Apres Le Deluge, Moi

In cockney rhyming slang, this part of the world would be called "the soggy" (as in soggy toast= Maine's midcoast) after the torrential downpours of the last couple of days mixed with the last of the snow melt coming from higher ground. The Megunticook river that runs about 100 yards from my house looks like a dam release gone awry and great swaths of low lying eastern, central, and southern Maine more resemble Dutch polder than the usual sub-arctic glacial meadows. More sensible fellows, like Durham Jim have been focused on looking after their property and belongings while gleeful idiots like me kicked the sump pump once to check it was working and then went and gawked at the flooding like I'd never seen water before.

I truth, I think it was my fault the rain and high water came. As an East Anglian I seem to have some sort of genetic divining rod built in.

I didn't get any happy snaps of my own, but these come from our local on line newspaper Village Soup (taken by reporters Linda Clancy and Holly Anderson).
 

Where the Megunticook enters Camden Harbor; broken town floats and fishing gear.
 

Where the Megunticook enters Camden Harbor, behind the deli.
 

Staff at MaineSport Outfitters try and stop kayaks from floating down US Route 1.
 

From Camden town landing uphill to the library.
 

Camden Public Works and the Fire Department (assisted by the Harbor Master) shore up East Dam on the inland side of town.

Oops

For those naive few out there who still feel that Tony Blair's desire to be involved in the invasion of Iraq had nothing to do with hubris around his ability to 'rein in' the worst of George W. and his fervent desire to place the Atlantic Alliance above all other foreign policy concerns and had everything to do with WMD, human rights, international law, and the flouting of the UN by Saddam, reflect upon the rapid switch in position of Britain's Attorney General on the legality of the war once it became clear that there would be no second UN resolution:

BBC NEWS Election 2005: Iraq war legal advice published

The gnome with the red hair and a pint opposed this foolish diversion from fighting Al Qadea from the get go:
 

This Is Not A Baseball Blog

Despite recent appearances this is not transforming into a baseball blog. With that caveat however I did want to take a moment and reflect on something Mrs. Weasel said last night (indeed, it is one of her regular baseball sayings). As Mike Timlin ascended the mound, he was greeted from couch left with a hearty cheer of "Here comes Penis Head!"

You be the judge: does Mike Timlin's noggin truly look like the male member?
 

Mike Timlin
 

A Penis

Those Wonderful Words of The Levant

I think my lifelong interest in the Middle East, Eastern Med and North Africa was sparked by the amazingly bobbly words that spring forth from arabic, turkish, and other regional languages. Looking in the fridge at work today I saw a tub of 'baba ganoush', a name that sparked mild rapture in my geek soul.But far and beyond foodstuffs, the remergence of Walid Jumblat as a force in Lebanese politics has sent me off into paroxysms of joy. Such fun to say, "Walid Jumblat". My dad is responsible for this mindless and inane glee I think as he liked to sing songs along the lines of "Oooooh Walid Jumblat, stick it up your jumper..." etc.

If he had sung about Dr Hastings Banda of Malawi things could have been very different.
 

Walid and his favorite guns

Secret Instigator of Chaos

From the 'Orrible 'Erald, Boston's least appealing fish-wrap:

"ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. - As far as David Ortiz is concerned, fiery Tampa Bay Devil Rays manager Lou Piniella was responsible for the pair of benches-clearing incidents and the six ensuing ejections yesterday at Tropicana Field due to the poor behavioral example he sets for his young team. (Ortiz calls out Piniella as culprit...)"

David, David, David. How naive can you be? I know they brought Edgar Renteria onto the team to hand feed you apple sauce (did anyone else see that freakish dugout moment?) much like great racing stallions are calmed by having a goat sleep in the stall with them, but don't let that distract you from the true culprit. David, it was the most evil man in baseball, the septegenarian Eric Cartman, the inscurutable frog faced former Red Sox hero turned hired gun for whoever needs a bench counterweight.

Don Zimmer is the reason the Red Sox wind up in brawls. CURSE YOU, ZIM! DAOWWWW!
 

