The question burning a hole in my cruller today is the pronunciation of the word “often.” Are you a person who pronounces the “T” (OFF-ten) or are you a person who prefers the silent “T” pronunciation (OFF-en)?

The dictionary notes that either is correct and has this to say about consonant clusters:

During the 15th century English experienced a widespread loss of certain consonant sounds within consonant clusters, as the (d) in handsome and handkerchief, the (p) in consumption and raspberry, and the (t) in chestnut and often. In this way the consonant clusters were simplified and made easier to articulate. With the rise of public education and literacy and, consequently, people’s awareness of spelling in the 19th century, sounds that had become silent sometimes were restored, as is the case with the t in often, which is now frequently pronounced. In other similar words, such as soften and listen, the t generally remains silent.

I am in the Silent “T” crowd. In addition, being a Garden Stater, I say “often” the same way I say “coffee” (K00A-fee), much to the delight of waitresses in places like South Carolina and Tennessee.

So, how do you say it?

Here is a photo that has been sitting in my cell phone since my recent trip to the Left Coast. I took it at Newark Airport, where there are a gazillion signs that say things like:

DO NOT LEAVE YOUR VEHICLE UNATTENDED. UNATTENDED VEHICLES WILL TOWED AT OWNER’S EXPENSE.

As if the gazillion signs weren’t enough warning, every few minutes the public address system makes an announcement making clear the consequences of leaving your vehicle unattended.

Obviously the knucklehead driving this car must have thought that the clearly-stated rules didn’t apply to him. I got a particular kick out of watching the driver try to talk the cops out of towing the car away after it had already been placed on the tow truck’s hook.

Here’s the best part. The car was sporting New York license plates.

The Dooshbag driver must have been from Brooklyn.

I enjoyed YOUNGME – NOWME. It’s a site where people submit a picture of themselves in their youth (often as small children) alongside a picture of themselves as they appear today, often striking the childhood same pose.

Many of the entries are funny, many are cute and just about all of them worth a look.

The photos serve to remind us that time takes its toll on everyone. Nobody gets a pass. It seems to treat some people better than others, at least for a while, but ultimately, time will do its thing.

via The Ultimate Insult.

Suppose your organization (e.g. school, library, kntting circle, rugby team, local saloon) would like to book Al Gore to come to your organization and do his bullshit global warming Power Point presentation “Environmental Multimedia Lecture.” What to do?

You would contact Mr. Gore’s agent for the deets. You would learn that Mr. Gore’s speaking fee is $100,000 for the 75 minute presentation, and you would also be provided with a contract to sign, which contained a special addendum relating specifically to Mr. Gore’s requirements. In short, the $100,000 is just for openers. It will cost you considerably more than that.

The Smoking Gun has published the contract and the five-page addendum here, but, if you don’t feel like wading through the woids, here are some of the more interesting terms and conditions:

Travel: You will have to provide round-trip, first-class air travel for Mr. Gore and “another individual” from wherever Mr. Gore happens to be when he desires to fly to your location. He has the option of making his own travel arrangements, as he sees fit, but you will get the bill.

Ground Transportation: You will have to provide Mr. Gore and the additional person ground transportation to and from the airport. You may NOT use an SUV for this purpose, and you will be well advised to transport Mr. Gore in a hybrid vehicle. I figure he’s tired of being photographed getting in and out of stretch limousines.

Lodging: You will have to provide Mr. Gore and the additional person with first-class hotel accommodations, with all expenses at the hotel included (e.g. meals, phone, in-room snackies and drinks). I doubt he uses the gym, but if there would be charge for that, you’d pay that too.

Per diem: He gets $1,000 per day. Seeing as how you’ll already be paying all his hotel expenses, I assume this is more like “walking around money.” He might want to pop into a local eatery and buy himself a fast plate or two of lasagna.

