The Conservative Cave
Current Events => The DUmpster => Topic started by: Skul on November 30, 2013, 02:55:34 PM
-
Oh goody. Here she goes.
Last ditch push for the top.
http://www.democraticunderground.com/10024113212
Sat Nov 30, 2013, 03:47 PM
nadinbrzezinski (127,957 posts)
Ah marketing...
So I had to go down to my brother's shive, and yes, I got to talk to a few people I had not seen well, since my dad's shive. You know what caught my eye, or rather my ear? Well, like the rest of the world Celiac diagnosis are up, it just is. What is also up (thank you food fad fans) is wheat avoidance due to a fad. So I was talking with somebody who I have not seen in a while, who got diagnosed with Celiacs, and was going over how he is so happy that now they have gluten free items in Mexico. (And if you think they are expensive here, just wait).
He was complaining of how hard the diet is. So I pointed out that when I travel to Mexico I have it very easy. Beans, rice, tortillas (corn), potatoes, (quinoa) and I am set. Actually I have to watch carbs a tad more since there are many types of corn that Americans have never seen, or rarely seen that are just incredible. He looked me in the eye and said his dietitian said that he needs to eat certified gluten free food. I plainly asked if this RD had any connection with the store, cause well, you see that is plain and unadulterated bullshit. He can have rice, beans, potatoes and corn tortillas no issues whatsoever. The only thing that has to be certified gluten free are oats if he likes them (and I pay through the roof for those). He admitted the dietitian is connected to the store that deals with all that imported stuff, and that bread is horrible. It took me two years to find bagels that are ok, when toasted. Otherwise we avoid it. And apart of the gluten free protein bars (for travel and news coverage), and the gluten free pizza dough, and the oats, we just read labels, and rarely have issues. I also cook fresh a lot, which he will not do.
Then while taking the taxi to the airport it dawned on me why Converse is the MUST HAVE shoe for the kids in the know in Mexico City. First the photo IS of the shoe, second the add is in English, not Spanish. You see plain shoes are boring, but Converse is the greatest shoe ever. How many of you remember the origin of that shoe brand? If you are old enough you will laugh with me due to the origin. (For those of you not in the know, they were gym shoes, and not precisely for the in kids in the 1950s.)
Why am I posting this on Small business Saturday (which I will mostly not participate in either, just like Black Friday?) This is hard core marketing, and consumerism, or being known by the appearance of the expensive stuff you have is not just an American thing. It is quite pervasive. It is a fight to remain as much above the fray as you can, and our modern globalized economy depends on people buying crap they do not necessarily need, and this is not just in the US.
Hell, I have an Ipod Touch that is what six years new? It was great during the trip, since I put things like E-Tickets on it, and it was my music source. Kids down there were surprised I dared have such an OLD piece of technology. So the thing does not run new apps, big whoopee do. Or even my cell phone, it is so yesterday, (and granted the thing might need to be changed for other reasons, it is starting to fail). But it does what I need it to do. But these kids are in shock that all this is so damn old. Ok my Ipad was cool, almost the latest. When I told some of my nieces friends that the only reason it got changed was the other one failed FINALLY, and it was a first edition, there were audible gasps.
This is anecdotal, fully, but it could be easily told of a certain sector of Los Angeles, San Diego or New York, say hello to globalization where the kids are growing up with those values I have learned to actually absolutely detest. Those are the you need to be seen as being able to afford these things whether you can or not. Impressions matter a lot more than ability to consume.
Oh and for any of you THINKING of retiring in Mexico and wanting an IPHONE, or any other high end phone. My recommendation is to buy the equipment here and contract the cell service down there. I was checking costs, since we need to replace one of our phones, only six years old, but to do that used, to do a favor to my SIL, it would be more expensive than a new piece of equipment in the US, and with no contract, none, whatsoever.
Next time I travel down there I am buying a throw away phone, and will buy air time. It is cheap, nor do not need a high end model, but need a cell phone for an emergency.
She must have taken Pittstain lessons.
That has got to be one of the most disjointed blathers I've seen her make. :lmao:
-
Oh now, unless the brain-damaged primitive abruptly appears, I'm pretty sure the race for number one is over; all that's in question any more are the other spots, the other awards.
-
shive: a broad plug hammered into a hole in the top of a cask when the cask has been filled
:???:
-
A shive. A new addition to the nutcase nadin vocabulary.
