When I was collecting bottles (around 4th, 5th and 6th grade), I was always on the “look out” for the elusive “Bitter’s bottle”.
A bitters bottle is a type of container specifically designed to hold and dispense bitters, which are highly concentrated herbal or botanical extracts used primarily as flavoring agents in cocktails and other beverages. Bitters bottles are often distinctive in design, reflecting both their functional purpose and their historical significance in the world of mixology and medicine.
Key Features of a Bitters Bottle:
- Shape and Size :
- Bitters bottles are typically small, ranging from a few ounces to about 8-16 ounces in capacity. This reflects the fact that bitters are used sparingly, usually just a few dashes at a time.
- They often have a narrow neck and a squat, rectangular, or cylindrical shape, making them easy to handle and store.
- Dispenser Mechanism :
- Many bitters bottles come with a built-in dasher top or stopper, which allows for controlled dispensing of the liquid in small amounts (a “dash”). This is crucial because bitters are potent and only a small amount is needed to enhance a drink’s flavor.
- Some older or decorative bottles may not have a dasher but instead use a cork or screw cap.
- Materials :
- Traditionally, bitters bottles were made of glass, often amber or cobalt blue, to protect the contents from light and preserve their potency.
- Modern bottles may also be made of clear glass or even plastic, especially for mass-produced brands.
- Labeling and Decoration :
- Bitters bottles often feature elaborate labels or embossed designs, showcasing the brand name, ingredients, or intended use. In the 19th century, many bitters manufacturers marketed their products as medicinal tonics, so the bottles sometimes included claims about health benefits.
- Collectors prize antique bitters bottles for their unique shapes, colors, and decorative elements.
Historical Context:
Bitters originated in the 18th and 19th centuries as medicinal tinctures, believed to aid digestion and cure various ailments. They were sold in apothecaries and general stores, often in elaborately designed bottles to distinguish one brand from another. Over time, bitters became an essential ingredient in cocktail-making, particularly during the golden age of cocktails in the late 1800s.
Some notable examples of bitters brands include:
- Angostura Bitters : The most famous and widely used bitters today, known for its iconic oversized label.
- Peychaud’s Bitters : A key ingredient in the Sazerac cocktail.
- Orange Bitters : Used in classic cocktails like the Martini and Manhattan.
Collectibility:
Antique bitters bottles are highly sought after by collectors due to their unique designs, historical significance, and rarity. Shapes range from figural bottles (shaped like animals, people, or objects) to more traditional rectangular or cylindrical forms. Some rare bitters bottles can fetch thousands of dollars at auction.
A bitters bottle is a small, specialized container used to store and dispense bitters, which are concentrated flavoring agents used in cocktails and historically marketed as medicinal remedies. These bottles are often distinctive in design, featuring dasher tops, colorful glass, and intricate labels. Both functional and decorative, bitters bottles are important to mixologists and prized by collectors for their historical and aesthetic value.
…
Now, I would find them from time to time, but they would ALWAYS be broken. And it became a real heartbreak.
But one day, one day, I found an intact bitters bottle. It was green, and showed whittle marks. A truly valuable find. It was valuable, and I cradled it with love and respect.
I wasn’t going to lose this find. Not in a thousand years.
And my brother came down with my father to see what I was up to. This happened from time to time, but generally was a very rare event.
He asked me what I was holding and I proudly said, “Look at this it’s a Bitters Bottle.” And he looked at it and caressed it in his hands.
He then turned to my brother and tossed it at him, saying “Daniel, look at this…”
My brother looked up, and the bottle flew past him and broke into five or six pieces as it splintered on a rock and cement formation behind him.
Dad, oblivious to anything, got my brother, and told me to “get a move on” or I will be late for dinner.
And I just stood there in shock.
…
The walk home was a blur. I do not remember it.
I think I ate quickly. Not talking to anyone and went to bed early that day.
And I kept that pain, that secret, to myself all these years.
Today…
What did you learn from your mother that you would never have learned from anyone else?
After my dad died, my mother was incredibly lonely, so I would take her on road trips, and we would visit all the places that her and dad had visited together.
