Mmm BBQ

Boy, one of the things I miss about Tennessee is the BBQ. I like me some BBQ. I’ve introduced the Vol-in-Law to BBQ, too – and I think he loves it more than I do.

So I told the Vol-in-Law that blogger Nashville Knucklehead was opening a BBQ joint.

ViL: But, it’s in Nashville, right?
Me: Yeah
ViL: That’s not much help.
Me: Well, no, but he wrote so impressively about the BBQ, I think it’s got to be good. Otherssaid it was good. We can go the next time we’re there.
ViL: Do you think it will be better than the BBQ at the petrol station in Lawrenceburg? (I think he means Leoma)
Me: I don’t know.
ViL: Well, that was good BBQ. And the last time we had BBQ in Nashville it wasn’t that good.

Anyway, I’m excited. Good luck to you, Knucklehead! Happy prospects to Mothership BBQ:

Mothership BBQ is at 2806 Columbine Place. That’s in Berry Hill, about a block behind Sam and Zoe’s.

Make a wish

The Make-a-Wish foundation grants wishes to kids with life threatening illnesses. I think we’ve all heard the heartwarming stories of meeting celebrities the trip to Disneyworld, etc.

But little Harrison Richard, who is recovering from a kidney tumor, used his wish to perform a public service to all Londoners.

Yes, little Harrison operated the giant crusher that struck the first blow against that municipal mistake, the Greater London Council Island block – once an office building for council workers.

Now it’s a little boy’s dream come true. What a wish!

Harrison said: “I don’t mind which is the next building I knock down as long as it is old and ugly like this one,”

It will take another 16 weeks to take down this montrosity. In the meantime, Harrison has the demolition outfit with hardhat and boots and was given a toy model of the crusher he used to strike a blow against urban ugliness.

Photo thanks to Derelict London.

The privileges of adulthood

VolMom is a gardener par excellence. She regularly wins awards in Lawrenceburg. People go and have their bridal photos in her yard.

She regularly involved me and VolBro in the gardening. But mostly in the weeding and mulching not in the decision-making. Whenever some fanciful plant caught my eye in the gardening catalogs, she’d always have some reason to dismiss it. If the flower was some other-worldly blue, she’d point out that a filter had been used. If it had a spectacular giant bloom, she’d point out that it was trick of perspective.

I always wanted to plant allium, the large ornamental onion, and VolMom always said no. In seed catalogs, it was usually pictured in full bloom with a small, blonde child standing next to it, and the kid always a little shorter the top of the seed head. They look like big starry lollipops.

With adulthood comes responsibility, working and paying bills and stuff. But with it also comes the power of decision-making. Ice cream sandwich and a beer for breakfast? Why not. Stay up late, watch a movie full of swearing and bare breasts. I can if I feel like it. Alliums in the garden. Absolutely.

This is a little “arty-shot” of my Globemaster allium.

VolMom wouldn’t let me have garden statuary either. And do I have some now? Is my garden a sculpture park – an outdoor museum of gnomes and lantern boys and concrete deer? No. Sadly the Vol-in-Law has put his foot down. But I am allowed to hang pictures in the garden.

Found and purchased art

Traditional folk-art fence decoration

Part of a slate and mirror mosaic, which in its making resulted in a trip to the emergency room with glass in my eye

UPDATE: The Today Programme – the morning news radio for the intelligentsia and policy makers of Britain did a little feature on sneaking a garden gnome into the Chelsea Flower Show – the creme of garden shows in England.

test

tap, tap, tap. is this thing on?

Young’s Brewery to close

I heard on the news today that Young’s Brewery, just up the road in Wandsworth Town, is shutting down its local operations after 425 of brewing on the Wandle. Young’s will move its operations to Bedfordshire.

That’s a shame. I’m glad we took the tour last summer.

Ninety people will lose their jobs. The dray horses, still used to deliver beer locally, will be retired. I wonder if that retired as in lovely pasture in Surrey or retired as in glue?

And what will happen to the other critters that live on site, like the brewery cats. Perhaps the Vol-in-Law will let me take one in.

Vee haff vays of making you laff

It’s a commonly held notion, especially in the UK, that Germans have no sense of humor. I can attest that they do, but it is very different. It’s a direct sense of humor, stark and pitiless, but Germans have often made me crack up to rib-aching, eye-watering, hysteria. On one occasion, my friend Vol A and I were in Mexico and had met up with a couple of German fellows. They crossed the roads of Veracruz without much regard for the Mexican traffic. When we rebuked them for their lack of caution, they said “You must be careful, but in Germany we have nationally funded health insurance.” (Maybe you had to be there.)

Stewart Lee is one of my favorite British comedians. He’s incredibly irreverant and one of the geniuses behind the downright blasphemous Jerry Springer, the Opera. (It puts The Da Vinci Code into the heretical shade). He’s written an article about the cultural chasm between British (or anglophone) humor and its Germanic cousin.

The good folks at The Guardian, where the article appears, have kindly gathered up some German jokes for your reading pleasure. Here’s a sample:

Tabea Rudolph, 26, Stuttgart

There are problems in the woods. The animals of the forest are always drunk, so the fox decides to ban alcohol.

The following day, the fox spies a rabbit hanging out of a tree, clearly wasted. The fox ticks him off, and carries on his way. But the next day he sees the rabbit drunk again, and gives him a final warning.

The next day, the fox does his rounds and there’s no sign of the rabbit, but he notices a straw sticking out of a stream. Wondering what it is, the fox scoops it out, only to find a very drunk rabbit on the other end of it. “How many times do I have to tell you that animals of the forest aren’t allowed alcohol?” says the Fox.