Zimmer provoking Red Sox ire by chewing on one of Ted Williams' frozen turds

History Friday: Hammer of the Steppes

 


All hail the heroic liberators from the east and from the west! Up yours, Nazis! Uncle Joe, FDR, and Winnie will shove that master race nastiness right up your jacksie!

April 21st, 1945: Red Army enters outskirts of Berlin
Wait a minute: that was yesterday. Shit. Oh well, I suppose we'll have to go with the 5th anniversary of this:

April 22nd, 2000: Swat team grabs tug-of-love Cuban boy. A real human tragedy, but a beautiful Ry Cooder produced soundtrack. Apparently they tried the same thing with Mondale but Mrs. Mondale locked the closet door, thus thwarting the Feds.
 

Blair's To Lose

Followers of the sage Mondale or the less mall-centric among my American chums are probably aware that Britain is currently in the throes of a general election, with voting set for May 5th. As the above title suggests, Tony Blair and the Labour Party entered the campaign with a commanding lead in house seats ifs not the opinion polls and the election is in essence a referendum on Blair's leadership: from his presiding over a strong and vibrant economy (hooray) to his ill-considered support for George Bush's blundering distraction from fighting Al Qadea by invading Iraq (boo). So far the election has been a snooze fest: seemingly very little discussion of foreign policy or Europe and much harrumphing about immigration and the National Health Service from all concerned.

Many Americans have glanced at British politics and whistfully observed that we seem to have a multi-party system rather than a duoploly on power. Alas, while the make up of the House of Commons reflects a fairly broad range of regional and national parties, since the late 1920s (not including wartime or emergency coalition governments) power has flip-flopped between the Conservative and Labour parties.

As a Labour Party man (despite getting kicked out of the Wymondham branch for "lazyness"- I was in high school! What did they want?) since early political conciousness set in I was concerned in the abstract with this situation but none too troubled by it as long as my mob was half of the duopoly. Besides, coming off the back of the Thatcher/Major years a decade ago I felt the niceities of electoral reform were a luxury that had to wait until the horrible Tories were vanquished.

Now it seems I'm going to have to change my tune. Apparently the Labour Party and I have drifted so far apart that I'm now a Liberal Democrat Party ideologue! This shock came my way courtesy of a great little website that allows you to answer a set of belief and policy questions and then compares your responses with the platforms of the major parties. My results are below:

Your expected outcome:

Labour

Your actual outcome:

Labour -24
Conservative -43
	Liberal Democrat 68
UK Independence Party 0
	Green 52

You should vote: Liberal Democrat

"The LibDems take a strong stand against tax cuts and a strong one in favour of public services: they would make long-term residential care for the elderly free across the UK, and scrap university tuition fees. They are in favour of a ban on smoking in public places, but would relax laws on cannabis. They propose to change vehicle taxation to be based on usage rather than ownership."

If you want to see how you would line up at the British ballot box take the test at Who Should You Vote For?

Now the reason this has converted me to electoral reform is that the party most akin to my beliefs is currently running at about 21% in the polls (compared to around 40% for Labour and 32% for the Conservatives) but will not get 21% of the seats in Parliament. Not fair! Still, at least the Lib Dems are not as hard done by as the perennial nearly-men of the silly (and very real) Official Monster Raving Loony Party

A Genuinely Funny Commercial!

 

Damon without flowing tresses and beard
Last night during the Sox/Jays game I saw the Johnny Damon and Theo Epstein Dunkin' Donuts commercial. I haven't been able to find video of it (and I suspect, perhaps wrongly, that it may be a regional New England spot) but as described by Dunkin' Donuts:
"In the 30-second television commercial promoting the iced lattes, Theo discovers Johnny concealing a balding head with a long-haired wig. He is shocked to learn that the centerfielder's signature locks aren't his real hair. When Johnny implores Theo not to reveal his secret to anyone, the savvy GM slyly glances at Johnny's Chocolate Dipped Iced Latte. Damon gives in to the persuasive GM and hands over his iced latte only to bump into him in the stands later in the day. After confidently saying to Epstein, "So, we're cool, right?" Theo replies, "I'm still a little thirsty. Johnny reluctantly hands Theo his second latte to ensure silence and a safely kept secret."

