My Dinner With Roger

It has been a little while since I last saw an attempted internet meme—your favorite five this or that; your first posts of each month, or the photo out your front window—and I thought I’d try my hand. Besides, if it works, I get to read a whole lot of wonderful writing, on a topic well worth writing about.

The rules:
First, read Roger Ebert’s amazing, moving essay “Nil By Mouth”. Take your time. Have tissues on hand. (To, er, whet your appetite, Ebert’s essay is about what he does and does not miss, now that he is unable to eat, drink, or speak. It is eloquent and beautiful, and will change your life forever. I’d quote the last paragraph here, but that would spoil your pleasure.)
Second, take some time to think. You’re gonna want that. You’re gonna need that. You’re gonna enjoy that.
Third, write. What was the best dinner (or two, or three, or… I have chosen to write about one, because iambic pentameter gets old fast) you ever had, by the criteria inspired by your reading of Roger Ebert. You do not have to follow my example (you especially should not bother writing in rhyme, unless you share that particular disorder with me).
Fourth, tag some others with the meme. Who? Your dinner party, that’s who. If these blog posts are dinners with friends, who are you inviting? One person? Several?

I had entirely too many meals to choose from, but one kept coming to mind again and again, so here it is. Every bit of it is true; all I did was write it down. I could have gone into much more detail, but then we’d be in epic poem territory, and I kinda wanted to get it posted this year.

The cook leaned up against the no-smoking sign,
Lit one cigarette from another, and gave us a look.
It was late, near closing; his friends were leaving to find
A party somewhere, and couldn’t wait for the cook.
We were four Americans; the cook must have guessed
We were better entertainment. He turned, re-lit the grill,
And asked us what we wanted. “What’s your best?”
So, burgers it was—but no run-of-the-mill
Ground beef; we could choose chicken or pork,
With mayonnaise, fried egg, and yellow cheese
For condiments, and french fries to eat with a fork.
“To drink?” “Four large diet cokes, if you please.”
We sat, the four of us, and ate, and drank, and talked.
The cook looked on, amused by us, no doubt;
Once strangers, now our group of friends had walked
Through Greece and Bulgaria together, and were just about
To say goodbye, perhaps for good. We knew
Each other, loved each other, and this perfect night
Was ours. We ate our meals and looked back through
The past five weeks. I complained that the flight
Back home was coming all too soon for me.
We would have stayed there talking through the night
If we could have; the cook’s face said we should go.
We left—so very happy, so very sad.
Sure, it probably was the company, but I know…
That was the best damn cheeseburger I ever had.

(This is the place. If you are ever in Sofia, Bulgaria, there are scores of better places to eat. Unless you are with friends, and have walked the whole town looking for just the right place for a pork burger with mayo, yellow cheese, and fried egg, on a soft white roll. In which case, this is the very best place on earth. It’s on Shipka street, about a block from the University.)

Now, the really tough part. My dinner party. I am going to start small, so as not to deplete the blogospheric resources too much. My reasons for choosing each are my own, and I will not share them, other than to say that I chose individuals, without much care as to how they combine. I do think having these people around my table would make for a wonderful evening (for me, at least). I am very grateful to each of them for the privilege,, according to Ebert’s criterion, of having dined at their tables so many times already. In no particular order…

Greta Christina (Greta Christina’s Blog)
Cath (VWXYNot?)
SC (Salty Current)
Bronwen Scott (Snail’s Eye View)
The Ridger (The Greenbelt)
Martin Rundvist (Aardvarchaeology)

And hey, if you are not at the table, but like the idea, consider yourself invited! Write your own, and invite your own people to your table! Oh, and link back here so I can read it!

Edited to add: More and more, I hate the notion of choosing just a few people to send this to. I have already though of a couple dozen people I wish I had “invited” to my table, and I have no doubt I will think of many more before bedtime. So. If you have read this far, you are officially tagged, and asked (politely) to write up your own Ebert Dinner. To keep with meme tradition (is that metamemology?), I will keep my dinner choices, but I have just called up the Intarweb Virtual Caterers and ordered a tent that can fit all of you. You are invited.

Don’t thank me. Thank Roger Ebert.

καλή όρεξη!

Raising The Dead!

A man is crumpled by a car;
He’s lying dead, and there you are–
Don’t waste your time with CPR,
Just bow your head and pray.
No need to call for EMTs;
The Holy Bible guarantees
Just fall down praying on your knees
The proper Christian way.

From prairie plains to shining shores
The hospitals will close their doors;
The pow’r of life and death is yours
If only you believe.
No more a need for any meds,
Or research messing up our heads,
Since raising people from the dead’s
So easy to achieve.

It’s really quite a simple game:
Just find a corpse, and then proclaim
“Rise up! Rise up, in Jesus’ name!”
And that’s what it will do.
But if by chance he will not stand;
The corpse won’t do as you command,
The fall-back is already planned:
We put the blame on you.

