You Really Know Your State Capitals

You Got 20 State Capitals Correct You’re either a geography buff… or you have an excellent memory.

Do You Know Your State Capitals?

Take that, Ms. Wiseass Jooette!

Those nineteenth century teachers were big on state capitals.

I have no idea why, but I got to thinking about second grade today.

The teacher’s name – we’ll call her Miss Daniels. She may have been Mrs. Daniels, but I don’t think we were old enough or hip enough to appreciate the difference between “Miss” and “Mrs.”, and “Ms.” would not be invented until many years later.

Back then, although Miss Daniels looked to me to be as old as time itself, my guess now is that she was into her sixties, which, if one does the math, would put her birth some time towards the end of the nineteenth century (Oy!).

I recall that when it came to numbers, she absolutely would not permit us to say “zero,” and heaven help the kid who said “O” (as in “oh”). Instead, when reciting a number such as 302, we had to say, “three naught two.” If you said, “three zero two,” Miss Daniels would be in your face with an attitude just south of that of the Drill Sergeant in Full Metal Jacket, and if you said “three oh two,” you would pray for a swift death.

Not surprisingly, we quickly learned to say “naught” instead of “zero” or the dreaded “oh.” A Second Grader doesn’t argue with a second grade teacher, particularly not Miss Daniels. Besides, we figured she was the teacher and had to be right. We must have been knuckleheads for ever thinking that the proper term for the cipher “0” was anything but “naught.”

Problem is, apparently she was the only person in my school (in the town? county? state? nation? world?) to use the term “naught” in that fashion, as I learned just one grade later.

Teacher: Class, it is important that you know the room number of this classroom. James, I’ll bet that you know what the room number is. Would you please tell the class what it is.

James (i.e. me): Its two naught one.

Teacher What did you say?

Me: Two naught one.

Teacher: (Rolls her eyes, thinking that this is another product of Miss Daniels’ tutelage) Children, if you want people to understand you when you tell them to what classroom you have been assigned, please say “two oh one.”

I was certain that Miss Daniels would come charging into the classroom and deliver an ass kicking to this heretical teacher, but it didn’t happen. I don’t believe that since the second grade I have ever (until today) used the term “naught” to describe “zero.”

When she wasn’t giving us mental beatings over the occasional forgetting to say “naught” instead of “zero,” she would read us Bible Stories, each of which was followed by a bit of an animated sermon. Did I mention that this was a public school?***

I’ve saved the best for last.

As you know, in second grade, kids begin losing their baby teeth. A loose tooth is something that needed regular wiggling in order to coax it loose from its pediatric moorings. Problem is that, if Miss Daniels spotted you wiggling a loose tooth, you got to stay after school while she would grab your tooth with a hanky and pull the farookin’ thing out! I know, because she nailed one of mine.

I saw her pluck one poor bastard out of line just as we were leaving for the day. Earlier I had seen that he has a loose tooth, so I knew what he was in for. Resistance was possible, but not without a bit of a physical tussle and being berated as a “baby.” I’m certain that I didn’t mention Miss Daniels’ curious amateur dental practice to my parents, for I doubt they would have approved.

Somehow she managed to squeeze in the time between Bible thumping and tooth extractions to teach us readin’, writin’ and ‘rithmatic (as long as we said “naught”).

And that, dear friends, is what second grade was like in the Dark Ages.

***I know that there are those today who would say, “What’s so wrong about reading Bible Stories? Hell, now they’re teaching young kids how to put condoms on cucumbers! The schools could use a bit of Bible Study.” I’m not religious, and I’m not interested in participating in a church-state debate, which I often think devolves into the world of silly. Trust me. This woman was wayyyy over the top. In fact, I learned the word “proselytizing” in the course of overhearing an argument between my parents when they learned of the time in school that was devoted to studying the Bible.

Even though I have met some excellent Brazilian Peeps, the Brazilian Pipeline is not, nor will it ever, be in my travel plans.

Here’s why.

