Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
Ah, that poor cashier at the grocery store. The one who made the mistake of asking us if we were able to find everything okay, when the answer was no.
I try to build my theories about what is happening based on what I know to be true, and I try to confine them to what I know to be true. But, of course, that is not a realistic way to go about living life; sometimes we have to use inductive reasoning. And Folsom, for all of its blessings, does have this serpentine infestation writhing just beneath the surface, this way of thinking that says “I’ll bet this offends somebody, and you know what will make me an extra good person is if I get rid of it before I wait for anyone to actually complain about being offended.”
I do not know if that has anything to do with the extraordinary difficulty lately in finding St. Pauli Girl, a bitter-tasting, mid-range bottled ale that is typically stacked in the cooler right between the Becks and Heineken. I know the Becks is still there and the Heineken is still there. They are similar in content but lack the attractive and buxom young beer wench on the labels.
Without STP, an entire beer-and-wine aisle is pretty-young-lady-free. Insecure women can look all up and down such an aisle, and not be reminded of the truth that men appreciate the look of pulchritudinous young females. You know what, I’m going to go down on a limb: I think that’s the motivation. Well, I think sales are down, for some reason. I think it’s a combination. I think sales are down and there’s a pretty girl on the boxes, so the inventory managers are saying what the hell let’s just get rid of it.
Which means I have to say something. Well, I advanced my conspiracy theory to the cashier. I mean, why not. It’s probably right on track. I cannot remember the phrasing I used. I made sure it was extra polite, using good manners like my mother taught me and everything. I did not use the word “piss” as in “piss the feminists off,” and I did not use the word “ass” as in “store managers kissing their asses” and I did not use the phrase “sand in their vaginas” or anything like that. I’m not going to be like that smug prick who browbeat the Chick-Fil-A lady; one must remember the cashier in this situation is just like the cashier in that one, just doing her job. But I did point out, in some way that adhered to all the rules of class that eludes me in the moment, that it wasn’t just this store, there’s something city-wide going on. And it’s annoying me. And I think the pleasing visage of the beer wench has something to do with it.
Now, if there was another beer I liked better that didn’t have a pretty girl on the boxes & labels, I’d buy that other beer. But beer that doesn’t have that Germanic bite to it, grosses me out, frankly. Makes me think I’m drinking urine or something. Chimay Grand Reserve is good once in awhile, but absent a special occasion, the experience is lost on me. If I was a billionaire I still wouldn’t feel right about it. And it’s too sweet, I get tired of it.
There is something else going on in Folsom, and in other places: A perceptible mindset that says, you’re a good person if you remove something that has caused offense, and you’re an even better person if you remove it before anybody steps forward to complain — effectively inventing a class of offended-person that may or may not actually exist. At least, I hope such a person does not exist. I don’t want to live in a world in which beautiful women, and facsimiles of same, must be concealed from view because someone is offended by it all. That would be quite awful. Especially with Oktoberfests going on this time of year. Do we really need a new cultural-protocol that says, the delightful experience of imbibing good beer should be disassociated in the public’s mind, from the spectacle of a pleasant looking female bringing it to you? Who thinks that would be a good move? Whoever that is, I don’t want them making any decisions about anything that have to do with me.
Perhaps this is for the better. I’d probably be in better shape, literally, if I shifted more toward wine, and limited my purchases of the ale to something more occasional, and at WinCo which still stocks my preference and manages to undercut everybody else. Slimmer waist, thicker wallet, those are good things. But I’m not happy about this at all. I don’t like complaining about things, and I detest the idea of having to complain in order to counterbalance somebody else who’s complaining about the opposite…especially if that somebody-else might be a phantom, living rent-free in the beverage-inventory manager’s mind.
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