'A' is for 'Amistad'

NOTE:  Those who have been with me awhile have (hopefully) read some of my history posts.  For those who may be unfamiliar with the "way I roll," though, I don't do a whole lot of research with these.  Now before you go accusing me of being a know-it-all, some sort of Stephen Hawking (without the "being dead" part) savant, just know that I pretty much wing most of these.  Some facts are absolutely true.  Others?  Yeah, not so much.  Under no circumstances should you use these things to study for the History SAT.  On the other hand, some remarkably stupid people get jobs in Congress so being a knucklehead ain't necessarily a deal-breaker.  Carry on. 

    On the 24th of February 1841, lawyer and former U.S. president, John Quincy Adams began his defense of Africans who had taken control of the Spanish slave ship, La Amistad.

And here you thought John Q. Adams was just
a son of a president who rocked some killer facial hair. 
Well, he was that and did that. 

 

NOTE:  Ironically, "La Amistad" is Spanish for "friendship." 

    In 1839, the Amistad had been sailing from Havana, Cuba to Port-Au-Prince, Haiti (both killer vacation destinations) with a cargo of formerly free Africans meant to be sold to the highest bidder from some hellish sugar-cane plantation.  Caught by slavers in Sierra Leone, they rose up and killed the captain and cook before they could reach the aforementioned garden spot.   

    They demanded that the remaining crew sail them home to Africa.  Since GPS hadn't been invented and the Sierra Leone office of AAA hadn't implemented the Trip-Tik system yet, they didn't notice when the ship sailed northward instead.

    Intercepted by a U.S. Navy ship off the coast of New York, the Africans were taken into custody and charged with murder.  Spain demanded return of the ship and the prospective slaves, but abolitionists intervened and retained Adams for the defense.

    After a trial before the Supreme Court which lasted two days, the former president won acquittal of the men who were then returned to their native land.  

    Thus, a victory against the evils of slavery was won by the abolitionists.

    Little did they know that something much worse would follow twenty years later.

   

But, that's another story for another day.

Blast From the Past-Y

 From the 2011 A-Z Challenge.  And that, mes amis, was a long time ago.

Seems like only yesterday, doesn't it?

Ya’ll Come Back Now, Ya Hear?

     Hard to believe, but the A-Z Challenge is just about over.  Oh, sure, I still have ‘Z’ to do, but it really isn't much.  I'm tired, yo.

    NOTE:  Sorry, I won't be giving you a "Z" post.  In fact, I don't even remember what it was.  Like I said, it was a long time ago.

When everything worked.

    That being the case, I really won’t have much of a chance to say “thank you” to all of you who (or is that “whom?”  Better ask my English teacher) took the time to read my verbal diarrhea and, more, saw fit to comment on same.  For those “You suck!” comments, it was a snap to delete those. 

And maybe show how much I really feel.

    I learned quite a bit over the past 25 days: how “delayed posting” is a boon for procrastinators, that there are 26 letters in the alphabet (I always forget ‘Q’...maybe because, in Scrabble, you rarely use it without a ‘U’), my invitation to the Royal Wedding won’t be forthcoming, and that there are a WHOLE BUNCH of talented bloggers out there.

    NOTE:  I think the Royal Wedding comment hearkened back to an earlier post.  Incidentally, I never received an invite.

    You put me to shame.  I feel privileged to have gotten to know you and (heaven help you) struck up a cyber-relationship with a few (you know who you are).

    For my old followers (including Mom), thanks for hanging in there with me.  It’s not easy reading about Old Man Toe, colonoscopies, piss cream, and vasectomies, I know.  Look on the bright side, though.  At least it isn’t happening to you.

    For my new followers, thanks for stopping by.  I hope to give you a laugh every so often (if nothing else, take a look at my picture.  Hey, I bathed.).

    I’d like to give a shout-out to Arlee Bird from Tossing It Out.  If it wasn’t for him, many of you wouldn’t have gotten a chance to know me.  Any hate mail may be sent to him at http://tossingitout.blogspot.com.

    To the rest of you happy campers, as Elvis said, "I'll have another dozen peanut butter and banana sandwiches" “Thank you, thank you very much.”

    In any case, just so the title makes sense...

    “Ya’ll come back now, ya hear.”

    May as well.  Don’t cost nothin’....

Best fishes,

Al

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FINAL NOTE:  While this post was meant to thank those of who came calling to Penwasser Place in 2011, I'm using it now to encourage you to come back next month (this will be my final post until the challenge kicks off on April Fool's Day).  