Dunkin Donuts Press Room

its very rare that I get excited about a commercial, but I had to run and tell Mrs. Weasel about this last night. Any leads on where I can get video of this would be greatly appreciated.

Pope Ratzo I Announced: Nuns Go Wild

 

"Beads! Over here! Throw Beads! Woooooo!"

The History Channel International Rocks My World

 

An Artist's rendering of some of my ancestors

Until recently I only had three reasons to push the remote into the triple figures of digital cable; BBC America, VH1 MegaHits and Fox Soccer Channel. It seemed like a lot of money to shell out for Fawlty Towers re-runs, sporadic footage of Norwich City, and fleeting glimpses of the new Gorillaz video so I was getting ready to be a grown-up and cancel the service. I guess Adelphia must have read my mind, because in among the various televangelists and turkey stranglers that pass for premium channels up here in the north woods they decided to bulk out my viewing choices and keep my fingers tapping north of Animal Planet (Ch.070).

Surfing, skateboarding, and snow sports channel? Check. Sundance Channel? Check. NFL channel? Check. Maine PBS+? Check. The Filipino Channel? Check (whaaa?).History Channel International? CH-CHECK!

Aside from the fact that their name sounds like a gathering of Marxist historians, unlike its domestic counterpart the HCI actually acknowledges that there is more to history than the American Civil War, the building of the Brooklyn Bridge, the work of plagarist Stephen Ambrose, and the 39-45 war. My degree is in modern history, and while at college I further specialized in the Middle East and Estern Europe so I am sadly hazy on the doings of medieval history, despite growing up surrounded by ancient cathedrals and castles. Good ole HCI inflamed my nerd passions with a show on the post-1066 wanderings of the Normans; I was in geek heaven. And then! Wonder of wonders, the Discovery Science Channel (just a few channels down) had an hour on archaeological explorations of Viking settlements in Britain and Ireland! Even the flu-ridden Mrs. Weasel rolling her eyes in patient bemusement couldn't disturb my reverie. Every now and then I would exclaim something like "that comb is 1200 years old, and some ancient viking used to comb his hair with it!" with reverent awe but most of the time I was absorbed, watching the path that my red hair, high cheekbone genes took from Denmark to Scotland to Eastern England all those years ago. Add into that my paternal line's heavy set, big nosed, and beetle browed Norman traits from the previous show as well as mental sidebars on the waves of invasion and immigration (Angles, Saxons, Dutch, Huguenots, Irish, etc) and I was away in a reverie of genetics, migration patterns, and the randomness of human reproduction. Ahh, joy.

Unrelated footnote: Do you think the BBC isn't taking the Conclave of Cardnials to elect a new Pope seriously? Todays website headline was "Vatican smoke shows no pope deal" and then offers you a go on the "Vaticam". I'm waiting for one of the reporters to describe the cardinals' quarters as the Po-tel. I love that whacky, protestant BBC!

History Friday: Hands Across The Ocean (Literally)

 

Brancaster Staithe, Norfolk Coast, England
I feel that there has been a bickering animosity creep into my posting and commenting recently and that Transatlantic relations are growing strained and annoying. Therefore, in an effort to make amends I thought I would step aside from the historical events of great import covered in much greater depth elsewhere and recall a story of intimate interest to both East Anglians and (in the words of my high school song) Pilgrim Fathers' Sons:

April, 15th 1953: Britain honours American hero
"Reis Leming, a 22-year-old US airman stationed in Britain, has been presented with the George Medal. He rescued 27 people in East Anglia during the winter floods. The award, the first given to a foreigner during peacetime, was presented by Home Secretary Sir David Maxwell Fyfe.

The night of 31 January 1953 will never be forgotten by those who survived it. The combined effects of hurricane force winds and a high tide took sea levels to eight feet above their predicted levels.

Mr Leming was stationed at a US airbase at Sculthorpe when the tempest hit nearby Hunstanton*. He ventured out alone on a small rubber raft in the pitch black and managed to save some of those clinging onto rooftops. Many of those trapped by the floods were families of American servicemen living off base in South Beach Road.

