'A' is For Akhenaten

NOTE:  Well, let the A-Z Challenge begin!  Before you start (and I hope you do), I must emphasize that what you're about to read over the next month merely scratches the surface.  If you wish to learn more, may I suggest you dig even deeper.  Also, since we're talking Penwasser Place here, not everything you read is factual.  Come to think of it, most of what you read is not factual.  But, some is.  Good luck with that! 

'A' is For Ahkenaten

Got a condo made of stonah

 

"Come on.  You know that's bullshit."

   Akhenaten or Akhenaton or Echnaton or Lou (to his close friends) was the tenth pharaoh of Egypt’s Eighteenth Dynasty from 1353 BC-1336 BC (or “BCE” to you politically-correct ninnies).  Or 1351-1334.  People aren’t positive.  Basically, it was a long-ass time ago.

Older than even Keith Richards

    Beginning his reign as Amenhotep IV, he changed his name to “Akhenaten” (meaning “effective of Aten”) in the fifth year of his reign (those crazy teenagers) when he abolished Egypt’s ancient polytheistic (meaning veneration of many gods.  Or parrots) cult in favor of that wacky Atenism, which venerated the sun.  And whose motto was MEGA (Make Egypt Great Again).  Perhaps.

    Anyway, he founded the city of Amarna, which was meant to be the headquarters for the new religion.  However, for reasons which will become clear, it disappeared into the desert and wasn’t discovered until the 19^th century.

The ruins of Amarn...oops, sorry.  This is Los Angeles.

 

Not to be confused with "Amana."
Hey, I wouldn't blame you if you were. 
There's all sort of crazy stuff here.

   When Lou died, Atenism died with him.  Follow-on rulers ordered that mention of his name be stricken from all aspects of Egyptian life.  This included all executive orders royal pronouncements, religious inscriptions, monuments, and his name was even excluded from a list of list of rulers by later pharaohs, preventing his election to the Egyptian Hall of Fame.   

"He was called 'that criminal' and 'Nile Crocodile Dung."

    The city of Amarna was even abandoned.  And not just because it wasn’t prime beachfront property.

The Red Sea was sooooooo close.
NOTE: Their wives went to Nag Hammadi

  

"Come on.  You gotta admit, that was pretty funny."

"What'd I say?"

    The residents were encouraged to relocate to Memphis, which proved to be a disappointment, due to lack of jazz and good barbecue.

    Bottom line, not a popular guy.  Especially once he left.

    And not just because he smelled like croc poop.

 

    

       

What's In a Date?

BC/AD, BCE/CE, AC/DC

    For the 2026 A-Z Challenge, I've chosen to describe those figures in history which probably had little effect on our lives.  In other words, you won't learn about people like Caesar, Napoleon, or Mr. Bean.  But, who knows?  Maybe you will.  I really haven't started my research in earnest yet.

Or of Ernest.

      However, before we begin, I thought I'd repost something I wrote several years ago which purports to instruct us as to how things are dated.  This is pretty much, word-for-word, that original post.  But, most importantly, I outline my opinion about the "politically-correct" way of handling dates, especially when it comes to the ancient past. 

    So, before I get ahead of myself...what's in a date?

     NOTE:  Judaism uses a different method of dating for their holy days.  While they undeniably date things with the method others use, they also use dates based on the Torah.  Anything to drive us meshuggah.  Come to think of it, I think Muslims also do this.  With the added benefit of beheading. 

     Since...uh...a long time ago, we've dated civilization using a "BC/AD" convention.  It's worked well as far as long as I've been alive.

And since I've been alive since most of you, it should work for you, as well.

    On the other hand, if you've been alive longer than I, good luck with those Depends, catheter sample packs, and Matlock marathons.

"And not the Kathy Bates Matlocks, either.  No joke."

    "B.C." stands for "Before Christ."  Meaning "Before Christ Was Born" not "Before Christ Started Shaving."  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that Jesus was born sometime around 4 B.C. (well, that's what the nuns told us), meaning Jesus was born four years before Jesus was born.  We all get it, Perfesser.

"It's a divine mystery.  Now, knuckles if ye please, cheeky boyo."

  

    "A.D." stands for "Anno Domini," which is Latin-not Greek-for "Year of Our Lord."  It does not mean "After Death."  If that's what it stood for, then, since Jesus was 33 years old when he was crucified, then there's something like 33 years (or 37, considering that 4 B.C. thing) unaccounted for.

    In the last years of the 20th Century, though, a new method of dating things has arisen: that of "B.C.E." or "Before the Common Era" and "C.E." or "Common Era."

