We watched a little of the Best of Will Farrell Saturday night and caught the Dissing Your Dog promo. While not quite as extreme, my mocking of M. seemed a little like Dale Sturtevant’s methods. I must admit, the last part, “You’re a f&(^ing dog!”, is something I’ve often thought of when we’ve moved both of our girls to solids and they’ve refused to eat. “The Palms wasn’t taking reservations, I didn’t want to try Morton’s because of the new chef, so let’s just go with the oatmeal and formula. I know it’s not your first choice, but you’re a f(&$ing baby!” I’ve never said it! But I have thought it a time or two.
Tag: humor (Page 4 of 4)
I think I clinched the Father of the Year award last night. I’ve begun mocking my three-year-old.
Like most kids her age, M. has developed a potty mouth. She’s not dropping f-bombs or anything, but she does walk around talking about pee and poop all the time, and then acts like it’s super funny. Again, I blame the heathens in her preschool class for introducing her to these concepts. She’s smart about it, too. The other night, after warning her that she was going into timeout if that language continued, she dropped this line on me:
“Dad, I’m talking about the wetter P. P-P-P-P-P!” Evil laugh. (L’s are pronounced as W’s now, by the way.) Well played, three-year-old girl!
In concert with this potty talk has come a new sensitivity to odors. She never used to talk about things that smelled, but in recent weeks she’s begun making a big deal about them. If C. has a smelly diaper, M. throws a fit and says, “C. has a stinky diaper, Dad. Can you change it pwease?” I appreciate the assist, but she gets all worked up, to the point of tears some days, and it seems a little extreme.
She doesn’t limit this to offensive odors, either. The other morning, while S. was fixing M.’s hair for school, she claimed that S.’s hair smelled, even though she had showered that morning. “Mom, your hair stinks! I don’t wike it. Get away from me!” It didn’t seem to phase her that she had the same conditioner in her hair.
All this leads up to the mocking. Yesterday I was getting the girls a snack to tide them over until dinner. When I leaned in to put the pretzels on M.’s tray, she started her odor act. “Dad, you stink! No, no, no! Get away from me!” Fake tears, yelling, the whole deal. I started to do my usual correction of her behavior and offer to put her into timeout if she didn’t chill out. Instead, I decided to fight fire with fire. As I poured her some milk and prepared to give it to her, I backed off, made a horrible face, and repeated her words.
“M., wow, you really stink. Yuck, get away from me. I don’t want to smell you!”
A moment of surprise, shock, and indecision and then screaming and real tears. Awesome!
I let her cry it out for awhile and then asked her if she liked it when I told her she stank. She said no, and I told her no one likes to hear that they stink, so she needed to stop saying that. She said she understood, but we’ll see if we have to go through this again.
And for the record, I did not stink. I had showered in the morning, shaved so I still had a hint of aftershave going on, and in general, I’m a pretty good smelling guy. She had no reason for complaint. If anything, she should have been telling me how good I smelled.
So thumbs up or thumbs down on the mocking? I have to admit, it felt kind of good. Does that make me a bad parent, or just one using whatever means necessary to get through the day?
We went to the mall yesterday, and I noticed a display in the Victoria’s Secret window for a bra with “adjustable cleavage.” My first question, of course, was can I get a demonstration from an official VS spokesmodel? Since I was with my wife and two daughters, obviously I couldn’t ask out loud for that kind of thing. But it did get me thinking, and I’ve decided this could be the greatest invention ever. But, it also prompts some other questions.
First, how is the adjustment made? Is the bra like an old Reebok Pump, and the wearer needs to work a tiny pump with her thumb a few times to get the desired effect? Or, is it something simple like a zipper or velcro? Maybe a small crank. A motorized device triggered by a sliding switch? Or just a manual process that involves the wearer slipping some extra padding in?
Then, how are the settings labeled? Here are some ideas:
9-5 and Happy Hour (Get Noticed!™ Mode)
Business and Romance (Be a Knockout!™ Mode)
First Date and Third Date (Make Tonight The Night!™ Mode)
Everyday and Interview/Review (Get A Raise!™ Mode)
Meeting the parents and Meeting your ex and his new girlfriend (Make Him Jealous!™ mode)
Home maintenance being performed by contractors and Getting an estimate for said project (Get A Discount!™ Mode)
(First mode is obviously regular cleavage, second is enhanced cleavage.)