After several hours in the raging storm he himself collapsed with severe hypothermia." (*Pronounced "Hun'stun")

Good job, Reis. The coastline of East Anglia, being mostly low lying beach and marsh backed my soft dunes and low-lying fenland is breathtakingly beautiful and at the same time a spectacularly terrible place to build. "What were my ancestors thinking?" I often ask myself when I see a road crumbling into nothingness, or the landward side of a coastal village suddenly become beachfront property. While serving with a helicopter squadron in the 1970s my dad was called upon to stem the breach with sand bags and mud walls on more than one occasion but nothing on the scale of 1953. Still, when your neighbour's house falls in the ocean its probably not a good idea to lay that new patio.

The big storm of 1953 was supposed to be a 250 year event; a freak occurence. However, with the change in global climate and the (sad but wise) decision of the British government not to enhance existing coastal defences along the North Sea in order to avoid extrapolating environmental damage further along the shoreline I suspect that the odd niche we humans have carved out of sand, peat, and marram grass will one day be under water. Go see it while you can; it is simple but it is breathtakingly, achingly, yearningly beautiful.

Like Roaches, They Will Survive A Nuclear War

 

Sometimes curious synergies present themselves from disparate news sources. I was going to blog a congressional report about Haliburton overcharges from projects in Iraq when while searching for supporting material I stumbled across this gem:
Beetle boost for Bush and friends
After checking the date to make sure I hadn't slipped back in time to April 1 (or indeed that it wasn't some obscure Finnish japster holiday; tickleherringjharl or something) I read with increasing irrational glee that:

"Two US scientists have paid tribute to their favourite politicians by naming three species of beetle after them. President George Bush, Vice-President Dick Cheney and Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld were all honoured....The three beetles who now bear their names are among 65 newly discovered species which feed on mould. "

The article continues:

"Others were named after the scientists' wives, the Star Wars villain Darth Vader and the Greek words for 'ugly' and 'having prominent teeth'*. But Mr Wheeler, who is now head of entomology at London's Natural History Museum, said the decision to name three beetles after politicians had nothing to do with physical features.

'One has to be creative with names,' he told the BBC news website. 'We are two of the only politically conservative scientists around, and we decided to stick our necks out.'"

Of course, as conservative scientists they believe that these beetles sprang forth from the loins of God within the last 5000 years. Rock of ages my friends, not the ages of rocks.

This all neatly segues into my original found story of the morning, courtesy of the Federation of American Scientists' Project on Government Secrecy, concerning the parasitic nature of Dick Cheney's company Haliburton:
DOD Audits: Halliburton Overcharges Top $212 Million
"Last month, Rep. Waxman disclosed that Defense Department auditors found $108 million in fuel-related overcharges by Halliburton for work in Iraq under Task Order 5, one of several Halliburton task orders for the importation of fuel into Iraq. Rep. Waxman also revealed that although Halliburton was paid in significant part from Iraqi oil proceeds in the Development Fund for Iraq (DFI), the Administration — acting at Halliburton’s request — concealed these overcharges from the international auditors charged by the United Nations with monitoring the expenditures from the DFI."

Those slugs. Sorry, beetles.
(*The Tony Blair beetle!)

The Possibilities Are Endless...

 

Checking the weather on MSNBC this morning the following headline caught my eye: "Rush to destroy virus".*

My immediate, unconcious thought was "Limbaugh?"

Now that would be some good community service for the chubby drugster. Sadly though, this revelation shows that I lack sufficient ironic hipness to hang with the Brooklyn crowd as the word "Rush" inspires images of fat radio bores rather than an arch and arcane essay about Geddy Lee.

Sigh.
(*When I first posted this at 9am, MSNBC hadn't added the word "Labs" to the story tickler. It makes much more sense now and is consequently much less amusing).

Umm Excuse Me, That's *sniff* Wrong.

 

I am such a frigging geek. As some of you may know there is an election campaign under way in Britain. As a Brit and a political junkie (although not on the scale of Walter Mondale) I take inordinate pleasure in the existence of the BBC News website, especially their election coverage.

