Genealogy - World-of-Newave.info http://answers.world-of-newave.info/genealogy.htm Latest news and articles about Genealogy en-us Copyright (c)2004-2008.ยง/Newave SARL. All rights reserved. webmaster@world-of-newave.com (Webmaster) Fri, 25 Jul 2008 11:26:58 GMT Fri, 25 Jul 2008 11:26:58 GMT Newave Lisa XML Engine v1.0 - http://www.world-of-newave.info/about.htm 60 http://www.world-of-newave.info/images/wi8831.gif World-of-Newave.info - Knowledge and Informational Database http://www.world-of-newave.info/ 88 31 {INTERNET > W} - Scone Appetit http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008073744.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008073744.htm Wed, 02 Jul 2008 16:43:08 GMT Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you. Wherethehellwasi.Com Scone Appetit {new window}   Www.Wherethehellwasi.Com - Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you.
Scone Appetit [Where the Hell Was I?] {...} Life, from a comic perspective. Original articles, humor, & funny stories daily from an aspiring Boston standup comedian. {...}
Indexed: July 2, 2008, 4:43 pm - Page Size: 61KB
Category: Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W

]]> Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W {ISSUES > BIAS AND BALANCE} - Monica Crowley forwarded smear that Obama has lied about his ethnicity http://articles.world-of-newave.info/society/issues/business/media/bias-and-balance/monica-crowley-forwarded-smear-that-obama-has-lied-20080625045.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/society/issues/business/media/bias-and-balance/monica-crowley-forwarded-smear-that-obama-has-lied-20080625045.htm Thu, 26 Jun 2008 18:20:44 GMT Guest-hosting the June 23 broadcast of The Laura Ingraham Show, Fox News contributor Monica Crowley forwarded a smear that Sen. Barack Obama has lied about his ethnicity. A caller to the show claimed that Obama is "not really African-American. He's Arab. Forty-three percent Arab, 6 percent African negro, and half white. And that is the biggest fraud being perpetrated on us all." In response, Crowley said that "according to this genealogy -- and again, because I haven't done the research, I can't verify this -- but according to this guy Kenneth Lamb, Barack Obama is not black African, he is Arab African." Crowley continued: "And yet, this guy is campaigning as black and painting anybody who dares to criticize him as a racist. I mean, that is -- it is the biggest con I think I've ever seen." In a February 14 blog entry, "journalist, op-ed columnist, radio news-interview program host" Kenneth E. Lamb claimed -- without producing any evidence -- that "Sen. Obama is actually Arab-American" and that "Mr. Obama is not legally African-American." Lamb said that his "research was initiated by a request from a daily news publication of international reputation in New York City" and later referred to "a News Corp. publication." Lamb also accused Obama of lying in the post, writing, "For Sen. Obama, telling the truth means he will give up all the accolades about being the first African-American president of the Harvard Law Review, an accolade that relies on a sleight-of-hand in job titling that changed the name of the top job from Editor to President." In his February 14 entry, Lamb did not claim that he traveled to Kenya, nor that that he had "looked at all of the government records." Rather, he invited readers seeking "proof" of his claims to "[r]esearch the Kenyan records for yourself," adding: "You will find that his father was officially classified as 'Arab African' by the Kenyan government." In a February 17 entry, Lamb wrote: "From a couple of the comments I just received, I can see where this is headed concerning wanting the root research I used for my post about Sen. Barack Obama's ethnic composition." He did not provide the "root research." Instead, he wrote: "I feel what follows is as straight-forward as I can be about this; if anyone disagrees, post a $US1-million indemnification bond for me to use when I get sued for going beyond my rights under standard research contracting agreements by giving away proprietary information that isn't mine to give away." Lamb added: "So here is where it is: I've drawn the map -- to the detail I feel comfortable is going to keep me out of court. Beyond that, it is up to people way up the food chain from me to assign their resources, put them on a plane to Kenya, dig up what they need in the capital, then contract for service to the tribal homeland in western Kenya along Lake Victoria, and then report what they find." In a February 18 entry, Lamb claimed that there "is no better proof" of his allegations about Obama's ethnicity "than a DNA test," encouraged his readers to surreptitiously obtain samples of Obama's DNA, and even offered potential methods of collection: I'm thinking that the most vulnerable time for Mr. Obama