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  Biting Off the Chocolatey Bit since 2003

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~ Freshly-prepared gourmet cuisine
~ Sparkling repartee from your charming host
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Friday, August 27, 2004
 
Things that piss me off, Issue 6

Television adverts for hair-, skin-, face-, foot- and other-body-part-beautifying products, mostly aimed at gullible and insecure women, which feature made-up scientific-sounding ingredient names. You know the ones I'm talking about. "New L'Oréal Elvive, now with 'nutrileum'! Makes your hair glow with youthful exuberance!" "Nivea Visage, with added 'microvitamins'! Stop the 162 signs of aging!" "Smear this stuff on your face, it's got 'superlovelyose' in it, so you'll stop looking like a wrinkled old hag! Because you do! And your husband wants to leave you for a younger woman who uses all our products! Trust us, we're a pharmaceutical company!". It drives me bloody insane. And don't they just love their comparison figures? "Now with 70% more radiance!" Huh? How have you measured this radiance? What's the S.I. unit of radiance, please? "Three times more split-end healing power!" Three times more than what? What are you comparing it to, stupid, stupid people? Aaargh!!!


Served by pastamasta at 12:27 PM
>> 8 blobs of PM Sauce - add more
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>> takeaway
 
Thursday, August 26, 2004
 
Paleoanthropologist

This little gem just passed through my inbox, and it would be remiss of me not to pass it on. (My apologies if this is unknowingly violating anyone's copyright; if so, let me know and I'll remove it.) Apparently, it's a reply to a chap who makes a habit of digging items of junk out of his back garden and posting them to the Smithsonian Institute, doggedly insisting that they are actual finds of genuine archaeological value. Here's the letter:
Smithsonian Institute
207 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC 20078

Dear Sir:

Thank you for your latest submission to the Institute, labeled "211-D, layer seven, next to the clothesline post. Hominid skull."

We have given this specimen a careful and detailed examination, and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents "conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man in Charleston County two million years ago." Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety one of our staff, who has small children, believes to be the "Malibu Barbie".

It is evident that you have given a great deal of thought to the analysis of this specimen, and you may be quite certain that those of us who are familiar with your prior work in the field were loathe to come to contradiction with your findings. However, we do feel that there are a number of physical attributes of the specimen which might have tipped you off to its modern origin:

1. The material is molded plastic. Ancient hominid remains are typically fossilized bone.

2. The cranial capacity of the specimen is approximately 9 cubic centimeters, well below the threshold of even the earliest identified proto-hominids.

3. The dentition pattern evident on the "skull" is more consistent with the common domesticated dog than it is with the "ravenous man-eating Pliocene clams" you speculate roamed the wetlands during that time. This latter finding is certainly one of the most intriguing hypotheses you have submitted in your history with this institution, but the evidence seems to weigh rather heavily against it. Without going into too much detail, let us say that:

a. The specimen looks like the head of a Barbie doll that a dog has chewed on.
b. Clams don't have teeth.

It is with feelings tinged with melancholy that we must deny your request to have the specimen carbon dated. This is partially due to the heavy load our lab must bear in its normal operation, and partly due to carbon dating's notorious inaccuracy in fossils of recent geologic record. To the best of our knowledge, no Barbie dolls were produced prior to 1956 AD, and carbon dating is likely to produce wildly inaccurate results. Sadly, we must also deny your request that we approach the National Science Foundation's Phylogeny Department with the concept of assigning your specimen the scientific name "Australopithecus spiff-arino." Speaking personally, I, for one, fought tenaciously for the acceptance of your proposed taxonomy, but was ultimately voted down because the species name you selected was hyphenated, and didn't really sound like it might be Latin.

However, we gladly accept your generous donation of this fascinating specimen to the museum. While it is undoubtedly not a hominid fossil, it is, nonetheless, yet another riveting example of the great body of work you seem to accumulate here so effortlessly. You should know that our Director has reserved a special shelf in his own office for the display of the specimens you have previously submitted to the Institution, and the entire staff speculates daily on what you will happen upon next in your digs at the site you have discovered in your back yard. We eagerly anticipate your trip to our nation's capital that you proposed in your last letter, and several of us are pressing the Director to pay for it. We are particularly interested in hearing you expand on your theories surrounding the "trans-positating fillifitation of ferrous ions in a structural matrix" that makes the excellent juvenile Tyrannosaurus rex femur you recently discovered take on the deceptive appearance of a rusty 9-mm Sears Craftsman automotive crescent wrench.