I'm looking forward to meeting you all.

"I wasn't born in April, was I?"

   

Blast From the Past-Big Bang Theory

 

Not this one.  Sorry.

As I prepare for the 2025 A-Z Challenge, I have precious little time to create new posts for March.  Therefore, I've activated the way-back machine to pull up some posts from the past.  This particular gem (?) is from the 2013 Challenge (if I remember correctly, that was the last time I did the challenge.).

Enjoy (?)

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According to some scientists (some of whom have actually seen a naked girl), the Big Bang Theory is a possible explanation for creation of the universe. 

Essentially, a long, long, long time ago in a place where there were no galaxies (near or far away), all the matter (which really mattered) smashed themselves together so tightly that it created a huge amount of heat energy.

Think "Whoopi trying on jeans" energy.

 

    As this energy grew and grew, it suddenly exploded and expanded with such an intensity, creating all which makes up the universe: galaxies, planets, asteroids, Oprah, Denny's, etc.

    This took place around 13.772 billion years ago (plus or minus 15 million years).  In dog years, this would be 96.404 billion years.

Basically, Keith Richards long ago.
NOTE:  This gag will come up again during the Challenge

    This is according to the Lambda-CDM concordance model.

     Some scientists differ, however.  The Lambda Lambda Lambda model, on the other hand, was in the process of determining the exact age of the universe, but they were interrupted when the football team pantsed them.  

Frankly, the Asian kid is the only one I buy.

     In any event, it's not like anyone can go check to see whether these eggheads (who are Blinded by...Science!) are right or not.

"That's my line!"

    The only way we'll ever know for sure is when we go to Heaven (or...Purgatory, according to Sister Mary Gregory of the Titanium Yardstick).  God (who may have a pocket protector) may tell us that the evangelicals were right all along, "Let's see, yep, it's 6,000 years old.  Soooo, they were a bit off.  Plus, it's a shame you didn't go to Muslim Heaven, what with those virgins and all.  Can I interest you in a cloud?" 

"Virgins!!?? That sounds awesome!"
"Meh.  Been there."

"And it be blasphemy like that which will put you in Purgatory in the first place.  
Knuckles if ye please, boyo."

NOTE:  I realize that not all of you believe in God, heaven, or even pocket protectors.  Bear in mind, though, that if God doesn't exist, we'll just disappear into the oblivion of ignorance.  A lot like Congress. I'll prefer to hedge my bets and go with the heavenly paradise thing.  Even though I'll be spending a few thousand years in Purgatory.

Blast From the Past-'V'

 May I present an entry from the 2011 A-Z Challenge?  Of course, I've reposted this at least a couple times since then because I find it pretty funny.  Luckily, the procedure took as I've not had children since.  And I've had "sexy time" on more than a couple occasions.

Not lately, though. 
Brown hair isn't the only thing I've lost since I've gotten older, don'tcha know.

 

Vasectomy-The Unkindest Cut of All

(NOTE:  That can’t possibly be original)

    After the second of our children were born, my wife and I decided that we were done with the whole reproducing thing.  We first considered having her tubes tied.  But, since that conjured up a vision of a rodeo where a chaps-wearing doctor would wrassle my wife to the operating table, we didn’t want to try that.

    I also considered radiation to fry my “boys.”  But, since taping a cell phone to my crotch was impractical and sticking my junk in front of the microwave delayed dinner, we decided on a vasectomy.

Plus, it's too high.

    Since this decision was made while I was still in the Navy, there was no worry about how we were going to be able to pull this off (an unfortunate phrase, that).  The local Navy hospital was more than capable of performing the procedure.

Because no way I would do this on a ship.  A moving ship.

    So, after talking a couple of the guys into joining me (the hospital was having a special: "Bring a friend and get 10% off a car wash"), I decided to close the “Fruitful and Multiply” store.

    The three of us were ushered into what looked like a MASH operating room.  After a couple of questions, like “Have you eaten in the past 12 hours?”, “Are you sure you want to do this?”, “Have you shaved this morning?”,

Although I wondered what that had to do with anything.

we were instructed to disrobe from the waist down and cover ourselves with a white sheet.

    Frankly, I wanted to go all nude, but my friends chickened out.  I think they were jealous.  Or horrified.  Probably horrified.