will be when he makes local talk radio and TV appearances. It's not hard to imagine a resourceful soul getting what the DNA analysts need: "Here you are, Sen. Obama, have a glass of water, and here's a kerchief to wipe your brow to keep the sweat from rolling down your face ... and I'll be happy to dispose of the glass and kerchief when you're finished." Of course, now that I've laid out the scenario, it will be interesting to see what his traveling campaign staff does to keep anyone from doing what I just described. I'm not so unaware of the early timeline nature of this ethnic composition problem; right now, I seriously doubt anyone at that level of his campaign knows anything about this fermenting in the blogs. What that means to our resourceful soul is that there is no better time than now to get a sample. Once his staff gets wind of this, they will lock out everyone else from getting anything that can be tested. But the irony of it all is that by turning themselves into a cross of Mr. Clean, and Rosie "The Quicker Picker Upper," picking up anything he breathed upon and spraying Lysol on everything he touches, they will actually be telling us all that they know that what we want to prove is the truth. The bizarre picture of his staff behaving that way will just turn up the heat for someone to get through their lines. I can see some first-tier journalist telling the senator's press secretary, "I just want this dinner napkin to take home to my kids as a souvenir." Now that will be funny. If you have the ability to get something that can be analyzed, please do so at your first opportunity. It really does matter. You will be doing a tremendous "good deed" for America, and the world. Be sure to establish a "chain of custody" from his body to the lab. You know Sen. Obama will lie about everything having to do with getting to the truth about him. Crowley, who is also a regular panelist on The McLaughlin Group, is a frequent Fox News contributor, appearing on the network as recently as June 17 on The O'Reilly Factor. As Media Matters for America documented, Crowley falsely claimed on the June 19 broadcast of The Laura Ingraham Show that Malik Obama, Sen. Barack Obama's half brother, "went on the record to The Jerusalem Post, of all places, and said, 'Oh yeah, Obama's got a really solid Muslim background.' " From the June 23 broadcast of Talk Radio Network's The Laura Ingraham Show: [begin audio clip] OBAMA: I think it is fair to say that both Michelle and I grew up in much less privileged circumstances than either of my two other potential opponents. UNIDENTIFIED PERSON: But they're not the ones being called elitist. Why do you think that is? OBAMA: [unintelligible] Well, I -- and I think -- look, let's be honest. You know, here I am, a African-American named Barack Obama -- right? -- who's running for president. I mean, that's a leap for folks. [end audio clip] CROWLEY: [laughs] I am Monica Crowley, in for Laura Ingraham. 800-876-4123. MonicaMemo.com. Well, Barack Hussein Obama can certainly go from being a Black Panther to a Norman Rockwell painting in the blink of an eye, can't he? Last week, he was all about Kansas. This week, he is all about Jeremiah Wright. All right, let's hit the phones straight away. 800-876-4123. And say hello to Tim listening on News Talk 710 in Denver. Hiya, Tim. CALLER: Hi, Monica. You know, the deception of who Obama is goes right down to his three names. I never even -- it never even dawned onto me until I started thinking about it. Barack Hussein Obama. Now, why would somebody born in Hawaii be named those three names? The fact is, he's not really African-American. He's Arab. Forty-three percent Arab, 6 percent African negro, and half white. And that is the biggest fraud being perpetrated on us all, is -- CROWLEY: You know, Tim. Yeah, go ahead, go ahead. Finish your thought. CALLER: Well, it's just proof the media is in the tank for this guy. CROWLEY: You know, I -- it is so interesting that you called, Tim, because a couple of weeks ago, I read that genealogy that you're referring to, and I have no idea, because I haven't done the research myself or really looked into it, but I know what you're talking about. It was a guy, Kenneth Lamb, who went to Africa, actually, he went to Kenya, he looked at all of the government records, and he is claiming -- and the percentages you put out there is what he is claiming -- that Barack Obama -- you know, if you're born Christian in Africa, you're given a Christian name. If you're born Arab in Africa, and there are a lot of Arab Africans, you're given an Arab name. Hence, Barack Hussein Obama. Now, he was not born in Africa, but the father was from Kenya, the father was from Africa. And according to this genealogy -- and again, because I haven't done the research, I can't verify this -- but according to this guy Kenneth Lamb, Barack Obama