She's redefining the Jewish religion.
-
Wait! What about the Converse shoes?
-
I don't think even gNads is old enough to 'remember' the origins of Converse
How many of you remember the origin of that shoe brand? If you are old enough you will laugh with me due to the origin. (For those of you not in the know, they were gym shoes, and not precisely for the in kids in the 1950s.)
Much earlier than that, gNads. I did laugh, but AT you, not WITH you.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Converse_(shoe_company)In his mid 30s, Marquis Mills Converse, who was previously a respected manager at a footwear manufacturing firm, opened the Converse Rubber Shoe Company (unrelated to the Boston Rubber Shoe Company founded by fourth cousin Elisha Converse) in Malden, Massachusetts in February 1908. The company was a rubber shoe manufacturer, providing winterized rubber soled footwear for men, women, and children. By 1910, Converse was producing 4,000 shoes daily, but it was not until 1915 that the company began manufacturing athletic shoes for tennis.
much more at that link, but 'suffice it to say, it's a lot of inside baseball' [/gnads mode]
-
Actually I have to watch carbs a tad more...
I stopped reading it at that point, because she had clearly departed journo-lism to the realm of fantasy fiction writing.
-
I stopped reading it at that point, because she had clearly departed journo-lism to the realm of fantasy fiction writing.
You may recall that although she has the physique of a caramel apple with two sticks, she claims to be only four pounds above her ideal weight. She says a few days on the elliptical will take care of that.
-
You may recall that although she has the physique of a caramel apple with two sticks, she claims to be only four pounds above her ideal weight. She says a few days on the elliptical will take care of that.
:rotf:
-
Dear nadin,
In the words of Neal Page: "And by the way, when you're telling these little stories? Here's a good idea—have a point. It makes it so much more interesting for the listener!â€
[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FG81ptfPz7I[/youtube]
-
No replies.
Perhaps the entire DUmp has her on their iggy list. :loser:
-
Dear nadin,
In the words of Neal Page: "And by the way, when you're telling these little stories? Here's a good idea—have a point. It makes it so much more interesting for the listener!â€
You know, nads' ramblings (and the ramblings of a fellow CCer whom I shall not name out of politeness, although I'm sure we all know who I'm referring to) have always reminded me of a section out of Roughing It, by Mark Twain:
The Story of Grandfather's Old Ram
Mark Twain, Roughing It, 1872.
Every now and then, in these days, the boys used to tell me I ought to get one Jim Blaine to tell me the stirring story of his grandfather’s old ram–but they always added that I must not mention the matter unless Jim was drunk at the time–just comfortably and sociably drunk. They kept this up until my curiosity was on the rack to hear the story. I got to haunting Blaine; but it was of no use, the boys always found fault with his condition; he was often moderately but never satisfactorily drunk. I never watched a man’s condition with such absorbing interest, such anxious solicitude; I never so pined to see a man uncompromisingly drunk before. At last, one evening I hurried to his cabin, for I learned that this time his situation was such that even the most fastidious could find no fault with it–he was tranquilly, serenely, symmetrically drunk–not a hiccup to mar his voice, not a cloud upon his brain thick enough to obscure his memory. As I entered, he was sitting upon an empty powder-keg, with a clay pipe in one hand and the other raised to command silence. His face was round, red, and very serious; his throat was bare and his hair tumbled; in general appearance and costume he was a stalwart miner of the period. On the pine table stood a candle, and its dim light revealed “the boys†sitting here and there on bunks, candle-boxes, powder-kegs, etc. They said:
“Sh–! Don’t speak–he’s going to commence.â€
I found a seat at once, and Blaine said:
I don’t reckon them times will ever come again. There never was a more bullier old ram than what he was. Grandfather fetched him from Illinois–got him of a man by the name of Yates–Bill Yates–maybe you might have heard of him; his father was a deacon–Baptist–and he was a rustler, too; a man had to get up ruther early to get the start of old Thankful Yates; it was him that put the Greens up to jining teams with my grandfather when he moved west. Seth Green was prob’ly the pick of the flock; he married a Wilkerson–Sarah Wilkerson–good cretur, she was–one of the likeliest heifers that was ever raised in old Stoddard, everybody said that knowed her. She could heft a bar’l of flour as easy as I can flirt a flapjack. And spin? Don’t mention