As we drove, she told me their history, from the day she met him, their first date, how he asked her out, their first kiss. They were married 75 years ago, and my mother was a virgin on her wedding night.
She told me of them scrimping and saving to buy each other, and later us kids, gifts. How happy they were when they saved enough money.
She told of how once a month they would have enough money for a 26 of whiskey or rum, and they would invite our neighbors, their best friends over, for drinks and toast. Then two weeks later, their neighbors would have saved up enough to invite them over. My parents had a pan with holes in it, with handles, that they sat on top of their propane stove, to make toast. Their neighbors had this newfangled electric toaster. My mother loved the evenness of the toasting on the toast, from the electric toaster. The neighbors were polite enough to say that they loved the toast from the pan.
When my father died, my mother had me spread the ashes at the site of their first house, by the stream in the country. She had told me so many joyful stories of those days. Like the day she found out she was pregnant with my older brother.
Her wish was to have her ashes spread there too.
I could not have learned this from anyone else.
Braised Chicken with Papaya
This tropical chicken dish is one of the simplest to prepare. Pair it with basmati rice.
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1/8 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
- 1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breast halves, cut into 1-inch lengthwise strips
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 (10 1/2 ounce) can low-sodium chicken broth
- 1 large papaya, peeled, halved lengthwise, seeded and cut into 1/2-inch thick slices
- Basmati Rice (follow package directions for 4 servings)
- Garnish: freshly ground pepper and sprigs of fresh cilantro
Instructions
- Combine the flour and pepper in a shallow bowl.
- Flour the chicken by lightly pressing both sides of each chicken strip into the flour mixture.
- Heat the olive oil in a large nonstick sauté pan over medium-high heat.
- Arrange the chicken strips in a single layer; cook for 2 minutes on each side, or until they are lightly browned but not cooked through.
- Reduce the heat to medium and pour the chicken broth over the chicken.
- Place the papaya slices atop the chicken.
- Cover and cook for about 8 minutes or until the chicken is thoroughly done.
- To serve, spread a mound of rice on each of 4 plates.
- Top with the chicken strips and papaya slices.
- Drizzle with the chicken broth, sprinkle with pepper, garnish and serve immediately.
GF Hysterical After “Niche” Themed Videos Of Her Cheating Appear Online And BF Shows Her Family
What is the level of control that the Chinese government has over companies like Alibaba and Tencent compared to the level of control that the US government has over companies like Facebook and Twitter?
China is a country governed by laws. Mind you, by the laws of China, not any other country. The level of control would be according to laws.
China has anti-monopolistic laws. Alibaba and Tencent will have to abide by them. As do other Internet platform companies.
In fact, it was their malpractices which brought forth many of these laws, amongst them – the misuse of customers information, the misuse of databases acquired through the vast connectivity of their networks, the unfair treatment of retailers and other users in their network, and the poor treatment of the gig workers.
China has also localisation laws, that prohibit the export of the data and information acquired by the networks.
The honchos of these and other big platform companies possess great wealth and their companies are cash rich. In line with the country’s aim to achieve common prosperity, the government encourages them and their companies to contribute to worthy causes, such as to set up foundations and trusts to help the poorer people. They have stepped forward.
China is more attune to the real economy. The government encourages them to direct some of their funds to the real economy. Alibaba and Tencent are in the forefront of many real economy investments in the fields of technology.
But save for the application of laws, many are voluntary. They have taken the government’s encouragement seriously in part also because it helps them gain public adulation.
I cheated on him because I was lonely, but his shocking reaction left me speechless
https://youtu.be/n6PED1nART0
Outposts.
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.… view prompt
Ken Cartisano
I remember the first time I was abducted. Whisked away at virtual ‘probe-point’ to a distant galactic ‘depot’ called ‘Zudprillipud.’ Why? Well, that’s a good question. It was kind of like sleepwalking except I wasn’t asleep, and I don’t think I was walking. Anyway, they brought me back. Dropped me off in my car. It seemed like ten minutes had elapsed, but when I awoke, I soon realized I’d lost an entire week. A week! And nobody even noticed.
I asked Cathy where she thought I was. ‘Out in your boat,’ she says, dicing an onion. Shedding a tear.
