Chris Hansen’s blog

…is a real hoot for religious types.

Apologies if some here have seen this; I’ve seen most of this type of email, but this one is new to me, so here goes! Humour for Bank Holiday Monday.

COLIN POWELL VIRUS – Makes its presence known, but doesn’t do anything. Secretly, you wish it would.

GEORGE BUSH (Sr.) VIRUS: It starts by boldly stating, ‘Read my docs….No new files!’ on the screen. It proceeds to fill up all the free space on your hard drive with new files, then blames it on the Congressional Virus.

Ronald Reagan Virus v 2.0 – Saves your data, but forgets where it’s stored.

SUPREME COURT VIRUS – It allows your system to abort files, with major restrictions

STAR TREK VIRUS – Invades your system in places where no virus has gone before.

Survivor Viruses – Deletes your files one by one over 13 weeks until only the most annoying one remains.

U.N. virus – Annoying but harmless. Every day, it displays a message saying you must let it inspect your computer’s files for viruses, but then it gives you the options “OK, Cancel, Ignore.” Even if you click OK, it doesn’t do anything.

Viagra Virus – Expands your hard drive while putting too much pressure on your zip drive. Turns your 3.5″ floppy into a hard drive.

ALZHEIMER’S VIRUS – It makes your computer forget where it put your files.

CONGRESSIONAL VIRUS v 1.0 – It runs every program on the hard drive simultaneously but doesn’t allow the user to accomplish anything.

George W. Bush virus – Tells you it’s going to eliminate all other viruses from your computer but that it may take a long time. Then it actually does scan your computer and eliminate viruses. It also scans for Programs of Mass Destruction (PMD), which are programs that destroy a lot of files if they are run. PMDs may be caused by a number of other viruses, such as the Saddam Hussein virus. The only problems with the George Bush virus are that it uses up a lot of your computer’s resources while it’s scanning, it never seems to find any PMDs, and it keeps switching the background color on your computer screen back and forth between yellow and orange.

This is the Sun’s pictorial of the worst album covers anywhere. Mullet Alert! Mullet Alert! Some possible motss interest as well.

You Passed the US Citizenship Test

Congratulations – you got 10 out of 10 correct!

As I’m an American citizen, I guess I should pass. However, I can envision American citizens who wouldn’t pass the test.

…to the Krispy Kreme store at Holborn. Went out to get our breakfast black bread from Brick Lane, and had a scenic walk from Bishopsgate outside the Marks and Sparks then up past Shoreditch Church and over. I expected to have a detour as they were taking down a railway bridge over Brick Lane last week, but it’s done and the detour is over. I then took the number 8 bus (complete with mother and gabbling child and two large sacks of shopping, next to me and blocking my egress), and realised that it went through Holborn. So I got off in front of the building I used to work in and walked to the shop. It was somewhat crowded, which gave me a chance to study the prices. One doughnut (they actually spell it correctly! Strike a blow for literacy!) costs

If you’re in need of some help in passing those pesky drug tests, but hesitate to use most of the products available because, well, they just aren’t realistic enough to fool the person who’s watching you pee, this product’s for you! Of course, men only for this one, but women might want to follow the link given at the top of that page. I am too fainthearted so to do, but I suppose there’s a product there for you, too.

Oh, and for persons who can’t be arsed to have real golden showers, the dehydrated urine may make a wonderful replacement. Just add water!

I get an email recipe post twice a week from a crockpot … er from a crockpot chef. Today’s entry featured a recipe that requires “24 chicken wing drummettes”.

Drummettes?

Jesus wept.