I’m never disappointed by the people I see when I’m out and about. There’s always someone acting like a jackass or dressed inappropriately to entertain me. It’s one of the true joys of living in the Midwest. Example: I was at Target Sunday and saw a guy walking around with a shirt that said “<a href=”http://64.77.21.137/cat.asp?flt=320&ltr=A&nav=11&prd=14540″>Jerkmeoff</a>.” I think it’s supposed to be a parody of a Smirnoff shirt. I hope. I guess. I’m by no means a prude and have noted my annoyance with politicians who attempt to ban certain styles of clothing several times in my blogging career, but seriously, what makes a person decide to put this shirt on before they go run their weekend errands? “Well, I’ve got my <a href=”http://www.choiceshirts.com/item/k/a6582e/”>Stars and Bars shirt</a>, my Tony Stewart shirt, but I think I’m going to put my Jerkmeoff shirt on for my trip to Target today. Might help me talk to one of them cute girls they got workin’ there.”
And yes, the person wearing this shirt most definitely had a mullet. Sadly, the odds of seeing someone in a similar shirt in Kansas City is probably equally as high, so I can’t really compare/contrast my old home to my new one here.
I brought back several boxes of books and other old items from Kansas City two weeks ago and have slowly been working my way through them. Two absolute gems of finds were my sixth and eighth grade yearbooks (I don’t know if seventh grade is just located elsewhere or if it was destroyed thanks to an especially unfortunate picture of your favorite blogger that year). As you can imagine, each yearbook was good for quite a few laughs. Let’s dive in, shall we?
Sixth Grade, 1982-3:
We were new to yearbooks, being 12 year olds and all, so the comments people wrote in mine weren’t all that eloquent. Examples:
“To a good friend! – Robert”
“To a good friend! – Mike”
“To a good friend. See you next year. – Steve” Thanks to Steve for mixing it up a little.
Here’s a fun one: “Always watch the news because someday you’ll make a good politician. – Pam” Clearly Pam was predicting our modern media age where politics is practiced as much on the evening cable news shows as in Washington or any state capital.
“See you this summer. Stay out of jail. – Mike” Sixth grade was the year of my famous assault on an unmarked police car with snowballs, but I don’t recall there being real concern that I would end up in jail. Hmmm. Am I blocking out some important memory?
“Stay sweet! See you next year! – Krickett.”
“Stay sweet. – Jen.” So it wasn’t just the boys who were repetitive. Now I know I was pretty good friends with both of these girls back then, but rereading these makes me think perhaps they didn’t put much thought into what to enter into my yearbook.
Page 5. My picture. Not too bad. Glasses. Hair still pretty straight. Face still boyish rather than teenage-ish. Nothing to be embarrassed about (yet).
“To a nice boy and a good friend. – Mindy.” Smacks of “You’re ok but not cool enough that I’ll still be talking to you next year” doesn’t it?
And now for my favorite line. “Even though your (sic) a nice person, I’m not nice to you. That’s one of my faults. – Stuart.” Brilliant! My high school friends who might read this will know who wrote that and understand it fits his personality perfectly. A sixth grader writing about his faults in a yearbook. Good stuff.
Eighth grade, 1984-5:
Now things were really picking up. Almost everyone was in the throes of puberty. We were heading to high school, so assuming our “Class of ’89” collective personality. Also, I have a lot more signatures this time. I wasn’t terribly popular by any measure back then, so I can only assume it was the joy of getting out of middle school that caused this frenzy of yearbook signings.
“Have fun. Don’t die. – Chad.” Advise for a lifetime.
“Hi. Glad I got to know you after all. Hope to see you next year and over the summer. Stay sweet. – Teri.” Wow, that’s some statement. Did I miss an opportunity with Teri back in the day?
“Have a great summer. See you next year. Maybe we’ll have some classes together. – Cali.” Holy crap, girls wanted to be in the same class as me?
“You’re a big pain when you’re around Jeff. But you’re really, really cool. Really. – Sofia.” Sarcasm?
“You’re in GT. Why are you such a troublesome student? (Sound familiar?) Home Ec’s been cool. See you next year. – Blair.” Ahh, 8th grade Home Ec. I was in our school’s gifted program and was normally a pretty good student, but when I got around a couple of my friends (two of which were in Home Ec), I tended to act out. Our teacher called me out this way in front of class one day, trying to shame me into being good. I think we put powdered laundry soap in the sugar bowls as payback for her yelling at us that day.
