Went back round Chipotle again just to see if it hadn’t all been a bad dream. Sure nuff the sign were still up, NO CARNITAS just like the night before, but I hadn’t et Chipotle for nigh on three days by that time and Pa reckoned that there mightn’t be any carnitas for a long stretch. At least today there was enough chicken and steak to go round, or it seemed that way to me when I looked through the glass, but the feller serving me was mighty stingy with my half chicken half steak fajita bowl, kept shaking meat off the scoop as though he was pannin for gold in there. Even so I felt downright blessed by the Holy Sperit for what little I did get, cause if it turnt out that some of them chickens or cows was not being treated all humane-like before they get butchered up and chucked into my bowl, I mighta had to settle for them sofritas, which I don’t rightly know what that is. I asked Pa and he didn’t know either, then Grandpappy said he’d heard that sofritas were toe food, and we had to take the hooch away from Grandpappy again. But it’s lean times at the Chipotles and that’s the truth.
I had just set down for breakfast with Ma and Pa when I heard the man say over the radio that some of the Chipotles weren’t going to have the carnitas for a spell – something about the pigs what the carnitas come from not being treated ethnically – which didn’t make a lick of sense to me, since as far as I know there ain’t never been a pig that had a problem with a pig on account of them being different colors, they all liked the slop just the same. I guess I didn’t think much of the story at the time, figgerin it was one of them things that happen in far off places, like zeppelin crashes or Musselman rampages. So that night when I was walking home from the elevated after a long day at the factory I got a hankerin for some Chipotles but when I walked in I could tell something was already wrong just by the way folk were standing around sort of dumbstruck-like, and right away I knew it was the carnitas, even before I seen the sign that said it.
Well I thought for sure that the Chipotles in Chicago would be fine – that it was all them fancy folk in them megapocalyspes on the East Coast who wouldn’t have no carnitas to feast on, so far from the pig farms and pig ranches. I recollected being a kid and hearing Grandpappy tell us stories that he’d heard from his Grandpappy all about how folk used to call Chicago Hogbutcher for the whole world, but that was in long ago times, and come to think of it Grandpappy used to say a lot of crazy things — most ‘specially when he’d get into the hooch — like that the elevated ran all the way out to Hillside and the Cubs sometimes won the pennant. But none of that mattered now, standing there in that Chipotles with that sign staring me in the face, and that weren’t even the worst of it.
There weren’t no chicken and steak available neither! The fellers at work in the kitchen just couldn’t keep enough ready, what with the dinner rush and one of the meat options already missing. Some folk were standing around waitin, but there weren’t no telling how long it might take, some folk said 3 minutes, others they said as much as 5. Hungry as I was I couldn’t bear to wait that long and not have my carnitas at the end of it. Then I recollected bout a place run by some Chinamen from Korea, down the street a ways. I trudged out in the cold and it took me nigh on 6 minutes to walk there, through the slush and snow and even a puddle. I asked them for some BBQ Pork but I guess they do it different back in the Orient because it weren’t like no BBQ I’d ever heard of, not Kansas City nor Texas nor even Caroliney. I set to it though, because there weren’t no carnitas to be had. When I got home I told Ma and Pa that there weren’t no carnitas at the Chipotles by us, and they told me it had been like that all over town, no carnitases anywhere, and Pa had asked a manager about it and the manager just sort of got a glossy look in his eye and shake his head. That night before bed I said a prayer askin the Lord for the carnitas to be back and for the Chipotles to be just like they had been before, like none of this ever happened, but I fell asleep with a rumbly sad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Drudge and some knee-jerk inclined friends of mine are up in arms about re stimulus spending.
I don’t know why I’d dignify this with a response – Drudge is the king of just throwing up shit that *seems* like it might be an interesting story but is in fact just a bunch of crap that is way over the average Drudge reader’s head, apparently. The example cited to me was OMG $1.4 MILLION FOR A DOOR!!
That did seem suspicious. So instead of calling my folks and saying OMG $1.4 MILLION FOR A DOOR!! I figured I would spend 2 minutes googling the issue.
First step, the link on Drudge itself leads me to the recovery.org site.
Hmm. Project Location: Dyess AFB. AFB means Air Force Base. I wonder if Air Force Bases have buildings with some sort of large, expensive door through which large, Air-Force-Related pieces of machinery might have to go .
Still $1.4 million seems like a lot. So why don’t we see if we can get some kind of cost breakdown from this link. Scroll down (use your mouse to move the square on the bar on the right, if you don’t know) and you see the following heading for “Transactions” with 2 separate IDs. If you hover over an ID you get descriptions as seen below:
Suddenly we see that the door is only $246K, not $1.4 million, and the balance is for replacing gas mains. Still, $246K is a lot for a squeaky hinge and we don’t have a confirmation of our suspicion that this might be for a hangar door. What if we in fact googled something like [dyess air force base building 5112]?
After a bunch of blogs already freaking the hell out about the Drudge posts, we find this:
Wow. $246K for a hangar door. And they went $7,000 over budget! I’ve never heard of such a thing from contractors, be it for government work or for remodeling my kitchen! I’d better tell all my friends about the government waste!