    This was done to downplay the influence of Christianity and the Western World.  Don't try to tell me this isn't so.

    Now, okay, I guess I'm okay with diminishing a Christian-centric convention.  I mean, if I was not a Christian (even a good one), I'd probably have a problem with talking about something which happened in the "year of our Lord," anyway.  After all, Jesus isn't the Jews' Lord, an atheist has no Lord (unless you count the "God of Climate Change."), pagans worship sticks, Jehovah's Witnesses worsh...hell, I don't know what they do, and Satanists idolize...uh...Satan.

Muslims would get ticked off, I suppose, but they're too busy exploding

.

   NOTE:  I'm making outlandish generalizations for comedy purposes only.  Get over yourselves.

     The problem I have with this, though, is what exactly is "Common"?  Sure, Christianity and Judaism are common (Buddhism was also around, I think, but I'm trying to make a point here).  You can't exactly say Islam was common, because that religion didn't start raging around the Middle East and Mediterranean until 632 A.D.

    This means that, if you were going for a "common" vibe (using the "Big Three"), the year should actually be 1394 C.E., instead of 2026 A.D.  By the way, I know that "A.D." should go before the year, smart guy.  Shut up.

    No, what this is is a politically correct way of changing the name of something without actually changing anything.  The years are still the same.  In other words, Jesus was still born in the same year, except now it's 4 B.C.E.

    If the "C" stood for "Christian," it would at least be an accurate statement of fact.  Even though I'm not advocating that, you couldn't argue that Muhammed was born in 570 of the Christian Era.

    Once again, though, I understand the reticence towards "Christian-Centric" dating.

    NOTE:  I'd reword this, but I'm leaving it in.  Makes me laugh.

    So, if you want to go away from a Christian lens, why not date things from the founding of Rome?  The fall of the Western Roman Empire?  Norman Conquest?

"Or something else.  Wink...wink."

      I realize that won't happen because can you imagine the disruption that would cause to our sense of our place in the world, to say nothing of what it would do to Hallmark.

    So, with that being the case, I'll just go right on using "BC" and "AD."  I will not succumb to the silly "B.C.E." and "C.E." nonsense here.  If you're the type of person who is uncomfortable with those terms, rest assured that nothing is different.

    For example, the first case of syphilis was recorded in 1495 A.D., which is the same as 1495 C.E.

     There.  That's something you know now.

    

  

 

Blast From the Past

     Since I'm preparing the 2026 A-Z Challenge, I don't have a lot of extra time to write anything new for Penwasser Place.  So, I figured you wouldn't mind an oldie but a moldie goodie.  Therefore, may I present my 'U' entry from the 2011 A-Z Challenge? 

NOTE:  If inclined to go back and search for the original post (although I can't imagine why anyone would), you won't find it.  In a fit of pique and mental illness, I deleted my entire blog in 2018, a very bad year for me (yes, it involved a woman).  Luckily (or not), I kept a copy of the original writing.

The Underwear Wars

   Come, listen, my children, from everywhere

to the epic battles of underwear.

  Began first with briefs, tighty-whiteys,

that were worn by men both weak and mighty. 

Frankly, I'm disturbed that I kept this photo all these years. 
 I've always thought the dude in the front looked like Christian Bale. 
But it was good to see that Gary Coleman was able to find work before he died.

  But, soon, a young woman began to fret

and wonder why she wasn’t pregnant yet.

  For, you see, the problem lay in the fit

of briefs which pulled the sack near where he’d sit. 

  Thus cooked, the sperm had no place to hide.

Victims of body temperature, boiled and died.

  No happy eggs, no mother-to-be

Just a man and his wife and their color TV

(NOTE: Hey, it rhymed.  Sue me.)

   A doctor’s care being her last resort,

she bought him some boxers, just like gym shorts.

  She told him their loose, casual fit

will keep his “boys” far from where he sits.

  With them cooled, his swimmers will be able

to find a place at the “Mommy Table.”

  But, he moaned and whined, “I hate the big hole.

The struggle is real. 
Especially for the gifted.

Meaning, I'm good.

It’s a big inconvenient ‘Whack-A-Mole’.”

  So, to shut up her husband and give her relief

She then thought to buy him some boxer briefs.

  Not quite as snug as the white linen sacks

they gave him the comfort that boxers lacked.

Actually, my preference, if you're curious. 
Why would you be curious?  What's wrong with you? 
Incidentally, not me.

  Excited over this underwear kind

the wife hustled home, only to find.

  Her man, at the doorway, happily bare

No shirt, no pants, no underwear.

  “Honey,” he said, “I’ve got a great plan

That I’m hoping, I pray that you’ll understand.