Security: You will also have to pay for security for Mr. Gore at all times while he is in your city. Part of your security obligation will be to pay for “one licensed security person to be with Vice President Gore from the moment he arrives in the city of the event until his departure.” This is presumably to keep the throngs of his Birkenstock-wearing fans at bay.

Free Tickets: If you planned on selling tickets to the event, you will not be able to sell ten tickets in the “priority seating area,” because you will have to make them available to Mr. Gore for whomever he would like to give them to. Or sell himself? Would you be surprised?

Press: No press allowed! No press conferences! Mr. Gore will not be available to the press! Mr. Gore will grant no interviews! After all, someone just might ask him a question about real science. We can’t have that.

Cancellation: Consider this. Suppose you’ve: paid to rent a hall (or an arena) for this event, paid for a stage set, paid for audio-visual equipment, paid for the first-class air fare, paid for the first-class hotel, paid for ground transportation, and paid for security. As the audience is beginning to assemble a few hours before Algore’s scheduled appearance, you receive a call from Algore’s manager saying that Algore won’t be making the scheduled presentation. You ask why. “Is he ill? Has something horrible happened?”

You’re told, “Nah, he decided at the last minute that he didn’t feel like doing the presentation. He said he felt like staying home and watching some tube.”

You respond, “He can’t do that! I’ve spent thousands of dollars on this event, including all the things required by your contract.”

His agent replies, “Yes he can. Read the contract.”

You gasp, “I’ve invested a small fortune in this event. I’ll sue him for damages, and I’ll win!”

The agent delivers the final blow, “You can sue, but you won’t win. Read the contract.”

Some thoughts on all this:

This is obviously a sweet deal for Algore. Since ALL his expenses are covered, the $100K for telling a 75-minute bullshit story is net to him (less a percentage to his agent, who may even have a sweeter deal than Algore).

Do I begrudge Algore his $100K? No, I do not. I believe in free market capitalism and if someone is willing to pay Algore that kind of money to do his act, good for him. As for why anyone would want to spend that kind of money for a serving of Algore’s baloney, and why anyone would sign a contract insulating Algore from any liability whatsoever, I have no idea.

Yes, that’s me. Captain Power Wash (spoken in a deep baritone and pronounced CAPTAAAAAAAAAIN POWWWWER Wash).

A few days ago, I wasn’t Captain anything, but in no time, I skyrocketed to the rank of Captain Power Wash, skipping right over the rank of Lieutenant Power Wash. Here’s how it happened.

My deck had become rather dingy looking and was in need of some serious power washing. In years past, I hired someone to do the honors. Since then, my friend, Usual Suspect Jeff, bought his very own power washer. Having watched the hired power washers do their stuff, I boldly figured that I might just be able to handle the job myself.

I called Jeff and asked if I could borrow his power washer.

“Absolutely,” he said and was even kind enough to drive it to the House by the Parkway in his truck. He showed me how to hook up the hose and the water blaster piece, then he showed me how to fire up the gas engine, and finally how to actually use the thing.

We did a bit of the deck together and then he left me on my own. That’s when I began gleefully blasting the grime off the deck and, amazingly enough, enjoyed the process. BLAST here!! BLAST there!! I was blasting my ass off. Ol’ Junior, who is NOT MY CAT, took one look at Captain Power Wash’s blastfest and .decided to go elsewhere for dinner.

Yo, Jimbo, you’ve never been a do-shit-around-the-house guy. What’s up with this?

Fair question. Here’s the deal:

1. It’s a bit like shooting a rifle. In New Jersey we can purchase high-powered rifles (after going all the legal hoops), but discharging them anywhere in the state could get you arrested. Goofy, I know, but that’s the way it is. The water blaster piece of the power washer has the feel of an assault rifle with a foldable stock. It even produces a little bit of a satisfying kick when you pull the trigger and blast away. BLAST!

