Bird flu

I walk twenty-some-odd miles a week and suffer any number of geese. I'd like to see one of you plastic goose people put a raincoat on a Canadian goose, or better yet, a postal carrier outfit. Those sonsabitches are mean. I hiss and make faces at them whenever I pass by. They open their miserable black bills and hiss back, the bastards.

I've heard Canadian geese are a protected species. I should stop right here and research that, but frankly, I'm just too damn tired. Someone else can research this crap. In the meantime:

Note to persons protecting Canadian geese: You're wasting your time, the miserable bastards can protect themselves. Don't believe me? Try and dress one up like an Easter bunny.

Houston, we have a problem.

Sometimes in the park, there's a whole flock of your Canadian geese. Twenty? Thirty? Maybe even more. I don't hiss at your Canadian geese when they're hanging out in those numbers.  When you've got Erin vs. 25 Canadian geese, the only one who needs protection is Erin.

Got Tippy Hedren?

If I were ever walking through one of these polite suburban neighborhoods and I saw a plastic goose decked out in a fetish bondage outfit, that would really float my boat. I could really get behind a plastic goose in a fishnet body stocking. Extra points for a gay/black leather & chains theme. Bet that'd get a Canadian goose's attention.

Yesterday four wild turkeys hauled ass in front of me and crossed the street (no postal carrier outfits, no hissing). Your wild turkeys have style. Your wild turkeys have panache.

So, what does a person think when a person sees a quartet of turkeys bouncing across the road? Bet they'd be good eats. (Style and panache only get you so far.) To be honest, I often think the same thing about the miserable Canadian geese, although everyone says this is not so, that they are not good eats. I don't believe them. I say use the trusted cook-the-living-shit-out-of-it-until-the-living-shit-is-cooked-out-of-it method. Throw some wine or beer in there, few shakes of salt and an onion or two. Slop it on a plate with a side of mashed spuds. Your Goat will eat that goose.

Anyhow, what was I saying?

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To hell with Weiner, give me Joe Namath in pantyhose

Prior to the Twitter kerfuffle, I knew nothing of Anthony Weiner and I'm not interested in him now. All kinds of people have been having all kinds of sex for a long time. So what?

That said, it's funny how the blood red rightie blogs out there are clamoring on and on about Weiner, but had little to say about that Nevada dandy, John Ensign.

When it comes to sex scandals, I stick to one of my cardinal rules: The Only Sex You Need To Worry About Is The Sex You're Having.

I am not completely mum on sex scandals. I wrote about Senator Larry Craig when that scandal broke. In fact, I wrote about him twice.

John Edwards also got my attention.

Yeah, yeah. This stuff has been going on forever. The righties can have their fun over some silly underwear pic. I'd rather dig Joe Namath in pantyhose in 1973. HELL YEAH!

Big trouble for big Jesus

June 15, 2010, Monroe, Ohio: A six-story-tall statue of Jesus Christ with his arms raised along a highway was struck by lightning in a thunderstorm Monday night and burned to the ground, police said.

The "King of Kings" statue, one of southwest Ohio's most familiar landmarks, had stood since 2004 at the evangelical Solid Rock Church along Interstate 75 in Monroe, just north of Cincinnati. --Yahoo News

Some things are just too poetic for commentary.

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Brace yourself

My kid had to use those tiny rubber bands on her braces that help adjust the teeth. Sometimes she had to use strong rubber bands, sometimes weak. But dig this: the rubber bands weren't delineated by a number or color system. They were named after countries.

There was New Zealand and Switzerland and Italy, which is the weakest rubber band. The strongest rubber band my kid had to use was Japan, which was pretty strong, but not as strong as Korea. Korea is the strongest rubber band available (one of the orthodontist's assistants told me that).

Even though the rubber band portion of the Braces Trauma was over weeks ago, I'm still finding tons of itty bitty Italys and Japans all over the house, as if the kid was shooting them out like it was some sort of trick orthodontic slingshot. They're squished in the corners of the bathroom vanity drawers, they come out in the laundry, and they still pepper every carpeted surface of the house. They're like needles from a Christmas tree; I'll still be finding them in six months.

Other people swallow the Italy and Japan orthodontic rubberband thing whole and move on. Not me.

I wonder who came up with the countries-for-orthodontic-rubber-band name system. I cannot find the brand on the internet. Perhaps it was a disgruntled Korean man or woman, or someone who does not like Italy.

Note: As I took today's photo, my daughter asked me if the rubber band was just there or if I planted it for the photo. I told her it was just there (truth). Then she said, "That's a Japan. Italys were really wimpy and if that had been an Italy it totally would have been broken."