“We fishes don’t give a toss what the animals of the forest aren’t allowed to do,” says the rabbit

The Commons

So tonight I was drinking at the Houses of Parliament, an annual drinks for the Wandsworth Conservatives. I can’t say it was the best time I’ve had with them, but it was fun. The main disappointment was that we were at the terrace bar, but the weather was dreadful, windy and rainy. Thus we couldn’t enjoy what must normally be one of the best views in London.

Highlights of the evening include smoking on the terrace – which is against the law at the very place where they make the laws. Sure I only got three quarters of the way thru the cigarette before I got told off by the wait staff. But it was the ultimate in petty rebellion.

I also passed the current Health Secretary Patricia Hewitt in the hallway. But I’m dreadful at spotting celebrities of any sort, it was the Vol-in-Law who recognised her. For my American readers, this might be a little like spotting Michael (?) Chertoff. They are both doing a heckuva job, according to their equally odious leaders.

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Drought order

Regular readers may be aware of my ire at the hosepipe ban – keen gardeners such as myself are unable to use hosepipes or sprinklers to water our lawns or gardens.

Now some water companies are getting even tougher – disallowing the use of water for certain commercial activities – such as watering golf courses, and using piped mains water for car washes, and window cleaning. The Environment Agency (which advises and regulates on such matters) put pressure on my water company to request a drought order. Thames Water refused. Indeed, the right call since reservoirs are at over 90 per cent capacity.

But ever since the drought order has been in place, it’s been raining. Raining, with brief moments of hazy sunlight, then drizzle, then rain. My water butt is full and overflowing. My flower pots are saturated. And I’m missing warmth and sunshine so much I think I’m coming on with Spring onset Seasonal Affective Disorder or SO-SAD.

Last one on the ark, rescind the drought order.

Lordi, Lordi, Hurray the Finns!

A Finnish “horror-rock” band Lordi won the Eurovision song contest last night. Fantastic!

Lordi’s masks, armour and jets of flame attracted widespread attention before the contest – but many thought they were too outlandish to win.

Too outlandish to win?? Restraint is no way to win the Eurovision song contest. After all, the Ukrainian winner of a few years back won on the back of furs and whips.

For my American readers – the unitiated to Eurovision – let me try to explain. The Eurovision song contest was set up many years ago to promote harmony through song. But I suspect it was really an attempt to showcase French and German pop, which really cannot compete outside (or even in) their home market with British, Irish and American pop. We anglophones are the royalty of rock, the princes of pop.

The contest has changed a lot over the years. Yes, it’s still cheesy pop, scantily clad chanteuses, and inscrutable English lyrics sung with incomprehensible foreign accents. (Most songs are sung in English, except for French entrants who I think are required by law to sing in their native tongue). It’s still a lot of prancing around to bizarrely choreographed routines, but now it’s even more so. Since the fall of Communism, Eastern European countries – the Latvias, Moldovas and even Armenias are swarming the competition. And let me tell you, nobody does cheesy like the Eastern Europeans. Their cheesiness is just so thoroughly earnest. There’s no smug self-awareness, no post-modernist irony, they just go out there and sing and dance their painfully cheesy best. It’s awesome.

The only downside to the new entrants is that all countries participating get a vote. The vote used to be some kind of rigged set up by judges from each of the countries who would swap votes in regional blocks. Now the Eurovision Song Contest promoters have cottoned on to the premium-rate phone in – and citizens from all over Europe can vote in to support their favorite act – though not for their own country’s entrant.

People still vote regionally, often overcoming past conflicts. For example, Croats will vote overwhelmingly for Serbs. Last night Lithuanians voted strongly for the Russian song “Never let you go.” (See video complete with creepy imperialist lyrics and wife-beater t-shirt). So perhaps I underestimate either the Baltic sense of irony or the effect of pop on global harmony.

But with all these countries voting, the part of the show where the votes are tallied – which used to be the best bit has now become tedious and over-long. Although there are only 24 acts in the final, there must be about 40 countries eligible to vote.

And last night, those 40 countries overwhelmingly supported the Finland’s entry, a Eurovision first. Check out their Eurovision entry and the winning song’s official video (complete with cheerleaders.) I must say Lordi look especially incongruous holding their winners’ bouquets and monster masks. Congrats to ’em.

T-tags: lordi, Eurovision, Video, Pop, Rock,Finland

It’s English

I see the Senate has passed a measure which would make English the official language in the US. I guess it was inevitable in today’s anti-immigration political climate, but in a way it makes me kind of sad.

In a world of official state songs, flowers, trees and critters of all descriptions, I thought it was cool that the language was allowed to evolve naturally. English survives and thrives because it is peraps the most adaptable, flexible, expressive and precise language on the planet.

What’s next? An American Academy of Language determining our usage like the French Academie Francaise? I hope not.

La première mission lui a été conférée dès l’origine par ses statuts. Pour s’en acquitter, l’Académie a travaillé dans le passé à fixer la langue, pour en faire un patrimoine commun à tous les Français et à tous ceux qui pratiquent notre langue.

Aujourd’hui, elle agit pour en maintenir les qualités et en suivre les évolutions nécessaires. Elle en définit le bon usage.Elle le fait en élaborant son dictionnaire qui fixe l’usage de la langue, mais aussi par ses recommandations et par sa participation aux différentes commissions de terminologie

I think this translates* as: our role is to be a bunch of hidebound academics who fix the French language to some point in the past so that it becomes less and less relevant as time goes on.

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* I am very disappointed that the Academie Francaise website doesn’t have a little US or UK flag in the corner translating the site into English – the current lingua franca.