Earlier in the week, I received the following YouTube from one of your spouses. Said spouse claims to not read Tiny Cat Pants, but has apparently heard enough about it to know I would love this video.
Said spouse also clearly loves beer enough to be surfing the web looking for beer-related items.
That is your only clue.
First person to guess who it is wins. I don’t have anything for you to win, so glory will have to be enough.
I will give you a hint. Sarcastro is disqualified from winning.
Because this is so dang cool:
Brown decided that, as the object had been considered a planet for so long, it deserved a name from Graeco-Roman mythology, like the other planets. However, the asteroids had taken the vast majority of Graeco-Roman names. Eris, whom Brown described as his favourite goddess, had fortunately escaped inclusion.[22] The name in part reflects the discord in the astronomical community caused by the debate over the object’s (and Pluto’s) nature, while the name of its moon, Dysnomia (“lawlessness”), retains an oblique reference to the dwarf planet’s old informal name Xena, portrayed on TV by Lucy Lawless.
1. If you have a stash of plastic grocery bags you’d like to get rid of, the Professor and I will be driving around Saturday afternoon between 1-4 and will gladly pick them up. If you’re home, we’ll chat with you. If you’re not, leave them on your front stoop and we’ll give your neighbors reason to eye you suspiciously.
2. If you are a local blogger and you want to see Footloose, email me and I’ll pass your email along to a guy who can totally hook you up. Unless he already emailed you, in which case, I’m not so cool.
3. I hate to say that I told you so, but I told you so, kind of.
4. Argh. No! He rhymes “things” with “things!” I’m willing to concede every point you make, but how can you give a thumbs up to a song that rhymes “things” with “things?” It’s the same word! It’s not a rhyme. It’s like when poetry fails.
It is literally impossible to write a rhyme that sucks that bad though I am willing to try. “We were trying different things, we were smoking funny things, we were made out of rock like Things, we were all about the Old Icelandic forms of governing called Things, singing Sweet Home Alabama all night long. Woo woo woo.” No, see, even one more “thing” would have dragged it out of “stupid” into wink-and-nod “silly.”
No, I’m sorry. You might be right, but you are wrong.
…Making a crush into a thing…
…wondering what exactly is that thing…
And now you’re going to have me singing that all afternoon.
Thanks for nothing, best country music blog on the web.
So, I’ve taken to checking the mail when I come in from walking the dog in the morning, which was fortuitous today because I had a check from cafepress in there. So, thanks to all y’all who bought stuff, because that was a nice surprise (though I’d also, in a completely unrelated point, mention that the Tiny Cat Pants bags can hold a lot of groceries, if you’re looking to cut down on your plastic bag consumption. Though, in another completely unrelated point, the Professor tells me that she’s already started cutting up bags for me to make bags with, so, if you live in the greater Nashville area and you have plastic bags you don’t know what to do with, drop me a line and we’ll swing by and pick them up, so weigh that: save the earth through canvas or wait and save the earth through meta-bags.).
But, I also had a newsletter from the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition and it is chalk full of pictures of the cutest kids. I don’t know who their photographer is, but I about went and woke the Butcher up just so he could “Aw” along with me. Also, there’s some handsome dude (not you, Stephen Fotopulos, I know who you are) leaning against a wall all casual and good-looking-like AND a beautiful picture of a dancer kneeling down to talk to, again, some adorable little girl.
It’s worth it to give money to TIRRC just for the pictures in the newsletter.
But, they also have a nice piece from Daoud Abudiab from the Islamic Center of Columbia, Tennessee, which you may recall was burnt to the ground by racist assholes, who is giving an update on what’s going on with the Islamic community in Columbia. It turns out that the First Presbyterian Church has been giving them space to meet.
Oh Presbyterians, you warm my heart. In honor of you, I’ll even refrain from telling the story of my dad walking in on me and AF wrapped around a young Presbyterian minister’s son wearing nothing but his white briefs, though, honestly, it wasn’t much more of a story than that description right there so, really, Presbyterians, it’s the best of both worlds. I still get to tell my story and you still get to feel like you’ve won a small battle against the hated (ex-)Methodists. (For those of you not up on your inter-Protestant rivalries, that’s a joke. We love the Presbyterians. Their ministers’ sons are easy.)
Speaking of ministers’ sons, here’s an actual conversation that happened in my house yesterday.
“Hey, you have to move your money to a different bank.”
“Ugh, um, you woke me up for that? I don’t have a bank.”
“Yes, a place where you keep your money safe?”
“Not in this economy.”
“I want you to find a different bank. Yours smells like pee.”
“I don’t have a bank.”
“Did I not just get the shit scared out of me by two hundred bucks falling out of your yearbook? I’m all trying to see what Chris and Hiedi looked like as youngsters one minute and the next I’m Pacman Jones’s stripper.”
“Ha, did you just actually make a funny reference to PacMan Jones?”
“I’m just saying, it’s startling when money falls out of places you’re not expecting it.”
“Most folks would find that to be a good thing… Hey, wait a second. Why does my old yearbook smell like pee?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to your evil cat.”
Tiny Cat Pants 