Eight Feet Deep

The world is just totally insane. I don’t know why it has taken me so long to recognize that fact after almost 50 years. I guess it is because I was born naive and it takes some people longer than others to shed such traits.

Do you need proof the world has fell off its rocker? Meet Perry Lonzello.

An Associated Press story this morning said the New Jersey man carved a primitive drawing of “runaway bride-to-be” Jennifer Wilbanks on a piece of toasted Wonder Bread, then put it up for bid on eBay as a joke. Wait, that’s just having a little fun. Where insanity rolls up and starts bellowing show tunes is that:

“As of about 5 p.m. Friday, Lonzello’s eBay posting had 134,300 visits and 111 bids made on the toast, with a top bid of $15,400. Bidding closes Sunday. The toast is still a long way from equaling the grilled cheese sandwich with an image of the Virgin Mary that sold for $28,000 on eBay in 2004,” the AP story said.

Sadly, I found 54 items related to “Jennifer Wilbanks toast” this morning on eBay. This includes:
— “Jennifer Wilbanks Toast Found Again,” going for $1
— “Jennifer Wilbanks Runaway Bride Cookie better than toast,” costing $2
— “Jennifer Wilbanks Runaway Bride toast,” bidding at $10,000
— “Jennifer Wilbanks Runaway Bridge toast with kidnappers,” at 99 cents

And a guy is also selling his “bottled rage against Jen, toast, the world!” Priceless? Of course not. He wants $37 for the bottle with a printed label of him screaming.

It’s all good fun, up to a point. But think about it. If people start buying toast regularly for exorbitant sums, what do you think that is going to do for condiments? There is no telling what those little packages of jam you get for your Egg McMuffin (I don’t know about that practice either)could end up costing. What’s next, a pat of butter for $650, knife not included?

Please, I beseech you, stop the madness!!! Then, bring me a piece of toast, plain, and no illustration.

Ye-oww, please stop this thing! 

Millions will be tuned in today see if George Steinbrenner can buy the Kentucky Derby as he has past World Series with his New York Yankees. The George’s Bellamy Road is a 5-2 favorite as of this morning, according to the Kentucky Derby Web site. My money, speaking figuratively, is going on Afleet Alex, whose odds are 7-2.

Fewer folks will be watching the run from the cook pot this afternoon as the crawfish races gear up at the annual Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival in Louisiana. But I imagine the crowd witnessing this battle of mudbugs will be equally as enthused as those gathered at Churchill Downs in Louisville. I also forecast a lot of drinking going on at both places, though I could not predict which would have the drunker pool of spectators.

Although I am a native of Cajun Southeast Texas, I have never seen a crawfish race except in clips from television. A Cajun fellow named A.J. Judice, who ran a grocery store in Groves, Texas, was a big promoter of crawfish racing. Former Texas Gov. Preston Smith even named Judice a state “crawfish racing commissioner” in the 1960s. Judice probably did more for publicizing the “sport” in Texas than anyone. But I have yet to see an organized event in which these red crustaceans run, which I imagine would be for their lives because they probably would end up being boiled or in a dish of etouffee were they not to win.

Crawfish are pretty curious creatures. Scientist Christopher Mims writes on Zoogoer the Web site for the National Zoo in Washington, D.C., how fighting among the 10-legged wonders would be the spectator sport most likely to leave you dumbfounded were you able to figure out what the heck they were doing.

When two crayfish of about equal size meet, they rear up on their tails, spread their claws wide, whip each other with their long antennae, and engage in what is literally a pissing contest. Openings in their faces called nephropores eject streams of urine to communicate each individual’s status, health, and identity.
Then the fighting commences. Gripping each other with crushing pincers, both crustaceans churn the water with their tails in a show of strength. Limbs may be lost in the heat of combat; like geckos dropping their tails, crayfish autotomize a damaged or entrapped limb by closing a sphincter of muscle at its base, and then regenerate it.

Yet, they are delicious with red sauce. And, I wouldn’t have a problem eating up the racing team at Breaux Bridge. Not so for the field at Churchill Downs. Although some of the Cajuns’ long-lost cousins among our French friends across the Atlantic might not be so picky. Strange how that all works.

UPDATE: Giacamo, at 50-1 probably making a wagerer or two a millionaire, won the derby. Alex finished third. It’s a touching story about the little girl for whom Afleet Alex was named and how the horse itself faced hardship as a colt. But you can read that at a real news site. The important thing to realize here is how I am gloating over how Steinbrenner’s horse didn’t win. I kind of feel bad over such glee since the horse Bellamy Road did not choose to be hooked up with George. But then again, I doubt if the Yankees’ third baseman and zillionaire Alex Rodriguez had any choice being born into a life that would ultimately see him playing for George Steinbrenner. Not to mention his playing for a New York Yankees team starting out the season in last place in their division despite being the best money can buy. Strange how all that works.