Yours in Science,

Harvey Rowe
Curator, Antiquities
Bloody marvellous. I would dearly love to know the details of any other items this bloke has dug up; has anyone out there heard of him? Even better, are you the man himself? If so, I'd love to hear from you. You are either an imaginative lunatic or an imaginative piss-take artist, and one way or the other the world is a funnier place because of it. I salute you.


Served by pastamasta at 10:18 AM
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Tuesday, August 24, 2004
 
Return of the Pasti

Weeeee're baaaaack...

It's been an eventful two weeks, which is a bit like saying that whales are quite big, or that the weather on Pluto is rather chilly. For starters, I've spent much of the previous fortnight either driving, being rained on, or (more usually) both. Given that we were supposed to be having a break from the traditional British Midland summer (i.e. sleet and gales) this didn't go down too well. Also, about an hour after setting off from the Pastamansion, one of my molars started aching like buggery, much as though a tiny burrowing animal had crawled into my jaw and was busily digging out a nice bedsit for itself. It kept on digging for several days and nights until I'd had enough, whereupon I heaved (hove?) myself unto a French dentist and tried dredging up enough broken French from my unwilling memory to get across to him what I wanted him to do, i.e. gettez le sodding dent out of ma tête. Instead he gave me antibiotics, which did a sterling job of absolutely bugger all, so I had to go to another torture specialist in Plymouth, once we got back to the UK, to have the wee bastard taken out. The resulting small hole in the dark recesses of my face is proving irresistible to my curiously-exploring tongue, which probably isn't helping matters.

Aside from getting half-drowned, being set upon by swarms of enormous French midges, nearly being squashed by irate French lorry drivers, and having bits of myself removed, I've had a wonderful time. Sarah had her first experience of a beach, which included hyperactive squealing, getting soaked, trying to eat sand, sitting in the shallow bits shouting "aaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaa" and grinning, rapt fascination with a small and bewildered crab, throwing a plastic bucket at my head, and insisting that I bury her legs in wet sand and pretend that her toes are underwater monsters. Luckily, we brought along an inflatable paddling pool in the terminally-overstuffed Pastamobile, so we were able to repeat the soaking experience at will. Which we had to. Many, many times.

We also visited a rather excellent monkey sanctuary near Looe in South Cornwall, which houses about fifteen woolly monkeys in a nice, big enclosure with plenty of roaming, climbing, grooming and hooting space. Sarah (who has always liked pictures of monkeys in her baby books) was utterly enchanted by these little chaps and spent a wide-eyed, breathless hour staring at them with a huge grin on her face. Of course, we had to buy her the furry toy monkey from the gift shop. Of course we did. Bloody fools. The monkey is now compulsory. The monkey goes EVERYWHERE. The monkey is called Aa-aa ('cos that's what monkeys say, apparently) and is not permitted to be more than a foot away from Sarah at any time. I dread to think what will happen if we ever lose the damn monkey, because in all probability we'll have to drive back to Cornwall and get another one.

I've put on about half a stone in the last week due to all the cream teas I've been having. Go ahead, make that tutting noise, but if you were in Cornwall surrounded by fabulous little fishing towns like Downderry and Polperro, full of timber-framed 16th-century inns selling scones with jam and clotted cream (the most heavenly edible substance on the planet), you too would be stuffing your face and doing Meg Ryan impressions. The Missus did slightly better, mostly because she has a thing for prawns, and by this I mean a small polystyrene cup filled with freshly-caught prawns, lightly sprinkled with malt vinegar and (this is apparently essential) eaten with a wooden chip fork. The appeal of this South Coast delicacy was previously inexplicable to me, but having tried it I can attest that it is bloody delicious. Try it, you'll see what I mean.


Served by pastamasta at 3:48 PM
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Tuesday, August 17, 2004
 
A quick Good Food Alert

...as a public service to the inhabitants of (and travellers to) Devon and Cornwall: the best hot dogs in the world can be purchased at The Village café in Crownhill, Plymouth. It's absolutely essential that you ask for fried onions.