it! Independent? Humph! When Sile Hawkins come a browsing around her, she let him know that for all his tin he couldn’t trot in harness alongside of her. You see, Sile Hawkins was–no, it warn’t Sile Hawkins, after all–it was a galoot by the name of Filkins–I disremember his first name; but he was a stump–come into pra’r meeting drunk, one night, hooraying for Nixon, becuz he thought it was a primary; and old deacon Ferguson up and scooted him through the window and he lit on old Miss Jefferson’s head, poor old filly. She was a good soul–had a glass eye and used to lend it to old Miss Wagner, that hadn’t any, to receive company in; it warn’t big enough, and when Miss Wagner warn’t noticing, it would get twisted around in the socket, and look up, maybe, or out to one side, and every which way, while t’ other one was looking as straight ahead as a spy-glass. Grown people didn’t mind it, but it most always made the children cry, it was so sort of scary. She tried packing it in raw cotton, but it wouldn’t work, somehow–the cotton would get loose and stick out and look so kind of awful that the children couldn’t stand it no way. She was always dropping it out, and turning up her old dead-light on the company empty, and making them oncomfortable, becuz she never could tell when it hopped out, being blind on that side, you see. So somebody would have to hunch her and say, “Your game eye has fetched loose, Miss Wagner dearâ€â€“and then all of them would have to sit and wait till she jammed it in again–wrong side before, as a general thing, and green as a bird’s egg, being a bashful cretur and easy sot back before company. But being wrong side before warn’t much difference, anyway; becuz her own eye was sky-blue and the glass one was yaller on the front side, so whichever way she turned it it didn’t match nohow. Old Miss Wagner was considerable on the borrow, she was. When she had a quilting, or Dorcas S’iety at her house she gen’ally borrowed Miss Higgins’s wooden leg to stump around on; it was considerable shorter than her other pin, but much she minded that. She said she couldn’t abide crutches when she had company, becuz they were so slow; said when she had company and things had to be done, she wanted to get up and hump herself. She was as bald as a jug, and so she used to borrow Miss Jacops’s wig–Miss Jacops was the coffin-peddler’s wife–a ratty old buzzard, he was, that used to go roosting around where people was sick, waiting for ‘em; and there that old rip would sit all day, in the shade, on a coffin that he judged would fit the can’idate; and if it was a slow customer and kind of uncertain, he’d fetch his rations and a blanket along and sleep in the coffin nights. He was anchored out that way, in frosty weather, for about three weeks, once, before old Robbins’s place, waiting for him; and after that, for as much as two years, Jacops was not on speaking terms with the old man, on account of his disapp’inting him. He got one of his feet froze, and lost money, too, becuz old Robbins took a favorable turn and got well. The next time Robbins got sick, Jacops tried to make up with him, and varnished up the same old coffin and fetched it along; but old Robbins was too many for him; he had him in, and ‘peared to be powerful weak; he bought the coffin for ten dollars and Jacops was to pay it back and twenty-five more besides if Robbins didn’t like the coffin after he’d tried it. And then Robbins died, and at the funeral he bursted off the lid and riz up in his shroud and told the parson to let up on the performances, becuz he could not stand such a coffin as that. You see he had been in a trance once before, when he was young, and he took the chances on another, cal’lating that if he made the trip it was money in his pocket, and if he missed fire he couldn’t lose a cent. And by George he sued Jacops for the rhino and got jedgment; and he set up the coffin in his back parlor and said he ‘lowed to take his time, now. It was always an aggravation to Jacops, the way that miserable old thing acted. He moved back to Indiany pretty soon–went to Wellsville–Wellsville was the place the Hogadorns was from. Mighty fine family. Old Maryland stock. Old Squire Hogadorn could carry around more mixed licker, and cuss better than most any man I ever see. His second wife was the widder Billings–she that was Becky Martin; her dam was deacon Dunlap’s first wife. Her oldest child, Maria, married a missionary and died in grace–et up by the savages. They et him, too, poor feller–biled him. It warn’t the custom, so they say, but they explained to friends of his’n that went down there to bring away his things, that they’d tried missionaries every other way and never could get any good out of ‘em–and so it annoyed all his relations to find out that that man’s life was fooled away just out of a dern’d experiment, so to speak. But mind you, there ain’t anything ever reely