http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
You might remember me mentioning the problems Iowa was having selecting a state quarter. At the time it was my impression that the Sullivans design was denied because they were human and either alive or dead, and therefore inadmissable. How wrong, how naive, how utterly embarrassing. How could this be? Where's the evidence? I got change.
There was a bright, shiny, new quarter, Abe Lincoln striding across Illinois with books under his arm. Another quarter was for Alabama and showed Helen Keller sitting in a chair with a book on her lap. Two new quarters, both showing a human. Surely there must be a reason those states got to use people and Iowa couldn't. Time to Google the US Mint.
http://www.usmint.gov/mint_programs/index.cfm?action=50_state_quarters_program.
Under 'Design Criteria' it says, "no head-and-shoulders portrait or bust of any person, living or dead, and no portrait of a living person may be included in the design." So you can have a person on the quarter, just not a bust. Perhaps this is to prevent confusion so children and foreigners don't think George Washington was a cross-dresser- that would be J Edgar Hoover.
Click on '50 State Quarters Program' and you get a US map. Drag the cursor over a state and you see it's quarter if already issued, or it's scheduled release date. Click on the quarter and you get an explanation of it and background on it's selection.
I know no art major, no art major is a friend of mine, I am no art major, but I look at the quarters and think, "A state full of talent and this is it?" Instead of Alabama's generic grandma in a chair with a book, how about just printing "Helen Keller" or "Alabama" in braille. It would be a coin even the blind could enjoy. That idea took all of about ten seconds, and I still think it's better than what they got.
While we're at it, instead of the paperboy on Illinois', how about just a log cabin and the legend "When this cabin's rockin' don't bother knockin.'" Alright, they can't all be winners, but if I hit .500 playing pro ball I'd be a rich legend. Since I don't play ball I am the Publicserf.
Bitch, bitch, bitch, you say. Well yes, that would be right. Just for a change of pace let me tell you which one my is favorite - Mississippi. Nice big magnolias, I find it pleasing. The worst? Give me a break, do some work yourself. It's a job only a masochist could love. Working for the gummint makes me a professional masochist, I can't do it for free.
One thing you learn when reading about the Mississippi quarter is that magnolias are not native to America. They were imported from Asia. It would seem that a lot we take as "natural" is not. The common plantain I pull up every evening and feed to the guinea pigs were brought over by the English, as were starlings.
People like to take a piece of home with them to make their surroundings seem more like a home, or just as a reminder of a vacation. How casually we commit environmental terrorism.
The next thing you know native species are choked out by new ones, lakes choked with new vegetation, readers choking from reading about it. I'm sick of this myself. I may as well get some sleep.
Publicserf
Thursday, June 19, 2003
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Okay, I've been bad, there hasn't been a posting for awhile. We've kept busy so there just hasn't been much time. I'm just going to relate a few events as I remember them.
On the last day of Vacation Bible School they had a program, and afterwards was lunch. Lunch was definitely geared for the kids, you got a hot dog, chips, and a Twinkie. There was no place left to sit in the room where we got the alledged food, so we headed back to the SaintlyWife's classroom.
Ms. Pikachu was feeling blonde. She danced in a circle, flailing her arms, and chanting "Twinkie wiener sandwich." It sings. It wouldn't have been surprising if someone walking by had called the minister in. He would have expressed concern, and I could have explained to him that it's okay, she's just feeling her blondeness. What else do you say about a kid who dances and chants "Twinkie wiener sandwich?" Maybe, "can we get her on ritalin?"
On another day we were eating at Arby's when I started ogling the wife again. Out shot Ms. Pikachu's hand again, right in front of my eyes. "Break contact" she again declared. Giggles asked why. Ms. Pikachu explained, "If I don't make him stop looking, he'll say something like "Crazy about you" and then he'll probably kiss her. In public." Giggles thought it was kind of sweet. Ms. Pikachu continued, "They are so weird I'm sure I'm adopted."
I told her I'd asked her mother about that, but the UberWife is pretty certain she wasn't. But I still thought she might be an alien. Giggles ventured, "There still might be space for her on the mother ship." Giggles can go with the flow, she fits right in.
Trainboy had his 6th birthday this past Sunday. UberMom had asked him what kind of a cake he'd like. He said chocolate, then he chose peanut butter frosting. She made the cake, and on Friday evening told me to make the frosting while she was at work. I've never done frosting before, but that's why there are cookbooks. I opened the Betty Crocker book to the index and quickly found 'peanut butter frosting.' Alphabetical order, I love that when it works. Went to the page indicated and started throwing ingredients into a bowl.