    Anyway, the three of us laid (or is that ‘lied’? I can NEVER get that straight) down on the table, sheets draped across our laps, our “privates” (wait a minute, we were in the Navy-we didn’t have “privates.”  Okay, “seamen.”  There, that’s better.”) poking through holes.

I swear, we looked like a row of ghosts wearing Jimmy Durante masks. 

NOTE: to keep this a "family-friendly" blog, I left out a picture of why exactly I thought that.  You're welcome.

    Assisted by a dour-looking corpsman, the doctor reassured us that the procedure would be painless.  Especially, he laughed, for him.

    Yeah, I know.  Laugh clown, laugh.

"Homey don't find this funny."

    There would be, he cautioned, a small “stick and a kick.”

    Starting with me, he injected my laddies (the “stick”) to numb them.  This was immediately followed by a substantial “kick.”

Pretty much.

     Visions of playground bullies immediately swam into focus as I struggled to breathe.  Before I had the chance to lie that I was okay, though, the parts surrounding my fun factory lost all feeling.  

    So, it went with the rest of us.  In no time, the genital assembly line (thanks, Henry Ford!) was closing up shop.  Gingerly putting our trousers back on, we cracked jokes about unloaded guns and laughed about whether we should show our scars at the next family reunion.

    Still, we were happy that we were finally taken off the playing field, in a matter of speaking.  Instead of being put out to stud, we knew that the limited editions of “us” were finally at an end. 

    As we got our parking validated and received our car wash vouchers, we took comfort that our lives would be spared from future unplanned, unforeseen “Uh-ohs.”

    Even more, we were thrilled that we would be able to “get the ball rolling” (you know what I mean) in only a couple weeks.

Unless the ballgame was on.

 

 

Blast From the Past-Narwhal

 As I prepare for next month's A-Z Challenge, I realize that I don't have a lot of time to write new posts for March.  Therefore, I've decided to dig into posts from years ago.  This is an entry I submitted to the 2013 A-Z Challenge.  Ahhhh, sweet 2013!  When my hair was mostly brown and everything still worked!

Enjoy (?) 

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Narwhal

Sources:  Wikipedia, National Geographic, a sixth-grader named Stewart

"Hey, what're these tusk-like thingies for?" 
"I dunno.  Spear fish, maybe?" 
"Well, that's just idiotic. How TF we supposed to get them off?  Or do we just swim around like idiots with rotting fish on our tusks?" 
"Then maybe we use them to just fight...?"
"Exactly.  What say we go eff up some of them fat-ass walruses?" 

 

  The narwhal or narwhale (according to Stewart) belong to the species Monodon Monoceros (Latin for “Watch Out, This Bitch Gets Mono”).

  It’s a medium-sized whale 

Not unlike...

which lives year-round in the Arctic (after its distant relatives, the manatees, kicked them out of Tampa for eating all the fish and goosing snorkelers).

  One of two species of whale in the Monodontidae (there’s that ‘mono’ word again) family, along with the beluga whale (who knew?), they are distinguished by being punier than their snotty cousins, the sperm whale.

Who have no reason to cop an attitude. 
Given their name and all.

  In addition to the lack of a true dorsal fin, they possess a characteristic long tusk which extends from a hole in their upper lip.  Primarily a male feature,

As if a penis wasn't a dead giveaway

they aren’t actually “tusks” at all, but some kind of weird-ass tooth.  And you thought the “Elephant Man” had issues.

"I am not an animal. 
I'm fairly confident they are, though."

  Evidently-drunk medieval Europeans confused this tusk as the horn belonging to the legendary unicorn.  What’s more, they believed it had magical powers which could cure melancholy, poison, plague, and the Moors.  But, since Europeans also believed that trolls caused genital herpes, it’s kind of hard to take them seriously.

"No.  That would be the elves.  Sheesh."

  The purpose for this narwhallic snaggle-tooth (I just made that term up) remains a mystery.  Differing theories hold that it may have something to do with mating, breaking through dense pack ice, capturing prey, scratching the itch of friendly sea lions, or for advertising.  Although, most reputable biologists now refute its use for catching food.

"Way ahead of you.  We already decided that would be dumb AF."

  These creatures are found in Canadian, Russian, and Greenland Arctic waters, and Seaworld.

Not to mention "Elf."

  A specialized predator, their diet consists primarily of benthic fish (NOTE: I have no clue what that means. Feel free to look it up).