is not black African, he is Arab African. And yet, this guy is campaigning as black and painting anybody who dares to criticize him as a racist. I mean, that is -- it is the biggest con I think I've ever seen. Mediamatters.Org Monica Crowley forwarded smear that Obama has lied about his ethnicity {new window}   Mediamatters.Org - Guest-hosting the June 23 broadcast of The Laura Ingraham Show, Fox News contributor Monica Crowley forwarded a smear that Sen. Barack Obama has lied about his ethnicity. A caller to the show claimed that Obama is "not really African-American. He's Arab. Forty-three percent Arab, 6 percent African negro, and half white. And that is the biggest fraud being perpetrated on us all." In response, Crowley said that "according to this genealogy -- and again, because I haven't done the research, I can't verify this -- but according to this guy Kenneth Lamb, Barack Obama is not black African, he is Arab African." Crowley continued: "And yet, this guy is campaigning as black and painting anybody who dares to criticize him as a racist. I mean, that is -- it is the biggest con I think I've ever seen." In a February 14 blog entry, "journalist, op-ed columnist, radio news-interview program host" Kenneth E. Lamb claimed -- without producing any evidence -- that "Sen. Obama is actually Arab-American" and that "Mr. Obama is not legally African-American." Lamb said that his "research was initiated by a request from a daily news publication of international reputation in New York City" and later referred to "a News Corp. publication." Lamb also accused Obama of lying in the post, writing, "For Sen. Obama, telling the truth means he will give up all the accolades about being the first African-American president of the Harvard Law Review, an accolade that relies on a sleight-of-hand in job titling that changed the name of the top job from Editor to President." In his February 14 entry, Lamb did not claim that he traveled to Kenya, nor that that he had "looked at all of the government records." Rather, he invited readers seeking "proof" of his claims to "[r]esearch the Kenyan records for yourself," adding: "You will find that his father was officially classified as 'Arab African' by the Kenyan government." In a February 17 entry, Lamb wrote: "From a couple of the comments I just received, I can see where this is headed concerning wanting the root research I used for my post about Sen. Barack Obama's ethnic composition." He did not provide the "root research." Instead, he wrote: "I feel what follows is as straight-forward as I can be about this; if anyone disagrees, post a $US1-million indemnification bond for me to use when I get sued for going beyond my rights under standard research contracting agreements by giving away proprietary information that isn't mine to give away." Lamb added: "So here is where it is: I've drawn the map -- to the detail I feel comfortable is going to keep me out of court. Beyond that, it is up to people way up the food chain from me to assign their resources, put them on a plane to Kenya, dig up what they need in the capital, then contract for service to the tribal homeland in western Kenya along Lake Victoria, and then report what they find." In a February 18 entry, Lamb claimed that there "is no better proof" of his allegations about Obama's ethnicity "than a DNA test," encouraged his readers to surreptitiously obtain samples of Obama's DNA, and even offered potential methods of collection: I'm thinking that the most vulnerable time for Mr. Obama will be when he makes local talk radio and TV appearances. It's not hard to imagine a resourceful soul getting what the DNA analysts need: "Here you are, Sen. Obama, have a glass of water, and here's a kerchief to wipe your brow to keep the sweat from rolling down your face ... and I'll be happy to dispose of the glass and kerchief when you're finished." Of course, now that I've laid out the scenario, it will be interesting to see what his traveling campaign staff does to keep anyone from doing what I just described. I'm not so unaware of the early timeline nature of this ethnic composition problem; right now, I seriously doubt anyone at that level of his campaign knows anything about this fermenting in the blogs. What that means to our resourceful soul is that there is no better time than now to get a sample. Once his staff gets wind of this, they will lock out everyone else from getting anything that can be tested. But the irony of it all is that by turning themselves into a cross of Mr. Clean, and Rosie "The Quicker Picker Upper," picking up anything he breathed upon and spraying Lysol on everything he touches, they will actually be telling us all that they know that what we want to prove is the truth. The bizarre picture of his staff behaving that way will just turn up the heat for someone to get through their lines. I can see some