Archive for June, 2013

The Persecution of Paula Deen

Paula Deen media corruption

SwampDaughter and I were discussing this over salads at Chick-fil-A Thursday. We haven’t been Paula Deen followers or denigrators. We’ve never seen her show. We’ve never been to her restaurant, though we’d love to go. We don’t own any of her cookbooks. We’re a bit surprised that so much hatred has been directed at her. We’ve seen it in vitriolic tv parodies and various newspaper and magazine articles before now.

We’d like to know why in the hell is the media so interested in persecuting Paula Deen? Is it because she’s white? Is it because she’s southern? Is it because she made it rich on her own, and we can’t have that in this country? Is it because she got rich without benefit of college and has been more successful, with more money, than the bitchy media?

SwampDaughter said “Dang. I’d sure hate to have something I said 27 years ago held against ME!” She was a preschooler at the time, so she’ll probably get a pass, lucky for her. We briefly pondered the things that could be held against us from things we may have done or said 27 years ago. I’m sure there is a lot of material there!

It seems to me like political correctness run amuck. It appears that Random House has sooooooo many best-selling books that they can afford to piss away Paula Deen’s latest. Fine. Her fans would probably rather buy it through Amazon or directly through her anyway. Screw Random House.

And for the Paula Deen supporters, here’s a list of companies that you can boycott:

Sears, J.C. Penney, Walgreen, Wal-Mart, Target, Home Depot, Novo Nordisk, Smithfield Foods, Caesars Entertainment and The Food Network.

She’s probably going to have more fans than ever after being bludgeoned by the media.

Update: No2liberals posted a GREAT link in the comments that I just had to add to the post:

paula deen treatment

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Bumblebee Memorial

SwampMan drew my attention to this little news item when I was cooking breakfast:

Fifty thousand bumblebees will be honored at a memorial Sunday in the same shopping center parking lot southwest of the Portland, Oregon, where most of the insects died earlier this month.

Rozzell Medina, of Portland, said on a Facebook page that the event will “memorialize these fallen lifeforms and talk about the plight of the bees and their importance to life on Earth,” The Oregonian reported.

Read more: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/06/28/memorial-to-honor-50000-bumble-bees-that-died-in-oregon-parking-lot/#ixzz2XVyoE4uY

“Who counted ’em?”

“What?”

“Who went around and counted all those dead bumblebees?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, how do we know that it was 50,000?”

“What?”

“How do we know that it wasn’t 5,000? Or 500?”

“What?”

“Do they have them lined up in tiny caskets in groups of 100?”

“What?”

*sigh* Fifty thousand sounds like a wild-assed guess to me, and wild-assed guesses are HUGELY inflated for the ain’t-it-awful factor. I shall hereby meditate on the life of bumblebees and their plight, to wit: Their lifespans are from one to four weeks in length which they spend in toil to feed the bumblebee young, then they die. At the end of the summer, the queen and her last group of workers die, leaving a few queens to overwinter if they’ve gained enough weight and found a good hiding spot from the cold.

Well. That sucks.

Okay, I’m done meditating now.

So, are the folks attending the bee memorial service going to initiate memorial services for mealworms? My daughter feeds her leopard geckos a truly astounding number of mealworms and crickets per week. She causes the deaths of untold thousands of these insects per year and, so far as I know, hasn’t memorialized them or meditated on their life meaning even once. She’s also responsible for selling flea treatments for puppies and kitties. Yes, people. She is responsible for the deaths of unsung millions of fleas per year. Where, I ask you, is their memorial service?

Let’s move on to the higher forms of life. How about the mice, frogs, rats, rabbits, ducks, and chickens fed to snakes every year? Shouldn’t they get a memorial service, too?

What about the wind turbines that are killing an astounding amount of avian life? Can we just set up a memorial and meditation garden at each of those sites, with perhaps a statue as representative of each bird (or bat) species killed by the flying blades? Then we can do a ritual mourning once per year which would include rending our clothing, chanting about the sacredness of life, blowing up the towers, and suing the shit out of the windmill manufacturers and electric companies forced to buy the electricity produced “greenly”. Hmmmmm. That’s actually a memorial service that I would even pay to attend. I’d bring a cooler with iced-down beverages and some gluten-free snacks, too, and stay awhile to watch.