Served by pastamasta at 1:45 PM
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Saturday, August 07, 2004
 
Pasty masta

Well, the Famille de Pasta are off on our summer holidays for two weeks, one in Brittany and the other in Cornwall. Am not feeling remotely smug in any way whatsoever.

I may post the odd mini-post via mobile email (isn't technology wonderful?) but suspect I'll be too busy enjoying the astounding cuisine and introducing my daughter to the denizens of the French seaside...


Served by pastamasta at 1:43 PM
>> 2 blobs of PM Sauce - add more
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>> takeaway
 
Thursday, August 05, 2004
 
Perambulation

There has been a sudden and not-entirely-welcome development in the Walking Baby department. Sarah decided yesterday, after weeks of taking the odd hesitant step here and tentative shuffle there, that she is in fact capable of walking any distance she desires, and promptly engaged in proving it to us by legging it at a worrying speed around the lounge, kitchen and conservatory. The Missus and I therefore spent much of the evening acting as human fences, since we haven't got around to crash-proofing the house yet. The barriers go up tonight, oh yes.

She's also displaying a disturbing knack for working out door mechanisms.

Help.


Served by pastamasta at 10:34 AM
>> 5 blobs of PM Sauce - add more
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>> takeaway
 
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
 
Wheelie useful

In the interests of public safety, I have decided to publish some reference information on appropriate road usage, which is pretty urgently needed by British motorists if the loony in the blue Ford Mondeo who nearly drove over me this morning is anything to go by. My intention is not to offend careful, competent or considerate drivers. If you are none of those, and particularly if you live near Junction 12 of the M40 and drive a blue Mondeo and seriously inconvenienced a black Vauxhall Astra at about 7:50am today at the junction roundabout, this message is for you:

How Not to Drive Like a Twat
A Handy Guide to Proper and Courteous Motoring
  1. Moving Off
    Rejoice! You are just beginning your exciting journey of road discovery! Here a few points to remember as you start your trip:

    • Check around the vehicle in all directions before releasing the hand-brake. There's nothing more exasperating to a fencepost, domestic pet or pedestrian than being hit by you a mere four seconds after you've turned the engine on.
    • If other vehicles are approaching you, wait for them to pass. Flooring the accelerator to ensure that you get onto the road ahead of them will not automatically denote your alpha status, or make the other vehicle roll over and expose its undercarriage in a submission posture.
    • Remember your headlights if it is dark, particularly when not in a street-lit area. Oncoming traffic is likely to be surprised by being smacked into by an invisible car.

  2. Hill Starts
    When starting your vehicle on an uphill slope, keep the hand-brake on until you have achieved forward pressure by balancing the accelerator and clutch, otherwise your car will roll gently backwards and smack into the unsuspecting old granny behind you. Do not try to 'jump' the pedals from foot-brake to accelerator. You are not Bruce Lee, and your reactions are simply not that fast. No, really, they aren't.

  3. Signalling
    Your indicators are there for a reason. They give other road users at least an inkling of what is going on in your tiny, tiny mind. For example, they may say, "The person operating this vehicle intends to swing violently right into the next cul-de-sac," and it is vital that they say this lest you decide to do so six milliseconds before they are due to pass through the intervening space.

  4. Use of the Horn
    The horn is the most misunderstood part of the average car. Used properly, it is an attention signal, roughly equivalent to shouting "Here I am" to warn other road users who may be oblivious to your presence. However, uncouth motorists often use it to mean, variously, "What the fuck do you think you're doing", "Get out of my way, slow bastard", or "I'm fed up with being stuck in this traffic jam" (see below). Be polite.

  5. Use of the Headlights
    The headlights of your car are there to illuminate the road ahead, and not to blind oncoming drivers. Dip your lights when another vehicle approaches. If the driver of the approaching car has forgotten to dip his/her lights, it is generally considered acceptable to flash your own headlights very briefly in order to alert them. It is not acceptable to flash them repeatedly in order to create a strobe effect behind their eyeballs.

  6. Roundabouts
    There is a tendency amongst feeble-minded drivers to treat any roundabout as if it were the starting grid at the Monaco Grand Prix. As such, it's vitally important that they accelerate into the junction, tyres screeching in protest, in order to cut in front of the car which actually has the right of way - because it's already on the roundabout, about eighteen inches to the right of Mr. Schumacher, and closing fast - and thereby demonstrate their superior masculinity. Yes, chaps, I'm afraid it's usually the men who do this. You know who you are. I don't care if you're driving a Ferrari, it still makes you look like a schmuck.

