AN UNWARRANTED ACCUSATION

Every once in a while, one of my daughters will discover that something I say - an expression, comment, or observation I use frequently - is not entirely original.

An example: When someone compliments me for doing a good turn, I may occasionally respond, “Well, I am the Nice One.” One day, the girls realized that I hadn’t been the first to utter that statement - I had lifted it from the 1981 Terry Gilliam film Time Bandits, where it is spoken by Ralph Richardson as the Supreme Being.

When someone asks me how I am, I may respond, “I’m better than bad; I’m good.” Tautological, perhaps, but hardly original. Ren & Stimpy Show fans will recognize it from the fake ad for “Log.”

It’s Log
It’s Log
It’s big, it’s heavy, it’s wood
It’s Log
It’s Log
It’s better than bad, it’s good!

Today, after watching Time Bandits for perhaps the 576th time, the Mistress of Sarcasm asked me whether it was that movie that inspired me to wear colanders on my head. For it seems one of the Bandits - Fidgit, played by none other than Kenny Baker of R2-D2 fame - spends the entire film wearing a colander atop his pate.


Time Bandits, 1981. Kenny Baker (second from left) sports a colander throughout the movie.

My truthful answer, for once: No. Time Bandits never crossed my mind when I first wore a Perforated Metallic Chapeau. My muse was none other than that most estimable Velociman, who had written a post about (of all things!) a vintage colander. Bah, I remember thinking. What’s the point of simply writing about mundane kitchen devices... why not use them for comic effect? Thus was born the legendary Colander Borg-Man.

I don’t claim to be the first to slap a spaghetti strainer on my dome - hell, there’s a whole bunch of idiots on Flickr who have evidently been doing it for years - but I certainly did not steal the idea from Time Bandits. (If I had, I might’ve done it sooner.)

It’s nice to know, though, that I follow in the footsteps of a Cinematic Giant (so to speak).

A DISTURBING TREND

Some time back, I wrote a post that mentioned the Hershey Bar Scam. [Never mind that it was a post about toilet paper, a product that should probably never be mentioned in the same breath as Hershey bars for several scatologically pungent reasons.]

Just to refresh your memory, the Hershey Bar Scam was the sneaky way the good folks in the chocolate industry dealt with fluctuating raw material costs. Instead of jacking up the price of a candy bar to cover increased raw material costs, they would simply shrink the bar... and so it was that the 2-ounce nickel Hershey bar you could have bought in 1930 eventually withered away to a mere ¾ ounce less than forty years later. Things might have gone on like that even longer, but it got to the point where you would have needed a magnifying glass to see a nickel chocolate bar - and so prices began to rise.

This has been going on so long, I no longer pay attention to it... and, probably, neither do you. Getting less stuff for more money is nothing new. Anyone who visits a supermarket - especially if one is there for the purpose of purchasing food in order to feed one’s family - is all too familiar with the phenomenon. It affects way more than chocolate bars. Hell, it affects way more than just food.

Cars used to have humongous fuel tanks as a matter of routine. Twenty or twenty-five gallon tanks were common in family sedans. Now you see tanks that size only in Winnebagoes. And yet it costs a lot more to fill today’s dinky-ass 14.5-gallon tanks than anyone would have imagined back before the first Oil Shock hit back in 1973-74. Again - this is nothing new.

But lately, an even more disturbing trend has surfaced...

Ole Phat Stu models the latest Euro-Colander.

Bedam! They’re shrinking colanders now!

THE AWESOME POWER OF SOCIAL MEDIA

Today’s Electronic Social Media - Facebook and Twitter, exempli gratia - can unleash the power of the human mind to change the world as never before. Ideas can spread at the speed of thought...

...no matter how ridiculous they are. Viz:







Have you worn your Colander-Hat to-day?

HOUSEWARES DEPORTMENT

Elisson sports the Colander du Jour. This one, a sort of Metallic Top Hat, bears the Food Network logo.

Though salespeople might get pissed,
There is one thing I can’t resist:
A Colander, to wear upon the Head.

One benefit (I have no doubt),
It keeps the Alien Voices out.
Try one today, in Silver or in Red.