You might say “Swampie, why are you mocking these people? They obviously have sincere beliefs about the sanctity of all life.” Riiiiight. How many do you suppose are members of pro-life groups that protest ripping viable infants out of their mother’s wombs and stabbing them to death?

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I Made Zoe Cry Today…

Zoe at beach

  • I watched Dylan, Jacob and Zoe today while their mommy was in a meeting. When Mommy got home, she asked where I wanted to go for lunch. “I want to go to Chick-Fil-A!” said Jacob. “They have the BEST ice cream cones!”

    “Well, maybe MeeMaw doesn’t WANT to go to Chick-Fil-A!” said Mommy.

    “Just so long as where we go has ice cream!” said Jacob.

    “So, where do you want to go, Mom?” asked SwampDaughter.

    Aware of three sets of anxious eyes on me, I said “I want to go where they have broccoli for lunch.”

    Broccoli?” Dylan said in horror.

    “Yes, BROCCOLI. With maybe some nice chopped onions on top.”

    Zoe burst into tears and cried and cried. I had to relent on the broccoli thing and assure her that Chick-Fil-A would be just fine.

    Maybe that whole sobbing thing was also because I’d caused Zoe to cry previously by declaring that I was going to leave all THREE of those grandchildren at their home, and take their mommy home with me, and she could spend the night at our house.

    Yep, evil is my middle name.

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    It’s Time To Do Something Real Now

    My lil’ grandson Dylan joined me yesterday in moving chickens, feeding, and catching and relocating the chicks of free range hens with hidden nests to a hawk-free and fox-free environment.

    It was his turn at computer to play his favorite video games, Cool Math 4 Kids. I have to do timed turns, or his bigger brother will hog my computer. “What’s wrong, Dyllie? Did Jacob make you leave the computer again?” Big brothers are good at that. I feel obligated to enforce his rights until he’s big enough to do it on his own.

    “No, MeeMaw. I let Jacob play because it was time to go do something real!” he informed me.

    “Time to go do something real.” Isn’t it interesting that a little just-turned 6-year-old boy can determine the difference between fantasy and reality much better than his older brother who does better in school? There are a lot of much older folks that either can’t determine the difference or who prefer living in a fantasy world than the real world. I like unicorns, too, but at the end of the day, I know that they’re not real.

    We have too many people that are living in a fantasy-based world and seemingly can’t look ahead to the consequences of their actions. Perhaps it is because the state intervenes to protect them from any such consequences.

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    Grandparenting Fail!

    I was blearily making oatmeal this morning for the grandkids. The boys had fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning; Zoe had fallen asleep @ 9 p.m. and slept all night, so she was up bright and early. She told me that her Mommy Duck was hungry. She told me that her Baby Bear was hungry. She never told me that SHE was hungry, but she put her stuffed toys in the chairs at the kiddy table in the kitchen.

    I have two giant shakers of spices that I use frequently that are side by side in the pantry that shouldn’t be. They are cajun seasoning and cinnamon.

    Guess which seasoning was grabbed and dumped into the oatmeal?

    Yep. Lucky I have lots of oatmeal.

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    My Oldest Granddaughter is Getting All Big

    Arizona and her baby sister Amber

    My oldest granddaughter keeps growing up. I HATE that! I want to freeze time and keep her little forever but, alas, it looks like she’s going to defy me and eventually grow up.

    Here she is holding her baby sister, Amber, and showing how they both have their mother’s pretty blue eyes.

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    Mommy’s Little French Fry Eater

    Zoe wakes in early morning hours for fries!When Mommy gets home from work, whether it be 1:30 or 2:30 or 3:30 a.m., Zoe awakens. If Mommy had gotten off at 11 p.m., it would have been an 8-hour day, so Mommy is usually hungry. She does not want to go home, cook food, and wake up everybody, so she usually stops off at anyplace open, which is usually McDonald’s, for a dollar menu meal.

    Regardless of when she arrives, Zoe gets up and joins Mommy. She eats the fries.

    MeeMaw does not do fries at oh-dark-thirty a.m. MeeMaw asks if she’s lost her mind, gives her a drink, and tells her to go back to sleep.

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