The lesson is that Drudge is a jerk, but if you fell for this, you’re an idiot. You play right into his hands by jumping to conclusions.
and looked outside my window. skyline is the same. there’s a big tall tower there, same as yesterday and the day before. We always called it the Sears Tower, that’s what somebody who put up some money decided to call it. Now somebody else is putting up some money, so they’re going to call it the Willis Tower.
At first this struck me as strange. We’re creatures of inertia, and sudden and unnecessary (strictly speaking) change jars us.
Things have gotten really out of hand with people refusing to call it anything but the Sears Tower. Sure I sometimes still refer to the Rosemont Horizon, Comiskey, or Marshall Field’s out of habit, but have our lives really changed for the worse due to name changes? We still have the Allstate Arena to fill our monster truck needs, U.S. Cellular to watch terrible baseball, and Macy’s to sell us bland consumer goods.
The outcry over Sears is different to me. We are bitching and moaning about a loss that isn’t a loss at all. R.I.P. Sears Tower! Goodbye Sears! Last day as Sears Tower! These are the kinds of headlines I’m reading.
Nearly 8 years ago in a larger city on our eastern coast, two skyscrapers spent their last day unheralded, because nobody knew they wouldn’t be there come Tuesday morning. My view is the same as it was yesterday; for the people of lower Manhattan, it’ll never be the same. Can we have a little perspective on the name change issue?
…to visit espn.com, which i generally hate.
go there. click on the page (as opposed to say your search bar)
enter the contra code with your keyboard. no i’m not going to remind you what it is.
after you do so keep hitting any key.
feel as though you are part of something.
go on with your life.
UPDATE: It’s over. Here’s what you missed. Never go to ESPN.com again.
If you’re watching the World Baseball Classic you are aware that the plucky Netherlands has pulled off the upset of the year by knocking off the Dominican Republic not once but twice to eliminate the perennial powerhouse, if I may use the term perennial for the second ever WBC.
I wondered what the Dutch papers thought about this, so I surfed over to De Telegraaf, an Amsterdam newspaper. I have long sympathized with Dutch sports ever since they fielded a World Cup soccer team full of names like Wim Jonk and Jaap Stam in the 90s, which names were even more fun to hear pronounced by the Spanish-language commentators because in those days not all games were available in English.
So I had to scroll way the hell down the page to find any mention of the story but I am eternally grateful that I did. This was the headline.
OPNIEUW STUNT HONKBALLERS ORANJE
You have got to be fucking kidding me. This is too good to be true. The Dutch word for baseball is HONKBALL? HONKBALL? Techinally turns out it is honkbal, one L, but nuts to that.
I wanted to confirm that this wasn’t just some sort of folksy nickname for the Dutch team so I checked out Wikipedia in Dutch (de vrije encyclopedie) and sure enough, honkball. The article was surprisingly easy to semi-translate based on context clues and pretending that it was written by this guy:
My first discovery after HONKBALL was the Dutch word for HITTER, which is SLAGMAN. This is particularly great if you are familiar with the British sense of “slag.” The slagman uses his mighty KNUPPEL. Did you know that in Holland, honkballknuppels zijn van hout of een harde soort lichtmetaal, aluminum? Now you do.
I learned about various locations in the ballpark, like third base which is DERDE HONK, as in I would like to get to derde honk with Rebecca Romijn.
Pitchers are WERPERS. They are always trying to hit the SLAGZONE which as you know is directly over THUISPLAAT between KNIE- and ELLEBOOGHOOGTE.
I am pretty sure my favorite word is one I got from the original article about the game. That word is TWEEHONKSLAG which I am fairly positive means double.
While I’m in a honkball mood, here’s a video which I saw a while ago and then was removed but is now back. It’s about a famous derde honkman who kak in his broeken: George Brett would like to tell you about the time he shit himself.
As the year goes on, Cubs fans will want to keep an eye on the health of linksvelder Alfonso Soriano. Will Carlos Marmol keep werping well? Will Carlos Zambrano hit a grand slam, thus scoring all three honklopers? Only time will tell.
May de partij met de meeste punten wint. But then, they always do.
1. Papa John’s pizza
2. Homemade popcorn
My vote goes in for Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.
I’ve been meaning to update the spreadsheets I used for my fantasy football drafts to see how close they were to predicting actual performance. I haven’t done it yet.
I’m in the championships for both my leagues.
I have not yet fully assessed how the fact that somebody in one of those leagues just got charged with insider trading* is going to affect what I post.
*not like in the league; like by the SEC, and by that I don’t ‘ mean that he traded Peyton for Rex Grossman.
I wrote this once for my old complaint blog, and I repost it verbatim after my return to Corner Bakery for the first time in months.
The people at Corner Bakery frequently forget to put croutons in my caesar salad. There are three fucking ingredients in caesar salad. Leaves, dressing, and croutons (maybe some cheese). How brain-dead are you to say, here is a complete caesar salad, even though it is just a pile of damp leaves without croutons.
Corner Bakery today joins Chili’s on my DEAD TO ME list of dining establishments.