Last Friday I was meandering through the list of constituencies (akin to a House District, Ameri-chums) reading about the history and political trends in various places I have lived. I was reading the in-depth review of Norfolk North when I stumbled across an error. I imediately contacted the BBC:

"Country: US (Late of Norfolk)
COMMENTS: In your description of the North Norfolk constituency on your election website you wrote: "The seat itself covers a large area, curling around the top bend of East Anglia.... The pace of life is slow, and the inhabitants, of whom a good many are pensioners, have seen little change since the days of Arthur Ransome and his Swallows and Amazons"

Swallows and Amazons is mostly set in the Lake District; Coot Club is Ransome's Broads entry into the series.

Thanks
Dan B, Pedantic North Norfolk partisan."

Setting aside the fact that I have deep genetic and emotional roots in a region described as slow paced and stuffed with the nearly-dead (I was back there last summer: fair enough comment there, Mr. BBC) why should I care that they attributed the wrong book to my region? Because they are the bloody BBC! The anchor of civilisation! The elegant bandage that keeps the vicious beating heart of anarchy bound up in the chest cavity of humanity! Or similar! If the BBC is wrong, there can be no moral absolutes... Luckily they wrote back to say they had fixed it:

"Dear Dan
Pedantry is good - in my book anyhow. Thanks for spotting that one. These slips do happen, I'm afraid.
Regards

Dominic Casciani
BBC News general election website"

Hooray for me! Hooray for the BBC! All is now once again right in the world and I can sleep at night (until the next error strikes...)

Holy Bollocks, Batman!

Somebody somewhere loves yellow and green. A beautiful New England spring day of gardening capped by a Grand National victory for the 8-1 Headgehunter (mounting a yellow and green clad jockey), picked by our very own Walter Mondale on the eve of the race (my horse, Forest Gunner, managed a respectable 5th: see how your pick finished here). WM (based on his traditional wager) would have walked 80 pounds richer. Then this gem:

"Manchester United Boss Sir Alex Ferguson refused to speak to his club's TV station or the press after his side's shock 2-0 defeat at Norwich."
Norwich 2-0 Man Utd
Sir Alex, you are an arse, sir. May your miserable Scottish behind rot in the damp North Western air. Norwich City, bit late to start lads but I'll cherish you until the day I die. Even the Blue Jays pummelling David F*****g Wells and the Sox can't take the gloss off.

Spring! It could be worse..... I'll get the beers in.

The Greatest Horse Race In The World

 

Despite the temptations of the ex-pat lifestyle, its very rare for me to become misty eyed and nationalistic about anything other than soccer. However one thing I do feel that the Brits do better than the Americans is horse racing, specifically by having the horses jump over things. The apogee of jumping-over-things-racing, or National Hunt racing as it is more eloquently known, is the annual Grand National. The Grand National is held at Aintree racecourse in Liverpool and is a marathon 4 miles and 4 furlongs 30 jump test of horse and rider like no other.

Filed with pageantry, anxious family members clutching betting slips, needlessly complicated form guides, stirring coverage on the BBC (complete with heroic movie music a la "Chariots of Fire"), and that special spring green that doesn't exist outside of the British Isles, Grand National Day was always one of my favorite simple pleasures on the English calendar. Sadly, with the lack of legal betting opportunities here in the States interest in horse racing is minimal and even the greatest meetings in the USA seem to lack something by being held on the flat on tracks that seem more reminiscent of the Dubai World Cup than the slightly shabby, decidedly seedy, highly worldly, very enjoyable National Hunt circuit. For the 10th year in a row, I won't get to see the race.

There will be forty runners this year: pick your horse using the tried and tested "Oooh I like the jockey's colours" method here: The Grand National. Although also the choice of the BBC's top racing tipster, I'm going for Forest Gunner because my paternal grandfather was an artilleryman from the edge of Epping Forest in East London (see how this works?). My second, outsider, no-hope, I'll put a quid on it for a laugh horse is the 100-1 shot Europa, because the jockey will be wearing yellow and green, the same as Norwich City FC.

Giddyup.