Over on Pharyngula, PZ has posted a video of a man who claims to have raised the dead. Says it’s not that hard to do, really. In the comments to that post, there are a number of commenters who doubt the man’s sincerity. I wish I could. I really do.

But, the thing is, I have known people who honestly believed that prayer could raise the dead. Despite the fact that it did not work for their son, my friend. So, of course, it demonstrated that their faith was insufficient.

I hear there are groups that are actively praying for the victims of the Haitian earthquake. I hope that praying was the second thing they did, after donating. I remember my own church, decades ago, donating far more money than they feasibly could, to the victims of a tornado-struck town. Churches can be a tremendous vehicle for good in a situation like this; they are an organized group of people with a structure in place that can be put to this use. Of course, so can clubs, sports teams, schools, and even internet communities. There is little or nothing that a church can do that these other groups cannot. On the other hand, they could easily do less, if they choose to pray instead of work.

Mocking Pat Robertson (A Guest Post by Dr. Adequate)

There is, or ought to be, a close-knit community, a guild if you will, of pseudonymous internet poets. As I have said before, I am friends with a number of them who do what I do better than I do it (I, however, make up for quality with quantity). One of our proud fraternity has recently lost his internet home, but not his penchant for skewering fools with a pen much mightier than Excalibur itself. (I note, now, that Podblack has also posted this verse. Only fair–it was she who introduced him to me.)

What Podblack does not have, though, is his very own introduction. I do. Ladies, Gentlemen, Virtual Entities, I give you the inimitable Dr. Adequate:

You will, of course, have seen Pat Robertson’s latest bit of crazy, and those who know me know that I can’t see a fish in a barrel without getting an itchy trigger finger and a strong craving for bouillabaisse.

I therefore give you this little ditty, which I call …

Unmysterious Ways

Jehovah, as I understand,
holds all creation in his hand:
the Bible leaves no doubt.
And yet he always intervenes
with great economy of means,
and takes the easy route —

sends droughts to nations that defy
his will (and which are hot and dry);
to prove his power is great, he
judiciously supports this boast
by flooding regions on the coast
and causing quakes in Haiti.

For God, it seems, has got a chronic
dislike of anything tectonic
as Pat Robertson’s revealed,
and he’ll pour his wrath and hate on
folks who don’t live on a craton
on a continental shield.

For petty sins like genocide
and torture, he lets those abide
and wisely stays his hand;
but saves his deadliest assaults
for those who have tectonic faults —
that’s one thing he can’t stand.

The wage of sin is death, it’s written:
and yet I somehow stay unsmitten
by earthquake or tsunami:
for God forgives the rather large sins
of those who shun tectonic margins,
and chooses not to harm me.

And so, as far as I am able
I stick to regions that are stable
and thus avoid my sentence.
This clever little dodge, I call
most geo-theo-logical …
and more fun than repentance.

Help. Now. If you can.

Confession: I love David Letterman.

His first show after 9/11 was the first time I could let myself cry for that particular tragedy, even though I knew people… never mind, it’s complicated. But I, like so many people, were just torn apart, and were trying to be strong, or angry, or sad, or compassionate… it was too much.

I know that there are many who have been more deeply touched by tragedy than I ever have. I am extraordinarily fortunate, by any measure whatsoever. Funny… that doesn’t mean I don’t get my heart ripped out. When Dave gave his post-9/11 speech, I sobbed. Alone in the room, wanting to mourn, needing to be strong, when Dave asked “Does that make any God-damned sense?”, my chest heaved with the sorrow I had refrained from expressing.

Since then, I have donated blood for him. Yeah, I know, it is lame, but I know he probably can’t donate any more, since his surgery, and I donate whenever I can, so whenever I have the chance to designate a donor (not always, but sometimes), I donate blood for Dave Letterman.

This is the first I have admitted it (not even to him). But it’s true.

And now.

Haiti, by conservative estimates, has at least 100,000 dead. 9/11 was peanuts compared to this. Once again, religion comes a distant second to nature.

And there’s Dave, again. “Welcome Late Show viewers – we need your help“. Understatement, I should think. The link is to the World Food Programme. If you have not yet donated, then get off your ass and donate. If you already have donated… thank you… and consider another donation. Most of us (I make this assumption based on internet access) could donate pretty much all of this month’s income and be better off than any of the folks in the devastated regions of Haiti.

But.

If I, or anyone, asked for something like that, we’d (deservedly) get nothing. So… I am here to remind you that even ten, even five, even one dollar, is that much more than they would have otherwise. The average person in Haiti earns less than a dollar a day (depending on which source you believe, it can be less or considerably more), so even a small donation will go a long way.

So. If you are looking for some way to donate… there’s one link. But, frankly, at this point, you’ve probably seen half a dozen reputable places–scienceblogs has had several posts with links, there is always the Red Cross, or you could even try Google.

Just in case I am the straw that yadda yadda yadda… donate now. People are dying. Donate now.

And… thanks, Dave.