I don’t believe that I’m alone in noticing that Speaker Pelosi has been keeping a rather low profile for the past few weeks, quite possibly related to the low popularity ratings for Congress. We at PRS have confirmed that she is indeed spending more time in the office and drinking more than a little Cristal during the day.

In fact, we have learned that one day she was watching members of her staff deal with constituent telephone calls and, perhaps fueled a bit by the bubbly, she decided to take a turn at the phones.

Of course, PRS Operatives were able to obtain transcripts of the calls:

Pelosi: This is the SPEAKER IN THE HOUSE speaking.

Caller: Good morning, Congresswoman. I’m glad to have the opportunity to speak directly with you.

Pelosi: It’s always a pleasure to speak with my constituents. What’s on your mind?

Caller: Well, I recently managed to land myself a job with an oil company. I had been out of work for quite a while, so this job was a Godsend, believe me.

Pelosi: And your point is?

Caller: Oh, sorry for taking so much of your time. It’s just that I worry that your plan to heavily tax profits of the oil companies, as you call them “windfall profits,” might cost me my job – you know, last hired, first fired.

Pelosi: Wingnut!

Caller: Excuse me?

Pelosi: You heard me. You’re a typical Wingnut Rethuglican, a tool of the capitalists – When will you wake up and see that you’re being exploited by corporate fat cats?

Caller: Ma’am, I’ve got a job with good benefits, and I’m worried that I might lose it is all.

Pelosi: You’re an asshole. You probably sit around all day drooling on your shirt, scratching your balls and listening to Rush Limbaugh.

Caller: No, I don’t. I said I have a job and benefits, and I’m worried about ……

Pelosi *click* I’m lovin’ this shit.

Rinnnnnnnnng

Pelosi: Hello. This is the SPEAKER IN THE HOUSE speaking.

Caller No. 2: Good morning, Ma’am. I would like to discuss your policy relating to Iraq and, more specifically, whether you have considered the use of your statements by the enemy to galvanize their radical position, recruit more jihadists and to de-moralize our troops?

Pelosi: Wait a minute! What kind of a shitmouthed accent is that? I don’t believe you’re from my district.

Caller No. 2: No, Ma’am, I’m from Alabama, and I wanted ……….

Pelosi: Ala-goddamned-BAMA? You’re not from my district. Why are you wasting my time?

Caller No. 2: Respectfully, Ma’am, I believe that your legislative agenda, including your position with respect to Iraq, affects all fifty states, and that is why I am calling you.

Pelosi: Oooooooh, my “leg-is-lative agenda” … Wow! You’re throwing around fifty cent words there, Goober Boy. You must be one of the ten people in your ass pit state who managed to finish third grade. How’s about you hang up the phone, go back to listening to Rush Limbaugh and humping your sister? *click*

Pelosi: This is such fun! I can’t believe it took me so long to do this. Harriet! Tell Lance to bring me the plastic bag in the bottom left drawer of my desk – the one with the imported oregano in it.

Rinnnnnnnnng

Pelosi: . This is the SPEAKER IN THE HOUSE speaking.

Caller No. 3: Good morning, Madam Speaker. This is Rush Limbaugh speaking. I wonder if you might be interested in appearing on my program some time this week to chat a bit.

Pelosi:

Caller No. 3: Madam Speaker? Are you there?

Pelosi:

Caller No. 3: Hello? Madam Speaker?

Pelosi: *click*

I’ve known Laughing Wolf for several years now. He has his own, re-designed blog and is a regular contributor to Blackfive LW is a wonderful writer, an accomplished cook, a guy who really knows all about space stuff and an all around great guy. I had the pleasure of meeting him for an all-too-short visit in Helen, Georgia a few years back.

He’s done lots of extremely interesting things with his life (including working on Playboy photo shoots – no kidding), but now he is about to do something really interesting and, I must say, gutsy. You see, he has arranged to be an embed in Iraq. Problem is that such an endeavor comes with costs. He is asking for your help. The details are here, including the way to make a tax-deductable contribution.

The guy walks the walk.

See if you can help him out.

It is indeed a beautiful day in these parts. Perfect for sitting outside with a book.