This is mostly copied from a post of mine in soc.motss, where there is a thread on regrettable desserts made with lime Jell-o. Removing the rest of the quoted thread, this is what I came up with:

When my mother, God rest her soul, was married her mother gifted her with a set of those cookbook pamphlets that you slotted into a binder. I wish I had these (I think my sister in law deep-sixed them along with the cigarette rolling machine and the decades old liquor bottles full of dried-out alcoholic gunk when she cleaned out the house). They were the perfect embodiment of 1950’s lard-using artery-clogging obesity-producing stomach churning food. James Lileks’s “Gallery of Regrettable Food” draws heavily on this type of “cuisine”, and lime-green Jell-o with lots of stuff suspended in it was a favourite of mothers of the generation in which my mother grew up.

My mother was, on the other hand, a dab hand at pies and desserts. She could whip up an apple pie at the drop of a hat, and I assure you we kept hats around the house to drop for them. Her mince pie was absolutely delicious, and her squash pie (we never did pumpkin for some reason) was so custardy and light you’d kill for another piece of it. She did Joe Froggers (Marblehead molasses cookies), and a kind of chocolate cakey thing with cream in the middle the name of which I forget but it might have been “Eskimo pies”. She could do a batch of fudge that came out exactly right and delicious without a candy thermometer sullying her kitchen. Most of her cakes were out of boxes, but they tasted really good and not at all boxlike; brownies were a particular favourite. Tollhouse cookies from scratch were so good…

As for main dishes, she excelled at roast chicken: even the organic free-range chicken they sell nowadays hasn’t half the flavour of hers. Mother Hansen’s Spaghetti and Meatballs was, while not authentically Italian, so much more flavourful and interesting to eat than the goop you buy in stores now. (I figured out how she did it and I now make Mother Hansen’s S and M myself.) She cut her own French Fries in something that looked like a torture chamber for a rat and deep fried ’em too. She made clamcakes that melted in your mouth. Stuffed pork chops and stuffed chicken breasts (when you could still get two attached at the breastbone, and not the anemic 1/2 breasts you get in the stores today). Which reminds me: her stuffing, Pepperidge Farm with potato and Bell’s Seasoning mixed in, was delightful and filling. Creamed onions (a 50’s favourite, but I made some two days ago and HWMBO really loved them) were a staple holiday treat. She baked her own beans in her own beanpot starting in the late 50’s, when the bakery no longer sold them by the quart. Stews that were so delectable along with their dumplings.

One of her few culinary faults in this category was trying to make Chinese pepper steak and putting it on Minute Rice. We preferred it when dad went to the Chinese restaurant in Salem. Another food faux-pas was meatloaves–they were always somewhat raw in the centre and burned on the bottom, while being covered in cream-of-mushroom soup. She made wonderful biscuits, but always burned them on the bottom and we never knew why. But we didn’t care when she made homemade whipped cream (nothing out of a tub or aerosol can for her) and turned the biscuits into strawberry shortcake. I try to forget her fish, as it was mostly deep fried and greasily soggy, which has sparked my lifelong abhorrence of fish. We never ate lamb (dad didn’t like it). Her one attempt at tongue was spoiled by the fact that she neglected to remove the skin (I was too young to remember but it was a family story that others remembered and passed on to us). An attempt at parsnips didn’t turn out well, nor baked eggplant.

The entirety of this reminds me not only of the regrettable foods that mothers slaved over hot stoves to make in the 50’s, but the lovely basic foods that they and we prepared from scratch and enjoyed then. If we wanted chicken marsala, or roast chicken, or a steak, or hamburgers broiled with a slice of onion in the middle, we had to make them ourselves. Today you get this stuff from stores and heat it up (and we do our share of that too). Yes, I realise that it saves time. But time is something I have a lot of now. I should spend more of it cooking for HWMBO and me, and not heating up packets of glop but cooking real food.

My mother would be 78 in October if she were alive, and thinking about the food she prepared for us and that we sometimes liked or didn’t, I’m not only hungry, but nostalgic. I need to do more cooking like that, and less of the heating up packets of Chicken-with-Leek-and-Bacon-Sauce from Tesco.