“To a real nice guy. Maybe a little weird but nice. Have a good summer. Love – Amy.” Sounds about right. Love?!?!
“It was nice knowing you. Your (sic) a little weird but have a great summer! – Christi.” Another girl who saw me for what I was.
“You’re weird but a good lab partner in science. Have fun this summer but give the girls a break, ok. – Deana.” Ummm…..
“I wish you didn’t give up hoops. – Woody.” Wow, the best basketball player in our class telling me he needed me out there on the court with him next year. Note to self: begin exaggerating athletic accomplishments as a kid.
“Have a great summer. Work hard in BB. – Coach Jeffries.” I had my gym coach sign my yearbook? Pathetic. And he’s pretty much telling me to hang the hoops sneakers up, isn’t he?
“You’re a cool dude. – David.” David, too, is cool.
Page 8, picture. Ooof. Bad glasses (I believe I broke my regular pair playing football right before picture day, which meant I was sporting the dreaded Backup Pair, Bob Griese models from two years earlier. Hair now much wavier, barely under control. I have the visage of a kid struggling with puberty, a lack of confidence, and uncertainty of who he is (Sure, I can see all that just from looking at the picture!). I was just trying to stay out of the way and not make any waves.
“A real trippin’ actor. Stay cool. Have a nice summer. – Rick.” We made some rather impressive movies regarding issues like time travel in our gifted classes. I really should explore converting those to digital and posting them online, don’t you think?
“You are a tough guy, Jeff told me. See you next year. – Mark.” Translation: I don’t know you very well, but my buddy says you’re cool. Maybe if we have class together next year I can decide for myself.
“Tuff Guy. Have a great summer. See ya next year. Your friend – Steve.” I was about 6’1” 130 or so in 8th grade and two people have called me tough. Were they being ironic? Or was that a put down in ’85 and I just didn’t know it?
“You are an outstanding student (I know this because that’s the rumor among all the teachers). Have a good summer and a really good time at RHS. – Ms. Sterner.” Apparently I didn’t perform all that well in her class if she had to judge me based on what she heard in the teacher’s lounge.
“Start your summer off with a job! – Nestor.” Double-entendre in middle school? I’m shocked!
“Thanks for the good time. You’re a good softball player. Have a supreme summer. – Candy.” I gave Candy a good time in 8th grade? You’d think I would remember. Supreme summer smacks of someone trying to coin a term, doesn’t it?
“You are a nice student to have in class. – Mrs. Bailey.” Translation: You were in my class but did not make enough of an impression on me that I can determine if you’ll win a Nobel Prize or shoot people from a bell tower.
“To a cool brain. Stay a brain. – Jeff.” Ok, Jeff, I will.
“You’re really sweet – stay that way! It’s been great knowing you! Maybe we’ll have a class or 2 together next year! – Mindy.” The same Mindy from sixth grade. And until I looked at her picture, I could not remember who she was. I still can barely place her. She clearly had it bad for me back then. Memo to self: If I ever attend a reunion again, avoid her, or have wife with me at all times for protection.
And my personal favorite: “Your (sic) really cool. I’m glad we are friends. I’ll write you. – John.” This comes from a long-time reader of the blog who moved away after our 8th grade year. The proof we wrote each other was sadly put on public display at my wedding two years ago.
There’s your look back at two of my middle school yearbooks. I know I have my two high school yearbooks (thanks to moving around, that’s all I got) here in the house and there are some epic comments in them that probably need to be shared in the future.
Friday is my final day of gainful employment. After that, I’ll be a deadbeat dad doing my best to drag the economy down. I think my lack of purchases at the Apple store alone will bring the economy to a screeching halt.
This evening, I worked through a ton of my old e-mails on my work account. Unfortunately, due to a laptop mishap, I was only able to read them, not forward them out for permanent documentation here at home. It was really something reading through over six years of accumulated e-mails. I found pictures of many of your kids looking much younger than they look today, reminders of happy hours and road trips past, and most importantly, folders full of e-mails from the 80s Trivia List and ER List. I shudder to think what those days would have been like if I had access to blogging software back then. I don’t know if our lengthy discussions that seemed to make every Friday fly by would have been worse with the option of getting around e-mail, or if it would have better since each response wouldn’t flood your inbox. Good times, though, very good times.