  7. Joining the Motorway
    Two words: look right. The folks already on the motorway are going a lot faster than you, and if you don't synchronise your speed with a gap in the traffic, someone is going to die. Don't force others to move out of your way; this is considered to be Driving Like a Twat, and tends to annoy. There is a thing we are supposedly renowned for in this country, called patience. Practise it.

  8. Exiting the Motorway
    General practice amongst those who Drive Like a Twat is to overtake as many people as possible before exiting at a motorway junction, which usually requires them to stay in the middle or fast lanes until the last conceivable instant, and then try to cross two or three lanes of traffic in a single manoeuvre. Much squealing of brakes ensues. Think twice, citizen! The last driver you piss off when doing this might be a police officer. If you're two lanes over with a 40-ton juggernaut next to you, you can't see them until it's too late. Simple self-preservation should do the rest, n'est-ce pas?

  9. Choosing and Changing Lanes
    When driving on a multi-lane carriageway, there's a simple rule of thumb which you can follow to determine which lane you should be in at any given time:

    1. Pick a speed
    2. Drive consistently at that speed
    3. Only overtake when necessary to maintain that speed

    Very, very simple, yes? Easy to follow for most people, right? Is it bollocks. Most people choose to drive in the middle lane or even the fast lane at all times, regardless of the number of faster vehicles and increasingly irate drivers queueing behind them. If you are doing this, you are Driving Like a Twat. Be considerate.

  10. Maintaining a Safe Distance
    Tailgating (also known as Driving Up Someone's Arse) is usually the one thing most likely to upset your fellow road users. It is a type of behaviour championed by the Chav, but perpetrated by many others. Tailgaters give the impression of being buttock-clenchingly afraid of allowing anyone to cut in between their car and the one in front, and therefore they drive so as to leave an intervening distance which would barely accept even the most slimline of credit cards. Alternatively, they believe that the person in front of them is driving insufficiently quickly, and that ramming them up the rear bumper will make them speed up. This approach has never, ever worked in the entire history of motoring; in general, tailgatees make a point of slowing down under such circumstances, particularly if the tailgator is making inappropriate Use of the Horn/Headlights as well (see above).

  11. Traffic Jams
    Ah, the traffic jam. The majestic, sweeping vista of a four-lane motorway packed solid with motionless, gently steaming cars on a hot summer's day has inspired many to flights of poetic fancy. It also inspires some less-patient members of the drivers' fraternity to make inappropriate Use of the Horn. Nobody knows why, as the average car horn is not equipped with Moses-like jam-parting powers. Calm down. Listen to the radio. Wind down the window and make pleasant conversation with the hairy bloke in the 16-wheeler to your left. The time will just fly by, trust me.

  12. 3-Point Turns
    It happens to us all. You're following a set of directions given to you by your 93 year-old great-aunt and you end up down the wrong side-street. You need to turn around. My advice to you here is to pick your turning point carefully. Most normal streets will allow you to do a 3-point turn in relative comfort, but unfortunately those are rarely the kind of streets one finds oneself in when one realises that one is in the wrong place. Pick somewhere to turn with a convenient driveway or smaller side-road to facilitate the reverse turn. The very narrowest road should let you complete the about-face in no more than 5 points, or 7 at a pinch. However, there is no conceivable gap which necessitates a 9, 11 or even 13-point turn (I have seen one of these happening with my own eyes, they are not a myth). If you find yourself doing one of these, particularly when there's a queue of traffic on either side of you, get out of your car and ask a competent driver to help you.

  13. Parking
    When parking in marked bays, bear the following in mind: the owners of the vehicles on either side of you are going to want to get back into their cars. A gap of less than two feet probably won't be sufficient, and will require them to climb in through the boot or sunroof. They may subsequently choose to vent their frustration upon your car by keying the bodywork, letting the air out of the tyres, or other similar japesome pranks. Don't give them an excuse, some people are just itching to do this anyway. (What are you looking at me for?)
There you go, you are now primed and ready to drive on British roads, and God help us all.


Served by pastamasta at 1:14 PM
>> 6 blobs of PM Sauce - add more
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>> takeaway