A couple of neglected grey-matter neurons sparked, and it occurred to me I was making peanut butter frosting without any peanut butter. Look again. It's a "Butter Frosting" recipe, the adjustment for peanut butter is below it. I now have a bowl of butter and sugar nicely beaten together. What to do, what to do. We move on is what we do. Throw in the peanut butter, add some more sugar, vanilla, and the recipe calls for milk. Hah. We're exploring brave new worlds here, in goes chocolate milk.
After it's all beat to the proper consistency I let the kids give it a try. Universally liked. Ms. Pikachu smiles and declares it tastes like a Reeses. The little chocoholic is pleased, it must be a winner.
On Saturday the wife frosted the cake and made railroad tracks with brown frosting. Then it was time to add the candles that look like a train. Couldn't find them. Before she left for work she asked me to find train candles. Went to Hy-Vee, they don't have them anymore. Went to Factory Card Outlet, they have lots of birthday stuff, but they don't have train candles. Went to Michael's, please, please, please have them. They don't either. But they did have a little wood train engine I could paint and assemble, it should work fine.
The Wife gets home late Saturday night and I show her my idea. She is not impressed. "Maybe you missed them at HyVee, we'll check after church tomorrow." Crap.
Sunday morning I'm out the door at 7:30. Anybody who knows me would know right there it was an act of God. I try HyVee again, I ask someone in the bakery section, nope, that's all they've got. I think, maybe Econofoods. Off to the north end I go. In the baking supplies area it's virtually the same selection as HyVee. So it's time to scout the baked goods area. Nothing. Then I see "The Book." The book with illustrations of different cakes they offer. Flip, flip, flip, and there it is- a circus train cake. Come to papa!
There is one, count him, one, guy working in the back of the bakery. He's cutting dough into rolls. I wait, hoping this works. He sees me, comes up, and asks what he can do. I tell him I have a cake with train tracks and no train. They sell a cake with a train, see, right there. I don't need another cake. Can you sell me just the train? He looks like I just got off the mothership, but he starts going through drawers, and drawers, and drawers. Should I offer to help look? I still need to get home and get ready for church.
He finds one and sets it on the counter in front of me. It even has little animals in the cages. And candles to fit on each car, six in all- it's perfect. Trainboy would love this. He says he doesn't know how much to charge for it, and must look it up. Then out comes another book and he looks, and looks, I fondle the circus train, so close, and yet... Eventually he walks over to me and slaps a label down. "$3.00, that's what we paid for it." He gets my most heart-felt expression of gratitude. The cashier gets $3.00 plus tax, and the train is mine. Oooh yeah. Points for me.
I get home, show it to the wife, she's happy. She shows it to Trainboy, he's happy. Oh yeah, Daddy's racking up the points.
After church we head back to the Uberwife's parents. Trainboy gets his cake. The cake is moist, the frosting is tasty, life is good.
The wife takes a large piece of tinfoil and wraps it around Trainboy's head. Then she crushes the top of it together, effectively making a spike out of it. I take a picture of him wearing it. Then it gets put on everybody in turn, and everybody's picture is taken. One of those totally goofy, surreal moments, just laugh and you're living Fellini. Looking at the pictures it's hard to believe everyone was sober.
Then it's pinata time! It's a German tradition. In the Old Country they just used France. Since that wasn't practical, the last time we were at Wally World he'd chosen one that looks like a cement mixer. All the kids take turns. They go around about three times before the job is done. The toughest thing they make in Mexico is pinatas. The most cold-hearted adjuster would have declared that mixer totalled though.
Totalled describes the state of my mind, enough for now. Trainboy had a Happy Birthday, I'd settle for a decent night's sleep. Maybe tomorrow night.
Publicserf
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Okay, I've been bad, there hasn't been a posting for awhile. We've kept busy so there just hasn't been much time. I'm just going to relate a few events as I remember them.
On the last day of Vacation Bible School they had a program, and afterwards was lunch. Lunch was definitely geared for the kids, you got a hot dog, chips, and a Twinkie. There was no place left to sit in the room where we got the alledged food, so we headed back to the SaintlyWife's classroom.
Ms. Pikachu was feeling blonde. She danced in a circle, flailing her arms, and chanting "Twinkie wiener sandwich." It sings. It wouldn't have been surprising if someone walking by had called the minister in. He would have expressed concern, and I could have explained to him that it's okay, she's just feeling her blondeness. What else do you say about a kid who dances and chants "Twinkie wiener sandwich?" Maybe, "can we get her on ritalin?"
