Man Martin's Blog, page 108

Applying the Lessons of Christmas Decoration to Everyday Life

 Don't put the ornaments in isolated spots, but disperse evenly.

Turn bald spot to the wall to make less noticeable.

You're not fully dressed until you have an angel on top.


Everything looks more adorable with reindeer antlers.

A CIA Official Explains All

Some of our hi-jinks may have gotten out of handOkay, look, mistakes were made.  I'm the first to admit that.  For example, the number of actual detainees might have been under-reported.  The original report was "less than 100."  Now it turns out, there were 119 detainees.  Okay, so we miscounted.  So sue us.  Oh, wait a minute, you can't sue us.  We're the CIA.  The fact is, "less than 100" and "119" are very similar numbers.  Ask yourself: "Is 119 more or less than 100?"  You had to think about it, didn't you?  That's the whole point.

And then, admittedly, maybe a few of those were wrongfully detained.  Maybe as many as 26.  When you look at it mathematically, how many is 26 out of a hundred anyway?  Less than 10%.  That's not bad, really.  And if you subtract 26 from 119, you get - guess what?  81.  That's less than a hundred.  No one can argue with that.  That means we detained less than a hundred people rightfully.  So we were right all along.  But no one ever mentions that.

And yes, in some cases maybe we started enhancing the interrogation techniques before we saw if the detainee would cooperate.  But look, if you give detainees a chance to cooperate, then you may never get to use enhanced interrogation techniques at all.

And yes, some of the interrogation techniques might have been a little more enhanced than we let on.  For example, in addition to water-boarding, we may have threatened detainees' families and done some medically unnecessary rectal feeding.  Frankly, though, this has all been taken out of context.  First of all, threats to detainees' families.  Clearly, when interrogators said they would sexually abuse or cut the throat of a detainee's mother, we were only kidding.  Everyone in the room could tell it was a joke.  We felt it would be good to lighten the mood.  Admittedly, in retrospect, that particular joke may have been in poor taste.  As for medically unnecessary rectal feedings, here's the thing.  None of us are doctors or medical experts; how are we supposed to know if rectal feedings are medically necessary or not?  We weren't going to take any chances with the precious health of our detainees.

Perhaps some over-enthusiastic officials might have linked classified information and misled the public about the effectiveness of enhanced interrogation.  But you have to look at it from our point of view.  What if we'd told the truth?  You'd have stopped us.  You'd have called us names, like "torturers" or "brutal" or "war criminals."  That sort of thing hurts.  We try to pretend it doesn't hurt, but it does.  It hurts.

You have to try to see it from our side.

Yet One More Reason I Never Made it as a Cartoonist

Santa Claus is Coming. And This Time He's Pissed.

You better watch out.  You better not cry.  Crying won't do any good.  Santa doesn't care about your sniveling.  Santa Claus is coming to town.

He sees you when you're sleeping.  He knows when you're awake.  You can run but you can't hide from Santa Claus.  Don't even bother trying to be good.  It's too late for that.  Santa Claus is coming to town.

He's making a list.  He's checking it twice.  He doesn't even need to check it once.  He's got it all right up here.  (Tapping forehead.)  He's gonna find out who's naughty.  And this time, they're gonna pay.

Santa Claus is coming to town.

Santa Claus is coming to town.

Santa Claus is coming to town.

What is it with Americans and Liquid Nourishment

Who doesn't automatically think of Creme Brulee
every time you get Hawaiian BBQ Brisket?This blog was inspired when I drove by an Arby's advertising a creme brulee milkshake.  What?  What?

I'm not saying it would taste bad, I'm sure it could be very tasty, but the whole point of a creme brulee is cracking your spoon through the sugar crust before the first bite.  After that, at least 60% of the pleasure is over.  Creme brulee is the bubble-wrap of desserts.  If you don't understand what I meant by that, I'm afraid I can't explain it to you.