  “For, just like Kramer or Marlon Brando*,

No undies for me.  I’m going commando.”

 Epilogue:  In a coma, the wife is not expected to live.  Her living will stipulates that her eggs be harvested for the local in-vitro fertilization clinic.

 *Okay, so I’m no Shakespeare.  But, I couldn’t think of anything else that rhymed with ‘commando.’

One more post before the challenge!

 

2026 A-Z Challenge Theme Reveal

 

    Well, time flies.  So, it is we turn our attention once more to the A-Z Challenge.  I shan't bother any of you with details.  The few who read this blog are quite familiar with what that entails.

Or is that 'entrails?'  Well, that's gross.

    Suffice it to say, I'll be spending most of the rest of this month writing thirty posts, which I'll put on delay.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I'll spend a lot of April playing catch-up.  

    This, of course, is time that I could spend finishing my book, Adventures of a Monetary Exchange Specialist.  Sure to be ignored a bestseller, it, sadly, is only half done.  Shoot, I feel like George R.R. Martin, who's been dragging his feet for well over a decade now as he writes the next chapter in The Song of Ice and Fire.

"Hey, don't kid yourself. 
We both may be old, fat, and have beards, but we're nothing alike, you hack."

    That being said, my theme this year is interesting (or otherwise) people throughout history (okay, I like history.  Sue me).  These won't be commonly known people, either.  Meaning, I won't use "Caesar," for the letter 'A."

"COBB SALAD, NOT CAESAR SALAD, YOU NARCISSISTIC BASTARD!  WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?  MARCUS TRUMPUM???""

    I'll try to keep them short with occasional bits of true facts thrown in, just to keep you guessing.

    Anyway, before you go, Chris from Tilting At Windmills, commenting on my post from last week, observed about the absence of a particular picture.  Well, far be it from me to ignore any request.  Especially since there are very few of you who read this hideous blog in the first place.

    So, without further ado, here ya go, Chris: 

In other words, fun date.

Picture Time

    Since I'll do anything to avoid actually being constructive, I thought I'd peruse the folder on my computer called "Blog Pix."  Yes, I do actually have something like that.  Similarly, virtually none of the pictures on my cell phone are remotely serious.  My wife asks why, for instance, I have a picture of a man humping a fish (one of my favorites) instead of her.

    NOTE:  the previous sentence is a classic dangling participle.  This means you could interpret as why "I have a picture of a man humping a fish...instead of her."  I thought to edit it so there's no confusion, but I left it in (that's what she said), because I thought it was funny.  And that's a right handsome fish.

    I reply that they make me laugh.  And I am not well.

    Anyway, in no certain order, here are some of them (possibly some of which you've already seen)...

The aforementioned fish humping picture.  I know you've seen this. 
I usually caption it, "And now a word from the NMFLA (Man-Fish Love Association)" 

"We sell zig zag papers, coffee which could strip paint, mummified hot dogs, pre-used scratch off tickets, and farts disguised as hoagies wrapped in cellophane. 
Take THAT, Wawa!  Oh, thank heaven."

Personally, I think this whole 'Right to Arm Bears' is getting out of hand.

Put some bulbs in my garden before Spring.

Speaking of Spring, can beach season be far behind?

"Someone hear a noise?"

"Here, lemme give you a hand."

"I don't think it will fit in our living room."

Well, it is.

"Personally, I think the tuition costs for Electoral College are excessive. 
Electricians could get a much better bang for their buck at a trade school."
 

Now, how did this picture from my Super Bowl party get in here?

    Okay, last one.  Almost time for breakfast...

Remember when we actually thought this was ludicrous?

 

Adultery-The Musical!

     Okay, sure, there are a LOT of important and deadly things going on in the world.  If the two of you who read this would like to get my take on them, may I recommend you visit Nobody Asked Me But..., it's a more serious appraisal of the world and can be found where you can get fine literature.  Or this.

    I prefer Penwasser Place remain solely a place of whimsy and silly.

    And adultery.

    I heard a song on the radio today, If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Want to Be Right.  It's a catchy little tune, released in 1972 by Luther Ingram.  Surprisingly (or perhaps not), it topped the R& B charts for four weeks and rose to #3 on Billboard's Top 100.

    Throughout the entire ditty is a man whining about following his love, no matter how icky it is.  "Knowing I got a wife and two little children depending on me, too."  What a scumbag.

    Newsflash for Luther:  It is wrong and you definitely aren't right.

    NOTE:  Did a little research.  Apparently Lither won't be receiving any newsflashes.  He's dead.  My bad.  

