Republicans on the House Oversight Committee just showed us the truth of the adage “Elect clowns; expect a circus.” Because Wednesday’s hearing about alleged impeachable offenses by President Joe Biden was pretty much Republicans beclowning themselves, with some able assists from the Democrats.
So we’re having the iconic “Entrance of the Gladiators”, composed by Czech Julius Fučík, performed here by The Hill Crew. I heard it all day Wednesday.
So, here’s an interesting (to me) variant on shrinkflation, the practice of vendors in the food supply chain of reducing the amount of product you find in packaging but charging the same price.
For some reason, Trader Joe has put
1.3 ounces of rainbow peppercorns in a slightly taller jar than before:
I only noticed it because the new grinder top they switched to doesn’t do a good job of actually grinding the peppercorns, so I put one of the older tops on.
Then they changed the threads
on the screw portion, so I have to pour the peppercorns into one of the older
jars to make it work.
I have absolutely no idea what they
gain from this, but there it is.
Last week a recruiter contacted me on LinkedIn for a job.
I’m
not sure what he saw in my profile that made him think I was in any way capable
of doing it, so I replied thus:
And
this was his response:
So,
not only does he not read profiles, he doesn’t read his messages. But he
has a job.
Unless you’re Italian or trying to sell a house, you may not be aware that today is Saint Joseph’s Day.
You remember Joseph? Husband of Mary? Taught
Jesus everything he knew about carpentry and joinery?
Yeah, that’s the sad tale. Poor guy is always
losing out: in the Nativity, it’s all the Madonna and the kid; in cursing it’s
always Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph; in March it’s always Saint Patrick.
Joseph is the patron of, among others, the
Church Universal, workers, families, engineers, the dying, Canada,
confectioners, travelers, those in doubt, cabinetmakers,
Korea and Vatican II. Also of house sellers and hunters,
which should make him a pretty busy fellow these days.
Today is his official feast day—celebrated
widely in Italian communities around the world with altars decorated with
flowers, limes, candles, wine, breads, cookies, pastries and other
symbols of the good life. This is of particular importance when you consider
that Saint Joseph’s Day usually falls in Lent, when consumption is constricted.
(There’s another day, 1 May, dedicated to Saint
Joseph the Worker; but that was invented in 1955 by Pope Pius XII to counter
the godless communist/union/laborer May Day holiday, so you can fuggedaboutit.)
What I remember about Saint Joseph’s Day is
that it’s when the swallows come back to Capistrano—that’s the Mission of San
Juan Capistrano, in the eponymous town in Orange County, California. Turns out
that the swallows usually show up a couple of days on one side or another of 19
March, but everyone turns a blind eye to those little
discrepancies and enjoys the hell out of the miracle of the swallows.
There are decades of stories about how Saint
Joe helps the desperate sell their homes: you bury a (plastic/stone/wooden)
statue of the saint (head up/head/down/horizontal) in your (front/back/side)
yard and Bob’s your uncle—the house is sold.
You can buy purpose-made statues for precisely
this use from a variety of sources both on and off line, including
from some realtors.
No clue as to how the saint may help home
buyers, unless there’s some karmic connection that his statue in your yard
attracts exactly the right buyers for this house.
BTW—on this particular Saint Joseph's Day, we're also celebrating former Kleptocrat "economic adviser" Peter Navarro entering prison for ignoring a congressional subpoena WRT the January 6th investigation. SCOTUS yesterday turned down his request to stay pending appeal. Let's hope he's the first of many administration officials involved in the insurrection, going all the way up to the top.
Happy Saint Joseph’s Day to
you, Petey. Make lots of new friends.
We’re at that point in Spring where trees and shrubs are beginning to bloom, and it would be both difficult and mean-spirited to not be grateful for that. So—here you go.
Sunday is Saint Patrick’s Day, honoring the Fifth Century Bishop of Armagh, who is credited with converting the Irish to Christianity. Paddy’s the patron of Ireland (duh and engineers, and he protects against snake infestations and bites. Kind of an all-round player, he is.
Turns out that our man was never actually canonized by the Roman
Catholic Church. Something to do with him living in an era when there was no
formal process for it. Which doesn’t explain all the thousands of saints from
the early Church who were made saints, but maybe his alleged opposition to
snakes had something to do with it, the Vatican being what it is. He’s there by
popular acclaim and his day is probably the most celebrated worldwide of anyone
except for Jesus’ birth and death.
So, let’s have a little something for Pat.
No, not some drunken pub song about whiskey being the devil, we’re
having “Be Thou My Vision”, to the tune of Slane, an old Irish melody. I couldn't find a good recording out of Ireland, so we've got this one.
Last week I interviewed for a product management position with the head of HR of a small pre-IPO software company. According to this person’s LinkedIn profile, she has a few decades, including V-level slots, with some legit, Fortune 100 companies. So I was a little surprised when she said:
“Oh, you were a product manager at [Megalithic Software
Corporation]. The daughter of a friend of mine is a product manager there. Her
name is X Y; did you know her?”
Uh, MSC has more than 150,000 employees, including several
thousand PMs. Maybe a few thousand fewer staffers and a few hundred fewer PMs now,
but still.
“Oh, I don’t think so. What unit does she work in?”
“I don’t know. But are you sure?” Voice becomes louder,
pronunciation more distinct. “Her name is X Y.”
“No; sorry.”
Dunno if that ended my candidacy with that company, but I’ve not
heard back from them since that call.
I’ve started an alternative walking route because I was getting a bit tired of the same-old, same-old. This one takes me by a non-denominational church that runs a daycare program. I got a kick out of these little cars, all lined up and ready for their little drivers.
It was 41F yesterday when I went out on my morning walk. (An hour later than usual, because of freakin’ Daylight Saving Time, which has no earthly purpose other than to disrupt the world’s circadian rhythms twice a year.) But there was a brisk wind, which made it feel colder. Great walking weather.
The wind also made some interesting patterns flowing through the trees.
And there were splashes of color, with daffodils and forsythia.
So, that’s my gratitude for today.
