“The enemy of writing is silence and inactivity.”
Feb 26
Follow up: Donegal Danny
Some time ago I opined that the folk song Donegal Danny contained an erroneous lyric, e.g., “the cries of drowning men.” At the time I snarkily mentioned that the only sound thatI thought drowning men would make was, “glub.”
Well, it turns out that I am right. There is an excellent article at Slate called ‘Drowning Doesn’t Look Like Drowning.’ In addition to verifying my rightness, it contains several valuable tips on how to spot and help a drowning victim. I am listing two Danny-related ones:
- “Except in rare circumstances, drowning people are physiologically unable to call out for help. The respiratory system was designed for breathing. Speech is the secondary or overlaid function. Breathing must be fulfilled before speech occurs.
- Drowning people’s mouths alternately sink below and reappear above the surface of the water. The mouths of drowning people are not above the surface of the water long enough for them to exhale, inhale, and call out for help. When the drowning people’s mouths are above the surface, they exhale and inhale quickly as their mouths start to sink below the surface of the water.
Feb 21
Guss’ Pickles: best pickles ever
I found these in the cooler at my local Walmart out in the sticks. They are easily the best pickles I have ever had, better than Clausen, Vlasic, Heinz, anybody. All that stuff in the bottom is garlic and pickling spices. Guss’ pickles are nice and crisp and cucumber-colored instead of being dyed artificial yellow-green. Unfortunately a jar of these pickles runs about $4, so I don’t buy them all the time. Still–you need ’em.
Feb 18
Pine Martens
In An Innocent in Scotland, the author describes the scene from one of the bed and breakfasts he lodges at:
‘On a lamp table in the dining room there’s a little stuffed [taxidermied] animal, some kind of weasel sitting there with a little bushy tail and the sweetest look on its face.
“Who shot that little fellow?”
“That cute little fellow ate my hens,” said Louise. “And what’s more, he also ate my pet duck.”
“What was your pet duck’s name?”
“McDonald.”
“Nice name.”
“It was a nice duck, but it met a bad end.”
“How did this tragedy come about?”
“These little pine martens, they go into the hen house and they kill for the sake of killing. After all the hens are dead they go.They don’t even eat them. Same with my pet duck. These are murderous little varmints — these pine martens are the Nazis of the animal world.”‘
David McFadden in An Innocent in Scotland, p. 150
Feb 13
Typecast
I swear, you write one blog post about accidentally giving a prostitute a lift and next thing you know you have this in your search stats:
Feb 08
Krampus comes back from college for Christmas
“Ma, I’m home!”
“I’m in the kitchen, Krampus! Come give your mom a hug.”
“Maaaaa!”
“You know the rules, Krampus–no hugs, no dinner.”
Krampus lumbered into the kitchen, dumped his bags on the floor, and limply hugged his mother.
“Hey, ma, I brought a friend home from college. This is Nick. Nick, this is my ma, Hel.”
A young man with a cherubic face, wispy beard and a bright red coat stepped forward.
“How do you do, Mrs. Hel?” he asked sweetly. “I brought you some taffy.”
“Oh, don’t you have nice manners?” she asked, giving a sidelong glance at her son. “Now sit down, you two. I’ve been cooking all day. I hope you like goat, Nicholas.”
“That would be great,” he said with a wink.
Hel soon filled the table with roast goat, potatoes, cabbage, and lutefisk.
“I suppose you would like some mead, Nicholas?” Hel asked.
“Actually I would love some milk if you have it, Mrs. Hel,” Nick smiled.
Hel looked at him quizzically, then turned to pull a crock of goat milk out of the cooler.
After the drinks were served the two young men tore into dinner like they were starving, much to the matriarch’s approval.
“Surely you’re not done, Nicholas?”
Hel looked sadly at his empty plate, then at him.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Nick started.
“Young boys need to eat,” Hel stated emphatically.
“If you insist,” Nick said with a twinkle and helped himself to another plate, and then another.
“That was the best dinner ever, Mrs. Hel. Thank you.”
“Oh, you!” she gushed as she swept away the dishes into the kitchen.
Krampus gave him a look that suggested maybe he was laying it on a bit thick, but Nick simply patted his very full belly and smiled his big, rosy-cheeked smile.
Hel re-entered the dining room with a huge pie still warm from the oven.
“Sorry it took me so long, Nicholas. These old dead feet aren’t a quick as they used to be.
Nick thought the idiom was quite humorous, though the mention of feet drew his eyes downward. What do you know–her feet really were dead.
“You’ll be having dessert, of course,” Hel stated, not asking.