  Narwhal have been hunted for millennia by native Inuit people (the Polynesians having decided that the Arctic was no place for grass skirts) for their meat, ivory, skin, blubber, and as conversation pieces for igloo coffee tables.  However, this practice has dwindled due primarily to a shrinking herd, conservation efforts, evolving cultural practices, and the fact that Dominos now delivers to the North Pole.

  Other predators include killer whales (which aren’t whales at all, but particularly bad-ass dolphins), polar bears, and the occasional confused mountain lion.

  The narwhal. 

  Master of the Northern Ocean, Denizen of the Deep, Bucktoothed Whipping Boy of the Whale World, Scourge of Benthic Fish  

  In other words, as the native Qaanaaq say, “Nanooq lamooq na attatook hanni boof”?

  Or, “Beast In Front Of Whom You Must Never Bend Over.”

 

"Betcher ass.  No pun intended."

DISCLAIMER: A lot of the above is probably not true.  Especially that “nanooq” business.  But, trolls got a bum rap.  Elves probably do cause herpes.  According to Sister Mary Gregory of the Titanium Yardstick.

"Amen.  Now, knuckles if ye please."

           

Theme Reveal

 

  

    Well, after many years, I've decided to re-enter the A-Z Challenge.  I've missed the fun and so have already put a few posts on delay.  That way, I won't be so hard-pressed to churn something out on a daily basis.  Far be it for me to skimp on quality writing. 

"Quality?"

    March, on the other hand, will consist primarily of repeats.  Usually posts from a long time ago, though.  So they may seem new or even be new to you. 

Or not.

    Where have I been, you might ask.  And why have I decided to jump back in, you might also ask.  And, is cottage cheese really cheese, you might also also ask.

    The last time I did the challenge was 2013.  I think.  Anyway, a long, long time ago.  Basically, I stopped because I, uh, got lazy.  I figured I would concentrate solely on my books, which were sure to bring me riches beyond compare.

    Well, I haven't stopped writing my books.  In fact, I'm up to eight and hope to finish my ninth, Adventures of a Monetary Exchange Specialist, near the end of the year.  My plan is to have it ready for the Christmas shopping season.  Or Kwanzaa.  Come to think of it, is gift-giving even a thing with Kwanzaa?

Apparently yes.  Good to know.

    But, the riches never materialized.  Mostly because my books suck I haven't done a whole lot of marketing for them.  So, the excuse of having something else to do really isn't there.  After all, it doesn't put a huge stress on me to write a blog post or two.  Mind you, apart from the challenge, I'm content with a post every week or so.  It's not a huge strain.

    Unlike a diet totally devoid of fiber.

    IYKYK.

    Also, there was a period of time when I stopped writing altogether.  I was going through a rough patch and just didn't want to write at all.  So, I closed down my blog completely.

I had issues.

    However, I yearned to connect and so started up again.  While I didn't write nearly as much as I once did, I still wanted to return to writing.  Titled "Stuff and Nonsense," the intention of my new blog was to balance things with the serious and the silly.  Now, while I like being serious, I enjoy being silly more often.  I fact, even when I was being serious, I couldn't help throwing in a bit of snark here and there.

Which is why I thought this was appropriate
when talking about the Democratic National Convention

   The main problem with dumping the old blog was that I lost most of my followers (over 300).  Of course, a few of you (the old-timers) migrated over to "Stuff and Nonsense" at its inception.  Robyn, over at "Life By Chocolate," is very familiar with the bad times eight years ago.  Her blog even was infected by my personal crazy for a time.  For those who stuck with me, I thank you.  I hope you don't regret it.  You know who you are.

    In any case, I've resurrected the old "Penwasser Place."  Of course, it will be mostly silly.

  

    With a bit of serious commentary now and then.

    Now, I know you're wondering (if you haven't fallen asleep by now), what is my theme for the challenge?

    Since I like history, my theme will be history.  The "wrinkle" to this is that I will concentrate on those events in history which aren't as well-known.  You know, things which aren't covered in great detail.  Some, of course, will be common knowledge.  For example, 'P' will be 'Passover,' because I deem that be an important topic.  And 'X' will be about 'Xerxes,' because I think it's funny (of course, some of you have already read my Xerxes post and think it is not).

    I'll also try to keep things short, especially since a lot of people are posting.  Nobody can devote too much attention to long posts.

Clearly, I have failed the brevity test here

      Finally, I hope that, by doing the challenge, I'll once more ramp up my list of followers and discover even more sites to visit (Blogger is kind of a bust when it comes to exploring). 