first-tier journalist telling the senator's press secretary, "I just want this dinner napkin to take home to my kids as a souvenir." Now that will be funny. If you have the ability to get something that can be analyzed, please do so at your first opportunity. It really does matter. You will be doing a tremendous "good deed" for America, and the world. Be sure to establish a "chain of custody" from his body to the lab. You know Sen. Obama will lie about everything having to do with getting to the truth about him. Crowley, who is also a regular panelist on The McLaughlin Group, is a frequent Fox News contributor, appearing on the network as recently as June 17 on The O'Reilly Factor. As Media Matters for America documented, Crowley falsely claimed on the June 19 broadcast of The Laura Ingraham Show that Malik Obama, Sen. Barack Obama's half brother, "went on the record to The Jerusalem Post, of all places, and said, 'Oh yeah, Obama's got a really solid Muslim background.' " From the June 23 broadcast of Talk Radio Network's The Laura Ingraham Show: [begin audio clip] OBAMA: I think it is fair to say that both Michelle and I grew up in much less privileged circumstances than either of my two other potential opponents. UNIDENTIFIED PERSON: But they're not the ones being called elitist. Why do you think that is? OBAMA: [unintelligible] Well, I -- and I think -- look, let's be honest. You know, here I am, a African-American named Barack Obama -- right? -- who's running for president. I mean, that's a leap for folks. [end audio clip] CROWLEY: [laughs] I am Monica Crowley, in for Laura Ingraham. 800-876-4123. MonicaMemo.com. Well, Barack Hussein Obama can certainly go from being a Black Panther to a Norman Rockwell painting in the blink of an eye, can't he? Last week, he was all about Kansas. This week, he is all about Jeremiah Wright. All right, let's hit the phones straight away. 800-876-4123. And say hello to Tim listening on News Talk 710 in Denver. Hiya, Tim. CALLER: Hi, Monica. You know, the deception of who Obama is goes right down to his three names. I never even -- it never even dawned onto me until I started thinking about it. Barack Hussein Obama. Now, why would somebody born in Hawaii be named those three names? The fact is, he's not really African-American. He's Arab. Forty-three percent Arab, 6 percent African negro, and half white. And that is the biggest fraud being perpetrated on us all, is -- CROWLEY: You know, Tim. Yeah, go ahead, go ahead. Finish your thought. CALLER: Well, it's just proof the media is in the tank for this guy. CROWLEY: You know, I -- it is so interesting that you called, Tim, because a couple of weeks ago, I read that genealogy that you're referring to, and I have no idea, because I haven't done the research myself or really looked into it, but I know what you're talking about. It was a guy, Kenneth Lamb, who went to Africa, actually, he went to Kenya, he looked at all of the government records, and he is claiming -- and the percentages you put out there is what he is claiming -- that Barack Obama -- you know, if you're born Christian in Africa, you're given a Christian name. If you're born Arab in Africa, and there are a lot of Arab Africans, you're given an Arab name. Hence, Barack Hussein Obama. Now, he was not born in Africa, but the father was from Kenya, the father was from Africa. And according to this genealogy -- and again, because I haven't done the research, I can't verify this -- but according to this guy Kenneth Lamb, Barack Obama is not black African, he is Arab African. And yet, this guy is campaigning as black and painting anybody who dares to criticize him as a racist. I mean, that is -- it is the biggest con I think I've ever seen.
Media Matters - Monica Crowley forwarded smear that Obama has lied about his ethnicity {...} On The Laura Ingraham Show , guest host Monica Crowley stated that "according to this genealogy -- and again, because I haven't done the research, I can't verify this -- but according to this guy Kenneth Lamb, Barack Obama is not black African, he is Arab African." Crowley continued: "And yet, this guy is campaigning as black and painting anybody who dares to criticize him as a racist. I mean, that is -- it is the biggest con I think I've ever seen." {...}
Published: June 26, 2008, 6:20 pm - Indexed: June 27, 2008, 10:09 am - Page Size: 25KB
Category: Society > Issues > Business > Media > Bias and Balance

]]> Society > Issues > Business > Media > Bias and Balance {INTERNET > W} - Scone Appetit http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008062261.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008062261.htm Sun, 01 Jun 2008 11:31:01 GMT Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you. Wherethehellwasi.Com Scone Appetit {new window}   Www.Wherethehellwasi.Com - Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you.