PS: If you want the recipe for Mother Hansen’s Spaghetti and Meatballs, apply within…

These are dust devils racing across the Marsscape. It’s almost 6MB long, so don’t try this with a dialup account unless you want to wait for hours. I asked HWMBO where he thought it was taken and he said the American West.

…someone had anticipated Star Trek’s most famous episode. Read it and see if you don’t agree.

One of my favourite presenters of Radio 4’s Today program slot “Thought for the Day” is Rabbi Lionel Blue. He has a wonderful, fruity (no pun) voice, and always leaves you with a smile. He takes his religion seriously, but it lies lightly on his shoulders.

This one is a particular favourite, first broadcast last week. Here’s the Real Player link.

If you don’t have Real Player, or would rather forego the pleasure of listening to Rabbi Lionel’s voice, here is the text link.

Especially in these times of internecine warfare in the Anglican Communion, his words are pearls. Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.

You’re Thailand!
Calmer and more staunchly independent than almost all those around you, you have a long history of rising above adversity.  Recent adversity has led to questions about your sexual promiscuity and the threat of disease, but you still manage to attract a number of tourists and admirers.  And despite any setbacks, you can really cook a good meal whenever it’s called for.  Good enough to make people cry.

Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

This is something that I’ve just got to get…

We had an interesting weekend, to say the least. My chum Steve, who was the founder of Electromind, the consultancy which fronts my work, turned 50 last week. So we got invites to his party in Haywards Heath. While HWMBO isn’t particularly forward when it comes to meeting new people, he agreed to come. When talking about him with Steve, I used to refer to him as “the War Department” and Steve asked whether he and his wife would ever meet The War Department. So I insisted that HWMBO come along, and I think it did him good.

We checked into a good hotel in Haywards Heath (from now on abbreviated to HH) called The Birch. It was built around a large mansion, but it now a Best Western. The room was a bit small but had a good sized bathroom for a hotel. We got a taxi around 7:20 pm and got to the party in 10 minutes.

I only knew Steve’s wife Anne and his son Geoffrey and his daughter (whose name escapes me now). Several old chums from my chequered past dropped in, but most of the partygoers were people who were Steve’s family or friends, so we sat in the corner absorbing food and drink. Most of Steve’s presents were booze (so what else do you get someone turning 50: they will be drowning their sorrows for quite a while…) but we got him a £50 Amazon gift certificate, which I thought was appropriate and which was gratefully received.

The next day, we took a train from HH to Brighton. The ticket prices were exhorbitant (£4.50 for a 5-stop trip) and when we got to Brighton, we bought return tickets from a machine, which was even more exhorbitant. The machine had no facility for taking account of one’s possessionof a Railcard, which means we paid probably about £10 more than we should have. I was stubborn and bought the tickets there rather than stop and go to the counter. HWMBO was cross and we had an awkward hour or so in Brighton.

We started out by sitting on the beach. The insides of my lower legs are sunburnt in fuller testimony of this. We then walked around, HWMBO bought a CD, and we had lunch at a delightful Italian restaurant in central Brighton. Unfortunately, the service was glacial, but the mozzarella tricolore was the best I’ve ever had.

Then we walked over to the Marina area. On the way we caught this picture, taken from the top deck of the breakwater:

I hope she wasn’t fishing for the convent’s supper.

Walked back to the train station, and by now I was very slow and limping a bit. I am getting old and this is a source of great concern for me, because HWMBO is a brisk walker. I have decided that I will just walk as fast as I can at the time and if he gets out of sight, he’ll just have to wait.

I have enough to do without getting another appetite I can’t satisfy. However, it seems that crime has invaded the world of online gaming. Virtual mugging is online now. Why bother to go out into your dangerous neighbourhood when you can get mugged in the comfort of your own home?

