Ivy Insults the Old Man

In a post shockingly titled "Wednesday, My Ass", Ivy says

I hate how the word "Wednesday" is spelled. Why is it pronounced "Wends-day" and it is spelled "Wed-nes_day"? 

Ivy, my heart!  You’ve hurt my heart! How can you be mad at a day named after the coolest god ever?

It’s spelled Wednesday because it’s Wodan’s day.  It’s pronounced Wensday because the English mumble.  They’ve got places like Woodway House and Wansdyke and Wensley that are all named after Woden.  Shoot, the Swedes aren’t much better.  They’ve got Onsala, Onson, Onsberget, Onsatter, Onsjo, and Onslunda all named after Odin.

Just remember that it’s Wodan’s day and you’ll always get your d and n in the right order.

Armed America

Exador sent me this link to a photographer who’s working on a project, taking pictures of people with their guns.  I’m highly suspicious, just based on stories I’ve heard, that the dude second from the left on the bottom row is the Legal Eagle’s dad.

 What a cool idea, though.  I’d love to see photos of Exador, Sarcastro, Mack, Say Uncle, and such with their guns looking all “I dare you to trample my second amendment rights.”  That would be good fun.

As a side note, I wonder if I can crochet a little gun holster for the LiBEARterian, maybe with a place for him to put his dollars for the strippers… I’m going to have to give that some thought.

With Friends Like This, Who Needs Enemies?

Liz Garrigan, the editor of The Nashville Scene, is having a baby. Congrats, Liz! I hope it’s a blogger.

Joe Biden can officially suck my butt. Not only are his comments about Obama racist, but what the fuck? He thinks most black politicians are ugly? First, if there’s any liberal alive who doesn’t want to smooch John Conyers just on general principle, I don’t understand it, second, say what you want about their politics, Jesse Jackson Jr., Hank Johnson, and Mel Watt are some fine looking men, and third, I just looked through all of the Congressional Black Caucus and didn’t see anybody who struck me as particularly repulsive. Where on Capitol Hill is Biden finding mainstream black politicians who are ugly? And, no offense, Biden, but it’s not like you’re exceptionally pretty.

Okay, I take it back. Biden is kind of cute. He’s got funky hair, but he’s good looking enough. Still, apparently, he’s got bad taste in men.

An Update–The Cross Your Fingers Edition

As you may recall, I wrote a play and submitted it to a festival out East.  I just heard from Plimco and they don’t hate it and so haven’t rejected it outright.  I guess it’s quite different than the other plays they’re considering and so they want to hear it out loud (so do I!) and then they’ll have to decide if it “meshes” with other plays in a way that would make an evening of theater-going.

So, citizens of Earth, please, please keep your fingers crossed for me.

Your Morning Weather Report

Damn it’s cold out!  If you’re going to take the dog out before seven, you need a hat and some mittens.  Well, if you can time travel, and are planning to take the dog out before seven, then you need a hat and some mittens.

It is so cold I thought I’d be able to just snap my fingers right off.  I wonder how the dog can stand it, but she seems to love it.  She whines before we go out because I’m not moving fast enough for her tastes, and then she wants to sniff everything, pee on everything, and just generally run around like a wild woman while she’s out there.

Well, to each her own, I say.

It’s supposed to snow tomorrow and, if it does, I’ll try to get you some video of her running around in it, trying to catch all the flakes in her mouth.


I came home from work today to find the Butcher sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV.

“How was your day?” He asked and I said, “I hate my life.”

He asked, “Why?”

And I said, “No good reason.  Nothing bad happened.  Everything is fine.  I’m just miserable.”

And he said, “I know just what you mean.”

And you know, that’s the thing about brothers, when your brother says “I know just what you mean,” you know it’s the truth.  You know he’s looking right at you and really seeing you as a person he has loved his whole life and who he knows as well as he knows himself.  And it’s like you can put it down for a while, whatever it is that you’re carrying around with you, you can just leave it right there at the front door, recognized, acknowledged, and of no consequence, at least for a while.

“We could run away and become train engineers or conductors, whichever.  It doesn’t really matter to me.” He said.

“Is there a difference?”‘

“Does it matter?”

“No, I guess not.”

There’s a contentious theory that before the Indo-European invasion of Europe, European people lived in matrifocal tribes, where the primary family unit was a woman and her brother(s) and her children, and, if she was alive, the woman’s mother.  Lovers came and went, but the mother’s brother was constant and responsible for performing the duties we now assign to fathers.

It’s said you can still see the echoes of this in some old European mythology–the faint suggestion of the important role of the mother’s brother.  Odin, for instance, learns his most powerful charms from his matrilineal uncle.

I dread the day the Butcher leaves me.  I always hope it’s just some indefinite day in the future that won’t soon actually come to pass.  Anyway, it’s not today, which is good, because I got through today in large part because he made dinner and watched NCIS with me, even though I don’t think he even likes the show.

I’m lucky to have him.  And I mean that in the holiest sense of the word.