Scone Appetit [Where the Hell Was I?] {...} Life, from a comic perspective. Original articles, humor, & funny stories daily from an aspiring Boston standup comedian. {...}
Indexed: June 1, 2008, 11:31 am - Page Size: 61KB
Category: Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W

]]> Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W {INTERNET > W} - Scone Appetit http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008058001.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008058001.htm Sat, 24 May 2008 11:31:10 GMT Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you. Wherethehellwasi.Com Scone Appetit {new window}   Www.Wherethehellwasi.Com - Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you.
Scone Appetit [Where the Hell Was I?] {...} Life, from a comic perspective. Original articles, humor, & funny stories daily from an aspiring Boston standup comedian. {...}
Indexed: May 24, 2008, 11:31 am - Page Size: 61KB
Category: Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W

]]> Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W {SYSTEMS > NEWS AND MEDIA} - MacFamilyTree 5.1 Gets Media Browser http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/systems/apple/macintosh/news-and-media/macfamilytree-5-1-gets-media-browser-20080387712.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/systems/apple/macintosh/news-and-media/macfamilytree-5-1-gets-media-browser-20080387712.htm Wed, 19 Mar 2008 13:55:00 GMT Synium Software announced the immediate availability of MacFamilyTree 5.1. The update for the genealogy application added an interactive media browser along with a utility for database maintenance Macobserver.Com MacFamilyTree 5.1 Gets Media Browser {new window}   Www.Macobserver.Com - Synium Software announced the immediate availability of MacFamilyTree 5.1. The update for the genealogy application added an interactive media browser along with a utility for database maintenance
MacFamilyTree 5.1 Gets Media Browser || The Mac Observer {...}
Published: March 19, 2008, 1:55 pm - Indexed: March 21, 2008, 11:16 am - Page Size: 34KB
Category: Computers > Systems > Apple > Macintosh > News and Media

]]> Computers > Systems > Apple > Macintosh > News and Media {INTERNET > W} - Scone Appetit http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008031282.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008031282.htm Tue, 04 Mar 2008 10:20:08 GMT Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you. Wherethehellwasi.Com Scone Appetit {new window}   Www.Wherethehellwasi.Com - Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you.
Scone Appetit [Where the Hell Was I?] {...} Life, from a comic perspective. Original articles, humor, & funny stories daily from an aspiring Boston standup comedian. {...}
Indexed: March 4, 2008, 10:20 am - Page Size: 61KB
Category: Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W

]]> Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W {INTERNET > W} - Scone Appetit http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008021101.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/computers/internet/on-the-web/weblogs/personal/w/scone-appetit-2008021101.htm Fri, 01 Feb 2008 11:53:35 GMT Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you. Wherethehellwasi.Com Scone Appetit {new window}   Www.Wherethehellwasi.Com - Well, I'm back. Not 'back with a vengeance', perhaps -- the vengeance I bought on Amazon hasn't been delivered yet; probably held up in customs or something -- but I'm back. And when that vengeance shows up -- well, whoo, geez. Look out. Mercy. In the meantime, here's this: One of the more... unusual Christmas presents the missus and I received this year was a kit, of sorts, for making scones. I'm not often genuinely surprised by a gift -- much less openly perplexed -- but this was a bit of an eyebrow-lifter. Mind you, I'm not saying it was a bad gift. And certainly not unappreciated. I'm just saying... well. All I know about scones is that they're what prim, upper-crust old British ladies like to eat with their tea. I fail to qualify on a number of key points in that description. I can manage the 'old' -- and on a good day, maybe the 'crust' part. That's about it. "When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction." Still, when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you a scone kit with miniature jars of spreadable lemon curd, you make the scones and spread the curd and try not to think too hard about whether your pinky is sticking out when you're washing it down with milk straight from the carton. (Another reason I'd never make it in proper society. Why dirty all those glasses, just for a quick sip of early morning moo juice? It's not like I have the