And no, this isn’t a fetish post (although a man with nice feet wearing flip-flops or trendy sandals will always catch my eye). As a diabetic, I have to be careful with my feet. As I get older, my circulation will get worse and the possibility that a foot injury will not heal, and will cause a toe/foot/leg to have to be amputated gets more likely. So when I returned from India, in the intervals between toilet visits, I noticed that my first toe on my right foot had a bruised toenail. In the next couple of weeks the toenail came off. I couldn’t remember anything that might have caused this. and thus was a bit concerned. It’s better now, but of course it’ll take the nail a while to grow back and there is no guarantee that it will grow back straight and smooth.

Anyway, I blamed it on tight shoes that I’d bought a while back and only wore for dressy occasions. So, I have avoided wearing them for the past couple of months and gone most places in flip-flops or my Vans. This evening my chum Steve from Electromind is having his 50th birthday party in Haywards Heath (very near Brighton on the south coast). I thought I’d wear the shoes, and duly got them out and tried them on. This time, I noticed that the right shoe was a bit odd, and when I investigated, I found that a pair of airline socks (which I often use as bedsocks) was jammed into the toe of the shoe.

I believe that when I packed for India, I put those socks in the shoes (along with other socks) in order to save space while packing. I probably never noticed that they were in the toe of the right shoe and just thought my feet were swelling or the shoe was a bit tight. The end result was that my toes were jammed up against these socks all day long and presumably becoming bruised.

Normally I wouldn’t confess this much to anyone, but this is a silliness of such massive enormity that I decided to throw caution to the winds this time and tell y’all. I hope you won’t hold it against me. I do hope that the toenail grows in correctly and that I can avoid further damage to my feet for many decades to come.

Heard this on the news this morning and could see the funny side of it. I’ve even taken up “mate” for various friends, as I’m often around Australians and others who use it (hi, Win!)

One of the great defining characteristics of an Australian is informality to everyone, great and small. I recall that a former Prime Minister (was it Bob Hawke?) put his arm around the Queen’s back to steer her toward a receiving line or something. There was a furore here, as it’s well known that the only part of the Queen you touch is her gloved hand.

Unless you’re the Duke of Edinburgh, in which case it’s your duty.

according to BBC News. I liked her, as did many others, including Labour activists. She was convinced that the 2-minute standing ovation she received when the Prime Minister mentioned her in a conference speech turned him against her.

She’s been ill for a while, and apparently she fell in her home and hit her head, thus losing consciousness, never regaining it.

It’ll be interesting to see whether Our Tone will interrupt his holiday for her funeral (assuming it is held before he and the family return from wherever they are at the moment). I suspect not, as it would be an even greater slap-in-the-face for Robin Cook’s family if he attended hers after not attending Cook’s. The newspapers and tabloids (I separate them intentionally, as I don’t believe that tabloids are newspapers within the meaning of the Act) of course, will crucify him whatever he does. If he stays away, they’ll just say that he’s again proved his callousness and vindictiveness toward former colleagues, even after death. If he goes, they’ll contrast this with his non-attendance at Cook’s funeral. Perhaps the family will spare his blushes by holding a private funeral with a memorial service to be held later. Then again, maybe they’ll maximise his embarrassment by holding a very public funeral and asking him to attend.

Newton is now going to come in for as much flak as Darwin, according to The Onion.

A sideline for the Anglicans amongst ye: there is a certain visual similarity between the “Rev’d Gabriel Burdett” and the Most Rev’d and Right Honourable Rowan Douglas Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of All England. I think that the current tendency for male Anglican bishops to sport beards means they will soon all look alike.

Taiz

The Brasilian man who was shot 4 weeks ago at Stockwell Station seems to have been the victim of a series of missed opportunities worthy of the Keystone Kops. This is one of the saddest stories around at the moment. de Menezes did not run from the police, he did not vault the gates, he did not run into the train. He walked into the station, picked up a Metro newspaper, strolled down the escalators, and sat down on the train. An officer subdued him, only to have another officer or officers pump de Menezes full of bullets. Leaks from the independent investigation have been occurring regularly. To top it all off, the police tried to get the independent investigation postponed, thus giving rise to suspicions that evidence was tampered with or lost (accidentally or deliberately). The family’s lawyer meets with the investigators tomorrow. I do hope they hold out for lots of money. Some faint calls for Sir Ian Blair (Metropolitan Police Commissioner) to resign are beginning. This one will roll on and on.