lost; everything that people can’t understand and don’t see the reason of does good if you only hold on and give it a fair shake; Prov’dence don’t fire no blank ca’tridges, boys. That there missionary’s substance, unbeknowns to himself, actu’ly converted every last one of them heathens that took a chance at the barbacue. Nothing ever fetched them but that. Don’t tell me it was an accident that he was biled. There ain’t no such a thing as an accident. When my uncle Lem was leaning up agin a scaffolding once, sick, or drunk, or suthin, an Irishman with a hod full of bricks fell on him out of the third story and broke the old man’s back in two places. People said it was an accident. Much accident there was about that. He didn’t know what he was there for, but he was there for a good object. If he hadn’t been there the Irishman would have been killed. Nobody can ever make me believe anything different from that. Uncle Lem’s dog was there. Why didn’t the Irishman fall on the dog? Becuz the dog would a seen him a coming and stood from under. That’s the reason the dog warn’t appinted. A dog can’t be depended on to carry out a special providence. Mark my words it was a put-up thing. Accidents don’t happen, boys. Uncle Lem’s dog–I wish you could a seen that dog. He was a reglar shepherd–or ruther he was part bull and part shepherd–splendid animal; belonged to parson Hagar before Uncle Lem got him. Parson Hagar belonged to the Western Reserve Hagars; prime family; his mother was a Watson; one of his sisters married a Wheeler; they settled in Morgan county, and he got nipped by the machinery in a carpet factory and went through in less than a quarter of a minute; his widder bought the piece of carpet that had his remains wove in, and people come a hundred mile to ‘tend the funeral. There was fourteen yards in the piece. She wouldn’t let them roll him up, but planted him just so–full length. The church was middling small where they preached the funeral, and they had to let one end of the coffin stick out of the window. They didn’t bury him–they planted one end, and let him stand up, same as a monument. And they nailed a sign on it and put–put on–put on it–sacred to–the m-e-m-o-r-y–of fourteen y-a-r-d-s–of three-ply–car–-pet–containing all that was–m-o-r-t-a-l–of–of–W-i-l-l-i-a-m–W-h-e–â€
Jim Blaine had been growing gradually drowsy and drowsier–his head nodded, once, twice, three times–dropped peacefully upon his breast, and he fell tranquilly asleep. The tears were running down the boys’ cheeks–they were suffocating with suppressed laughter–and had been from the start, though I had never noticed it. I perceived that I was “sold.†I learned then that Jim Blaine’s peculiarity was that whenever he reached a certain stage of intoxication, no human power could keep him from setting out, with impressive unction, to tell about a wonderful adventure which he had once had with his grandfather’s old ram–and the mention of the ram in the first sentence was as far as any man had ever heard him get, concerning it. He always maundered off, interminably, from one thing to another, till his whisky got the best of him and he fell asleep. What the thing was that happened to him and his grandfather’s old ram is a dark mystery to this day, for nobody has ever yet found out.
-
I don't see the allure of Converse sneakers. I bought a pair many years ago and they were the most uncomfortable shoes I've ever worn.
-
I don't see the allure of Converse sneakers. I bought a pair many years ago and they were the most uncomfortable shoes I've ever worn.
I remember having a white pair when I was about ten. They hurt my feet, and made my toes sweat really bad.
Maybe our feet are just shaped funny.
-
No one read all that Mark Twain bullshit, same as a vestanumbers post.
At least nadin teaches, informs, enlightens.
In just one post she taught us about mexican teens, iPhones, gluten-free food, Jewish funerals, Converse sneakers, and shives.
That's the Big Six!
Where else can you get all that in a single post?
-
You may recall that although she has the physique of a caramel apple with two sticks, she claims to be only four pounds above her ideal weight. She says a few days on the elliptical will take care of that.
:rofl:
-
So like Nads to latch on to the latest fad, declaring herself a celiac, Of course it's not a fad for her being so special and all.
-
Sometimes, when I'm reading about all of nadin's knowledge, I wonder if the character of Sheldon Cooper on Big Bang Theory is loosely based on nad's opinion/view of herself, and the show creators just casted a tall skinny guy for the part to throw off suspicion.
-
Sometimes, when I'm reading about all of nadin's knowledge, I wonder if the character of Sheldon Cooper on Big Bang Theory is loosely based on nad's opinion/view of herself, and the show creators just casted a tall skinny guy for the part to throw off suspicion.
