Cheesecake

So how much will Buddy hate me for this photo (and publishing it on the Internet)?

Kids these days

Last week I was joking with a colleague about the futility of consulting with youth (much to the horror of other colleagues). I told him that all they ever say is “There’s nothing to do, nowhere to go.” We had a good snicker over that.

The colleague in favor of consulting with the yoof-of-today hadn’t heard my earlier summation and proudly pronounced that some research she was involved in with youth rioters had gotten to the root of the problems. It wasn’t just the racism and the poverty – no, they also didn’t have enough youth facilities.

Well, no wonder the windows were smashed and the cars were burned.

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Tonight the Vol-in-Law and watched a programme called Why Kids Kill.

As it turns out, the reason is: there’s nothing to do and nowhere to go.

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Chores. That’s what these kids are lacking. If they’re bored, if they’ve no place to go, if they’re brimming with excess energy that has no place to spell itself out except into property damage and fighting it’s because they simply don’t have enough chores to do.

Fearless leader diary

The hardest working Mayor in the World

Tonight I’m at my desk until 3am, updating my Enemies of London list. Enemies of London are in their own especially high council-tax band. Their Oyster cards deplete faster. Nobody collects their bins or recycling.

Right now, Enemies of London include my rival mayoral candidates, Trevor Phillips, anybody who works for the Evening Standard, Channel 4 or the New Statesman, Jews, Americans, somebody who once pushed past me in the queue for a cash machine and people who don’t like bendy buses.

High-larious.

Help needed for a lazy Southern cook

Hey y’all – I’m jonesing for some biscuit. I was going on about it all day yesterday and I’m still wanting it today. Mmmmm….biscuit.

But my biscuits are SUB-PAR. I have to confess:

Hello, my name is the Vol Abroad…and….[sob]…I can’t bake biscuits.

Now, I know I’m not alone in my poor biscuit making skills, but for the Southerner at home there are many ways to compensate. There are the fast food restaurants, there are those biscuits in a can (blechhhh – though flaking apart a Hungry Jack biscuit is oddly satisfying) and there are those frozen biscuits which are actually pretty good. And, of course, best of all there are networking skills – i.e. get to know somebody who can bake biscuits.

Sadly, none of these options are open to me.

Now, I know there are mixes that make kick-ass biscuits. For example, when a cousin of mine worked at a well-known fast food restaurant she stole some of the biscuit mix and baked it up for our Christmas eve dinner which that year was fried chicken and fixin’s. Mmmmm – they were good.

You can buy Bisquick in England. But I don’t like it. I mean, it’s OK, but it’s not what I’m going for. I want a biscuit that looks like this.

What dry mix do you suggest? I need suggestions this week, ’cause my dad and brother are arriving on Saturday. They live in South Georgia and East Tennessee, in case there are some regional specialties.

The camellias

Camellias in Isabella Plantation. There were quite a few winter blooming shrubs in bloom.

A memorial to a Polish bear

There’s a campaign to erect a memorial a Polish bear. Well, an Iranian bear enlisted in the Polish army.

No joke.

Known as the “soldier bear” he saw action at Monte Cassino, in Italy, before being billeted – along with about 3,000 other Polish troops – at a camp in the Scottish borders.

And like any other combatant, he is even said to have had an official name, rank and number.

Now a campaign is underway to build a permanent British memorial to the remarkable bear who fought so valiantly for the Allied forces and lived out his final days in Edinburgh Zoo.

Voytek the Bear carried munitions for the troops and also discovered a spy. And his reward? Beer and cigarettes and access to the shower hut. Oh, and a retirement villa at the Edinburgh Zoo, where apparently his old comrades tried to chuck him cigarettes.

Polish veteran Augustyn Karolewski, 82, who still lives near the site of the camp in Berwickshire, said: ‘He was like a big dog, no-one was scared of him. “He liked a cigarette, he liked a bottle of beer – he drank a bottle of beer like any man.”

When the troops were demobilised, Voytek spent his last days at Edinburgh Zoo, where died in 1963.

Mr Karolewski went back to see him on a couple of occasions and found he still responded to the Polish language. He explained: “I went to Edinburgh Zoo once or twice when Voytek was there. “As soon as I mentioned his name he would sit on his backside and shake his head wanting a cigarette. “It wasn’t easy to throw a cigarette to him – all the attempts I made until he eventually got one.”

Yes, you can just imagine the Polish old soldier tossing lit cigarettes into the bear enclosure. Or did he toss him cigarettes and a lighter. If so, that’s one talented bear.

Anyway, best of luck getting a memorial to Voytek the Polish bear.

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Reminds me of that bear that lived at a gas station in Pigeon Forge, TN. It was before my time, but I’ve been told that there was a bear that lived in a cage at this gas station in Pigeon Forge. It was kind of a tourist attraction. Obviously you can’t do that sort of thing anymore, but folks would do anything to drum up business. Even cage a bear and show it off to the motor tourists. Sad really.

And like Voytek, this bear was partial to treats of a human nature. You know, junk food. Snack cakes. Peanuts. Bottles of coke and 7-up. He especially liked the coke. You could hand it into his big paws (if you were brave enough) and he’d tip it up and drink it right down.

Well, one day some drunken rednecks or maybe it was some uncouth yankees who weren’t raised to know any better gave the bear some gasoline in one of those coke bottles. Just handed it right over. They probably reckoned that the bear wouldn’t actually drink it. But it did. Just tipped the bottle up and drank it right down.