Later.

Elisson wrote a terrific post about made up languages, which as is often the case with Elisson’s stuff, is both informative and hilarious. Here is a snippet, which deals with a very specific made up language, namely Klingon (Whe knew?):

And, of course, there’s that perennial favorite of Trekkies: Klingon, created and designed by Mark Okrand, a linguist hired by Paramount Pictures. There have been books published in Klingon, including at least one Shakespeare play; furthermore, there are people who are able to carry on entire conversations in Klingon, generally in the context of trying to get laid at Star Trek conventions. A more futile quest is hard to imagine.

Read it all (but only after you’ve finished reading the rest of this most interesting post).

Elisson also noted that there are made up languages that are spoken by one person or only a few (even fewer than the number who speak Klingon, methinks), and such a languages is known as idioglossia.

The idioglossia stuff triggered a bunch of memories from my days as a yoot, when it was not uncommon to use made up words. Similarly, other words, while not made up by someone I actually knew, often would not have been understood beyond a couple dozen miles from where they were regularly spoken.

Here are s couple that I remember:

1. ”Dewemplin”. One of my favorites is the term “dewemplin,” as in “You’re a dewemplin!! (pronounced “doo-EMP-lin,” or sometimes con brio as “doo-EMMMMMM-plin”).

Defining the made up term “dewemplin” is particularly interesting, because it requires a two-cushion lexico-shot. You see, before you can define the term “dewemplin,” you first have to know what a blivit is. (Definitions within definitions – lawyers love that shit.)

A blivit is, “Ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.” (I was surprised to see that the term has made it into the Urban Dictionary.

Sooooooo, the definition of a “dewemplin” is, “One who stuffs blivits,” or a “blivit stuffer.” At least that’s the technical definition of the made up word, although it came to be used to describe a feckless douchebag of a person.

2. Kerr. I think the same kid who made up the word “dewemplin” (Let’s call him Frank) also coined the term “kerr.” “Kerr,” was the made up term for “dog shit,” but wait, it gets better.

Frank and his buddies (all of whom were more than a bit twisted) took delight in flinging dog shit at people they thought warranted it Their criteria for who would get “splattayed” (“spla-TAYED” as they would say it) – are lost to history, but I am happy to say that I was never a splatayee.

What made it even more weird was that the shit flinging was very ritualistic, which brings me back to the word “kerr.”

When Frank and his buddies decided that someone was deserving of a “splattay,” they would use bits of paper to pick up the dog shit, and when they flung it they would all shout, “Kerrrrrrrrrrrrr forrrrrrrrrr yeeeeeeeeee!” (pronounced with rolling R’s).

I booshit you not.

Clearly, Frank and his minions were all dewemplins.

Turns out, I now have internet service. WTF?

First, I would like to thank the Wiseass Jooette for posting the PSA. She may be from Brooklyn (the Godforsaken Place), but she’s good peeps for helping out a fellow Blown-Eye.

DISCLAIMER: Anything in the previous paragraph to the contrary notwithstanding, the author reserves any and all rights in future posts to assert that Brooklyn is a shithole and that the Jooette is indeed a Wiseass. Further, nothing contained in the previous paragraph shall operate, by way of estoppel or otherwise, to prevent or limit in any way the author from making such future statements.

Here’s the deal.

As of this morning, I had zero internet connection. Of course, I freaked. Instant sweats, big time. I’ve been there before when it took TEN DAYS for Comcast to send someone over to swap out a dead modem. That wait was followed by a nastygram to the President of Comcast, which, in turn, resulted in some free internet service.

Still, this time I didn’t want free internet service; I just wanted INTERNET SERVICE, dammit.

I checked Mr. Modem. It was blinking away just as it should. I decided to use the handy on/off switch to turn it off and then on again.

No lights, some lights, (the modem is getting its shit together), then all the lights. It was blinking just right.

Problem – still no internet connection.

More sweat.

Check connections. Lots of spaghetti back there, but the wires were cool.

Move modem to check the back connections.

