The holiday season is finally behind us, and soon we will be enduring fewer idiotic stories like this and more like this.
I can see why nobody wanted the byline on the first — any “what’s ahead in 2010” story that mentions Jimmy Dobson and the Broncos is not something a scribe at a bankrupt newspaper chain hopes will draw the eye of potential employers in a dodgy job market.
As to the second, it’s beyond laughable that Janet Napolitano’s gaffe about the Underpants Bomber (“The system worked”) is on a par with Shrub praising the insanely inept Michael Brown for botching the federal response to Hurricane Katrina (“Brownie, you’re doing a heckuva job”). But I blame the web editor who posted the piece for penning that fatuous nonsense, not NYT op-ed editor Tobin Harshaw.
And now for the real news: I and my dislocated finger got out for an hour on the mountain bike yesterday. It was my second outdoor ride since taking that digger six weeks ago, and boy, was I ever gun-shy. There’s still plenty of old ice and snow on the deck, just like there was when I laid it down, and I tiptoed around it like a Kurd in a minefield. Still, it’s amazing how much easier it is to do an hour outside than inside, even if it involves wearing neoprene. I liked it so much I may do it again today.
Back at the ranch, in honor of our shared Southern heritage, I whipped up that pot of Hoppin’ John and Herself made a cast-iron skillet full of cornbread. Wine was served and an episode of “Dexter” watched on our new-used Blu-ray player. I’d call that a fair start to the New Year.
• Late Update: I did do it again — this time on the Voodoo of Doom, the very machine that laid me low back in November. The Voodoo sports full-coverage fenders, and since things were getting a little slushy with temps in the mid-40s I took it out for a short spin out east to see if the evil sonofabitch would bite me again. Nope. Worst that happened was that the temps took a dramatic turn for the worse on the ride home and I was a tad underdressed. Oh, well, shivering burns fat, too.
Mad Blog Media 
try a dry suit not only does it keep you warm and toasty you can sweat off a few lbs
(dry suit as in cold water kayaking)
Cast iron cornbread … doesn’t get any better than that!
I was born in Florida and have lived in most of the former Confederate States (the “former” being in question to many current residents), but I’ll go out on a limb here and say that I’ve had better southern fare since moving to the High Plains and Front Range than I ever did when I lived in swamp-and-sauna land. Had some western Nebraska fried chicken and gravy yesterday, and I’ll stack it against anything I ever had deep in the heart of Dixie.
But that’s the beauty of good grub … it’s not a competition … it’s a journey.
Good eats to everyone, wherever you hang your hat.
when I was a kid living in WV we had white beans and corn bread at school. the corn bread was fantastic. the beans would fill the garbage cans!
Story 1: At least y’all have Robert Earl Keen coming to town.
Story 2: What is it with the blamefest? Do these people see something that could have been done differently by TSA other than 1) profiling muslims (kind of like profiling all christians because of a few anti-choice murderers), B) strip searches, actual or computer scan, or 3) body cavity searches (did UB spend that 20 min. in the john retrieving some of the goodies?). I don’t recall anybody clamoring for these options lately, though they probably will if it ever occurs to them. Like Patrick, I’m glad I’m not planning on flying anywhere. Yeah, the bureaucrats should be reamed (again) for not sharing relevant info, but it’s hard to see why Napolitano should be the scapegoat.
This is indeed a screwed-up world when I find myself defending a cluster#$%k like TSA in the names of logic and fairness.
Anywayyy, happy new year to all. Glad you’re back on the actual bike, Patrick. You can have your weather back now, though. Mid 20’s and windy in central VA today, snow still lingering from the pre-Xmas foot, but the roads finally were dry. I’m gonna go fix some nice hot grits now, better than cornbread, even.
I’m a typical mutt, Yankee with an itinerant twist, having been born in Maryland and lived in the District of Columbia, Virginia, Canada, Texas, Colorado, Missouri, Iowa, Vermont, Arizona, California, Oregon and New Mexico. But the old man was born in Bogalusa, Louisiana, and raised up in Perry, Florida, so I claim redneckitude via bloodline. Mom was out of Sioux City, Iowa, and I do mean out — she split at 17 and only went back on occasion to visit her mom.
Herself was born in Nacogdoches, Texas, raised in Maryland, and has kin in Tennessee, which gives her more redneck cred’. But I’ve listened to more and better country music over the years, including Robert Earl Keen. The local NPR affiliate played a live version of “Merry Christmas From the Family” on the holiday of the same name this year, part of a morning mix of serious musical weirdness that really made my day.