It's certainly possible, though they made the fictional Sheldon a lot more likable and socially well-integrated than Nads. Notice that I only say that about Sheldon in comparison to Nads.
-
The grip my first pair of Chuck Taylors had on the gym floor was crunchy...suffice it to say.
The gym was in Mexico, as I recall.
-
You may recall that although she has the physique of a caramel apple with two sticks, she claims to be only four pounds above her ideal weight. She says a few days on the elliptical will take care of that.
One of my first experiences with the 'iggy' list was disagreeing with her 'set point theory' where the body somehow knows what weight it is supposed to be.
Increase weight, it's a new set point. Calories in vs calories out has nothing to do with it.
She had a very high set point.
-
I wonder if the character of Sheldon Cooper on Big Bang Theory is loosely based on nad's opinion/view of herself
The character you're thinking of is God, in "The Ten Commandments".
-
The character you're thinking of is God, in "The Ten Commandments".
No. I don't think nad's knowledge, at least in her mind, is nearly as limited as God's.
Or maybe it's like the old TV commercial. I can't remember the company, but it goes something like this...
We didn't invent "whatever product", but we made it better.
With nad's it would be: Nadin didn't invent the world, but she made it better. Of course, she probably does think she actually created the world which is prone to cause a fist fight if she ever encounters the Dump's messiah.
-
No. I don't think nad's knowledge, at least in her mind, is nearly as limited as God's.
Or maybe it's like the old TV commercial. I can't remember the company, but it goes something like this...
We didn't invent "whatever product", but we made it better.
With nad's it would be: Nadin didn't invent the world, but she made it better. Of course, she probably does think she actually created the world which is prone to cause a fist fight if she ever encounters the Dump's messiah.
King Hussein: "You didn't build that"
gNads: "To the iggy list with you!"
And a great "plonk" was heard across the land.
-
shive: a broad plug hammered into a hole in the top of a cask when the cask has been filled
:???:
First thing that I thought of was it's short for shucking and jiving.
-
shive: a broad plug hammered into a hole in the top of a cask when the cask has been filled
:???:
I'm surprised the cousin misspelled a word--"shiva"--that even we goyim understand.....and know how to spell.
She's such a slob.
-
I'm surprised the cousin misspelled a word--"shiva"--that even we goyim understand.....and know how to spell.
She's such a slob.
A slob who is a snob !
-
I'm surprised the cousin misspelled a word
What!?!?!?
-
What!?!?!?
Well, you'd think she'd at least get her Hebrew right.
-
I'm surprised the cousin misspelled a word--"shiva"--that even we goyim understand.....and know how to spell.
She's such a slob.
:thatsright:
-
Well, you'd think she'd at least get her Hebrew right.
The only way gNads could use words correctly with any consistency would be if 'word salad' became a language.
-
Dang...there wasn't even one reply let alone her putting someone on the "iggy" list for being a snark.
I think she has finally "tombstoned" herself.
-
Dang...there wasn't even one reply let alone her putting someone on the "iggy" list for being a snark.
I think she has finally "tombstoned" herself.
I had noticed that. She didn't even "kick" herself. Strange indeed.
-
Nads, like all prophets, is being rejected in her hometown.
The only thing that is left is a pronouncement of judgment on all of the DUmp, and for her to shake the dust from her hooves.
-
The grip my first pair of Chuck Taylors had on the gym floor was crunchy...suffice it to say.
The gym was in Mexico, as I recall.
In my grade school from about 4th grade to 8th if you did not have converse you were simply not cool. This was not something that could be negotiated. That time frame was 1968-1971. My brother and I begged and begged our parents for converse. Finally in 7th grade they threw in the towel. I believe that converse low tops cost about $8.00, maybe $9.00 in 1970.
By the end of 7th grade I had a paper route and was able to by my first pair of Addidas. This purchase moved me from Ked's to Converse then to Addidas in about a year or so, I had addidas before they were cool. In 1971, Addidas ROM cost about $26.00
-
In my grade school from about 4th grade to 8th if you did not have converse you were simply not cool. This was not something that could be negotiated. That time frame was 1968-1971. My brother and I begged and begged our parents for converse. Finally in 7th grade they threw in the towel. I believe that converse low tops cost about $8.00, maybe $9.00 in 1970.
