Nov. 7th, 2007

Harumph.

Nov. 7th, 2007 11:54 am
fr_defenestrato: (Default)
Ok, so it's cold outsite. A little vindy. But meine schnauzer in himmel, are people not supposed to hang out outside at all after November 1st? Every store, even the Homo Depot, has removed and shipped away all patio furnishings... no extruded plastic deck chairs, no little tables... Ah well. I settled, last night after work, for two plastic folding chairs, the kind you see by the hundreds or thousands at public ceremonies and whatnot, and two largish Rubbermaid storage bins to serve as little tables to hold drinks and ashtrays. I am not certain how much use all this will get as the weather services promise a frigid weekend for Marathon, but no doubt people will at least enjoy the sun while it's out—bundled up in coats and bankies, prolly.

Also bought a new, bigger toolbox, so I can feel butch. So far, no dice.

Lord Dan the Former and I had tentative plans to eat and/or drink last night, so I called him from Homo Depot and he picked me and my new stuff up there. We went for Korean food in Annandale, which was damnfine (I've never in my life eated so much stuff I couldn't identify); followed by a brief detour to see (kinda "see" = lit in highbeams) The Awakening, the odd statue of an enormous man coming out of the ground, at Hain's Point on the Potomac (I had never seen it; didn't know, e.g., that it included a knee; thought it would be scarier than it is); thence to The Saloon at U and 12th, whose establishment is uncommonly bossy: first of all, multiple signs and the menu tell you that there is NO STANDING in this bar (as opposed to the Brito-European models it's supposedly fashioned after, at which almost everybody really does stand at the bar rather than sitting on stools). There are limits on the number of various types of beers you can have. The menu insists on ONE CHECK/ONE CREDIT CARD, and requests that you do not order beer and food at the same time. I ended up being all mother-may-I with the server, who must have been used to doling out permissions. He was, I'm sure, the only black person in the place the entire time we were there: the crowd was not just all white, but all PALE white. (Our server was also-also very beautiful and stylishly dressed. Yes, I flirted with the help once again. What can I say?)

Frankly, I don't like the attitude of the place, but the selection of Belgian and Belgian-style ales is such that one puts up with quite a lot of bossiness.

Dan's partner Roy joined us for a sammich late in the evening. Dan and I chatted about Cheese Lord business (he resigned his tenorship only last week and so has plenty opinions to unload) and various elements of popular culture. Got home and to bed relatively early.
fr_defenestrato: (nice christians)
Pharisee or Fallacy? Only Paul's hairsdresser know.
Spyentists—archangeologists and feyliontologists—have this day this minute this second prooferred prof, appositive, that the epissholes of the haïnecient scribbeler formerly kouth and kent as Saul of Tarsals (pre-Damascene fungiscotoma; theredafter Paul of Metatarsals) was in fict a factional fabulist, frappéd into charlatantric canonymity by a gangle of abbericious priesteses looking to boost de Sales by dysleading de Porres. Having diskivered a manuscrypt of the slainted opossum's pisshole to the Ephesians elder than erster knowed copies, Mantid McOllicle, Chief Assistant to the Assistant Chief of the International Association of International People with International Doctorates in International Stience (acting), was alarumed to knote the manifelt misspoilings and malaproposals in the techst, nae the loosest of whichens was the fact that the pisshole appeers to been writ to the Polyponesians, and not, as were plebiously thought, to the Ephesians. (McOllicle has sence loodged a requesquet to redesignape the letter "Pseudephesians".)

More rebelations ha shortsleeveshirtly follown, in untended audence as swell as languishtics: pissable postles to the Philippines, the Hebrides, The Salon at Athens—where it has been suggested Psaul enjeyed a brief and rupturous thryst with the jeunehomme who cut him hairs—and some'uns named Phil E. Mon, late of Battersea; unswertainty as to sole haughthorship, as supphosed to a likelier liance on geistwriters; the sametime, apparently carelost refereeing to a "Christ Amoebus," "Jyste Chrisus," "Chris Kringus," and on one ecrasion "Christ My Jeansaretight"; and a possumble conflaytion, in the Chaptner 5 persiflage on housebounds and mousewifs, of the Greek vermicular noms for "woman" and "ostrich"; and helsewhere eke the verdes for "redemption" and "baked four-cheese manicotti with marinara".

"It's fair to say that this noose galls into guesstion the versacity of all the New Testiment pissholes, not to menschen the gobspels, the Axe, and Apocketa-pocketa-pocketalypse of St. John the Mushroomhead," McOllicle tolled reporderlies from the mager religious press. "At this pint we Amishly wouldn't know the first solafidian if we found him in the sofa."

Mensolo Entusiasmo Barbigale di Giogulaglia, spooksman for the Vatagain and firstchair poperimmer, pestuoled posthulantly against what he decribed as heresy (or perheps heresay or horsehockey, but you didn't Herod from me) and the latest in a sneeries of herassments intendt to livel and slamber the Wroman Chooch with roofless abrogation and apostatic cling. "It's da Incident at Vinchy Code allover, woollover th'ighs of gobfearing Xians world whyed. The Holey Church cannot believe but that this is a conskirted heifert to pass off a fraudly bilagoods as
mothentic histry. Fortumately, as the papa well knows, yr avridge Xian couldnae give a flying toaster about histerical fact."

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