If people would adopt the goals
Of wearing Metal Hats with Holes,
The world’s problems would be at an end -

So wear a Colander with me,
And Foolishness will set us free!
What better way, an afternoon to spend?

THIS YEAR’S CHAPEAU

It wouldn’t be a Destin Vacation without a Colander-Wearing Incident. Must be the water...

OOOH, SHINY

One of my Esteemed Readers was kind enough to send me a link to this fine piece of Culinary Equipment:



Why, it’s Max le Chinois!

Ya gotta love a piece of kitchenware that is both esthetically pleasing and functional. It even has its own First Name.

Max has a vaguely retro-futuristic appearance, almost as if it might have been a prop in Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. Makes me think of the amputated tail end of a zeppelin.

Of course, when I see a fine colander-like device, my first thought is, “What sort of Chrome-Plated Chapeau would that make?” And here, Max really shines. Checkit:



Max makes a fine Chapeau.

A true chinois, AKA “China Cap,” sports a long handle that throws off its balance, making it unsuitable as headgear. But Max is nicely symmetrical...and those zeppelinoid tail fins provide a fine grace note.

Only problem is the price. At nearly $400, Max occupies the rarefied stratosphere of culinary accoutrements, along with six-burner Viking gas stoves. I mean, who the hell needs a $400 colander? The most money I ever spent on a straining device was $75 on a chinois, an essential tool for those who make their own stocks and sauces. A chinois and a colander are different animals, however. The chinois is a sturdy, conical fine-mesh screen in a long-handled metal framework; a colander is simply a metal or plastic bowl with holes punched in it.

Maybe I’m not drawing the right comparison. Instead of kitchen equipment, maybe I should be looking at Max as headgear after all.

Consider the Borsalino.

Borsalino is a venerable Italian hat manufacturer. Their fedoras, made of Belgian rabbit fur felt, are particularly prized by connoisseurs of fine chapeaux...among them, black-hat-wearing Orthodox Jews, for whom a Borsalino is the mark of a Torah scholar. It’s not uncommon for a Borsalino to sell for upwards of $400.

Comparing Max - a veritable work of art - to a regular ol’ colander is like comparing a Borsalino to a John Deere gimme cap.

So if a hat can be worth over $400, and if one were to wear a colander on one’s head as a demented Fashion Statement, would it not be appropriate to spend at least as much?

Perhaps I need to put up a tip jar.

Update: Commenter GradualDazzle, in the comments, offers up an interesting comparison with a certain mid-twentieth-century technology. Take a peek below the fold...

Max.



Little Boy, the bomb that leveled Hiroshima. (Obviously a reproduction.)

Why, there does seem to be a resemblance!

I AM A BAD INFLUENCE

It’s bad enough that I will, on occasion, don Perforated Metallic Headgear. But, at least in my case, I have the excuse that I have a reputation to maintain.

What sort of reputation is best left to the imagination.

But now things are spiraling out of control. Other people are horning in on my act.

Stephan Pastis, for example...


Pearls Before Swine. [Click to embiggen.]

The Rathbun brothers...


©2007 Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

The lovely (but apparently slightly unstable) Boudicca...



And now this...

Holder, very fetching in her Perforated Headgear.

I don’t know what they were drinking out there at the Blown-Star Blodgemeet at Toad Hall...that’s out somewhere WSW of Kerrville, Texas...but whatever the hell it was, it had Holder channeling the Spirit of Colander Borg-Man.

Who will be the next to don the Headgear of Wisdom...and Well-Drained Pasta?

THE COMPLEAT JACKASS

The Compleat Jackass.

As Mr. Debonair will tell you, you cannot be a Compleat Jackass unless you have a pair of Jackass Pants. Or, in this case, Jackass Shorts.

Each pair Brooks Brothers sells comes with a form for enrollment in the Republican Party...and the local Country Club.

Of course, you cannot consider yourself a Truly Compleat Jackass without that most critical fashion accessory...

Mr. Debonair models the latest in Colander Fashions.

...the Colander!

Colander Girl

I see we are slowly crawling out from under our rocks, exposing ourselves to Elisson’s unsuspecting readers.

