has been squirrelly for a few days and it finally screamed, “No mas!” The best I have for pain is ibuprofen. The prescription muscle relaxer are keeping my brain in a fog. At least I’m getting plenty of rest. I take two hour naps every 3 hours. Not much else to do but lie on the heating pad and watch TV. Mindless internet surfing helps take my mind of the pain. But cute kittens with misspelled captions get old pretty fast.
This half-sleep half-awake world I’m in sucks hose water. It’s not my idea of slack. I’ll be happy when I can stop taking these pills. Until then, I think…
I’ve hit a minor stride with my Associated Content submissions. I wish I could be more consistent, but life gets in the way. My latest article, “I’m Voting for Hillary Clinton Because She is a Woman,” came after a conversation I had with a very nice , but oblivious, young lady. I rarely do political pieces, but this one turned out more historical than political. Of course, the manager at AC didn’t see it that way and gave me the stock “We don’t often pay for op-ed…” OK, I can buy that. The first paragraph was opinion. Since they don’t read much past the first paragraph, if even that, I’m fine with that assessment. I didn’t do the job they wanted. I still think it is a good article.
The really strange thing is despite the rejection, the manager changed the title by adding “false logic” to the end. I don’t know why the bother when they aren’t going to pay for it. I guess they think they’re making it more findable, but in this case they didn’t. They just telegraphed the subtitle. If I had selected to re-submit for bonus-only payments, the title would have stuck. It would have also delayed the publication by several days. Today’s tip: for declined articles that you want to submit for bonus-only, copy the article into a new template. This ensures that it publishes immediately and takes the risk of one of those silly managers from warning you about re-submitting the rejected article. Yes. That happens.
I got to looking at my Associated Content library. For someone who is know as a humorist, I haven’t written a humor article there since “How to Kill Weeds, Flowers and Your Lawn” on 5 Aug 2007. It’s funny how many hits that gets. The “kill weeds” part shows up on Google with great frequency. I can only imagine how POed people are when they find it has little advice in the way of weed killing. But it stands as proof that a good title will bring the clicks.
Here’s to hoping I feel funny again soon. After doing research into the current presidential candidates platforms, I’m really not feeling funny. I’m down right mad at most of them. I’ll write something on that topic soon.
As the foundation of the Vietnam Memorial was being poured in 1982, an unidentified Naval officer stepped over the construction barrier, threw his deceased brother’s Purple Heart in to the wet cement, and saluted. So began the tradition of visitor’s impromptu offerings to their fallen Vietnam veterans.
Over the years, thousands of letters and tokens were left. Have you ever wondered what happens to them? You’re not alone. The FAQ section of the National Park Service’s Vietnam Memorial web site list only three questions. >>Read More
A heart-felt thank you to all the Vets and the families who stood with them. God bless you all.
