I was listening to Nelly Furtado's "Powerless" today. Is it just me, or does she sing: "Hey this monkey is too short / Take your country to the store."
The people of Worthington, Ohio, have found Jesus.
I find this a little disturbing: There is such a thing as the Committee to Preserve Assassination Sites.
Here's your urban myth manufactured and promulgated for sweeps month. But it gives way to a possible euphemism: Breaking the black bracelet.
Informing The Nation: Dave Monska grew up on a dairy farm, so he said he knows a cow when he sees one.
Today's journal topic question is: What is something you do well?
I can drink tea.
Note that I say nothing about my tea-preparing abilities. I have the consistency of (place rude reference to diarrhea here) when it comes to making a quality cup of tea. But boy howdy, I can drink me a mess of it.
None of your fancy tea, for me, sir. I'm fine with my simple black tea. Barry's Tea (blended in Cork since 1901) tends to be what I've been consuming as of late. Last winter, I got dragged to some sort of tea-ery (perhaps I should instead call it a teamporium, or tealapalooza) in the Mall of America because my wife likes tea pots. It's against her religion to drink tea, but she loves the pots. At this haughty purveyor of tea, there is an entire wall of bins containing dozens of fancy teas. I don't like fancy tea, so I pointed at one labeled "Prince of Wales."
"Is that like English tea?" I asked the woman behind the counter after finally flagging her attention.
"That Prince of Wales tea; is that like English tea?"
"Uhm, no," she said with disdain. "They don't make it in England; it's from Sri Lanka."
"That's not the question I asked. When did you hear me ask you if it is made in England? I asked you if it is like English tea. Does it taste like English tea, also known as English Breakfast tea or Irish Breakfast tea?"
"Oh. I wouldn't know."
"You work at a fucking tea store, woman! How could you not know?"
From that point I was dragged away by my wife, who scolded me for yet again yelling at someone during a trip to the Mall of America.
So, while I can drink a lot of tea, I can't say that I drink it with any sort of connoisseur's palate. I can't really say, then, that I do anything all that well.
Last night I was watching "Eric Clapton's Crossroads Guitar Festival" on PBS, and found myself wishing that I could do anything to the level at which the people featured on the show perform. Have you ever seen B.B. King play guitar? It messes with your head. He plays with such ease. He just sits there and just sort of wiggles his fingers and all this great music comes out -- it's amazing. It's like the guitar is simply an extension of him. I would love to be that good at something; anything.
Instead, I am a steaming pile of mediocrity. Mediocri-tea.