When Elisson asked me if I’d like to take this baby for a ride whilst he was in Japan, I was flattered, but completely horrified at first. Good Lord. Elisson is the epitome of creativity.

I write what I see. Usually it pertains to the absurdity of the life that is mine. Lately it seems to have been mostly about dog poop. Lovely.

But I said yes. I figured, ‘What the hell, live on the edge!’

And then I thought… blogwise… what do we have in common? He writes great short stories, comes up with witty posts and poems, and has a pretty well versed way about him.

I write about my absurd life, dog poop, boy antics and… well… that’s it.

And then it came to me! Something we have in common! The blog Gods were shining upon me as it came to me!

Elisson and I… are you ready? Elisson and I… own the same colander!

I can be the colander girl for his blog while he sups on sushi and sips on sake. I’ve never been the pin up type… just your average girl next door… but hells bells, I can be a colander girl!

.

And for Bob, I’ll test the Whip It Out…
Another Colander picture or two… I crack myself up sometimes. (I am bound and determined to understand this extended entry stuff. Take one failed...)

Whip It Out if You've Got it

Bing! Bing! Bing! I got it!! Whoo hooo!

LESS OF ME

There’s less of me around these days...which is a Good Thing.

Over the past three months, I’ve managed to drop about 10% of my body weight, bringing me down to my lowest body mass in at least ten years. I still have a good ways to go before reaching my goal: another 25 pounds should do it.

Old Uncle Elisson has always had to pay attention to his weight, which tends to balloon northwards when I get into sloppy eating habits. I love red meat, cheese, ice cream, and chocolate-based desserts, all of which have a tendency to convert themselves into Ass-Fat when consumed in immoderate quantities over a long period of time. And as I get older, I find that it’s all too easy to pack on the pounds.

You can ignore ’em for a while, but they have a way of making you take notice.

Some years back, I used to sport Facial Hair. My beard had its uses, chief among them (besides keeping the face warm in winter) being that it served to hide a Multitude of Chins. More chins than the Hong Kong phone book. But after I shaved it off - it was giving me an excessively grizzled appearance - I could no longer hide that burgeoning Neck-Wattle. Ecch.

And I also found that once my weight got to a certain level, I started snoring. Didn’t bother me, but it annoyed the hell out of She Who Must Be Obeyed. And it developed into a full-blown case of sleep apnea, serious enough to be life-threatening. I was tired all the time...because if you have sleep apnea, you never get a good night’s sleep.

Enough of that shit.

No stupid-ass Fad Diets for me. I’m a lifetime Weight Watchers member (and a former instructor), and I’ve learned that what works best is the classic, tried-and-true method: Eat fewer calories than you expend, exercise more, and choose your foods carefully to get the maximum nutritional punch. For me it means more fish and less red meat, and laying off the blue cheese dressing on my salads. Or having one or two slices of pizza instead of four or five. (Staying the hell out of the Godiva shop at the mall helps, too.) It’s a slow process, but it is less vulnerable to the Boomerang Effect. Who wants to take a bunch of weight off, only to put it right back on?

And it’s not all that tough. You’ll notice I haven’t given up my Sommelier Guild dinners. There’s nothing I can’t eat - it’s just a question of amount and frequency.

It’s also a lot easier for me because SWMBO is right there beside me. And man, does she look good.

Being slimmer is a mixed blessing. I feel much better, and I don’t snore as much, which is good. And I can wear my size 34 pants instead of having to squeeze into 36’s (or flirt with 38’s). Hell, there’s a pair of twenty-year-old pants in my closet that I can now get into comfortably. Who gives a shit whether they’re In Style?

But now I have to start getting my suits altered. They’re beginning to hang on me a little.

Even my Favorite Nutty Headgear is starting to feel a bit loose...


“Does this colander make my head look fat?”

RESTIN’ IN DESTIN - WINTER EDITION

View from the 12th floor, Hilton Sandestin Resort.

It’s been our tradition, since returning to Atlanta ten years ago, to spend a week at the beach every summer. The beach, in this case, refers to Destin, located between Pensacola and Panama City on Florida’s panhandle. The travel industry folks like to call it the Emerald Coast; it also carries the popular sobriquet “Redneck Riviera.” Destin is an increasingly popular tourist destination - perhaps too much so - but it’s a fine place to unwind, lie on the beach or by the pool, and drink plenty of Adult Beverages. The water is clear and blue-green, the sand a brilliant white.


