Here's the Scoop

I'd like to extend an apology to my legion of formerly loyal readers for my remissness in attending to this blog. This is easily accomplished since the legion is constituted entirely of my brother and mother.

For everyone else:

I have, since the wedding, moved to Dubai, UAE. I continue to work for the man, although he now sends his orders from London instead of Lexington Avenue.

Foxy is an apprentice Lunching Lady, and indicates that she wishes to remain so for her tenure in the Gulf.

The Urinator, sadly, is no longer with us. Not dead, just pissing on someone else's carpets (sofas, chairs, bed, etc). She is dearly missed. Her piss is not.

We are delighted and charmed by this desert principality, and will be reporting about it in due time. There are many fun and fascinating chronicles forthecoming, so bear with me.

Ma'a salāma!

Modern Design Theory

Right now, in America, the Cretin Army is fast taking back ground in our educational system lost in a battle that occurred nearly a century ago. I know this because everyday lately I happen upon a story in a newspaper, or on a television show, telling me so.

Maybe you've read or heard something too.

Intelligent Design: the complexities of the natural world are, well, just too damned complex to have been achieved through the mechanisms of evolution. Therefore, these intricacies must have been, simply, designed.

By what? By whom? That's up to the individual to ponder. Nobody is trying to sell god in our public schools.

Invariably, though, most Americans arrive at god. But proponents of the theory (theory?) don't push the matter either way. After a wink and a nudge, they rely twice on the stupidity of certain people: the first time, when they sell the theory; the second time, when you conclude that god plopped everything down on Earth basically as it is, tossing to the wayside one of the most compelling disciplines of modern science.

Our President believes that Intelligent Design should be taught, without mention of god, alongside evolution in public schools, just as an alternative. He's not up to anything nefarious, he just believes that the theory of evolution doesn't hold water.

Perhaps we are able to find some basic examples of flora and fauna altering themselves over long periods of time, but it's all very superficial according these ersatz scientists. Science and evolution just cannot explain the most intricate and subtle workings of most organisms or, at least, how they came to possess certain complex functionalities.

The state of Kansas, well-known for its sunflowers and tornadoes, is spearheading the fight by introducing legislation in its own government to have Intelligent Design taught along side Darwinism. God - I mean, Intelligent Designer, help us!

It's fascinating, because I don't believe in some of these wild ideas propounded by so-called meteorologists. I don't believe in "high" and "low" pressure "systems," or in any of the various kinds of "fronts" they claim hover in our "atmosphere."

I believe that tornados in Kansas occur when the Intelligent Designer flushes his toilet. I also believe that sunflowers are actually made of sun.

Is that wrong?

Positively Penurious

About two weeks ago, I opened a new account for a parsimonious, but extraordinarily wealthy old battle-axe from New Jersey. The fiery and ancient fishwife, whose net worth is between five and ten-million dollars, purchased ten-thousand dollars worth of a new-issue bond from me.

The next day, after I had already opened the account and processed the trade, she called back and told me she required another one-thousand dollars worth of that exact same bond. I told her that it was no longer available, as it was a new issue and had sold quickly, but that I'd be happy to put the other thousand into another new issue that had become available.

The decrepit old ogress told me - actually, she was snarling and yelling - that it didn't make sense for her to have such a small amount of the second bond, and that I was to cancel the first trade immediately and close the account.

What warranted such extreme measures, you ask?

Well, if she had two bonds being held by our brokerage firm, her end-of-year report (a '1099,' which is prepared for tax purposes) would contain an additional line showing the interest earned from the second, smaller bond position. As a result, her accountant would charge her an additional fee for the extra labor, which would cut into the overall yield of the bond over the seven years until its maturity.

I cancelled, or "busted" the trade, sold the bond at a loss on the open market to cover her debit, and had to absorb the difference myself.

One, don't ever renege on a good-faith transaction. Two, don't ever be so miserly that it causes you to act like an asshole.

Caught!

It seems like I haven't had a minute to myself these past few weeks. The wedding looms large, and there are loads of minutiae that we've either neglected or screwed up. This is becoming a fulltime job! My surreptitious scheme to ‘just stay the hell out of it’ has been detected and thwarted by Foxy and her band of cronies.

I just licked and stamped 120 invitations. I’m not kidding. It feels like I have marshmallows and plaster in my mouth, and my tongue has somehow become glued to the outside of my cheek. We forgot to buy an envelope moistener, and Foxy would have none of the licking. So I was saddled with the gooey task.

Hopefully, life will be moving at a more normal clip again within the next week or so.