Apparently the Force Causes Asthma and Acne

 

Time to take a break for a second from dying fundamentalists, politics, baseball, baseball, baseball, and baseball as Friend Richard has just sent me a link to the story of the century.

From the bloggingLA site: Star Wars Line Update
"Since I know everyone is dying to find out what's going on with the Star Wars line I've taken it upon myself to read through the entire thread at liningup.net as well as call them several times now and here's the facts of the moment:
1) The Star Wars line is still outside of Graumans.
2) Graumans has confirmed that Star Wars will not be playing at Graumans.
3) Arclight has confirmed that Star Wars will be playing at Arclight.
4) The Star Wars line is pissed because they think Star Wars should be at Graumans, not at Arclight, so they are not moving the line in protest.
5) They also don't see any reason to move the line, because someone who logs onto the Arclight website will have just as much chance to get good seats as they will waiting outside for a month and a half.
6) Arclight is trying to convince the Star Wars line to move to Arclight because, well, the movie is actually playing there and not at the theater they are waiting at.
7) The Star Wars nerds in line are nothing is they aren't determined and are refusing to move the line.
8) There's talk of trying to get Graumans to have a single midnight showing of the movie for charity (between you and me, that's NEVER going to happen).
9) No word from Graumans how they feel about a line of people outside of their theater for a movie they won't be showing."

Boy, are these folks going to be pissed off when they realize Lucas pulls a big switcharoo and makes Jar Jar Binks into Darth Vader.

If you want to stare in rapt fascination at a bunch of people whose obbessions and compulsive behaviors are even wierder and esoteric than our own, the people standing on line to watch the next Star Wars episode have their very own full service website here, at LiningUp.net

If only we could find away to unite the Trekkies, Star Wars Geeks, and those troubling Tolkien people who have their ears surgically reshaped we might have a chance at a vital political opposition in this country. Totally insane and filled with fantasies but different from the Democrats by being vital.

Normal Service Has been Resumed

 

Goddamn Red Sox. At least it wasn't at Fenway after the championship celebrations, but it was pretty much pre-ordained that the Yankees would win last night from the second the Sox finished celebrating on October 20th 2004.

In the field the Sox were the bad old bumbling weak-armed flat foots that looked so funny on the highlight reels all winter, but leads to increased sales of Zantac across New England the rest of the year. The hitting looked rusty, especially Papi, whose swing more resembled a golf drive than a fence clearing home run. And the pitching; I swear I have witnesses that can testify I bemoaned the arrival of Wells from the outset, and not just because he resembles a corrupt town official I battled for years on the radio in the last town I called home. In Red Sox nation, asterix don't usually signify disputed records but rather denote new middle names given to select players by fans; David F*****g Wells. He looked as if he'd been found out last night, all those years of defying his grotesque physique and lack of athleticism catching up with him over four innings. And of course it comes home to roost as soon as he joins the Bosox. I know its early days, that everyone has a bum start at least once a season (even NASCAR driver's head on a stretched chicken's body-man Randy Johnson) but why the hell did it have to be the MLB opener, at Yankee Stadium, against Chicken Man, in front of the Donald, with Ass-Rod strutting about as if HIS team had won the World Series? A balk? Jesus. And how do you hit Jason Giambi twice? He's half the target area he was 12 months ago. Enough already. Its a marathon, not a sprint. On the upside, Kevin Millar just makes me smile, either as a parody of a Owen Wilson character off the field, or with his "I'm a worried old man" face at the plate.
 

Guys? Err, guys, I'm stuck. A hand, guys? Guys?

Here's what the 'Orrible 'Erald as to say about last night:
Wells opens with stinker

Furthermore, Johnny Damon should have his mouth stapled shut:
"The Idiot thing kind of took on a life of its own," the king of the Red Sox Idiots, Johnny Damon, told Spring Fever. "Idiots have a whole different image now. Being the village idiot doesn't seem so bad anymore. Green Day even has that song, 'American Idiot.' The whole idiot concept has just taken off."
Truly, not an idiot but a moron. Still, he's our moron.
 

I....smell.....HOTDOGS!!!!!