I’d love to see the stats of how much e-mail I sent and received from my work address over the course of my employment. Scratch that, I never want to know because future employers may get access to the figures and use them against me. “So, it says here you sent 450 e-mails in Friday, April 17, 1999. What’s up with that?” How do I explain I had a two-part trivia question, a cliff-hanger ER episode, was trying to figure out plans for lunch, plans for the weekend, and was flirting with three women in HR and make me seem like someone they should hire? I really need to find someone in our associate systems department, give them a wad of cash, and have them purge all my records from the system. That’s possible, right?
By the way, more fun gifts from our friends at Google and Blogger. Under each post, next to the comments link, you’ll now find a small e-mail icon. Click it and you can send a link to your favorite posts to other people or to your home address for future reference. Blogger keeps getting better and better. They’re pushing Nike and Apple for my favorite consumer goods provider, and I don’t even have to pay for this!
We ate lunch Saturday with a couple sisters-in-law and sat on the deck of a local pizza place. The subject of metrosexuals came up and we discovered my wife had never heard that term before. She asked me what a metrosexual is, and I pondered for a few minutes. I thoughtfully fingered the fine weave on my new Banana Republic polo shirt. I flexed my toes in my Kenneth Cole Reaction sandals (or Mandals as one of the sisters-in-law calls them). The sun popped out from behind a cloud, and I gave thanks that I remembered to apply my Gillette aftershave that contains SPF 15 after my morning shower. For some reason, I couldn’t come up with a good definition. A little help?
I love to write. That’s the whole point of having the blog. However, the down side is the pressure to write on certain subjects. For example, someone who I’ll refer to as “Feldman” has all but demanded that I compare the Fab Five of Michigan to the Fab Five of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. “Feldman” really knows how to put me in a spot. One of the most dynamic college basketball teams of all-time compared and contrasted with my current favorite TV show. I’m shocked ESPN’s Bill Simmons hasn’t already taken care of this comparison. OK, I’ll give it a shot.
Lineups:
University of Michigan, 1991-1993
Chris Webber – 6’10’’ Center
Juwan Howard – 6’9’’ Forward
Jimmy King – 6’5’’ Forward
Ray Jackson – 6’3’’ Guard
Jalen Rose – 6’8’’ Guard
Queer Eyes
Carson Kressley – Fashion
Thom Filicia – Décor
Ted Allen – Food and Wine
Jai Rodriguez – Culture
Kyan Douglas – Grooming
Chris Webber vs. Kyan Douglas:
Two wildly talented, charismatic superstars. However, both have spotty records with the game on the line.
An almost perfect mix of size, speed, and talent. Chris Webber will dunk on you, talk about your mom, and otherwise intimidate for the first 38 minutes (we’re playing with a college clock). But in those last two minutes, he’ll shrink from taking the big shots, travel, and call time outs you don’t have. After the game, he’ll unleash a profanity filled tirade that makes you wonder how someone so intelligent can act so immature.
Kyan will have your hair looking gorgeous, get you on a skin care regimen super models would die for, and make you feel good about yourself. But why is Ted Allen always taking the Straight Guy to the kitchen right when Kyan is showing him how to shave? Perhaps he’s worried Kyan will cause a nasty nick or brutal razor burn that derails the Straight Guy’s date.
C-Webb dates Tyra Banks. I don’t know whom Kyan dates, but I have a feeling it’s the gay male equivalent of Tyra Banks.
Advantage: Push. I don’t want the ball in the hands of either of these guys in a close game (first mildly suggestive line of the comparison).
Jalen Rose vs. Carson Kressley:
The boisterous straws that stir the drink. The multi-tasking, trash talking, motors that kept the car cruising down the highway.
Jalen was the 6’8’’ point guard who created incredible match-up problems in the college game. Although his job was running the offense, he could do a little of everything. He could take the outside side shot, go to the rack, and play defense. Jalen always seemed a little off, though. He could explode emotionally on the court. His interviews were the kind that always made you a little uncomfortable.
Carson is the wisecracking fashion expert and most flamboyant of Bravo’s Fab Five. Always quick with a homo-erotic joke (Grandma, “This is a Siemens couch.” Carson, “I have a semen couch, too.”). A little too willing to put out-of-shape, middle aged men in clothes that shout GAY. Yet somehow, he always has the Straight Guy wearing something that perfectly matches his physique and personality by the end of the show. And in between all his jokes, he’s really all about love.