No verse today. You want verse? Go donate, then complain.

Foxy Sarah Finds The Perfect Job

Sarah Palin’s joining Fox—
Vox populi gets one more vox
So bar the doors and check the locks
Cos Sarah’s back in town!

She gets to be the tea-bag muse
And share with us her folksy views,
The fair and balanced right-wing news
When Sarah’s throwin’ down!

We’ll get to hear the old refrains,
And newer bites, as Sarah strains
To show us that she’s got some brains-
She’s worthy of our notice.

And just as fun, we’ll see some try
To back her up, to justify
Her ever-growing long good-bye,
And flog her run for POTUS!

She’ll join the ranks of Bill and Glenn
The strutting cocks will gain a hen
They’ll rant and rave, then say “Amen”
To punctuate their chatter.

She went rogue at the voting booth
And lost, but now the foxy sleuth
Has found a job that needs no truth-
On Fox, it doesn’t matter.

NPR reports that Sarah Palin is joining Fox “News”. I wish her a looooooooong career there.
NY Times also–the comments at their “Media Decoder” blog are delicious.

We Have To Have A Talk About Vaccines

We need to have a talk about vaccines–
The evidence is right before your eyes,
And everybody knows just what that means

When journalists can peek behind the scenes
And see the anti-vaxxers through disguise
We need to have a talk about vaccines.

Their science isn’t worth a hill of beans
And so the anti-vaxxers turn to lies
And everybody knows. Just what that means

May not be clear. The argument careens
From point to point, and if you cross your eyes,
We need to have a talk about vaccines.

But if you look more clearly, through the screens
And clouds, their falsehood dies,
And everybody knows just what that means.

They use, instead, publicity machines
Which amplify their pseudoscience cries:
“We need to have a talk about vaccines!”
And everybody knows just what that means.

*****

Some context. Two of my favorite bloggers, Orac and PalMD, have each written about Barbara Loe Fisher and her early attempt at winning the “Hypocrite of the year” contest in the first month. For me, this is a bit of an opportunity–most importantly, it gives me a chance to link to them, and to do what tiny bit this little-fish blog can do to add to the side of right… but also, I think this is my first villanelle! I have wanted to do a villanelle for some time now, and this finally does it. I must offer my thanks to Barbara Loe Fisher, for epic hypocrisy; without you, I could not have written this.

European Advice, Please?

This post is aimed especially at my European readers, or any readers who have traveled in Europe. As I have mentioned before, Cuttleson is going to be in Europe (Denmark) soon, for roughly 4 months. At one point (I need to ask him the specific dates, but it is in Spring) he has 2 weeks free to travel. For some of that, he may be traveling with friends, but perhaps not all of it.

Anyway, he is looking for ideas. At this point, he claims to be less interested in, say, ruins than in natural beauty. The sites he mentioned to me included things like Croatia’s Plitvice Lakes, and Meteora in Greece. He thought the idea of climbing Mt. Olympus was wonderful. He is clearly not opposed to making a long trip from Denmark. His current ideal would be to find a place to stay as a base for at least a few days, while he explores several different nearby areas.

So… I am asking for your advice, your ideas, your experience. Do you have a favorite place that is unlikely (or is very likely) to be found in a tour guide? Any places he really ought to avoid, if (as he claims) he’d rather see the French countryside than the Eiffel Tower?

I know I have quite a few European readers, from across the whole of the continent. Please don’t be shy; post in the comments, or (if you really want your special place to remain a secret) that’s my email address over there to the right.

From the North, with the cold and the ice,
To the South, where the beaches are nice,
To the East, to the West,
If your country’s the best
Then it’s you whom I ask for advice!

Evidence Of Religion In Octopuses

“Thousands of dead octopuses wash up on Portugal beach” (BBC News)

It’s a tragic little story, more than just a little odd:
My suspicion is, an octopus had just invented “god”;
When he told the other fishes, most dismissed him as a fool,
They had never heard such nonsense in their years in fishy school.
His relatives, embarrassed by his ineffective search,
Through a misplaced sense of sympathy, signed up and joined his church.

As we skip ahead a little, past the growing of his flock,
Past the bible-thumping rhetoric, the gospel-driven schlock,
To the cult of personality, their leader is their friend,
And they’d follow where he takes them, true believers to the end!
If they only have sufficient faith, the stars are in their reach—
Now they wash up by the thousands, on a five-mile stretch of beach.

From the BBC:

Thousands of dead octopuses have washed up on a beach in northern Portugal, in what is being called an environmental disaster.

They cover a 5-mile stretch of Vila Nova de Gaia beach – no reason has yet been found for their appearance.

The authorities have warned the public not to eat them.

Update: ok, so it’s not an update on the actual story, like I had hoped. I was looking to see if there was more information anywhere, but without luck. But over on Current, a reader’s comment suggests that my version may well be the truth:

The money quote: Whatever the reason, its what god wanted. Maybe they were just stupid, like all the whales getting washed up.

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