A few weeks ago we started having a visitor in the backyard. It was a squirrel. HWMBO is one of the kindest people I know (thank goodness) so he began feeding peanuts to the squirrel. He’d put a few out on the pavingstones in front of our back door, and the squirrel would come and pick each one up and carry it away. Sometimes s/he would run along our back wall; other times s/he’d jump from the wall to the roof of the church, then run to the roofpeak, down the other side, and then probably to the Rector’s garden to bury or eat the peanut.

We ran out of peanuts, bought another bag, and then the squirrel disappeared. HWMBO would get up each morning when breakfast was ready, come down, and look for his “little squirrel”. Privately I thought it might have been picked off by a cat, or by the very large wood pigeons that have discovered that if they’re quick they can pick up a peanut or two. HWMBO was very sad indeed.

So I was really happy this evening when we looked out the window and saw the squirrel coming around looking for a peanut. So, we’re joyfully feeding him/her again. I sit on the back stoop and put one peanut down on the paving. The squirrel sees it and kind of crawls over to me and picks up the peanut. Then he runs away, avoiding any marauding woodpigeons, and either hides it or eats it. I’ve discovered that cracking the peanut a bit tends to get the squirrel to eat the peanut directly, rather than taking it away.

I’m certain that some people aren’t in favour of feeding squirrels. However, watching HWMBO’s face light up when we see the squirrel drop into the back garden for his meal is worth whatever it takes.

I had to go to the Heyward Gallery today to exchange a CD/book combo we’d bought on Saturday. We saw the Rebecca Horn exhibition, and several of the pieces had some really great music along with them. So, as usual, we went into the shop, I picked up a Blue magazine, and asked the shop assistant whether there was a CD available of the music. He showed me where it was, and I bought one. We then repaired to the Starbucks across the ticket hall and I opened my prize. Imagine my surprise when I opened the CD/book and found that both CDs were labelled the same. HWMBO and I put our heads together and decided that they might be CDs 1 and 2. Of course, when we got them home they were both the same, so I exchanged the CD/book today for one with two different CDs.

After that I decided to walk around a bit, so I walked across the Thames over Waterloo Bridge, one of the loveliest places to cross the river, in my opinion. I walked up Kingsway, almost bought a pair of digital phones for the house because I’m tired of running down the stairs to answer the phone, but didn’t in the end. Got a sandwich for lunch, and then walked down High Holborn to catch the bus.

What did I see?

A Krispy Kreme shop just on the corner between the two entrances to Holborn Underground Station, that’s what.

Oh dear.

I pulled myself away and didn’t buy any. However, Holborn is near my workplace and the West End so HWMBO and I are around there quite often.

I hope that I will be able to continue to avoid the place, but fear that I’ll be back there for a half-dozen or so…

Monsignor Eugene V. Clark, once secretary to Francis Cardinal Spellman, and spokesman for the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York for many years, and until he resigned a few days ago Rector of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, has been named as co-respondent in a divorce petition filed by his longtime personal secretary’s husband. She is 33 years Clark’s junior.

You can read about it here, as long as you don’t mind registering with the New York Times.

Clark has been on record as blaming the breakdown of priestly morality to the fact that seminaries have been admitting homosexual students. Obviously, this does not apply in his case.

I met Clark when I was a RC seminarian in New York, and he always seemed too slick for his own good.

There was a joke doing the rounds about him then.

Radio announcer: “And now I’d like to introduce Monsignor Eugene V. Clark, the spokesman for the Archdiocese of New York, who will give the Church’s position on a range of modern social and political situations.”