Advantage: Carson
Juwan Howard vs. Ted Allen:
Juwan was the mild-mannered sidekick to Chris Webber’s basketball genius. On any other team, he would have been a superstar. On Michigan, he quietly played in C-Web’s shadow. Until crunch-time. Then he would take over. While Webber was in the corner pouting, or chasing after referees, Juwan was the guy who would demand the ball and hit shot after shot. If he had Webber’s athletic ability, or Webber had Juwan’s head, you might be looking at the greatest college player ever. I’m talking better than Luke Axtell even.
Ted Allen, Carmel High School grad, is Queer Eye’s food and wine expert. By far the least cool of the Fab Five, he seems to mirror Juwan well in that sense. The whole point of Queer Eye is to take guys who need some help getting their wardrobe, grooming style, and homes in decent shape, then have them able to sustain the lifestyle after the Fab Five leave. I think Allen over reaches a lot. I have a hard time seeing guys living in apartments in the outer boroughs shopping at fancy food boutiques in the Village. Plus, his recipes always seem just a little too complex, guaranteeing the Straight Guy will somehow destroy it.
Advantage: Juwan
Jimmy King vs. Jai Rodriguez:
Very interesting match-up. Jimmy King nearly committed to Kansas. Then his mom got the 1990 US News & World Report guide to colleges. Michigan was in the top ten, Kansas in the top 50. Jimmy King went to Michigan. Jai Rodriguez was not on the early episodes of Queer Eye. Apparently he committed to another show, but realized his mistake and transferred in, after sitting out the required two episodes. OK, that last part is made up, but he was a late addition, replacing the initial choice for culture expert.
King was Michigan’s high-flying wingman. While defenses tried to clamp down on Jalen Rose at the point, or Juwan and C-Web in the paint, he blew by over-extended defenders for easy dunks and lay-ups. In the true Fab Five days, that’s about all he did. After Chris Webber and later Juwan and Jalen left for the NBA, he actually turned himself into a pretty good all-around player. He’s had a solid career on the bench in the NBA too. That’s not a knock; I’d sit my ass at the end of an NBA bench for a cool quarter million a year.
Jai is in many ways my favorite Queer. He seems cool. He’s into music and culture. I feel like I could hang out with him. That said, he uses the word amazing too much. It’s amazing how often he uses the word amazing. And his segments always seem to get cut down to almost nothing. It’s almost as though he’s around since he’s a cool guy and rarely says anything too gay, so his job is stay buddy-buddy with the Straight Guy and keep him focused if Carson gets too over-the-top.
Advantage: Jimmy King. Dunks are always good.
Ray Jackson vs. Thom Filicia:
Ray Jackson was often referred to as the Fifth Fab Five guy. The other four were all top 30 recruits; Ray was just some guy from Texas to a lot of basketball fans. He didn’t start until late in his freshman year, but when he was inserted into the starting lineup, Michigan took off. His game was kind of non-descript, too, so he rarely did anything that you had to call your buddy across the country to talk about after the game. He managed to fill whatever hole needed to be filled, though (Suggestive comment #2). If Jalen was in foul-trouble, Ray brought the ball up. If Calbert Cheney was going off for Indiana, put Ray on him and watch him get shut down. Ray did the dirty work so the other guys could shine. And like Juwan, he always seemed to come up huge in crunch time.
Thom Filicia has the hardest job on Queer Eye. He has to redecorate an entire house or apartment. While Kyan is getting facials and Carson playing dress up, Thom is picking out furniture, painting, and basically remodeling an entire residence. Anyone can get a haircut or buy some nice clothes. Redoing a house over the course of a couple days (the show is actually shot over 2-3 days) is a Herculean effort.
Advantage: Thom. The unappreciated genius of the show. Every house looks fantastic when he’s done with it.
Final Tally:
Michigan Fab Five: 2 ½
Queer Eye Fab Five: 2 ½
A tie! I wonder how the whole kissing your sister analogy works when gay guys are part of the equation. How to break the tie? The Michigan Fab Five were the signature basketball team of our generation. They lost two championship games, but I bet outside of North Carolina, most people remember the Fab Five better than either the ’92 Duke or the ’93 UNC teams. They brought baggy shorts, black socks, and baldheads to the college game. They were the first modern college team, when personalities were becoming as important as they were in the NBA. They were brash, but did it all with a twinkle in their eye. Most importantly, when they focused, they were very, very good. One of the best teams I’ve ever seen. They were incredibly fun to watch when they were clicking.
