Doc, It Hurts When I Go SHUT THE @#$% UP!

SO THE LUNCH of the day is another take on poutine and curd, this time fries with cheese and gravy topped with chicken bits and a fried egg. To quote the Bard: Dude.

Adding a fried egg changes everything. This is one of the reasons I just don't get people who don't eat eggs. Being absent the ability to marvel at what a huge difference adding an egg to this already stupendous creation simply does not compute. Then again, I don't know if fries with gravy is something the good Doc would eat. We do have some other things in common.

For instance, a grasp of logical argumentation. I was very nearly put off my lunch when a kid selling something in a spray bottle door to door showed up. Being that we do not take door to door solicitations, I very politely informed him, before wasting any more of his valuable time, "Sorry, we don't take door-to-door solicitations."

He objected: "But, you don't have any signs!"

I rejoined: "Well, we still don't."

He argued: "Well, maybe you should get some signs!" And then stalked off as if I had offended him.

This is not a public place. This is our house, private property, ours, bought and being diligently paid for. There is no statute requiring me to display any kind of device explaining "HEY, @#$%-HEAD, YOU DON'T LIVE HERE," so that people don't mistakenly wander by and aquit themselves of the facility. Nor does the law require that I implace plaquards explaining that any random shithead that wanders by is not necessarily welcome to come up and knock on my door and insult me just because he's an idiot who took a crappy job because he's a loser and his life sucks. The law is simply not that specific. The law will support the notion that if you do come to my door and I tell you to go away, you should just go away.

But I effed at the kid for a coupla minutes to let off steam (with the door closed, is how polite I am), and finished making the meal. Final analysis: Poutine 10, Shithead 0.


The movie of the day is not The African Queen, which has just been released on DVD and Blue Ray. The review from one of the good flk at the Onion AV Club missed (or simply neglected) what I think is a key component of the film, which is a rising tide of bloodlust in the character being played by Ms. Hepburn. Which is something I could easily be mis-reading, or being overly cynical about, but the mission lady seems so blithe, so sweet, even tender in her increasingly rapt attempts to convince her counterpart ship's pilot that what they raaally ought to do, raaaaally, is rig the boat up so they can go blow those gaddamned German sons-a-bitches straight to hell! Raaaalllly!


So I'm watching this instead. I mean, it's not like this is a matter of choice, The African Queen is neither on right now or available for me to peruse on DVD right now. And it's not like this film isn't guilty of the occasional bloody-minded gesture. Hell, it opens with footage of Steve McQueen driving a gorgeous little black Porsche through the French countryside (and a small village) before stopping to re-visit the site of a fatal crash that claimed the life of a friend and colleague in the previous year's contest. But beyond all that, to me, it's just an hour and a half* of guys racing these gorgeous race cars around one of the most famous and demanding courses in the world. And I just think it's beautiful.

Raaaaaaaaally I do.

*I ususally claim this as two hours of guys racing beautiful cars, but after the opening fifth business, and granted some cruchy-chewy business in the upper third, it's really more like 90 minutes. Raaaaaaally it is.