Fences serve as windbreaks on the desolate beach.

This year, we decided to check out Destin in the off season, something that our friends Gary and JoAnn have done on several occasions. While we may not have spent any time on the beach - it was way too cold for that - we were able to enjoy the place in the absence of all the summertime mobs. We could get a table at any restaurant we chose, no waiting necessary...and as bitterly cold as it was, it was paradisiacal compared with Atlanta, which got hammered by yet another blast of wintry precipitation within hours of our departure Saturday morning.

We eschewed parasailing and sunbathing, instead spending our time at the local shopping venues and the movie theatres...and at the Hilton’s excellent spa. A lengthy workout, followed by a Swedish massage and sessions in the whirlpool and steam room, and my heart felt like an alligator. Sure, it’s self-indulgent. That’s why they call it “vacation”!

There’s always time for narrishkeit - foolishness - when you’re traveling with Elisson. Hey, check out these fine Jackass Pants!


Pants fit for a Jackass.

And there’s the inevitable visit to the Kitchen Supplies store, the perfect place for a Colander Borg-Man Photo Op:


Fine Metallic Headgear at Bargain Prices!

One of our favorite places is facing the wrecking ball. Favorite not because we’ve ever stayed there, but because I can’t resist bellowing its name in a Sydney Greenstreet and/or John Housman voice whenever we drive past it...


<SYDNEYGREENSTREET> “Murmuring Surf!” </SYDNEYGREENSTREET>

And the surf was indeed murmuring...practically whispering. The Gulf was preternaturally calm until the morning we left, its surface a sheet of sparkling glass from horizon to horizon, its shores bereft of the usual hordes of sunbathers.


A becalmed Gulf of Mexico sparkles with multicolored fire in this Harris Shutter image. [Click to embiggen.]

We went downtown to AJ’s for dinner Sunday evening. During the summer months, the place is packed to the rafters and you can barely hear yourself think. Not now.


Magnificent desolation at AJ’s.

Except for perhaps one or two other tables, we had the whole fucking place to ourselves. Yowza!


Me and the Missus.


Gary, looking unusually serious.

Monday morning, it was off to Baytowne Village for a quick breakfast. There was, astoundingly, a skating rink set up there, where you could skate to your heart’s content for less than a sawbuck. Not too many takers, we noticed.


Gary, JoAnn, and SWMBO at Baytowne Village.
“Will you hurry up and take the Gawd-damned picture? We’re freezing our asses off!”

And then it was time to make the five-and-a-half hour trip back home, where a few patches of unmelted snow lingered in shade-protected spots. It had been a good weekend to be away...

...and we’ll look forward to our next Destin sojourn in mid-June.


Sunrise in Sandestin.

NOT JUST A HAT

Colanders - they’re not just Fashionable Headgear.

Elisson demonstrates an alternative use for the handy household Colander: a tool for snagging the Elusive Kidney Stone.

[Tip o’ th’ Elisson colander fedora to JoAnn.]

CHECK YOUR LOCAL NEWSSTAND

If you see this on sale, burn it down.


Elisson makes the cover of Time.

You can create your own stupid-ass Fake Magazine Covers at MagMyPic.com.

Yes, I know: All the Kool Kidz are doing it.

Tip o’ th’ Elisson colander fedora to Karen of verbatim.

THE LATEST IN FASHIONABLE METALLIC HEADGEAR

Colander Borg-Man strikes again.

There’s a really huge Kitchen Supply Store in Asheville...

...and you know what that means.

Colander Borg-Man makes a beeline for the department wherein is found his Signature Utensil, while Gary handles the camera and JoAnn keeps chickee for the odd salesperson. No point in getting arrested, you know.

SWMBO? Probably hiding in the rest room...

That pointy one, just in case you’re curious, is a Chinoise, AKA China Cap. It’s used for straining fine sauces and stocks...and it also helps strain Evil Brain Waves from the ether. At $89.99, it’s a bargain.

You cannot resist the Colander-Borg. You will all be assimilated!