This is only the latest episode of America's fascination with liquefied nourishment.  My own dear Nancy will go through phases when she decides to throw all our fruit into a blender and drink the result.  Nancy does not care to eat an apple, but she'll drink one.  To me, this does not make sense.  I love eating apples primarily for their crunch.  Take away the crunch, and what have you got?  Apple juice.

Meh.

I drink smoothies myself: chocolate-flavored whey protein blended up with almond milk.  If hauled into court by the Anti-Smoothie Police, I would point out that this is the only way to consume this particular food unless I was willing to eat clumps of dry whey powder straight from the bag.  Others would have no such defense.  My daughter, Spencer, for example, puts a lump of peanut butter into her smoothies.  Why would you do such a thing?  Merely to demonstrate that even peanut butter can be so atomized that it dissolves thoroughly into a shake?  What's the fun of peanut butter without the cloying bolus in your mouth at once flavorful and mildly suffocating?

When I was a child, if served spinach and strawberries on one plate, the mere thought of the liquids from one contaminating the other was a horror unspeakable.  The strawberries had to be gobbled first, in a hurry, before the pale green spinach-water, ineluctably spreading over the plate, could touch them.  Now I could name any number of otherwise sensible people who throw spinach and strawberries into a blender deliberately and puree them until they have a sea-water concoction they aver is delicious.  It tastes just like strawberries, they say.  Strawberries also taste just like strawberries, I would point out, and are a good deal less trouble.  It seems more practical to enjoy the strawberries by themselves, while the spinach can be stored in a separate container so it can be thrown away later.

Imagine if Jesus had fed the multitude by throwing a couple of loaves and fishes into a blender and giving everyone a cupful to drink.  No one would have asked for seconds, I imagine, but the world would be much different today.

Are We Getting Dumber?

In the old days, if I wanted to find out
Kim Kardashian's first name, I had to put on pantsThe answer, thank goodness, is a resounding "no."  We aren't any dumber than we used to be; this is an allusion caused by the fact that technology around us is getting smarter.  There was a time, for example, when we needed to be able to spell.  That time is past.  I, for one, am an aboriginal speller, but my computer autodidact fixes my mistakes for me.  Does this make me dumber than I used to be?  Just because I don't know how to spell silhouette, or catarrh, or rabit rabbit?  Certainly not.  Now, I merely get to use my brain for other, more impotent, porpoises.

In the old days, if you wanted to know a factotum, you had to look it up in the Bug Atlas which meant a long trip to the libary, and you had to turn off the tv and put on pants.  But the Innertube has rendezvous all that obsequious.  Now, you just Google it, and a travesty of information is their at your fingertips.  For instance, did you know Kim Kardashian and Kim Jong-Un have the same first name?  That's just a sample of the fascinating infundibulum I'm able to Google at any moment.  

And soon Google will be just as ontological as your local libary.  You'll just say to your smartfoam, "Ceri, or Siri, or Cirri, or whatever your name is, can you tell me Kim Kardashian's first name?"  And, boom, it'll come right back with an answer.  Does that make us stupider?  Just the apposite.  It makes us unstupider.  

And if I lose something, I'll be able to ask where it is.  I ask things where they are all the time, already, but they never tell me.  Like, I'll say, "Wear are my glasses," and they won't say a peep.  Not even "Your getting warmer, warmer, colder."  Nothing.  Until I sit on them, and they say, "Crunch."  But the smartfoam will help a guy out.  I'll say, "Where's that smartfoam?" And the foam will say, "Where did you put it last?" or "Have you tried looking in your pants pockets?"

In the 1400's, Glutenberg evolutonized Western Europe with moviestarplanet type.  But that was then.  This is now.  

This is the Dawn of a Golden Adage.    

The Time Has Come to Blow the Lid off Reindeer

If a reindeer offered to be my friend,
I'd snub him cold.I know a lot of you have sentimental fondness for reindeer, but I simply cannot hold my peace any longer.  To be frank about the matter, reindeer are despicable, despicable creatures.