“For a week?”
“Well, you were kind of vague when you left.”
“In that…?”
“In that you said, ‘Don’t wait up.”
“And you think, ‘Don’t wait up’ means ‘I’ll see you in a week?”
She had every reason to be livid, but she wasn’t. “I bought you a valentine,” she said, pointing at a heart-shaped box with the knife.
“Thanks, uh… can we talk?”
She was open enough to listen politely and asked pertinent questions like, ‘Were there any people?’ or ‘What kind of creatures live on Zudlillipudski?’
My answers? “I don’t know. I was in a rest area? A galactic depot. And Zudprillipud’s a galaxy, not a planet, so, technically nobody lives on it. Any other questions?” She shook her head. Even though I was the one who had been gone for a week, for some reason, I was the one who was annoyed. I would think if she was gone for a week I would’ve filed a missing persons report. Maybe she was in on it too.
*****
Enter one Stan Waters, Private Detective. “At your service,” he says.
He claimed he was ex-military and looked it. Acted like it. He was all business, but I hadn’t convinced him to work for me yet. “I just don’t see it as a problem,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give to take a week off and not be missed.”
“You’d freak out,” I said. “You’re confusing a vacation with an abduction. Don’t do that.” I explained how speed and time are connected, the faster I went, the less time I experienced. It seemed like ten minutes to me because it was ten minutes, to me, everyone else aged a week or more, everyone around here that is. This much was clear, because I’d already hired someone else to do the math.
But this guy was pretty shrewd because he said, “You did the math, huh? How’d you know how far it was to Zudsparilla?”
And to that kind of question, hypnosis seemed like the only answer.
I was convinced that all hypnotists were incompetent idiots as I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I was on a couch and my belief was reinforced when the hypnotist audibly murmured, ‘all finished.’ We hadn’t done a thing. I didn’t remember anything. I didn’t remember him, his office, walking in, laying down, or any recollection of Stan Waters for that matter. “Crap.” I barely knew my own name.
How do I know all this? I had a note in my shoe. I did a little research before rushing off to the mesmerist. It wasn’t that difficult to break the post-hypnotic suggestions. I kept a video log, reference material, receipts, and a post-hypnotic trigger phrase: ‘What do you have against opera houses?’ As soon as I read that phrase in my notebook, all of my memories came flooding back.
I was abducted again, somewhat more skillfully, and whisked off at near-light-speeds to another distant galaxy. A place with a name that sounded like ‘Paramecium.’ 13 minutes each way with a two-minute layover in what I now call ‘outposts.’ At the far end of a 28-minute interval, I was discreetly dumped back on planet earth three days later. I came to in my boat, on the river, the anchor so deeply embedded in the bottom that I had to cut it free, but the boat ran well, the car was in the marina parking lot and the keys were in my pocket.
When I burst through the front door Cathy greeted me cheerfully. “Hi, how were the fish?”
“The fish?”
“Yeah. The fish. How were they?”
“They, um, there—were no fish, I don’t think.”
“Aww, no luck, huh? That’s too bad.” She patted the couch and I went and sat down next to her. She seemed nicer, and softer than usual.
The following night, after sex, in the dark, I said, “I need a new anchor, you know…”
“It’s fixed,” she said.
“I’m not mad, I just…, what’d you say?”
“I fixed it.”
“You got me a new anchor?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is it?”
“I put it on.”
“On what?”
“The end of the anchor line, of course.”
*****
I got abducted again, it was different. And then again after that, and this time there was another person present. A human being, like me. I felt like part of a team, however marginal my contribution.
My ‘trips’ grew shorter, and the ‘returns’ neater and less awkward, as we fell into a routine. Cathy and I had the best sex ever, and, well, I knew it wasn’t her. It was a better Cathy than the one I’d had. I don’t know what they did with the original, but this was not her. She was too accommodating.
I admit, I was as happy as I’d ever been, happy to play along. I had no control over aliens whose technology was so advanced I couldn’t even remember it, let alone explain it, and, I felt like I was a part of something vast, some huge undertaking. We were far from being the only two people with huge gaps in their memory. I suspected they were abducting thousands of people each month, using them, like memory chips.
