Strangest video blog ever: http://cutewithchris.com/

It is funny also.

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That just happened.

Thanks http://www.guzzlingcakes.com

http://www.nopantsday.com/wp/

About three weeks ago I roasted a whole chicken. While preparing the bird I excavated from its abdomen a small gauze bag containing the chicken’s heart, liver and neck and fired the liver in a hot skillet with some butter, Herbs de Provence (Quel dommage!), and to my astonishment it wasn’t half bad. This needed further exploration.

Fast forward to last Thursday. Kate was out and I decided that it was gross food night. On the way home I stopped at the supermarket and picked up a pint of fresh “young” chicken livers and a half dozen Duxbury oysters. The livers were dredged in flour, salt, pepper and tarragon then cooked in a medium hot pan with some corn oil and butter. As I bit into the first one there was a distinct and anxiety provoking feeling that I might be, in an instant, throwing up in my mouth. The half bottle of wine I’d consumed seemed to be making this first time slightly easier. Drinking tends to aid you in those tender moments of inexperience. One bite, two bites, three bites…”Wow. I’m really enjoying this.” I thought to myself.

After killing half the pint of livers and taking in my yearly quota of iron it was time to murder some South Shore bivalves. Normally a “real” New Englander like myself would have an oyster knife on hand but alas, I’ve yet to acquire one so a butter knife would have to do. My Dad later scolded me for not using a screw drive. I felt ashamed.

Anyhow, the first four opened easier than Paris Hilton’s legs but the fifth one was a prude. As good as a freshly shucked oyster is, a shard of the shell can ruin the experience so I was quick to run the clam, knife and my hand under some cold water to wash the chunks away.

At this point I had nearly three quarters of the bottle of white in my stomach. The wine was mingling nicely with the liver but it was an awkward situation as the liver was used to hanging with light beer and cheap whiskey. Conversation was cordial. Wine wanted to talk about Terry Gross’s interview with Natsuo Kirino but she knew Liver wouldn’t understand. Liver thought Wine was cute in a Martha Stewart kind of way but didn’t understand her big words and kept wondering if she might like to turn on the race. They sat quietly and wondered how they had ended up in the same place.

But I digress, back to the shucking. With the knife now wet and slicker than snot on a door knob I bore down on the hilt hoping that scientifically applied bruit force might convince this mollusk to embrace it’s fate and allow me entrance to its fleshy center. This oyster had other plans, he was an insurgent oyster.

With one last push I exerted my all and down the knife my tightly clenched fist raced. Down all the way past the serrated edge (why do flatware companies feel so compelled to put on serrated edges on butter knifes?). And that sinking feeling you get when cold steel races across, or through, your skin swept over me. I clenched my fist and then drip, drip, drip, blood fell into the sink.

“ASS HOLE!” I yelled.

In my hand staring back at me was a cut, deep, ugly, mangled and severe. Ok, fine, with respect to butter knife wounds, deep, ugly, mangled and severe.

If this oyster was not going to cooperate I had other means of persuasion. He begged for a second chance before I placed him and his friend into a hot pan of butter and garlic. They didn’t last long. In a matter of minutes their shells lay agape, fixed in a dead stare at the exhaust fan.

Shortly thereafter the two lifeless oyster corpses hurdled down my neck and landed with a smack on the bridge table Wine had set up. She cried. Liver comforted her in the only way he knew how. His breath was rich and sweat with bourbon. He knew they came from different places but he hugged her tight and ran his stubby fingers through her hair. Slowly she calmed. His eyes were wide. It was then she new he was scared too.

I interviewed with Robert G. Delaney at the North Bennet Street School last Tuesday for the Preservation Carpentry Program and on the whole the interview went well. However, I have been pondering the first question he asked me which was “Do you think you’re over qualified?” I answered plainly no. Do I understand the broad concepts of carpentry? Yes. Am I qualified to work in this capacity right now? No.

And this got me to thinking what qualified really means? Dictionary.com defines the word as “having the qualities, accomplishments, etc., that fit a person for some function, office, or the like.” But simply having those qualities and accomplishments does not guarantee that a person is qualified.

In my current line of work, qualified seems to be based largely on time served. It’s the Promotion Through Attrition model, PTA as I call it. “Well Fred, you’ve lasted longer than Ernie, Dick, Pete and Mildred, so, ah, I guess we’re going to have to promote you to Project Manager.” Is Fred qualified? No, Fred is not qualified. Thankfully, my current boss is good and is actually qualified for the job. So are my current co-workers.
During good economic times an individual may be considered qualified if they have a pulse. In the early zeros, I worked with a few of these types. They wouldn’t be considered qualified today.