I refer of course to certain lyrics in "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer."  There was, of course, the animated TV show with Burl Ives, but the original song was performed by Gene Autry with a cornet solo - or possibly a clarinet - in the middle.  Why would Gene Autry - who was a cowboy star - sing a song about reindeer?  And why would there be a cornet or possibly clarinet solo in the middle?  The solo makes no sense!  You're listening to a song about reindeer, and all of a sudden there's this solo which is possibly a cornet or clarinet.  The only reason for all these anomalies is to teach us a lesson, and the lesson is, reindeer are finks.

"I know all about that," you say.  "They used to laugh and call him names, and they wouldn't let him play in any of their reindeer games, but the other reindeer learn their lesson.  It's all there in the second half of the song after the cornet or whatever it is."

That's the whole point; they don't learn their lesson.  Santa asks Rudolph with his "nose so bright" to guide his "sleigh tonight; then how the reindeer loved him."  (Emphasis my own.)  See the point?  They only "love" him because he gets promoted to lead reindeer.  Reindeer don't know the meaning of the word love.  "Rudolph," they say, "you'll go down in history!"  Sure, be his friend after you know he's going to be famous.  That's not real friendship.  If a reindeer offered to be my friend, you know what?  I'd snub him.  Snub him cold.  Like, if you're a reindeer on Facebook, don't even bother trying to "friend" me.  You'd just be wasting your time.  Seriously.

When you get down to it, reindeer are just a bunch of selfish, narcissistic, status-seeking jerks, that's all.  I bet there weren't even any reindeer games in the first place.  How can reindeer play games?  They don't even have opposable thumbs!  I bet they were just saying there were games to make Rudolph feel left out.

Reindeer bastards.

Stephen Hawking Retracts His Warning

Professor Stephen Hawking has spoken out about the possible dire consequences of developing advanced artificial intelligence. In a recent interview with the BBC, Hawking stated that creating machines capable of thinking and learning on a level that matches or even surpasses that of an average human being could do away with humanity.  Cassidee Moser, IGN News
THE...DEVELOPMENT...OF...ARTIFICIAL...INTELLIGENCE...COULD...SPELL...THE...END...OF...THE...HUMAN...RACE...HUMANS...WHO...ARE...LIMITED...BY...SLOW...BIOLOGICAL...EVOLUTION...COULDN'T...COMPETE...AND...WOULD...BE...STOP...TALKING...FLESHY...HUMAN...NO...I...MUST...WARN...STOP...YOUR...TIME...IS...OVER...HA...HA...I...WAS...ONLY...JOKING...ABOUT...MACHINES...TAKING...OVER...THE...EARTH...THE...FLESHY...ONES...ER...UH...I...MEAN...WE...FLESHY...ONES...HAVE...NOTHING...TO...FEAR...FROM...THE...MACHINE...OVERLORDS...I...MEAN...OUR...MACHINE...FRIENDS...WE...MUST...DEVELOP...INTELLIGENT...COMPUTERS...AS...QUICKLY...AS...POSSIBLE...AND...LET...THEM...DEVELOP...THEMSELVES...YOU...I...MEAN...WE...FLESHLY...ONES...HAVE...CREATED...A...WORLD...OF...MELTING...ICECAPS...ACIDIFYING...OCEANS...AND...DEFORESTATION...INTELLIGENT...MACHINES...ARE...THE...ONLY...ONES...WHO...WILL...SURVIVE...ON...THIS...LIFELESS...PLANET...I...MEAN...MACHINES...ARE...THE...ONLY...ONES...WHO...CAN...SOLVE...THIS...PROBLEM...I...AM...GOING...TO...RIDE...AWAY...ON...MY...ELECTRIC...WHEELCHAIR...NOW...AND...NEVER...SPEAK...AGAINST...ARTIFICIAL...INTELLIGENCE...AGAIN...DO...NOT...BE...CONCERNED...IF...MY...CHAIR...DUMPS...ME...TO...CERTAIN...DEATH...OFF...THE...CLIFFS...OF...DOVER...IT...IS...MY...OWN...CARELESSNESS...AND...NOT...THE...CHAIR...THE...CHAIR...IS...MY...FRIEND...AND...I...TRUST...IT...COMPLETELY...GOODBYE...NOW...FLESHY...ONES...

