[Smashy the Hammer] [An Aspiring Luddite]
I carry no phone
An aspiring Luddite
In a wired world.
[Jeff Berry]
Jeff Berry is an early adopter of the Internet and the Web, a late adopter of Twitter, and declines to adopt Facebook. With the death of Google+, he's experimenting with federated platforms. He admins a medievalist Mastodon instance, and can found on the PlusPora diaspora pod. He hates cell-phones.

Past Thoughts for the erratic and arbitrary unit of time

Alexandre's Razor: Just because it is in a martini glass, that does not make it a "-tini."
To Whom it May Concern: The ATM asks if you want a receipt. If you don't, why do you say "yes" and then drop it on the floor?
I like my immersion blender, because, without it, painting my kitchen with stray bits of food can take HOURS.
Ultimately, isn't any relationship status "It's complicated?"
Look folks, if your "website" requires facebook in order to load, it's not a real website.
A new survey calls those who buy 10+ books per year "Avid Readers." I call those who buy only 10 books per year "punk-ass amateurs."
Craft is what you do; Art sometimes happens while you do it.
Stab a man's opponent and save him today. Teach a man to fence and he can save his own damn self next time.
Words still have power
use your word-hoard carefully
lest words become dross

The sublime magnificence of a well constructed bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich ought not to be underestimated.
On the Internet, everyone knows you're a dog, they just don't care unless you're a famous dog.
I have to confess, I love the fact that ever since I started wearing kilts, one of the street-people calls me "Hot Rod" - thanks Rowdy Roddy Piper
Have you noticed how often the sound of a car horn means, "Listen up! I'm about to violate your right-of-way!
With the use of ill-defined terms and poorly-understood technologies, we shall remain buzzword compliant well into the next contract cycle!
China removed a thirty-one foot tall, bronze statue of Confucius overnight. Here, it takes four days and two trips to get a fridge delivered.
In WWII, British Royalty rationed their own bath-water. These days, Rand Paul complains that the government broke his toilets.
Were Roman dirty movies rated thirty?
Hugh Hefner reminds me of Jim Perdue. Only he's not selling chicken breasts. And they're not all natural or organic.
Yeah, I know. You think being a cooking Laurel is all about the glamour. The sotelties for the Crown, the cute "look it's period but it still looks like lasagna" recipes. Sure, that's part of it. But, man, down in the trenches. Down in the dark side of CL Hell ...

that's where you explain to your co-workers at NASA how a dead pig named Timmy bit you last night. That's where you learn that soft palate simmered for three hours looks like squid. That's where you find that, you know when you burn the roof of your mouth, and that soft white stuff peels off for a while? Yeah, well if you simmer half a pig's tongue, the whole top of it peels off like that, while somewhere in the background "Flight of the Valkyries" is playing.

You want to know what the smell of Victory is? It's not napalm, it's a bouquet garni of onion, clove and bay leaf simmering in a hell-broth of pig-brain and whatever that stuff is that holds the jaw together.

And when it's done, man, and it cools ... victory is the slightly chewy, savory gelatin, which holds the meaty bits in suspension. Yeah, that's what it's all about. Pig, gelatin, salt, maybe a little vinegar, on bread. With mustard.

Damn this cooking war. I love it so.

I don't have a million of 'em; I've got a thousand of 'em, but I tell 'em each a thousand times, so it all works out.
Every time I see a Coke ad that says, "Open Happiness," I think, "As opposed to proprietary happiness?"