What’s next in your meal, Rollie Fingers? 

What is going on with all these fingers turning up in people’s foods? First it was the infamous “chili finger” at Wendy’s in California. More recently, Brandon Fizer accidentally lopped off the top of his finger while working with a mixing machine in a dessert shop in North Carolina. A customer found the digital prize in his custard and refuses to give it back. Apparently, the finger is pointing its way toward a lawsuit against the shop.

I wonder if any restaurant will have the sense of humor or the guts to do something with this recent spate of finger food? Will someone’s menu include “Anna’s Chili-covered Chicken Fingers?” (Chicken really don’t have fingers, you know) The entree would be quite a tribute for Anna Ayala, who found the finger in Wendy’s and was arrested for allegedly perpetrating a hoax. I don’t know if any food item has ever been named for Rollie Fingers, the baseball hall of fame pitcher from the 70s whose handlebar mustache appeared as if it lived in a different area code.

I can certainly understand fingers or parts of fingers being accidentally introduced into foods at restaurants. With some of the cutlery and machinery you really have to keep on your toes to keep all your fingers. I have fantasized being a chef, but I probably would be the one without all 10 of his fingers. I don’t know how many times I have sliced myself open while chopping something. My cookbooks look like a crime scene.

It’s pretty mean that the guy who got the finger with his custard, one Clarence Stowers, didn’t give it back once he was notified that it belonged to the 23-year-old Fizer. From what I gather, doctors could have re-attached the part.

Yeah, I know it’s not pleasant to find anything floating about in your food. I certainly would have demanded free custard from that shop from then on — provided of course if I could ever eat custard again.

But you know, in the grand scheme of things, there are a lot worse things you could find in your restaurant order than a finger. You could find a small nuclear bomb in your taco salad, for instance, and perhaps jostling it around with your spoon could take out that entire side of town. Or perhaps you might finally find Jimmy Hoffa in your pasta primavera. Now that wouldn’t be pleasant.

Just look on the bright side. Smile, smile, smile and keep your hands where I can see them.

Willie: Ask not for who the road tolls 

My heroes have always been long-haired, scruffy musicians, who don’t much give a damn. Take Willie Nelson. He’s an all-American hero. Came up from poverty and church singing in Abbott, Texas, screwed up most of his life, sings like Bob Dylan swallowed tree frogs, plays an old, beat up guitar that was probably found on Noah’s ark, but still turns out some of the most soulful music this side of Nacogdoches. He’s lost his ass to the IRS, found it again, got busted in Hewitt, but for reasons that he’d rather not disclose (to paraphrase “Me and Paul”) and now he shows his real mettle by telling the state of Texas to stick their toll roads where nothing good grows.

State Sen. Gonzalo Barrientos of Austin proposed that the new toll road around his fair city be named the “Willie Nelson Turnpike.” But Nelson, through his lawyer, reportedly declined the offer saying such a gesture didn’t exactly fit his style or “world view.” I think I may have read that he also didn’t relish the idea of people cussing his name every time they have to pay tolls to use the road. Willie chalks it all up to politics, which is about the only reason anyone ever names a road after someone.

Even though I wrote in the newspapers quite a bit about Gov. Rick’s “Trans Texas Corridor” proposal, which would let private companies build and own their own roads, I still don’t know enough about the details to determine if its good or if it is crooked (those usually are the choices when it comes to government contracts). A lot of the plan is heavily dependent on toll roads and if that’s the future, it kind of makes you wonder what the hell the state and federal government has been doing with your tax-funded highway dollars all these years. And no, I’m not just now wondering that!

It’s nice to hear about someone not getting caught up in flattery and his own celebrity, especially when the gesture involves a project that could potentially have us all shedding dollar bills like rattlesnake skins.

I came back from an hour’s walk and was going to check my e-mail before I took a shower. Then I was overcome by an attack of RSS. What is RSS? I don’t really know for sure. The acronym is not even very lucid. Here is how my RSS platform, FeedBurner explains it:

“RSS” stands for Really Simple Syndication, Rich Site Summary, and/or Rockdale, Sandow, and Southern (Railroad) (if you trust the good folks at AcronymFinder.com Really Simple Syndication is probably the most widely agreed-upon choice. As far as we are concerned, all three acronyms do an inadequate job of describing what RSS actually is: RSS is a standard for publishing regular updates to web-based content.

I’ll say the acronyms do an inadequate job. But I got to reading about RSS, and putting off that shower I so badly need, because it appears from what I read that RSS is the best thing since Al Gore invented the Internet. It beats me. I don’t know if it is comparable to HDTV or cassettes making the 8-track obsolete. All that technology and I still don’t have my own flying car! And I don’t know about this RSS hocus-pocus. But I’ll read more about it and see if makes me any younger and/or better looking. In the meantime, I know that taking that shower will at least make me smell better.