The Queer Eye guys really can’t be judged fairly in comparison. We’re halfway through their first season. They take elements of Trading Spaces, Total Makeover, Emeril, and even Oprah and combine them into an hour of pure joy. What appears to be a gimmick at its surface is actually a very well done show. That said, the humor isn’t anything you can’t already hear on Will & Grace. For all its positive qualities, I’m not sure if it will go down in history for anything other than the novelty element.
So it looks like Michigan pulls out a close one. Wait…what’s this? Chris Webber has shot the ball into the wrong basket! This is amazing, folks! Chris Webber has blown another one for Michigan! Queers win! Queers win!
Hope you’re satisfied, “Feldman”. Have a great weekend.
Warning: some slightly graphic, suggestive language below. All meant in fun, of course.
The final wedding of Summer Matrimony Fest 2003 is finally out of the way. Another grand occasion highlighted by impressing the locals with consuming large quantities of fine scotch (Glen Fiddich, 18 year old model). However, I did have to miss the Indiana State Fair to attend the wedding.
Normally, I’m not much of a state fair guy. I think I last attended one when I was three or four and didn’t have much say in the matter. It did seem like a good time to attend, though, and get a better feel for my new home. I’ve heard about deep fried Twinkies for weeks. I dreamt of the smells of real corn dogs, cotton candy, and kettle corn assaulting my nose. Avoiding “cow patties” and “horse pies” is always entertaining for us city folk. But most of all, I missed seeing the World’s Largest Hog.
A Yorkshire Hog named Statesman won this year’s largest boar competition, weighing in at a massive 1,227 pounds. Sounds like a lot of bacon to me. I was so intrigued I actually read three articles on this magnificent beast. Turns out Statesman hails from Seymour, IN. If John Cougar Mellencamp hadn’t been born in that noble ville, Statesman would be Seymour’s claim to fame. He was raised by Top-Line Genetics, who despite the name, claim he has been fed nothing but ground corn, soybean meal, and farm fresh greenery. That’s some damn good corn!
So what kind of satisfaction does one get from raising a half-ton hog? Prize money? Sure, the owners walked away with $450. They also spend roughly $700 a year to feed him, so clearly the monetary award is not the motivation. A faithful companion? I doubt Statesman is allowed to lounge in the living room like those scary little Vietnamese pigs some people keep as house pets. Poor guy can’t even really stud, given his immense size. Or so I thought. Turns out Statesman has somewhere between 3,000-4,000 piglets to his name. If he wasn’t already bursting at the seams, I bet he would be with pride of his genetic domination of southern Indiana. So how does this monster father enough offspring to keep Sicily in sausage for a year? When in doubt, consult the Daily Show. A few years back, Beth Lilleford filed a classic report on hog farming. The highlight of the report was her hands-on investigation of how pig semen is, well, harvested I guess. Like me, she assumed there was some fancy “device” that took care of the process. Something like those suction tubes that milk cows in the modern world. Well there is a special “device” that handles the act, and it’s called a human hand. That’s right, in order to breed pigs, these lucky porkers get a hand job from Mrs. Farmer Brown.
Jim Rome often talks about the self-esteem of the woman who is asked to Windex the pole in a strip club at the end of each night. Just a guess, but I’m thinking if you spend your day jerking pigs off, you’re probably not A) filled with huge amounts of good feelings about where you are in life and B) bragging about your job to your friends. Unless there’s some special technique involved that requires intense training, I would imagine we’re talking minimum wage here, and sliding down a brass pole for two grand a night doesn’t seem so bad.
“We’ve sold a lot of semen on him in the past,” Statesman’s owner told the Indianapolis Star. If that’s not one of the top five quotes of all-time, I don’t know what is. All this made me realize that like everything else in the world, the state fair has lost its sense of innocence. I always thought the pig contests were created for happy little farm boys and farm girls in 4H who spent the winter getting up early to feed and clean their favorite boar. They looked forward to the summer, hoping to get him up to 200-300 pounds so they had a shot at the blue ribbon. The reward was a special pin on their 4H jacket, months of good eating, and the satisfaction of a job well done. Like every other competition, though, even state fair pig contests are now dominated by cold, faceless corporations. In the area of hog genetics, they use computerized nutrition programs to create super swine, 3-4 times bigger than normal hogs. When Bobby Jim and Jenny Sue from Hanover can’t expect to get within 900 pounds of the winner, isn’t something really wrong with our country? I’ll be anxious to see how this year’s Indiana gubernatorial candidates handle the issue.
Just something to think about at this year’s Pig Roast. Eat some ribs for me!