mouth cooties. Upper-crusters make things so damned complicated.) Anyway, this past Sunday I woke up hungry and desperate and with no properly pre-processed food in the house. So I followed the directions (more or less), and made the scones. In the oven. All by myself. My wife was gobsmacked. And understandably so. For you see, though I'm a fair fan of several Food Network shows -- Iron Chef, Dinner: Impossible, and Good Eats (obviously) -- my own culinary skillz are sadly lacking. As in non-existent. As in, the only time I would normally step foot into the kitchen is to retrieve the pizza takeout menu. So I wasn't offended when the missus refused to try a scone until I'd eaten a couple myself. I don't know whether she figured they were physically inedible, or thought I was trying to deliberately poison her. When your husband starts doing crazy shit like whipping out mixing bowls and preheating ovens, anything could be happening. Raging paranoia is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Eventually, though, she tried a bite. Evidently, she'd never encountered scones, either, because she said: "Hey, these aren't bad. Scones are sort of like biscuits, huh?" Oh, dear. That's where my Food Network quasi-knowledge kicked in. I gave my wife a kindly smile and a pat on the head, and proceeded to lay out for her the real culinary genealogy of scones. Biscuits, I explained in my most professorly tone, are prepared using something called "the biscuit method". But there's also -- as all well-traveled bakers know -- a little procedure called "the muffin method". I gave her a moment to digest these fairly self-evident facts before moving on. (And also to make sure I hadn't mixed them up in the explanation. Before that morning, remember, my personal breakfast food preparation experience had been limited to "the Pop-Tart method" and "the leftover pasta reheating procedure".) I went on to assure her, based on the events of the morning, that the preparation of scones clearly bears a far greater resemblence to the latter than the former. Then she said what I was really hoping she wouldn't: "Okay... why?" Shit. It's not like I know what the hell the muffin and biscuit methods are -- only that they exist. I was kind of hoping that would be enough for her. But no. She actually can cook, so she was interested in the gory details. Damn my pedantic streak. Now I had to come clean. "Well... er, hrm. You see, the 'biscuit method', as I learned it years ago, involves, uh, breaking open the can in the fridge and pulling out the raw biscuits to bake. On a baking sheet. And the 'muffin method' is completely different. There, you... well, you take the bag of muffin mix out of the box, and mix in water and those little blueberry-flavored rabbit turd-looking things, and spoon it into muffin cups. That's the classical 'muffin method'. As taught by Julia Child, I believe. Or maybe Betty Crocker." She wasn't buying a word, obviously. This was turning into that history essay test I thought I could fake my way through by knowing there was such a thing as the Industrial Revolution. The devil, I discovered, is apparently in the details. But why quit when I'm behind? I could still back up the original nonsense I pulled out of my ass. "As you may have noticed, the scones kit consisted chiefly of a bag of scone mix -- to which I added water, and spooned into a pan to bake. Clearly, given the steps in the preparation, the method for making scones is more similar to muffins than biscuits." I gave her the 'clearly' shrug, to drive home whatever nonsensical point I may have just made. She shook her head sadly and frowned. I shrugged again. "I mean, clearly." Nothing. She's a hard woman, that wife of mine. I conceded defeat, as gracefully and nobly as I could. "Oh, just eat your damned scone, smartypants." So in the grand scheme of things, I still don't know how the hell to make real scones -- or biscuits, or muffins, or anything else, for that matter. But I did prepare my own Sunday breakfast, and it didn't kill me, and I haven't horked it back up yet. I'd call that a win. Plus, now the wife is worried I might actually spend time in the kitchen again soon. One more bout of baking 'n' bullshitting, and she'll have the pizza delivery joint on speed dial daily, just to shut me up. I call that little plan my "scone method". Look for it in a cookbook near you.
Scone Appetit [Where the Hell Was I?] {...} Life, from a comic perspective. Original articles, humor, & funny stories daily from an aspiring Boston standup comedian. {...}
Indexed: February 1, 2008, 11:53 am - Page Size: 61KB
Category: Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W

]]> Computers > Internet > On the Web > Weblogs > Personal > W