    Also, in 1972, is Me and Mrs. Jones, another screed by a douchebag who's having an affair with a married woman (the "Mrs." in "Mrs. Jones" gave it away, I'd wager).  This little cheating nugget rose to #1 on Billboard's Top 100 for three weeks!  

    "We meet every day at the same cafe...while the jukebox plays our favorite song."

    Probably If Loving You Is Wrong.

    I know you're probably thinking, "What an old boomer prude.  What's a little extramarital diddling between friends?"  Look, I'm no morals scold, but these sociopaths wrote and performed proudly how much of a philandering turd they were.

    I am old, though.

"NOW GET OFF MY LAWN!!"

   But, nothing makes me change a radio station faster than Rupert Holmes' Poster Song of Adultery, Escape, which is more commonly known as the Pina Colada Song.

    To use Peter Griffin's saying, this thing really grinds my gears. 

         

"And you didn't even mention how my chin looks like a set of balls."

"BALLS!!!"
Also dead.
RIP

 

    I'll admit, like the other two, this is a catchy song and was even featured on that hideous Adam Sandler movie, Grownups and the lesser obnoxious Guardians of the Galaxy.

.  

     I'm sorry, the reason why I hate this more than any else is that both husband and wife are frikkin' cheaters.  After placing an ad in the personals and scheduling a rendezvous with his paramour at "a bar named O'Malley's," he comes to find out that his date was actually his wife.

    Meaning, Mrs. Scumbag was planning to cheat, as well.  They all had a big laugh and never once mentioning how their intention was to boink a perfect stranger.

 

    What in the name of Bill Clinton is this?

"I approve this message."

    Released in December, 1979, it rose to become the country's last #1 hit of the year before being displaced by KC and the Sunshine Band's Please Don't Go in 1980 (their booty having been sufficiently shaken four years earlier).  However, it went back to #1 for a few weeks in 1980.

    These three were released in the 1970s.  And here I thought the 70s had enough problems with disco, fashion, and Gerald Ford. 

    Apparently, the power of boners beat them all.

Of Jockeys and Gnomes

"Go ahead.  Laugh clown, laugh. 
I am so gonna hit your rude ass with a blizzard."

 

    Everyone thinks it’s Punxsutawney Phil who sets the tone for the rest of the winter and gets us psyched for the glorious return of Spring.

    See his shadow-six more weeks of winter

Or is that Christmas lights?

    No shadow?  Early spring.

"No shit?  Sounds as good as anything I got."

    Still, the furry little rodent know-it-all has nothing on the mid-winter circular from Home Depot.

    Having received my sale ad from that “Mecca of the Do-it-Yourselfer,” I’m raring to put my shorts on and putter around the yard in search of that evildoer, crabgrass.  

    As I wistfully flipped through the harbinger of milder weather, I couldn’t help but be awed by the dazzling variety of ways to jazz up my backyard.  From garden tractors to plastic flamingoes, I can buy enough goodies to keep my neighbors green with envy

Or nausea

    Luckily, though, nowhere in the paper did I find those twin banes of home embellishment:  lawn jockeys or garden gnomes.

Better

    Brought to you by the same people who brought you roses in toilets, Virgin-Mary-In-a-White-Truck-Tire, and little old ladies bending over, 

As classy as those are

lawn jockeys are to good taste what Bill Clinton is to marital fidelity.

But, seriously, can you blame him?

"Right?"

  Once believed gone the way of roller disco, leisure suits, and the Yellow Pages, they still occasionally spring up adjacent to driveways or on front porches like home decor kudzu.

     Courteously painted white to avoid any insensitivities,

"If you know what's good for you, Cracker."

the custom of displaying these little equestrian statuettes is a vestige of an aristocratic past and is as insensitive as a cigar-store Elizabeth Warren Indian.

    Don’t get me wrong, though.  I applaud any attempt to improve a home’s “curb appeal.”  Surely, anything is preferable to lavender aluminum siding, "Hate Has No Home Here" signs,

Except Republicans. 
They can fuck all the way off.

 or garden gnomes.

  These miniature Wilfred Brimley look-alikes 

We would also accept "Robert Reich."

make me feel as if I’ve wandered into a Stephen King novel.  At any minute, I’m afraid they’ll come to life and drag me, kicking and screaming, to their secret lair inside the Keebler oak tree. 

"I feel attacked."

    I mean, if you want brainless stumps camped out on your front lawn, why not just ask Jerry Nadler over for a barbecue?

"I'll bring the chips."

     Given a choice between the two, though, I'll settle for plastic flamingoes.

    And, if you don't like it, I'm sending Jerry to your house.  With a bag of Funyuns.