For rappers, qualified is based on things other than actual talent. Take Lil Boozie for example. Gold chain, check. Scowl, check. Thuggish appearance, check. Giant fake platinum Rolex watch, check. Qualified? You be the judge:

Knock Knock Im In Dis Bitch Let Me Get Sum Act Rite.Who It Is At Da Do, Bitch Dis Baby Tracklight. Dey Critisize Me Talk About Me Like Sum Fuckin Hoes Dey Fuck Mah Name Up With Promos Say I Dont Cum 2 Shows But U Got Me Fucked Up So Im Bucked Up And Fucked Up So I Wrote This Song Fa Bitch Made Niggas Still Got All Switch Played Nigga He Gon Die From Diabeties Thats Wat Dey Said The Way He Livin He Gon End Up Like His Fuckin Dad Dey Say My Attitude Rude I Need Sum A-D-D So Dey Put On Medication Told Mama To Pray For Me I Wonder Wat Make ‘em Hate On Me My Heart Made Of Gold But No Wim Pissed Off Ready To Cut Dey Dick Off Stick It Up In Dey Bitch Mouth And Suck It Oh Yeah Im Thuggin Strappin Up In Da Projects Got Me Aint Scared Of Nothing Keep My Name Up Out Yo Mouth And Be Careful Lil Nigga Or Da Fuckin Ambulance Gon Have To Help U Lil Nigga Man Im Tired Of This Childish Shit Gon Get Into Sum Ridah Shit Everytime I See U Im Gon Hit U With That Proper Bitch Fuck It Nigga Bring The Blues Really Aint Got Nuthin To Loose Keep My Name Up Out Yo Mouth And Nigga I Aint Gon Fuck Wit U Bitch!

By the way, his latest album Bad Azz has sold over 160,000 copies indicating that some people believe he is qualified.

Michael Brown spent 11 years overseeing horse trial judges and stewards for the Arabian Horse Association. The association asked him to resign so we know that he wasn’t qualified for that job. After playing with horses President Bush believed that “Brownie” was qualified to run FEMA. However in the wake of Hurricane Katrina the citizens of this country discovered that in fact he was not qualified to run FEMA either. Oops.

Don “Rummy” Rumsfeld was another man President Bush believed to be qualified for a position of national prominence. In May of 2002 Rummy went to war with the army he had against the recommendations of most senior military brass. Although the blitz to Bagdad was impressive, he neglected to consider what would happen after the initial invasion. The Decider accepted his resignation in late 2006. Rummy was decidedly not qualified for the job or should we just blame Doug Feith?

If qualified means having an intimate knowlege and first hand experience on a subject than surely no one was more qualified to be on the House Caucus on Missing and Exploited Children than Congressman Mark Foley.

Britney Spears qualified mom? Not really.

Chavez qualified statesman? Nope.

Tucker Carlson qualified dick? Yes.

Ben Johnson qualified cool dude? You bet!

So I’m left to ponder whether or not I’m over qualified for the program. By some measures, I certainly am. In a month or so I’ll know if I’ve been accepted into the program and we’ll find out if I’m qualified or over qualified.

So President Bush lands on the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln and says “Mission Accomplished”.

But he was only kidding.

Worst joke ever.

A close friend of mine tells me Alan Greenspan is being treated for a severe case of priapism. Doctors say they have the situation under control and the former Fed Chairman will be fine.

At the most recent meeting of the Council on Foreign Relations, which boasts a membership including Mr. Greenspan, former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, and current Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice, Angelina Jolie was heartily admitted as the group’s newest and sexiest member. Kissinger and Greenspan were seen high fiving after the meeting and were quoted as saying “We view this as a very positive step for the Council and look forward to working on Jolie, er I mean with Jolie”. Condoleeza Rice, had no comment but was heard muttering “I’m still the prettiest, I don’t care what Gary Samore says” as she climbed into her waiting limousine.

In other news, Steven Hawking, the renowned physicist, will take up the invitation by Zero Gravity Corporation, a Florida company, to enjoy 25 seconds of weightlessness. The company maintains a fleet of specially modified Boeing 737 which climb to an altitude of 24,000 feet only to take a sharp noise dive back towards Earth. As the plane heads downward, a momentary condition of weighlessness insues. Hawking is said to be looking forward to the experience which normally costs $3,800 but will be free to the scientist.