Clark (shouts): “NO!”

Radio announcer: “Thank you, Monsignor Clark.”

The good news for Monsignor Clark is that he is 79, she is 46, and they’re still at it. It gives hope to us all.

And for those who are wondering, the Archdiocesan health plan (I have been told by friends who are covered by it) does not cover the costs of Viagra.

My friend Mark often comes over for a cup of tea in the morning. Sometimes he brings pastry. Today he came in with two tarts from Konditor and Cook, an upscale bakery here in London. It looked nice, with slices of apple and something else. I bit into one, and was intensely aware that the “something else” was actually…meat. It turned out to be salami slices.

Now I don’t know about you, but I never thought of apple and salami together as an appropriate filling for a Danish pastry. I couldn’t finish mine (neither could Mark); they ended up in the bin.

Has anyone else ever heard of this particular combination? I looked at their website but there didn’t have any description of their pastries, only their cakes.

I’m reminded of the old lady who appeared in the first season of The Vicar of Dibley (before it became the travesty it now is). She was known for unlikely combinations of ingredients in her confections, such as a lovely chocolate cake iced with Marmite.

I would hesitate to recommend this product.

Watch out if you drive dangerously near a college football stadium. They might cheer the police on.

Keep your eye on the guy in the black shorts.

For many years now, there’s been a satire around on the Church of England and how it would treat “The Cat Sat on the Mat” if it appeared in the Bible. The satire appeared again in a venue which I follow, but I thought it needed some updating to take into account current Anglican thinking on Biblical scholarship and the burning questions that are exercising the Church these days. So I wrote four more paragraphs on the subject. I posted it here and would be delighted if you’d all go read it (unless Anglicanism bores you, in which case go in peace to love and serve the Lord).

who is in New Zealand at the moment, this story (which is probably apocryphal, but funny nonetheless):

“The flight had taken off a couple of minutes previously, and the captain came onto the intercom and gave his usual welcome speech, telling passengers how long their flight would be, when they’d land, and the other routine information. He finished, and there was a click-ick noise. He’d turned off the PA switch, but it had fallen back on again and his microphone remained live.

“The pilot turned to his co-pilot and said ‘I’m so bored. My third Auckland Wellington flight today. You know what would really make this flight perfect?

“An unintelligible sound from the co-pilot was heard, and the pilot continued ‘First, I’d like a pitcher of cold beer. And then; that new blonde flight attendant. I need to initiate her into the mile high club.’

“The blonde flight attendant turned bright red, unbuckled herself from her seat and rushed up to the cockpit to tell the captain the microphone was still live. A little old lady in an aisle seat turned to her and said in a kindly voice ‘There’s no need to hurry, dear. He’s probably still drinking his beer.'”

The Travel Insider on the Web

I was idly going through my bookmarks this evening and came across this link to a blog.

The book this gentleman is writing aims to prove that Morton Smith actually forged Secret Mark himself: the very position I’ve espoused for the past 30 years.

Whenever Secret Mark crops up in gay religious newsgroups or mailing lists, there’s always a flurry of e-mails about it, using it as an example of how homosexuality was excised from the Scriptures. I’ve always countered with my belief that Morton forged it, and gotten flak for it. Now I may have more solid evidence.

The book is already listed at amazon.com and amazon.co.uk, and to order in the UK, just change “amazon.com” to “amazon.co.uk” (a little trick I picked up).

I once had a heated argument with Grant Gallup on this very issue, Perhaps I’ll send him a gift copy.

I’m delighted!!!!!

The Bulwer-Lytton Contest 2005 results are in. You’ll never think of carburetors in quite the same way.

according to Graham Norton’s new comedy show, will star Jude Law, after shagging his kids’ nanny. The finale of the first act will be the new song, “Super cad, he’s shagging nanny, isn’t he atrocious!”

Please don’t throw tomatoes.