Turn, Turn, Turn

In previous posts I have labored valiantly to show many times for many purposes. On occasion I have made follow up posts to demonstrate the turning of the metaphorical seasons, or in the case of the Welch's corporation to demonstrate the eternal winter of their overwhelming greed. But the point of this post is not to bitch about Welch's again (bastards), but to demonstrate a few seasons that do change. I have already shown you a few times in which I have sown, so now it is only fair to show you times in which I get to reap.

Several weeks ago I had a culminating achievement of sport, bowling a 200 game. At the time I made the reasonable assumption that when word got out of my manly achievement beautiful women everywhere would throw themselves at me. Unfortunately, it seems that those beautiful women must have put me on a pedestal or something and were too overwhelmed and intimidated to approach and give themselves to me. But fear not, such accomplishments do not go unrewarded. Behold!


I got a keychain from the United States Bowling Congress. Pretty cool, huh? It's no horde of beautiful women, but its more portable. That's something.

My other harvest is of course my beer. The bottles have conditioned long enough and the beer is ready to drink. Here I am in my apartment enjoying the fruits of my labor.

It came out pretty well. I've had much worse (ever hear of PBR...*shudder*). So now that when I start to feel a little depressed about only getting a stupid keychain I can drown my sorrow with a homebrew instead of some corporate swill (why is it that drinking is the only vice you're supposed to only do with company when all the others are preferably done in private?). I have already purchased the supplies for my next batch and am anxiously, uh, emptying out the bottles of my current batch so that they will be ready for the next one.

Do you expect me to talk? No mister Bond, I expect you to strip.

Once again it is time to look at the world of James Bond. These movies offer everything. They have action. They have adventure. They have cheesy one liners. And of course, they have Bond girls.

Many Bond girls, from classics like Ursula Andress and Honor Blackman to the recent ones like Denise Richards and Halle Barry, have leant their talents and beauty to the Bond legacy. And while watching these goddesses of cinema grace the screen, one cannot help but think "damn it, why don't these movies have nudity?" Well my young padwans, as the following article explains a few rumors suggest that you may finally get your wish:

http://www.lse.co.uk/ShowbizNews.asp?Code=FD201707X&headline=craigs_naked_bond

That's right, we may finally get some nudity in a Bond movie. It appears that God does indeed listen to prayers of young men everywhere and that if you pester him enough he may finally relent. Two things become readily apparent however. The first thing is that God has a sense of humor and the second is that young men everywhere need to learn to be more specific.

Daniel Craig has agreed to full frontal nudity.

Craig has obviously grown tired of people (including yours truly) implying that he is not man enough to play the role. His response apparently was to offer to whip it out.

Touché Craig. Touché.

According to the article, an insider is quoted as saying "She [producer Barbara Broccoli] wants to show the world that Craig is all man. He has no problems with full-frontal nudity and it shows." Hopefully Broccoli will realize that even if Craig has no problem with full frontal nudity, no one wants to see that. I mean really.

Yeah, it's St. Patty's Day, everyone's Irish tonight

Why don't you just pull up a stool and have a drink with us?

I'm a master debator

When I make posts on this blog, the truth of my writing is usually self-evident. When faced with such overwhelming veraciousness, however, some poor souls cannot help but feel threatened by their own (understandable) sense of inferiority and thus lash out in a feeble attempt to protect their own fragile sense of self worth. An example can be seen in the comments section of the post I made entitled “Damn Capitalism” where I reveal the scheme of the Welch’s company to save money at the consumer’s expense by reducing the amount of orange juice in each can that they sell. The comment is reproduced in its entirety for the reader’s convenience.

plummyduck said...
I feel this blogger has overestimated the savings to the Welch's company by their alleged scheme. Although the estimated juice savings is accurate, the author fails to take into account the increase in packaging on a per ounce basis. Perhaps the company has sacrificed total juice volume in order to conserve potable water. Maybe there is some sort of English/metric conversion problem. Did the blogger actually measure the fluid in the can? Did he actually take the can home and stew about it for two days before posting this article? Was the can disposed of in his general garbage, or was it recycled as it should have been? Are the Welch's people unable to purchase their raw materials from previously-recycled aluminum due to a lack of public participation? The possibilities are endless and, sadly, this author fails to take many of them into account. I hope this blogger takes more pains with his next post.

I almost decided not to dignify the ramblings of the commenter with a response, but I ultimately decided that it was my civic duty to dispel any confusion that the commenter’s words may have stirred in the unsuspecting public. Let me start by pointing out that commenter is clearly trying to mask whatever “arguments” the commenter may have behind a façade of arrogance and academic elitism in order to install a false sense of credibility. Why else, for example, would the commenter use such terms as “potable” instead of coming right out and saying “drinkable”, unless of course the commenter’s argument doesn’t hold water (potable or otherwise) and the commenter is just trying to impress people with vocabulary? This is further substantiated by the fact that the pseudonym “plummyduck” is clearly intended to illicit subconscious associations with the character from the popular board game Clue named Plum, who is a professor. Using such gimmicks is a clear indication of not only a bad argument but of a low moral integrity. I, however, am above such tricks and will attack the “arguments” themselves (however pitiful they may be) and not take the low road of pointing out that the commenter’s matriarch engages in sexual promiscuity for which she receive financial compensation.