2. It’s not as dangerous as a chainsaw or other power tools. I don’t do chainsaw and most power tools. Sure, if you were to blast away at your toes, with the blaster, it would not be cool, but I don’t think I’m likely to lop off any extremities with the blaster. Not so with a chainsaw. You want something chainsawed, call this guy. You want something power washed, call Captain Power Wash.

3. It actually cleans dirt away, big time. I hate breaking my ass “cleaning” something only to see that, once you’ve finished, it doesn’t look one damned bit different than it did before you started. As you can see from the photo of the deck above, Captain Power Wash really cleans shit, big time. BLAST!

I just finished the deck project, and I hate to return the blaster to Jeff, because I can already think of lots of things that need power washing, such as every rat bastard politician in Trenton.

Perhaps I shall buy my own power washer and blaster and design a super hero costume for Captain Power Wash. No spandex, or course (yeef!).

OK, I admit it. I do from time to time check to see what kind of crap Maureen Dowd is peddling. It is not unlike picking at a scab. I find myself going back more often now that she has taken to giving democrats a hard time.

Anyway, on Sunday, Ms. Dowd wrote about another one of Barack Obama’s attempts to woo primary voters by convincing them that he is just a regular guy:

Bleeding white voters in North Carolina and Indiana, the Illinois senator [Barack Obama] headed Thursday evening to V.F.W. Post 1954 in North Liberty, Ind., consisting of a bar, a pool table, a Coors Light clock and a couple of dozen curious white guys.

Checking out what the vets were drinking, he announced, “I’m going to have a Bud.” …

I don’t know anything about V.F.W. Post 1954 in North Liberty, Indiana, but I do know about our American Legion Post. It also consists of a bar, a pool table, a lighted clock and, on any given Sunday, a dozen or so guys, virtually all of whom are Viet Nam/Viet Nam Era Vets and members of the Post.

Based upon my knowledge of the politics of the guys, I feel safe in assuming that if Barack Obama were to show up at the door of the Post on any given Sunday, he would politely be told that the Post Bar is open to American Legion members and their guests, and that he is neither.

Nobody at the Post is buying what he’s selling.

Busy……..

Now, off to the Post to hang with the Usuals.

Maybe later, maybe not.

The Carbon Offset Scam, Biofuel Baloney, Democrats, Dirt and more. Doug Ross has it wired.

Think a minute about the idiomatic expressions, “going to the bathroom” and “went to the bathroom.”

WTF?

Consider:

Doctor: Are you having difficulty going to the bathroom?

Patient: No, I get there just fine, but once I’m there I can’t seem to shit.

Or,

Doctor: So, when you go to the bathroom, what color is it?

Patient: It’s this sickening pink with black trim that was popular in the sixties.

Or,

Joe: Jeez, I heard ol’ Ed was at work and he went to the bathroom in his pants.

Pete: Not exactly. He tried to go to the bathroom, but before he could get there he shit in his pants.

Or,

Q: Did you go to the bathroom in your pants?

A: I generally go everywhere in my pants.

Or,

The baby went to the bathroom in his diaper.

Yo, the kid’s three weeks old. He can walk?

Or,

Dammit, the dog went to the bathroom upstairs!

Huh? The bathroom is downstairs.

Conclusion: There simply is no accounting for why I think of this kind of goofy shit.

Lebanon, Indiana. Barack Obama, having recently disassociated himself from Jeremiah Wright, his pastor for more than twenty years, Obama today announced that he is divorcing his wife, Michelle.

In a hastily-called press conference, Senator Obama stated, “Today I have commenced divorced proceedings against my wife, Michelle. It was a difficult decision, but many of her recent statements about America are divisive and do not represent my views. This is not the woman I have come to know over the past sixteen years. Her unfortunate statements serve only to distract Americans from the issues that are critical today for the future of the United States.”

Senator Obama refused to answer a virtual barrage of questions from shocked members of the press, stating that he was already late for his next campaign stop, which will be at a local gun club for skeet shooting and prayer.