By the end of 7th grade I had a paper route and was able to by my first pair of Addidas. This purchase moved me from Ked's to Converse then to Addidas in about a year or so, I had addidas before they were cool. In 1971, Addidas ROM cost about $26.00
I can certainly remember when Chuck Taylors were in the 8 to 10$ range. What really sparked the craze was when they added a whole lot of colors. I loved the purple they came out with.
-
The only way gNads could use words correctly with any consistency would be if 'word salad' became a language.
I think she uses a blender and tosses in a few books to make those words salads
-
I think she uses a blender and tosses in a few books to make those words salads
I mentioned this tool a few years back. It's great for making nads word salads.
http://watchout4snakes.com/
I've found the sentence generator in particular is strikingly close to some of nad's work:
"The highest economy puzzles after a favored contempt."
"The wreck aborts within a practicing mystery."
"Each declining life frowns next to a gun."
-
You're right, that is strikingly close! A shiny penny for anyone who can tell me where "Watch out 4 snakes" comes from.
-
You're right, that is strikingly close! A shiny penny for anyone who can tell me where "Watch out 4 snakes" comes from.
Came from gNads book. The History of Everything.
-
This is what I have to say to her:
Under the socialist fears a soil. The crawling likelihood insults a talent. The doe knifes the irritated complex. This apt tone silvers a bush. Beneath a trying person calculates my expensive jazz. The structure believes?
-
You know, nads' ramblings (and the ramblings of a fellow CC er whom I shall not name out of politeness, although I'm sure we all know who I'm referring to) have always reminded me of a section out of Roughing It, by Mark Twain:
The Story of Grandfather's Old Ram
Mark Twain, Roughing It, 1872.
Every now and then, in these days, the boys used to tell me I ought to get one Jim Blaine to tell me the stirring story of his grandfather’s old ram–but they always added that I must not mention the matter unless Jim was drunk at the time–just comfortably and sociably drunk. They kept this up until my curiosity was on the rack to hear the story. I got to haunting Blaine; but it was of no use, the boys always found fault with his condition; he was often moderately but never satisfactorily drunk. I never watched a man’s condition with such absorbing interest, such anxious solicitude; I never so pined to see a man uncompromisingly drunk before. At last, one evening I hurried to his cabin, for I learned that this time his situation was such that even the most fastidious could find no fault with it–he was tranquilly, serenely, symmetrically drunk–not a hiccup to mar his voice, not a cloud upon his brain thick enough to obscure his memory. As I entered, he was sitting upon an empty powder-keg, with a clay pipe in one hand and the other raised to command silence. His face was round, red, and very serious; his throat was bare and his hair tumbled; in general appearance and costume he was a stalwart miner of the period. On the pine table stood a candle, and its dim light revealed “the boys†sitting here and there on bunks, candle-boxes, powder-kegs, etc. They said:
“Sh–! Don’t speak–he’s going to commence.â€
I found a seat at once, and Blaine said:
I don’t reckon them times will ever come again. There never was a more bullier old ram than what he was. Grandfather fetched him from Illinois–got him of a man by the name of Yates–Bill Yates–maybe you might have heard of him; his father was a deacon–Baptist–and he was a rustler, too; a man had to get up ruther early to get the start of old Thankful Yates; it was him that put the Greens up to jining teams with my grandfather when he moved west. Seth Green was prob’ly the pick of the flock; he married a Wilkerson–Sarah Wilkerson–good cretur, she was–one of the likeliest heifers that was ever raised in old Stoddard, everybody said that knowed her. She could heft a bar’l of flour as easy as I can flirt a flapjack. And spin? Don’t mention it! Independent? Humph! When Sile Hawkins come a browsing around her, she let him know that for all his tin he couldn’t trot in harness alongside of her. You see, Sile Hawkins was–no, it warn’t Sile Hawkins, after all–it was a galoot by the name of Filkins–I disremember his first name; but he was a stump–come into pra’r meeting drunk, one night, hooraying for Nixon, becuz he thought it was a primary; and old deacon Ferguson up and scooted him through the window and he lit on old Miss Jefferson’s head, poor old filly. She was a good soul–had a glass eye and used to lend it to old Miss Wagner, that hadn’t any, to receive company in; it warn’t big enough, and when Miss Wagner warn’t noticing, it would get twisted around in the socket, and look up, maybe, or out to one side, and every which way, while t’ other one was looking as straight ahead as a spy-glass. Grown people didn’t