One night, I asked my duplicate Cathy, what is it that I do? And she said they use my brain because it has a hundred billion connections, and functions wirelessly.
“So why don’t I understand what we’re doing?” I remember asking.
And she said, “You don’t need to, or want to, you’re a node.” And that was it, that was all she would divulge about that subject, ever.
One night, Cathy entered the house looking dazed and stunned, walking around, looking at things curiously, picking things up. Then she looked at me as if I had changed overnight. I approached her tentatively, and gently embraced her. Her voice was muffled against my shoulder but I still heard her say, “How long was I gone?”
I held her at arm’s length. “About two years.” Valentine’s day was a week away.
“Two years? Oh my God. How can that be?”
I shrugged. “Physics?”
She went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Yeah, I was on some kind of starship. I know. It sounds crazy.” She drank one-third of the beer. “God that’s good.” She looked around. “You kept my stuff. How sweet. So…” she peered at me over the rim of the can, “how was my funeral? Pretty small affair?”
“Uh, no.” I cleared my throat. “No funeral. They gave me a substitute. So how long did you think you were gone?”
“About three months,” she said. “It was…” she shook her head, “grueling but rewarding. They were very happy with me, I think. A substitute? What’s a substitute? What does that mean? Did you even know I was gone?”
“Yes. I did. I mean, I figured it out. Eventually.”
“How? Where is she?” She began circling the apartment. Opening closets and pantries, slamming them shut.
“She’s gone,” I wailed, a touch too plaintively.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” she announced. “No, you’re sleeping on the couch.”
Once I realized that she knew exactly what a substitute was, even before I told her, we worked things out, and waited anxiously for our next abduction, but it never came. I guess they fired us. We didn’t know what to do so we started a support group, Abducted Nodes Anonymous. We have over a million members and we’re still growing.
Ode to My Kitty’s Smell
A fine MM poem. -MM
Oh, sweet scent of my feline friend,
A fragrance soft, on which I depend.
Like sunlit hay and morning dew,
A warmth that feels both fresh and true.
I hold you close, my nose in your fur,
A gentle balm, a comforting purr.
Your smell, a whisper of home and peace,
A tender joy that will never cease.
It’s not perfume, nor flowers in bloom,
But something deeper, a quiet room.
A scent that tells me you are near,
A love so pure, so crystal clear.
Oh, kitty’s smell, my heart’s delight,
A simple pleasure, my soul’s respite.
In your fur, I find my calm,
A tiny world, a soothing balm.
So here’s my ode, my love confessed,
To how you smell, my furry nest.
In every whiff, my heart takes flight,
My kitty’s scent, my joy, my light.
Do you believe the imposed tariffs will benefit America in the long run?
Last Wednesday I went to my local casino (Soaring Eagle). Normally, I see a small crowd on that day with the parking lots mostly empty. I was amazed to see the lots almost completely filled with pick ups. An overwhelming number of trucks had Trump or Maga stickers. I had no idea as to what was happening.
Once I walked into the casino I saw that there was a large farming convention going on. It was interesting to see the different displays with hundreds of farmers in animated conversations. I talked with a few people I knew and they told me most farmers were concerned about the tariffs taking away their international soybean market. Many farmers might face bankruptcy or loss of farms. They looked depressed because they had gone through this in 2017 -2018 and it didn’t have a good ending.
What’s behind the “camaro” reason that soldiers mention when you ask them why they joined the army?
You get $2000 a month. No rent, no grocery bills. Free medical. Your a young single guy. It’s like living with Mom. Plus $2000 a month.
A new Camaro? $700 a month? No problem.
This might surprise people. Every single parasite, leech, and player is waiting for that young soldier to come off base.
I know you people filled with patriot fervor. Love of God and Country. Honoring our military. Will be surprised at this.
Those towns around military bases are designed to separate young single soldiers from their money.
Especially lots of the car dealers. I can’t tell you how many times a soldier got a bad deal and one of our NCOs helped him refinance it through the credit union.
I’m talking the dealer hit him with 20% interest for 6 years plus all kinds of things he didn’t need. Extended warranty. