Winner ... Sort Of

"I won some bread. Now it's time to win some meat
to complete that sandwich."
- Carl Hunter

Carl Hunter: Bread Winner

And an unfulfilled bread winner at that ...

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Ethyl 'n' Burt

On the rare occasion of a "movie date night" Ethyl was usually quick to tire of millennial whispering and whining once the film got started.

Her husband Burt, on the other hand, enjoyed her lapses - it gave him a chance to change seats. That way he could get through an entire movie without listening to Ethyl snore ...

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Really ... I Should Just Stop While I'm Ahead

Today, March 8th, is International Women's Day 

 

So ... ladies? Happy International Women's Day.

But, in so offering, I open a can of worms. No matter what, you know I'm going to work my way into some sort of trouble.

I wonder: Is it even appropriate to offer such a salutation, coming from me? A man? If I don't consider myself the male equivalent of a true feminist, is the sentiment disingenuous? Should I just leave well enough alone and keep my big yap shut? 

Howza 'bout I offer a simple image as way of greeting? Or is something like this too bland?

"We're women. We're more than just an icon."

After all it might illicit a not-so-(insert word here) response and counter any well-meaning intention.

Is the "strong woman" icon rote in this day and age?

"You think we're here simply to continually clean up your messes and keep you in line?"

How about something simple, non-controversial?

"Geez ... could you have picked a better image?

One without a trio of females whose heads aren't bound in scarves?"

Or something staid? Sedate?

  

"Boooooooooooooooooooring ..."

Maybe I should just put something comical up. You know, acknowledging the day while at the same time shooting for laughs and typical male behavior? (Women like honesty in a man ... right?)

 

What about the equivalent of an image of a man's power tie in a corporate meeting, so to speak? Something potent and robust?

"Ever try running around in an outfit like that, Michael?

Your boobs would pop out by the third step ..."

*sigh*

I just can't win. I'm not even going to try. I'll just continue digging my own grave over here, quietly ...

.......... Ruprecht ( can't help it. He'll never STOP bmaking mistakes. He is male, after all. )

Heavy Metal State Of Mind

In my childhood I, like many other kids, were dropped off at relatives' homes so the parents could get kidless for a bit. A parent's night out or an "adults only" weekend getaway or some such. Often, these drop offs consisted of overnight stays with my grandparents.

A lot of fun was had during some of these stays. They could include elaborate, out-of-the-ordinary things such as special dinners out or out-of-the-way Sunday drives we wouldn't normally be privy to. On the contrary, small surprises were the order of the day, too - helping out in the kitchen, construction projects we wouldn't normally do at home, etc.

It was during these latter times a seemingly immovable virtual tick, a life-long foible was placed in my mind I have yet to completely eradicate. Though I've had some success in circumventing it to a degree.

In my youth, automatic dishwashers were making their debut in the common home. Invented in the 1920s, they didn't really gain any sort of popularity until the 50s when they claimed status in upper class housing. Their real surge came about in the 70s, however, where many the average home enjoyed one. My family didn't have one ... and neither did my grandparents. (To this day, I prefer washing dishes by hand rather than loading them into a dishwasher. It gives me a small sense of accomplishment to do so.)

Which leads directly to the point of this post.
 
Lacking a dishwasher, my grandparents of course washed all their dishes by hand. But, as their years progressed, they weren't as careful about the care and cleanliness of them as they could have been.

That metal drinkware you see in the above photo? Those were the kind of "glasses" my grandparents served my sister and I juice and soft drinks and milk in. The problem was their were forever particles in the bottom corners which tainted anything poured into them and gave them an unmistakable smell as one got to the bottom of the glass.

It was old, fermented, I'm certain moldy leftover drink from who knows when. Weeks past? Months? Probably longer.

As a kid, I just went with the flow. But when I figured this out later in life, a little light went off inside my mind and I found I could no longer imbibe from metal drinkware.

And this quirk didn't stop with drinking vessels: It progressed over to metal plates and dishes and servingware.

I began tasting a metallic or coppery tang whenever food was served with a metal spoon scraped fresh from a metal bowl. Sizzling metal platters? Eating off of them became impossible. If you scraped a knife and fork across each other, a nerve was set off inside me. If I did it, I would have to get another pair of utensils to eat with. Eating Spumoni out of a chilled metal dish in an Italian restaurant? Nope, none for me, thanks.

I can still smell that vile scent and taste that distinctive metallic tang at the mere sight of cups made of metal.

But ... I'm happy to report I'm progressing toward the "not so sensitive." A Christmas gift is what did it for me, moving me away from my foible.

Our household contains a dish that does not require butter to be refrigerated, assuring room temperature, easily spreadable butter. Sure enough, the interior of it is a brushed aluminum. Scraping a knife against it is commonplace now. At the beginning, however, I had to conquer my "metalphobia," squelch it into submission.

And I think I've done a pretty good job of doing so.

No, I still can't eat off anything metal ... but at least I'm a little less of the freak I was not so long ago ...

.......... Ruprecht ( has yet to STOP fearing metal dishes )

Eye Problem

"Climb up a ladder or pull out the zoom lens to see what's on the roof? Decision was made."

"So ... you couldn't tell it was a chimney from where you stood?"

.......... Ruprecht ( should really STOP harrassing Strawberry Vine Photography )

T-Shirt Collection: Schoolhouse Rock

And here you thought my incessant T-shirt images were limited to 2015!

Foolish, foolish mortals ...

... bwah-haa-haa ...

BWAAAAAAH-HAAAAAAAAAA-HAAAAAAAAAAAAA ... !!!

.......... Ruprecht ( probably won't ever STOP posting T-shirt photos )

 

Quite Possibly The Dumbest Argument Ever

Despite the fact the following has been edited for reading brevity (trust me - the "You choose!/No, you choose!" back and forth would have been a most monotonous read), the following narrative is A Factual And True Accounting ...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Hokay ... our movie choices? I have everything pulled up on the computer. Time to decide. Ready? We've got Deadpool, Zoolander 2, Kung Fu Panda 3, How To Be Single, Pride and Prejudice And Zombies, The Choice, The Revenant, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, The Finest Hours, Dirty Grandpa, The 5th Wave, 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers Of Benghazi and Hail, Caesar! If it's all the same to you, I'm sure we can put the Zoolander and Kung Fu films in the 'Ain't No Way In Hell' category ... right?"

"Yes."

"I take it The Choice and How To Be Single are chick flicks. If you want to go see either of them I'll defer to you ..."

"No. It's up to you what to go see."

"Why don't I just go through the list and see what both of us wouldn't mind seeing? Then whatever is left we wouldn't have a problem with, no matter what we choose. That work?"

"Just pick one. I'll be good with whatever."

"No you won't. Because I know you don't like Coen Brothers films. You think they're stupid. So Hail, Caesar! is out ..."

"Just pick one."

"I've already deleted three of them right off the bat. Choose one from the remainder ..."

"Your choice."

"No! I'm not going to choose. Because it could quite possibly come back on me that I picked the movie and, if it's a bad one, I'll never hear the end of it. You have priors, you know ..."

"I have priors? That's pretty funny coming from you ..."

"Hey ... I'm just truth speakin' here. And didn't you say something about The Revenant? I'd see that ..."

"I don't. There are some pretty gruesome things in it I've heard ..."

"Regardless, it's supposed to be good ..."

"Then you choose."

"Oh! My! Gosh! Let me just go through the list like I said and we'll choose from that list."

"No. You choose."

"All right, look ... I'll nix The Revenant since you obviously have a strong constitution against it. And we've already see Star Wars, so that one's out, too. And I'm dumping the chick flicks, if that's what they are. That weeds us down to six. Deadpool? If a DVD of it was placed at my doorstep for my perusal with no obligation, I'd watch it. But I don't have any wild hairs up my ass to see it. And I've actually read Pride And Prejudice And Zombies, though I don't think it would be up your alley. Just my opinion."

"So then ... choose one."

"Why do I have to choose? I'm doing what I can to make this a joint decision without obligation. But you're spurning me every step of the way, you know. 13 Hours? 5th Wave? I'm *meh* on either of those. So now we're down to Dirty Grandpa - Hello! De Niro! - and The Finest Hours ..."

"I do want to see The Finest Hours. But look, since you can't make up your mind, here's what we'll do ..." 

She took a sheet of paper and tore it into 5 pieces then began writing on one, then the next, folding each individual one as she went along.

"Wait ... which ones are you writing down?"

"What difference does it make? You can't choose, so you can draw straws. Besides ... you'll find out when you pick one."

"Tell you what ... I'll pick one if I know which ones you're writing down ..."

"Don't worry about it. This way it's random."

"No ... it's not random ... because you might be putting down things I might want to see that you don't want to see. And that's not fair ..."

"I guess you'll find out when you choose one, won't you?"

"I'm not going to pick one, then. I want to know which ones you're choosing before I draw ..."

"No. Just find something to put these in so you can do a completely random draw."

"Let me see them first ..."

"No! It doesn't make a difference. You're going to draw one! There's no benefit to knowing what they are in advance."

"Yes, it does! For the reason I said. I might pick one you don't want to see."

"I don't care."

"But I do! Here ... let me see them, please ..."

"No! Will you find something to put these in, please?"

I grabbed a nearby wastebasket, the closest thing to a "hat" I could find that would serve the purpose.
 
"Ewwwwww! Find something else!"

"No. I'm pulling randomly anyway, right? You're not sticking your hand in there ..."

"Good. I'm glad you've accepted you're picking ..."

"Not before I know what each of the five being picked are."

"It doesn't make any difference! You'll be drawing at random!"

"It will affect the way I draw ..."

"No it won't! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You'll be picking at random! How can that affect anything?"

"It will. I'll pick differently. You'll see ..."

"No, it won't. You can't pick differently! 'Random' pick! You do know what 'random' means, right?"

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

"RAN-DOM! It's random! There's no way you can pick differently if you're picking at random!"

"Give me some paper," I said.

She gave me a steno pad and I ripped a sheet out of it. I wrote down "If I know what the choices are, I'll pick randomly. If I don't know what the choices are, I will choose the one on the farthest right side of the receptacle." I folded it twice and put it on the table. Then I held out the waste basket for her to deposit the five films she put on paper.

"What's that?" she asked nodding at the folded sheet I placed on the table.

"You can read it after I draw. But I'm going to ask one final time: Are you going to let me see the five picks you've written down?"

"No."

I held the waste basket out for her to deposit the folded choices. I aggressively swirled and shook the basket and handed it to her.
 
"You pick! Not me!"

"I'm telling you it's going to make a difference if I pick as opposed to you picking."

"Give me that!" She grabbed the waste basket then held it out to me so I could choose.

"All right ... but you'll see ..."

I reached in and positioned my hand directly on the right corner feeling for a piece of paper. I inched my way to the left when I couldn't find one, determining which was the furthest to the right side. Then I plucked it out and opened the piece of paper.
 
"Good. It's the one you wanted to see after all ... The Finest Hours. You may now open my piece of paper."

She picked it up, unfolded it and read what I'd written.
 
"This doesn't even make sense," she commented. "How could picking on the right side make any difference on what film you chose?!?"

"I made certain I chose the piece of paper on the most right-handed side of the basket. If I didn't, we wouldn't be going to see The Finest Hours ..."

"It! Was! Random! You had no idea you'd pick that one!"

"If I hadn't picked the one on the furthest right side, we'd be going to see something else, not The Finest Hours."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do. Had I picked randomly, there would have only been a 20% chance I would have picked that film. The odds were against me picking out that particular film. It was a one in 5 chance. By choosing the way I did, I hedged the bet. Randomly, I wouldn't have put my hand to the far right when choosing ..."

"But you didn't know what the other movies WERE because you didn't see them!"

"That really doesn't make any difference now ... does it? Because we're headed to see The Finest Hours Sunday ..."

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. It makes no sense ..."

"... but it did prove my point," I offered.

.......... Ruprecht ( just won't STOP ... ever )