And from Alaska, Dick Cheney is furious over the downing of a US helicopter by what the VP has called “Al Qaeda in Alaska moose elements”. It was suggested by senior administration officals that the animal may be an illegal Mexican Moose but details are still sketchy at this point.

Whitehouse spokesman Tony Snow reiterated the VP’s concerns that those who seek to bring harm to America will be brought to justice. And hoping to alay fears in Alaska, Snow promised that the President was looking into possibly turning the roughly 30 million moose in Alaska into ethanol. The President assured the public last Monday that the full weight of the federal government would be brought to bear on any one or any thing threating the US.

The moose in question was severely mamed after challenging the helicopter’s tail rotor and was euthanized before it could be brought to Guantanamo Bay Detention Facility. Animal rights activists are calling for a ban of all helicopter traffic in Alaska until a full investigation of the incident is carried out.

Nowak is still looking for a date for St. Paddy’s Day.

There is some truth to the assertion that warm water freezes faster than cold water afterall. That said, its much more complicated and should be change to “In certain very specific instances, warm water can freeze sooner than cold water, but your not likely see it on a regular basis.”

So for those of you who keep filling up the ice tray with warm water, stop…before I hit you.

The Mpemba Effect

In 1968 something happened that changed the lives of millions, maybe billions of people world wide. That year the Tet Offensive played out on network TV, Johnny Cash recorded his album “Live at Folsom Prison”, Martin Luther King was assassinated, after a coup d’état Saddam Hussein became Vice Chairman of the Revolutionary Council in Iraq, Nixon won the Presidency, Apollo 8 entered orbit around the Moon, and Tasmania abolished the death penalty. Also that year, in a sleepy part of Michigan, a man named Robert Propst busily finished work on a project with monumental expectations. Mr. Propst’s invention promised to liberate the worker from encumbrances and would lead the way to massive improvements to the economy. The hopes of millions lay rested on his creation called The Action Office.

Unfortunately his invention was an resounding failure. Even Propst admitted before his death in 2000 that his invention was “monolithic insanity”. Herman Miller Inc., an office furniture manufacturer, retailed the new product and sadly for us it was seized upon by the corporate powers to reduce costs. Life would never be the same for the working stiffs who lumber to Tech Drive, and Enterprise Lane in droves day in and day out, depressed at the thought of yet another day staring off into the abyss.

In the years to follow the landscape of our lives would become dull and drab, repetitive, sinister, partitioned and covered in a rough canvas, grey and flecked with highlights of brown, cream and red. Colors that are supposed to imply spontaneity, vivaciousness and fortitude but which leave the soul poorer and more empty. The new corporate landscape became littered with the glistening, still warm, after birth of Mr. Propsts brain child and for but a lucky few with corner offices, personal fridges, and secretaries (the term administrative assistant wouldn’t be used until much later), the masses were left to muck about for eternity in this purgatory.

Yes folks, I’m talking about the cubicle. The unholiest of unholy creations that is the bane of office workers from Sandusky, to San Diego, Boston to Berlin, Budapest to Bejing.

Propst was looking for an alternative to open bull-pen office that characterized the first half of the 20^th century. The theory went that if people could see more of their work splayed out in front of them, productivity would increase. Up to that point, the employee would spend countless hours rummaging around in boxes, drawers and cabinets looking for documents that may or may not exist. With more work space, shelves for storing books and material, and partitions for a modicum of privacy, we’d achieve greatness, there would be no more rummaging right?

What Bob failed to recognize was that the increasing cost of office space and the boom of white collar work force would drive office managers to maximize the number of people he or she could cram into a finite area. They saw his Action Office, or cubicle as it would become, not in the light he envisioned but as a way to achieve maximum profit per square foot.

If fate was vengeful and timing bitter, fate and timing, after one too many gin martinis, slipped under the covers and created the cube’s loving and faithful companion the personal computer. And right now, more than likely, you are reading this from the confines of your cube on a Windows based PC and now you know why.

Mr. Propst, originally from Colorado, the Centennial State, has about 120 inventions to his name and we should not scrutinize him too harshly for just one. And hey, let’s admit it, your cube is no Abu Ghraib.

Project: send me a picture of you and your cube and I’ll post it in this article.