Nick started to object out of courtesy, looking at Krampus, but then the slice was quickly dished onto his plate. He smiled sweetly at Hel and then beamed smugly at his friend.
“Maybe just a slice,” he said. “Or two.”
After dessert Hel again hauled away the dishes, except for Nick’s dessert plate, still occupied by quickly diminishing survivors of his pie.
“Ma, we’re gonna go upstairs,”
“Not yet, Krampus, we have something to discuss,” she called from the kitchen.
She said ‘discuss’ in that tone women use with men to let them know who will be doing the talking.
“Have you been naughty?” Nick asked cheerily.
“I can’t think of anything…she would have heard of,” Krampus whispered back.
Krampus began to sweat, wracking his brain for what have gotten back to his mom.
After several eternities Hel returned to the table with a piece of parchment.
” I received this letter from the dean,” Krampus’s mother started.
“Look ma, whatever he says–”
“Shut it, young man. He says that you have been caught scaring children, smacking them in the face with that tongue of yours,”
“Wait, Ma, I can explain–”
“Picking them up by their ears–”
“Ma–”
“Furthermore he says that you were observed even beating children–small children–with sticks.”
Here she paused, and looked him straight in the eye.
“Krampus,”
“Ma–”
“Krampus, I am so proud of you!”
“Wait–whut?”
“Krampus, I didn’t know if you would ever be ready to take over the family business! I am so proud of you,” she gushed, holding his wooly cheeks in her hands.
Krampus wiped the sweat from his forehead and breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“Well, you really have Nick to thank. He’s the one who got me in on the racket.”
“What?” asked Hel ecstatically, then she reached over and hugged Nick and kissed him on the cheek. Nick blushed happily to the tips of his ears. Krampus looked like he might be sick.
“So what is this ‘racket?’ Tell me all about it!”
“Krampus and I are partners in holiday retail,” Nick began.
“Yeah, ma, it’s like we’re two sides of the same coin. Nick rewards kids for being good, and I punish kids for being bad. The sticks–those were Nick’s idea, but the tongue–that’s all me!”
The smile faded from Hel’s face. She looked at him quizzically.
“So…the point of this is….”
“So children will be good, of course,” said Nick, smiling happily.
“So…you’re not just terrorizing children with sticks…just because? You want them to be….”
“Good,” Krampus started. “Yeah, isn’t it wild?”
Hel’s demeanor became overcast, the storm quickly gathering.
“NO, Krampus! What do you think? I’m the freaking queen of the dishonored undead, and you’re trying to get children to be good?!”
Krampus could hear the italics in her voice, and that was never good. His eyes darted around wildly, clueless to how things could have turned so bad so quickly.
“Do you realize how embarrassing this is? I was supposed to lead my armies against Odin at Ragnarok last year and then things went to pieces! I thought the stupid Mayans had miscalculated, or that Helheim wasn’t really recession-proof! But it turns out it was you!”
“I thought you were happy that I was smacking the little buggers around!”
“It’s your motive, Krampus! How am I to lead an army of the dishonored dead if you keep trying to reform them before they grow up? Your grampa Loki–”
“Aw, ma, not grampa Loki again,” Krampus began, rolling his eyes.
“Your grampa Loki tricked a blind guy into killing everyone’s best friend with a flipping twig! And do you know why he did it?”
“Ma–”
“For no other reason than He. Thought. It. Was. Funny!”
Nick started eyeing the door, looking to make a break for it.
Krampus’s fingers clenched nervously, his lips bunched themselves trying to stay shut, but the words came boiling out anyway.
“Well, I don’t want to end up chained to a rock ’til the end of time!”
Hel got up silently and stalked off into the other room.
For half a minute neither of the freshmen spoke.
“Loki is your grandfather?” Nick asked incredulously.
“Yeah, kind of. Man, I don’t know how that could have gone worse,” sighed Krampus
There was a sudden jangling and before he knew it Hel had come up behind him and clapped his wrists in manacles.
“Come on, Krampus, we’re going to visit your grandparents!”
Nick looked at Krampus, pointed at the exit, and shot through the door like a rocket.
Krampus didn’t need any further encouragement.
“Ma! No! She’s not even my real gramma anyway! I’m out of here!”
“THEN GET OUT!”
“I’M NOT COMING BACK!”
Krampus ran out the door to his friend’s sleigh, there was a crack of leather, the jingle of bells, and they headed off into the sky.
Hel screamed into the night sky.
“WELL GOOD LUCK GETTING OUT OF THOSE CHAINS! GUESS WHOSE INTESTINES THOSE WERE?!”