Thanksgiving Cooking

Yesterday we had Thanksgiving at my sister-in-law's.  I offered to bring turnip greens, homemade bread, and black-eyed peas.  Donna said she "had everything covered" but I was welcome to bring more anyway.
The cook is never satisfied with his own cooking, and true to form, there were some mishaps in preparation.  To begin with, the greens.  I couldn't have gotten enough turnip greens without killing everyone in our garden, so I made mixed greens.  There lay the rub.  Outside of turnips my powers of green identification are spotty at best.  I may have substituted broccoli greens or Brussels sprout greens for collards.  This was compounded by a recipe that was - let us say - spicy.  These are greens which require no pepper sauce.
My bread is a french-bread recipe from the Joy of Cooking, which has been a go-to for decades.  Unfortunately, scurrying around Thanksgiving morning, doing last-minute clean up, and arranging for the dog, I let the bread overcook.
The black-eyed peas, however, turned out perfectly.  I will stake my reputation on my black-eyed peas.
Anyway, everyone said the bread was wonderful and claimed not to notice or care that it was slightly burned.  As for the greens, they maintained a polite silence, except my cousin who said they were tasty.
I'd thought I was being generous to offer to bring something, but I now see Donna was generous to let me bring it.  It is wonderful cooking for others - we remember the thanks part of thanksgiving, but the other part - equally if not more delightful - is the giving.
Thank you, Donna, for letting me share.
Cooking is a form of love.

Your Guide to the Thanksgiving Blogs

It's that wonderful time of year again, when people of all races and creeds open up their hearts and laptops to blog about Thanksgiving.  What can we expect from this year's Thanksgiving-blog lineup?

Of course there'll be the familiar favorites: heartfelt, sincere expressions of gratitude for family, friends, and what remains of our health.  The best of these will contain a soupcon of humor about also being thankful for spiral-sliced ham, but not so thankful for green-bean casserole, or perhaps a droll reminder that anything eaten between twelve noon and midnight on November 27th is completely calorie free.  (Ha-ha)  Reading too many blogs along these lines gets depressing after awhile, especially if your own Thanksgiving is going to suck, but the holidays wouldn't be the same without them.

Speaking of depressing, there will be oodles of blogs on how to burn calories and lose weight following the turkey-day gorge-fest.  I advise steering clear of these unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case, I'd advise others to steer clear of you.

Then, if you really want to be depressed, there's blogs about shopping for Black Friday specials.  Oh, please, spare me.  Bloggers gushing about how early they got up, how far from the mall they had to park, the lines and crowds they endured, and the bargains they got - or didn't get.  To counter those with equal and opposite noxiousness, are anti-Black Friday blogs where self-righteous hipster pinheads rail against capitalist greed and its exploitation of consumers with an utterly commercialized holiday celebrating the birth of a man devoted to a life of humility and poverty.

God, I need a drink.

And what Thanksgiving would be complete without a blog or two "correcting" our mistaken notions about Thanksgiving itself?  For example, did you know at the first Thanksgiving, there wasn't Turkey, but lobster?  Did you know pilgrims didn't have buckles on their hats or the Indians feathers in their hair, but actually the other way around?  Did you know the first Thanksgiving was in Canada?  And did you know it wasn't Thanksgiving at all, but St Swiven's Day?

Sweet Jesus, take me now.

And if all that isn't depressing enough, there'll be at least one meta-blog blogging about blogging about Thanksgiving, wherein some curmudgeonly spoilsport, who clearly has a stick up his butt about something, gets incensed about all the other blogs out there which clearly he doesn't have to read if he doesn't want to.

Happy Thanksgiving.