   Oh, by the way, cottage cheese is cheese.       

Ghosties, Ghoulies, and Things Which Go Bump in the Night

FULL DISCLOSURE:  I was raised a Catholic and was even an altar boy for four years.  However, I'm married to a Jewish girl.  Before that, I was married to a Presbyterian girl.  And before that, I was married to another Jewish girl.  Anyway, the following may offend the deeply religious and people who just like to be offended no matter what the reason.  In any case, if that describes you, you may wish to move along...

 

Three wives.
You know, I'm not much to look at, but apparently I'm a playa.
Or I meet women with horrendous taste in men.

  My daughter loves to watch “Ghost Adventures.”

  For those who have lives, “Ghost Adventures” is a program on the Travel Channel (Travel Channel??) that purports to show what the “living-challenged” are like.

  Oh, sure, some of you may smugly think you know everything there is to know about ghosts.  You’ve seen Casper cartoons, watched Bill Murray in “Ghostbusters,” and thought Patrick Swayze was the hottest spook you have ever seen.

Unless you're old enough to remember this spook. 
In that case, it's time to schedule a colonoscopy.

  Poor Taste Department:  Of course as we all know, Patrick Swayze has since become a ghost.

  Anyway, “Ghost Adventures” follows the...uh...adventures of Zak Bagans and his two sidekicks as they crawl around supposedly haunted places in the middle of the night (never in broad daylight.  I think that’s a law or something).  Using state of the art equipment, cheesy goatees, and panicked gasps of “Dude!”, they try to convince us that mouse farts are, in reality, calls from beyond the grave.

Zak Bagans
He of the big biceps

  Sometimes I watch the show with her just to make fun of it and poke her in the side screaming, “Boo!”  Our favorite episode was when the boys visited the abandoned Remington Arms factory in Bridgeport, Connecticut.

  For those of you unfortunate enough to be traveling through Bridgeport, you can see the factory just before you disappear in a pothole on I-95.  The reason I liked that particular show was that, since my personality was forged in that cauldron of urban decay, I recognized that area.

Which is why I moved very far away from that area.

  I had to laugh at Zak and company.  Even though they tried to impress upon us that their immortal souls were in danger, they were actually safer locked inside.

I'm not saying Bridgeport is dangerous, but even the birds carry guns.

  The more I thought about the idea of ghosts, the more I thought...what do people do to get rid of them (especially if they’re stupid enough to build a house over an Indian graveyard.  Always Indian, never Amish)?

"Because we'd totally fuck you English up. 
Then, build a barn on top of your corpse."

  For instance, are Catholics the only ones allowed to be exorcists?

  But, what happens if a priest wasn’t available and you had to call in, say, a Lutheran?

  OK, raise your hands.  How many think a demon would be intimidated by a Lutheran?  That’s right, any self-respecting spawn of Satan would just yawn and put up drapes.

  I would think a call would need to be made for a Catholic priest.

Sorta like a Vatican Batman.

  Who’d then sprinkle some holy water on the sofa, say a few “Be gone from this holy place, foul demon!” incantations, and hand out some Bingo cards.

  Then, after all that-voila!-no more demon!

  It couldn’t be that simple, though. 

  Certainly, there’d have to be Jewish ghosts.  Would a Catholic work then?  A crucifix would have no effect on a Yiddish evil spirit, I’m sure.  Maybe a Star of David?

  I would think for a Jewish ghost, you’d need a rabbi.  Imagine that....

  “So, Mr. Fancy-pants, you think you’re so special you can come in here and terrorize these nice people?  Stop being such a big shot, get your coat, and scram, schmuck. And don’t forget to wipe your feet.”

  Plus, what about Muslim ghosts?  How would even know your ghost was a Muslim?  Would you have a shoe thrown at your head in the middle of the night?

"Begone from this place, infidel demon!"

  Or wake up missing your head?

"It's how we roll."

  How ‘bout Mormon ghosts?  I wouldn’t think that’d be so bad.  They’d probably only possess your bicycles.

"Not to worry.  I got this."

  Finally, how would you get rid of an atheist ghost?  Surely there have to be some.  Maybe all you’d need to say is, “You don’t believe in me?  Well, I don’t believe in you.  Swear to God.”  Problem solved.

  Just to be on the safe side, better keep the Vatican on speed dial, though.

NOTE: please forgive my earlier use of the term "spook."  Apparently...