Let us start with what appears to be the crux of the commenter’s argument, that perhaps I am to blame for not recycling. For starters, this is the type of argument that is eroding our American values. The kid is not to blame for his killing all his schoolmates in a psychotic rage. He played violent video games. Blame society. Blame his parents. Blame his victims for getting in the way of the bullets he fired. Blame the victim who was wrongly deprived of precious OJ for not recycling. Anything but hold someone accountable for personable responsibility. Whatever the current status of aluminum recycling, clearly other canned beverage providers are fully capable of providing the entire 12 fluid ounces. Why can’t Welch’s? The whole issue is made moot anyway since I could not possibly recycle the can until after I purchased and consumed the OJ at which point the transgression had already taken place. While I know of some states where you can turn in your can to get back a recycling deposit (Texas, by the way, is not one of them), I do not believe there is a single one where you can turn in your can for half an ounce of orange juice.

Lets look at some of the other points. The commenter is correct in assuming that I did not measure the volume myself, but only because I trusted the company to meet the amount of OJ they promised on the can, although I guess the mere fact that they deprive you of half an ounce already shows that such trust is probably unwarranted. The assertion that it may be a conversion error is ludicrous since Welch’s is an American company based in Concord, Ma and thus clearly uses United States Customary Units (USCU) and thus did not arrive at 11.5 instead of 12 by some conversion error. If there were any unit conversion error it would be in converting to the International System of Units (SI) and not the other way around. Otherwise it would mean that they are Communists. From my experience with the people in Massachusetts this is certainly within the realm of possibility, but Communists tend not to try and make a profit by screwing over the Proletariate (that’s Capitalism baby), which leads me to believe that the people at Welch’s are not Communists but instead just greedy bastards. But if you still think they are working in SI units, then fine. They screwed me out of 15 mL.

And let me close by saying that I sure hope people in Iran aren’t reading this because just by questioning me on this issue you are letting the terrorists win.

mmm...beer

Some of my longtime readers may remember the post I made when I first moved into my apartment. It included a photograph of the contents of my refrigerator, which humorously portrayed the fact that while I did have things like orange juice, deli meats, cheese, a few vegetables and the like, I predominantly had beer and soda (or "coke" if you prefer. Or "pop" is you're really gay).

Well it has been about 6 months since then, and my how things have changed. I now pretty much only have 2 things in my fridge. One is of course beer, and the second, judging from what used to be the milk, is the cure for cancer.

Let's join my cat Sarek in pondering the example of the bananas pictured to the left. On the left side is a bunch of yellow bananas that I purchased yesterday. On the right side, the bunch that it replaced (Don't be too disgusted...I threw them away after taking the picture). Clearly there is enough bacterial activity taking place in my apartment to earn me an honorary biology degree from Harvard (I chose Harvard since they would at worst give me a 'B' for this).

And so while I wrinkled my nose at the milk as I reached passed it for a beer (and resolved for the Nth time to throw out the milk as soon as I finished said beer), I got to thinking about all this biology in action and, or course, beer. Then it dawned on me. If all this bacterial activity was going to be happening, I might as well harness some of it for good. And by good I of course mean beer.

So I went out, bought some supplies, and started to brew my own beer. I bottled the 5 gallons of brewed glory yesterday after it spent the last two weeks in a glass fermenter. It will spend the next two weeks conditioning in the bottles. And then I will have 2 cases of homemade beer to enjoy. But the enjoyment will be bittersweet, as I will have to drink the beer knowing that many a good yeast will have died to bring me this alcohol. Yeast that has lived with me these past weeks. That I have come to love.


Farewell sweet yeast! You will not have died in vain.

Damn capitalism

Let me set the stage. It's Friday, probably around 2pm central time. I've got about 2 more hours of work before I can go home for the weekend. I want to go home. I don't want to be at work anymore. I am tired of staring at the stupid computer model that I've been working on for the past month. In short, I need a pick-me-up.

The coffee in the local vending machine sucks. I've consumed a lot of soda in the last few days and I'm not really craving any more high fructose corn syrup. A beer would be nice, but we aren't allowed to have those at work. While I am standing in front of the soda machine, not really liking any of my options, I look over to the machine on the right. Low and behold, the juice machine. In said machine, orange juice.

Its perfect! Many people start their days with a tall glass of OJ as it is a natural energy booster. And with all the vitamin C, I won't get scurvy. It's a win-win. So I go with my impulse and buy a can of OJ, even though its 20 cents more. Hey, since those 30 seconds I spent staring at the machine were on company time I had just earned those 20 cents making my decision, I might as well spend them as a part of it.

I was pleased with my purchase. The brand was Welch's, so much like the communion wine at my mother's church I couldn't drink it without a lip smack. Pictured to the left is the very can that I purchased. I felt renewed enthusiasm flowing into me with every gulp I took. It was bliss. But like all good things, it had to come to an end. I finally took my last sip, and felt the sense of loss wash over me as I lowered the now empty can and thought that it had ended too soon.

And that's when I realized that it actually did end too soon. Lets examine the picture of the can a little closer.



11.5 fl. oz.?!?!? What the hell? Where is my last 0.5 fl. oz.? I feel betrayed. I feel used. I believe its written in the Constitution that "We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, and ensure 12 oz. in all canned beverages" (at least its something like that...I kind of fell asleep a few times in history class). After all I've done for the Welch's company (by not hunting down and strangling that stupid lip smack kid in the commercials for being so damn annoying), this is how they repay me? By depriving me of my last inalienable half of a fluid ounce.

Some people may not feel that this is so bad. What's 0.5 fl. oz.? It's such a tiny amount. Well Mr. (or Mrs., Ms., or Miss) "It's not such a big deal," if such a tiny amount doesn't really matter, why not go ahead and give it to us? I'll tell you why, because its 1/24th (4.167%) of the total volume. For every 24 cans, its like they get a free one. Which means that every 24 cases, they get a free case. Considering the total volume of cases that they must produce each year, that's a huge amount of money. And guess where that money is coming from folks. The pockets of you and me. They are stealing from us the precious orange juice that makes the last few hours of work on a Friday bearable.

Bastards.