Well, that gas didn’t agree with the bear. It started frothing at the mouth and raging and rattling in its cage and throwing itself about. And to be honest, the workmanship on the cage maybe wasn’t what it should have been. Anyway, the bear got loose (scaring the pants off the drunken rednecks or uncouth yankees, depending on who’s telling the story). And it took off up the road. Back towards the park. I guess it wanted to go home. (Well, who can blame it?)

That bear ran right up the road. And the people in the cars were pulling over. It ran up past where the outlet malls are. It ran up past the all those miniature golf places that are there now. It ran past where Porpoise Island used to be. It ran on past where Dollywood is now. It just ran and ran.

It was running up toward the park and then, just about where the welcome sign is for the park it just stopped. Fell over in the road. Fell into a huddled hunk of bear right there.

And you know what happened?

…

….

….

….

It ran out of gas.

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Sorry. Sorry. My friend Vol-K told me that story one time as we were leaving the park, just as we were passing the sign and going the other way into Pigeon Forge. Man, she totally got me, too.

Years and years later she was visiting me in London and telling me about the bear scene in that horrible movie Borat and I said -“Did I ever tell you about that bear that was up in Pigeon Forge?” And she said no – and she had totally forgotten the story and I got her with it. Ha, joke revenge.

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Check out these awesome bear pics. Including this one, which should be a lesson to all gas station bears.

Welcome sign photo from Flickr user The Paradigm Shifter used under Creative Commons license.

Anticipation

Genderist is still waiting to find out about her thyroid cancer treatment:

I’m still waiting until May to know how well my November’s treatment worked. To say I’m pre-occupied with thinking about May is almost accurate. I think about it when I wake up in the night, when I hit the alarm clock, when I drop the soap in the shower, when I’m packing my lunch, when I’m stopped at a red light, during meetings, when I read email, when my patients at work come and tell me either really good news or really bad news, when I’m waiting for the microwave to cook my lunch, when I check my pedometer, when it’s time for my three o’clock snack, when The Hater sends me sweet text messages to tell me he loves me, when I’m trying to look busy, when I actually am busy, when the cat runs to meet me at the door, anytime in church that anybody refers to faith or hope, when I water the plants (including John Wayne, which still isn’t dead after 2 years under our care), when I’m grocery shopping, when I tie my shoes, when anybody asks me how I’m feeling… and any other time when I breathe.

Unhypothetical

“It won’t be hypothetical if and when it occurs. We are not legislating now on
the basis that we are bringing it in now for something that might happen in the
future; we are bringing it in now for something that might happen in the future;
we are bringing in a position for if it becomes unhypothetical. If,
unfortunately I and many other experts are right and we do need it in the future
it is in place.”

Jacqui Smith, Home Secretary, securing her place in history. Sadly, only in the book of ridiculous political quotes.

I heard this on the radio while still lying in bed unfreakin’-believable. Iain Dale posted the words.

About the quote:

Jacqui Smith wants new legislation which would allow the police to hold “terror” suspects without charge for 42 days. (I use “terror” in quotes not because I don’t believe that there are real and legitimate threats, but because I worry that the Government will use terror charges without real and legitimate threat.)

Not in good conscience

Londoners were treated to a Channel 4 Dispatches expose on the methods and madness of our dear leader, Mayor Ken Livingstone. Among the charges:

• violating electoral rules – appointed staff working on his re-election campaign while being paid from the public purse – on his orders.
• spending vast amounts of money on thinly justified foreign junkets
• allowing millions of pounds to be funneled to sham companies owned by cronies and fellow travellers
• drinking on the job, not just at his desk, but brazenly drinking whisky at council meetings and at “town hall” style question time with the public
• appointing inappropriately skilled cronies to high paying jobs

Really, this is more than enough to not only turn the man out of office – this is enough to start criminal investigations. Any one of these alone represent a bad sort of politics, but together render the man wholly unfit to represent perhaps the finest capital city in the world.

And this is before taking into account that the man acts like an ass. That he refuses to answer legitimate questions from friends and foes alike – the key means of accountability for elected officials. That he bullies, blusters and evades. That he name calls like a child in the playground.

And this is all before you take account that he associates with some rather nasty characters like Qaradawi and seems to overtly endorse a radical, political Islam. And anyone who questions his association with Muslim Brotherhood fronts and members is called an Islamophobe.

The worst thing about all of this is that dear old Red Ken is likely to get away with it. His jocular bluster seems to sway large parts of the electorate. And in this country Socialist is not a dirty word, so his association with the Socialist Alliance doesn’t sound so bad. Never mind that they don’t practice the kind of socialism that’s essentially benign -no – it’s that deconstructionist, let’s destroy everything that’s good so somehow, some way a new society will come rising from the ashes – meanwhile we’ll wander around drinking champagne and totter around on our hind trotters unless our snout is in the trough type socialism. And folks seem blind to the difference.

I know a lot of people don’t like Boris Johnson. I know his manner is odd and his hair is wild and he’s a master of the self-deprecating. I know that Mr Johnson hasn’t yet really communicated his vision for London – and he must do that. But please, Londoners, you cannot in good conscience re-elect Ken Livingstone.

Why him?

Both the Vol-in-Law and I reacted a little more strongly to the death of Heath Ledger than we would have thought. It’s not like we were big fans. It’s not like we even go to the movies. But it did seem a little shocking.

The Vol-in-Law said “He seemed so full of life, and yet that Shane McGowan just goes on and on and on.”

“Why couldn’t it have been Amy Winehouse or somebody like that?”