This quote is from USA Today (yesterday).
“He’s always looking to purchase missiles,” Trump said of Zelenskyy. “When you start a war, you’ve got to know that you can win the war, right? You don’t start a war against somebody that’s 20 times your size and then hope that people give you some missiles.”
Wait, what?
So Trump is saying Z started the war and then brands him as an idiot for starting it.
But he didn’t.
One of my (few) memories from when I was a little boy is riding in the back seat of the family car with my dad driving. He was a terrible driver and he blew through a stop sign or a red light. A city bus was going through the intersection and I remember watching it screech to a halt so it wouldn’t hit us. The driver got out of the bus and reamed out my dad. “I’ve got thirty riders on that bus! — and you’ve got a car full of people!! — do you realize what would have happened if it hit you??!!” He went on like that for a bit, all about what a disaster it would have been if the bus hit us. When the tirade finally subsided, my dad, looking a little sheepish, just said: But it didn’t.
Is there no end to the ineptitude of this administration? When the Ohio State footballers were invited to the White House to celebrate their national championship, Ohioan JD Vance, attempting to pick up the trophy, dropped it and broke it. That’s him on the right. Put that in the you-can’t-make-this-stuff-up dept. To his credit, he recovered the fumble.
Of all the poems we have shared in 763 Owl Chatter posts (yikes!), I think this one has the best title. It’s called “Renewal.” It’s by Jeffrfey Harrison and is from yesterday’s Writer’s Almanac.
At the Department of Motor Vehicles
to renew my driver’s license, I had to wait
two hours on one of those wooden benches
like pews in the church of Latter Day
Meaninglessness, where there is no
stained glass (no windows at all, in fact),
no incense other than stale cigarette smoke
emanating from the clothes of those around me,
and no sermon, just an automated female voice
calling numbers over a loudspeaker.
And one by one the members of our sorry
congregation shuffled meekly up to the pitted
altar to have our vision tested or to seek
redemption for whatever wrong turn we’d taken,
or pay indulgences, or else be turned away
as unworthy of piloting our own journey.
But when I paused to look around, using my numbered
ticket as a bookmark, it was as if the dim
fluorescent light had been transformed
to incandescence. The face of the Latino guy
in a ripped black sweatshirt glowed with health,
and I could tell that the sulking white girl
accompanied by her mother was brimming
with secret excitement to be getting her first license,
already speeding down the highway, alone,
with all the windows open, singing.
Where ya gonna go for your kicks? How about Route 66?
The puzzle yesterday took us down CEREAL AISLES. At 4D, the clue was “Came out in favor of a certain breakfast product?,” and the answer was ENDORSED CHEX. (Get it?) At 8D, for “Sugary bulk breakfast purchase?” it was WHOLE BAG OF TRIX. And at 14D, “Doing some shopping for breakfast?” was GETTING ONE’S KIX.
Commenter Andrew shared this great oldie with us:
At 60A the clue was “Nelson’s blood.” Did you know it’s a term for rum?
Per Wikipedia, A Drop of Nelson’s Blood is a sea shanty, also known as Roll the Old Chariot Along. The origins are unclear, but the title comes from the line: “A drop of Nelson’s blood wouldn’t do us any harm.” Following his victory and death at the Battle of Trafalgar, Admiral Nelson’s body was preserved in a cask of brandy or rum for transport back to England. “Nelson’s blood” became a nickname for rum, but it can also mean Nelson’s spirit or bravery. The shanty was sung to accompany certain work tasks aboard sailing ships, especially those that required a bright walking pace.
Philip Gleeson of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) wonders: When I burp in private I still excuse myself. Is this normal/common?
Someone incredibly named Treasaigh Dubhthaigh said: I do it too and thought it was normal. Is it not?
Sophie Aldus: Yup. I do the same. Conversely, I know someone who does huge Simpsons-esque burps in company and never bothers. Have we solo self-excusers used up all the manners?
Sarah Stockwell: I excuse myself when I sneeze in my car.
Ian Taylor: It’s the law.
Andrew Green: I still shout “More tea, Vicar?”
[OC Note: Have you heard that expression (More tea, Vicar?)? It’s British. It’s what you say in a social setting to distract from something boorish someone did like burp (or worse).]
I took me 75 years to make a good brisket. Not that it aged for that long, although I did. I found the simple recipe in Kosher by design Entertains, by Susie Fishbein. It’s so easy, it’s ridiculous. Here’s all I did. Buy a 5.5 brisket at Costco. Lop off some of the fat and throw it at passersby. Flop the brisket into a big pot (our largest brown Le Creuset) on top of some oil. Season it with pepper and give it a few minutes on each side.
Throw in a sliced onion and big chunks of potatoes and carrots. Poor a 12 oz can of beer over it all. (I used a Straub’s amber, brewed in St. Mary’s, PA, picked up locally on a trip to MI.) Dump in a 24 oz jar of salsa, medium, not mild.
That’s it. I swear. Just simmer it covered for 4 hours. Let it rest a bit. Slice it up and let it sit, sliced, in all the liquid that formed. We ate it 4 days later. Tender and tasty.
It’s why we escaped from Egypt. To eat brisket.
See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 