mind it, but it most always made the children cry, it was so sort of scary. She tried packing it in raw cotton, but it wouldn’t work, somehow–the cotton would get loose and stick out and look so kind of awful that the children couldn’t stand it no way. She was always dropping it out, and turning up her old dead-light on the company empty, and making them oncomfortable, becuz she never could tell when it hopped out, being blind on that side, you see. So somebody would have to hunch her and say, “Your game eye has fetched loose, Miss Wagner dearâ€â€“and then all of them would have to sit and wait till she jammed it in again–wrong side before, as a general thing, and green as a bird’s egg, being a bashful cretur and easy sot back before company. But being wrong side before warn’t much difference, anyway; becuz her own eye was sky-blue and the glass one was yaller on the front side, so whichever way she turned it it didn’t match nohow. Old Miss Wagner was considerable on the borrow, she was. When she had a quilting, or Dorcas S’iety at her house she gen’ally borrowed Miss Higgins’s wooden leg to stump around on; it was considerable shorter than her other pin, but much she minded that. She said she couldn’t abide crutches when she had company, becuz they were so slow; said when she had company and things had to be done, she wanted to get up and hump herself. She was as bald as a jug, and so she used to borrow Miss Jacops’s wig–Miss Jacops was the coffin-peddler’s wife–a ratty old buzzard, he was, that used to go roosting around where people was sick, waiting for ‘em; and there that old rip would sit all day, in the shade, on a coffin that he judged would fit the can’idate; and if it was a slow customer and kind of uncertain, he’d fetch his rations and a blanket along and sleep in the coffin nights. He was anchored out that way, in frosty weather, for about three weeks, once, before old Robbins’s place, waiting for him; and after that, for as much as two years, Jacops was not on speaking terms with the old man, on account of his disapp’inting him. He got one of his feet froze, and lost money, too, becuz old Robbins took a favorable turn and got well. The next time Robbins got sick, Jacops tried to make up with him, and varnished up the same old coffin and fetched it along; but old Robbins was too many for him; he had him in, and ‘peared to be powerful weak; he bought the coffin for ten dollars and Jacops was to pay it back and twenty-five more besides if Robbins didn’t like the coffin after he’d tried it. And then Robbins died, and at the funeral he bursted off the lid and riz up in his shroud and told the parson to let up on the performances, becuz he could not stand such a coffin as that. You see he had been in a trance once before, when he was young, and he took the chances on another, cal’lating that if he made the trip it was money in his pocket, and if he missed fire he couldn’t lose a cent. And by George he sued Jacops for the rhino and got jedgment; and he set up the coffin in his back parlor and said he ‘lowed to take his time, now. It was always an aggravation to Jacops, the way that miserable old thing acted. He moved back to Indiany pretty soon–went to Wellsville–Wellsville was the place the Hogadorns was from. Mighty fine family. Old Maryland stock. Old Squire Hogadorn could carry around more mixed licker, and cuss better than most any man I ever see. His second wife was the widder Billings–she that was Becky Martin; her dam was deacon Dunlap’s first wife. Her oldest child, Maria, married a missionary and died in grace–et up by the savages. They et him, too, poor feller–biled him. It warn’t the custom, so they say, but they explained to friends of his’n that went down there to bring away his things, that they’d tried missionaries every other way and never could get any good out of ‘em–and so it annoyed all his relations to find out that that man’s life was fooled away just out of a dern’d experiment, so to speak. But mind you, there ain’t anything ever reely lost; everything that people can’t understand and don’t see the reason of does good if you only hold on and give it a fair shake; Prov’dence don’t fire no blank ca’tridges, boys. That there missionary’s substance, unbeknowns to himself, actu’ly converted every last one of them heathens that took a chance at the barbacue. Nothing ever fetched them but that. Don’t tell me it was an accident that he was biled. There ain’t no such a thing as an accident. When my uncle Lem was leaning up agin a scaffolding once, sick, or drunk, or suthin, an Irishman with a hod full of bricks fell on him out of the third story and broke the old man’s back in two places. People said it was an accident. Much accident there was about that. He didn’t know what he was there for, but he was there for a good object. If he hadn’t been there the Irishman would have been killed. Nobody can ever make me believe anything different from that. Uncle Lem’s dog was there. Why didn’t