LIGHTS ON MODEM GO OFF!!! Holy shit!

Call Comcast, NOW, because Mr. Modem is as dead as Jacob Marley.

Comcast answers with a recording

I press “1” for English (I fume).

I press “”2” for “Internet Service” as opposed to Cable TV.

Recorded voice tells me that I have to be looking at the computer (I was), then it tells me to say shit into the phone.

Recorded voice: “Do you see a red thing anywhere on your screen saying ‘re-install Comcast software?”

Me: “NO.”

Recorded Voice: “Did you say no?”

Me: “YES, I said “NO.” (I’m thinking this YES-NO business is an Alice in Wonderland experience)

Recorded Voice: “Are you doing a new installation?”

Me: “NO.” (I could have sworn Ms. Recordovoice had already asked me this)

Recorded Voice: “Have you unplugged and re-plugged your modem?”

Me: “Wait!”

Recorded Voice: (apparently waiting)

I freaked and hung up the phone. Realizing that I had used the on/off switch and had not actually unplugged the thing, I looked again at the dead unit and thought, “Plug? What plug?” At that point, I saw that the little round AC/DC thing in the back of the modem had become unplugged while I was checking out the back of the modem.

“Ah ha!” I thought. I plugged it in, and the lights on the modem did their predictable thing.

Yes! The lights were blinking just fine (although the plug in the back of the modem is EXTREMELY touchy. If you touch it just a LEETLE, the modem goes off. Still, the lights were on, and they were blinking just right. I figured I was good to go.

WRONG.

Still no internet connection.

Knowing that getting internet connection, albeit critical, is not as important as making a living, I bailed on the problem. I spent the rest of the day wallowing in self-pity, knowing that I would have to deal with Comcast after work.

From work, I got in touch with the aforementioned Wiseass Jooette and requested her assistance in letting the “sphere (at least, my miniscule corner of same) know that I had been again COMCASTRATED. She graciously agreed, and even did so without saying anything bad about New Jersey. I gather she sensed my deepening depression.

I came home fully ready (as ready as one can ever be) to call Comcast. I was prepared for another long internetless spell.

Mr. Modem was still blinking favorably, so, for the hell of it, I fired up the Raptor and pushed the “internet” button.

And, here I am.

Thank you, Comcast, for scaring the dogshit out of me.

P.S. I stuck the modem with the mondo fickle connection out of harm’s way, and if I happen to eat beans I will be sure to turn away from the modem.

Yo, peeps. Wiseass Jooette here.

A PSA I was asked to share with all of youse, Jimbo’s loyal readers. There is a slight possibility that our TTTB pal, Hairboy, might not be able to connect to the Internet this evening due to unfortunate Comcastic issues, which sucks mondo ’roids, because that may impact a post he was all set to publish this evening. Bummers. I was looking forward to reading it.

Had he told me about this, say, yesterday, I would have had a little more time to slap together my Photoshop masterpiece of his GFHâ„¢ on the heads of all the presidents on Mount Rushmore, a totally bril idea suggested to me by Randy Randy Fo-Fandy, the Secular Franciscan. It is definitely in the works, though. Stay tuned for that.

You’d think, once he upgraded to Mr. Raptor from Mr. Steam-Driven Computer, all would be just ducky in Cybersville for he of the House by the Parkway, but no such luck.

OTOH, there is a chance he will be able to connect, in which case, just ignore this. If not, however, should any of you fine peeps stumble across a Magic Lamp in the sand this evening, please, be generous with your three wishes and delegate at least one for the immediate rectification of his modem issues, because a day without a Parkway Rest Stop post is a day without a beautiful sunrise.

In the meantime, check out this old PRS post, which cracked my Brooklyn Jooette ass up when I first read it. I figure it was worth resurrecting in the event of major catastrophe we don’t get any sweet Jimbo lovin’ tonight.

Keep your fingers crossed, OK?

Great Googamooga! Here is the equivalent of a nuclear weapon to use in the endless war against the dreaded panty line.

Jeff at Side Salad (from whom I swiped the image) has the deets.