On another day we were eating at Arby's when I started ogling the wife again. Out shot Ms. Pikachu's hand again, right in front of my eyes. "Break contact" she again declared. Giggles asked why. Ms. Pikachu explained, "If I don't make him stop looking, he'll say something like "Crazy about you" and then he'll probably kiss her. In public." Giggles thought it was kind of sweet. Ms. Pikachu continued, "They are so weird I'm sure I'm adopted."
I told her I'd asked her mother about that, but the UberWife is pretty certain she wasn't. But I still thought she might be an alien. Giggles ventured, "There still might be space for her on the mother ship." Giggles can go with the flow, she fits right in.
Trainboy had his 6th birthday this past Sunday. UberMom had asked him what kind of a cake he'd like. He said chocolate, then he chose peanut butter frosting. She made the cake, and on Friday evening told me to make the frosting while she was at work. I've never done frosting before, but that's why there are cookbooks. I opened the Betty Crocker book to the index and quickly found 'peanut butter frosting.' Alphabetical order, I love that when it works. Went to the page indicated and started throwing ingredients into a bowl.
A couple of neglected grey-matter neurons sparked, and it occurred to me I was making peanut butter frosting without any peanut butter. Look again. It's a "Butter Frosting" recipe, the adjustment for peanut butter is below it. I now have a bowl of butter and sugar nicely beaten together. What to do, what to do. We move on is what we do. Throw in the peanut butter, add some more sugar, vanilla, and the recipe calls for milk. Hah. We're exploring brave new worlds here, in goes chocolate milk.
After it's all beat to the proper consistency I let the kids give it a try. Universally liked. Ms. Pikachu smiles and declares it tastes like a Reeses. The little chocoholic is pleased, it must be a winner.
On Saturday the wife frosted the cake and made railroad tracks with brown frosting. Then it was time to add the candles that look like a train. Couldn't find them. Before she left for work she asked me to find train candles. Went to Hy-Vee, they don't have them anymore. Went to Factory Card Outlet, they have lots of birthday stuff, but they don't have train candles. Went to Michael's, please, please, please have them. They don't either. But they did have a little wood train engine I could paint and assemble, it should work fine.
The Wife gets home late Saturday night and I show her my idea. She is not impressed. "Maybe you missed them at HyVee, we'll check after church tomorrow." Crap.
Sunday morning I'm out the door at 7:30. Anybody who knows me would know right there it was an act of God. I try HyVee again, I ask someone in the bakery section, nope, that's all they've got. I think, maybe Econofoods. Off to the north end I go. In the baking supplies area it's virtually the same selection as HyVee. So it's time to scout the baked goods area. Nothing. Then I see "The Book." The book with illustrations of different cakes they offer. Flip, flip, flip, and there it is- a circus train cake. Come to papa!
There is one, count him, one, guy working in the back of the bakery. He's cutting dough into rolls. I wait, hoping this works. He sees me, comes up, and asks what he can do. I tell him I have a cake with train tracks and no train. They sell a cake with a train, see, right there. I don't need another cake. Can you sell me just the train? He looks like I just got off the mothership, but he starts going through drawers, and drawers, and drawers. Should I offer to help look? I still need to get home and get ready for church.
He finds one and sets it on the counter in front of me. It even has little animals in the cages. And candles to fit on each car, six in all- it's perfect. Trainboy would love this. He says he doesn't know how much to charge for it, and must look it up. Then out comes another book and he looks, and looks, I fondle the circus train, so close, and yet... Eventually he walks over to me and slaps a label down. "$3.00, that's what we paid for it." He gets my most heart-felt expression of gratitude. The cashier gets $3.00 plus tax, and the train is mine. Oooh yeah. Points for me.
I get home, show it to the wife, she's happy. She shows it to Trainboy, he's happy. Oh yeah, Daddy's racking up the points.
After church we head back to the Uberwife's parents. Trainboy gets his cake. The cake is moist, the frosting is tasty, life is good.
The wife takes a large piece of tinfoil and wraps it around Trainboy's head. Then she crushes the top of it together, effectively making a spike out of it. I take a picture of him wearing it. Then it gets put on everybody in turn, and everybody's picture is taken. One of those totally goofy, surreal moments, just laugh and you're living Fellini. Looking at the pictures it's hard to believe everyone was sober.
Then it's pinata time! It's a German tradition. In the Old Country they just used France. Since that wasn't practical, the last time we were at Wally World he'd chosen one that looks like a cement mixer. All the kids take turns. They go around about three times before the job is done. The toughest thing they make in Mexico is pinatas. The most cold-hearted adjuster would have declared that mixer totalled though.
Totalled describes the state of my mind, enough for now. Trainboy had a Happy Birthday, I'd settle for a decent night's sleep. Maybe tomorrow night.
Publicserf