The Isle of Wight – or, IoW to those of us in the know - was wonderful! The scenery is extremely dramatic, with its jutting, chalky promontories, lush green hills and valleys, violent Channel-upsurges, and roving bipedal lobsters from sundry locales around the United Kingdom.

It was Cowes Week on the IoW, an international regatta and festival which is centered in and around the town of Cowes. Apparently, this is the world's largest regatta. Bigger than the America's Cup? I don't know, I didn't ask. It was very impressive nonetheless.

I also caught the Sandown Airshow, which is also another ‘biggest’ in the UK. I found that hard to believe, as it was actually quite small. Anyway, the program featured the holy trinity of the Battle of Britain: The Hurricane, The Spitfire, and The P-51 Mustang. It was absolutely incredible to watch these planes scream by within a hundred yards at full throttle, and something I’ll not soon forget.

Hot!

It is as hot as Hades today in New York City! This record-shattering scorcher made my finely crafted suit feel as though it were made of burlap and sewing needles. Actually, I don't think today shattered any records, but it may as well have. I'm relieved to be in my apartment which, as I write this, is having its air gradually conditioned to resemble a meat locker.

It's very sad about the bombings in Sharm el Sheikh. Foxy and I were planning to visit the Red Sea arcadia during the second half of our honeymoon, but I'm not sure that's still a good idea. It might actually be safer, though, due to heightened security - Egyptian style. I'm told they're both expert and brutal in their dealing with these types of situations. Also, if we alter our plans, then we're sort of stepping into the psychological snare that these psychopathic malcontents have set.

We'll see what happens.

I'm leaving on Thursday for the Isle of Wight, off the south coast of England in the Channel. I've never been there, and I confess to knowing absolutely nothing about it. It is intended solely as a getaway so that my parents and I can spend some time together in a relaxed environment. London is very nervous at the moment, and I'm feeling smothered here in New York. I need to decompress like an Englishman: with lots of good beer and a parasol. Well, maybe not a parasol.

Cheers!

Halt!

Today, on the front page of our city's most infamous rag, the New York Post, the headline read, "HALT! Cops ordered to search subway bags." Accompanying the banner was a rather unfortunate photograph of a brown-skinned, probably South Asian young man having his black rucksack searched by a New York City police officer.

Two thoughts arose in my mind when I saw this: Either this gentleman was the only passenger having his bag searched within range of the camera's lens, or the Post chose to publish this picture only.

Being the sleaze engine that the Post is, I'll wager that a disreputable editor for this toilet roll carefully chose the image that he thought would resonate most with its reactionary readership. A photograph of somebody's grandmother having her handbag rifled through would not have stirred the desired emotions in its patrons.

Incidents of hate-crimes in the city usually jump after any well-publicized act of terrorism, regardless of where it occurred. That's why I believe it's irresponsible to subtly sow seeds like the one carelessly flung out into the ether today by the Post.

In a sad twist, the Indian Sikh community will shoulder the brunt of the hostilities of a fanatical few. They are the most visible of immigrants in America, and are often mistaken by roving vigilantes for Al Qaeda operatives. Last fall, the owner of one of Manhattan's most famous bars dragged a Sikh out of a taxi and commenced brutalizing him right in the middle of the street. All the while letting loose a barrage of slurs pertaining to Muslims. Figure that one out.

This is what happens when utter dolts begin racially and ethnically profiling members of our community, at the subtle and continuous prompting of media outlets.

The Post should take care not to incite or feed animosity as loosely as they did today.

Dancing With the Devil

I am dismayed to report that the Floating Nuptial Roadshow will not be pitching its magnificent tent in Cairo, as Foxy and I had not only hoped for, but actually anticipated. We were informed by the female Elders in Foxy's clan that, if held in Egypt, the wedding would be an utter bore and a complete disaster. There was nary a dissenting voice in this resolution, and my ears are still ringing with their conviction.

Egypt, boring?

Let me explain: On Monday, at the ladies' daily teatime telephone conference, presided over by Foxy's mother, the idea was roundtabled, and it was concluded that conservative Egyptian sensibilities would preclude them from any kind of dancing at the wedding. You see, when Arab women dance at these events, it tends to be less like its high-impact, aerobic Western counterpart, and more like something meant to showcase the beauty and sensuality of the female form.

From what I'm told, traditional Arabic dance, when done by wives and mothers, would be looked upon as promiscuous and immoral in Egypt. So it was agreed: no dancing, no wedding.

By the way, anybody who has any insight into this may feel free to comment. I'm sure that there are a variety of points of view on this matter.

I'm going to delve into the latest Harry Potter installment for now. Hopefully, his latest madcap adventure will take my mind off the disappointment. Truthfully though, Harry's been a bit of a wet towel in the last few books. But that's a matter for another post.