the Irishman fall on the dog? Becuz the dog would a seen him a coming and stood from under. That’s the reason the dog warn’t appinted. A dog can’t be depended on to carry out a special providence. Mark my words it was a put-up thing. Accidents don’t happen, boys. Uncle Lem’s dog–I wish you could a seen that dog. He was a reglar shepherd–or ruther he was part bull and part shepherd–splendid animal; belonged to parson Hagar before Uncle Lem got him. Parson Hagar belonged to the Western Reserve Hagars; prime family; his mother was a Watson; one of his sisters married a Wheeler; they settled in Morgan county, and he got nipped by the machinery in a carpet factory and went through in less than a quarter of a minute; his widder bought the piece of carpet that had his remains wove in, and people come a hundred mile to ‘tend the funeral. There was fourteen yards in the piece. She wouldn’t let them roll him up, but planted him just so–full length. The church was middling small where they preached the funeral, and they had to let one end of the coffin stick out of the window. They didn’t bury him–they planted one end, and let him stand up, same as a monument. And they nailed a sign on it and put–put on–put on it–sacred to–the m-e-m-o-r-y–of fourteen y-a-r-d-s–of three-ply–car–-pet–containing all that was–m-o-r-t-a-l–of–of–W-i-l-l-i-a-m–W-h-e–â€
Jim Blaine had been growing gradually drowsy and drowsier–his head nodded, once, twice, three times–dropped peacefully upon his breast, and he fell tranquilly asleep. The tears were running down the boys’ cheeks–they were suffocating with suppressed laughter–and had been from the start, though I had never noticed it. I perceived that I was “sold.†I learned then that Jim Blaine’s peculiarity was that whenever he reached a certain stage of intoxication, no human power could keep him from setting out, with impressive unction, to tell about a wonderful adventure which he had once had with his grandfather’s old ram–and the mention of the ram in the first sentence was as far as any man had ever heard him get, concerning it. He always maundered off, interminably, from one thing to another, till his whisky got the best of him and he fell asleep. What the thing was that happened to him and his grandfather’s old ram is a dark mystery to this day, for nobody has ever yet found out.
AHA BattleHymn, I see I have to keep an eye on you as I find I may resemble the remark you made about a CC poster that reminds you of Nads. Well, no ones prefect and I can't fault Nads for being a know it all.
So I ramble in a post, WHAT, I should have taken a course 50 years ago in journalism ?
Happens to us all you know, I believe we all have after 50 years a form of Future Shock, what next.
Nads is much younger then I but she is showing signs that like myself that ---- Time keeps spinning into the future----- we become confused and discombobulated.
So we ramble on about nothing really and begin to talk to ourselves, News is so bad we do not want to turn on the TV or read the paper. Old time friends divorcing in their 50's, their kids having abortions, or dieing in a war we do not understand overseas.
Horrid to contemplate the future of our family, We are too old to do anything but wander about muttering to ourselves and the youth does not seem to give a darn about the future of the Country that had mega gallons of blood split to insure the future of our kids that just don't seem to give a damn today.
Can't speak for Nads but for myself and I tell yeah, this Obama has scrambled my mind.
-
Quote from vests...
" Time keeps spinning into the future"
What if it was slipping ?
[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIARNcFlRbQ[/youtube]
-
Quote from vests...
" Time keeps spinning into the future"
What if it was slipping ?
[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIARNcFlRbQ[/youtube]
From the song Fly Like a Hawk by the Barney Miller band.
-
The only way gNads could use words correctly with any consistency would be if 'word salad' became a language.
I have it on good authority, from the know-it-all herself, that she is indeed using words correctly and with consistency. You people are the ones butchering the language. Doing things like dropping the extra "f" from "riffle". You should all be ashamed. Oh, and there's that little thing known as artistic license. Yep. She gets it. She still thinks that if you use the language that you should use it as properly as her.
-
From the song Fly Like a Hawk by the Barney Miller band.
Glenn's brother ?
-
Glenn's brother ?
No dummy. He's the cop on the TV. The one with Abe Vigoda, whom is not dead.
-
No dummy. He's the cop on the TV. The one with Abe Vigoda, whom is not dead.
Oh, and I was almost "In the Mood" !
-
You're right, that is strikingly close! A shiny penny for anyone who can tell me where "Watch out 4 snakes" comes from.
:lmao:
[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGIGYP0rX9A&noredirect=1[/youtube]
:lmao:
I miss that show...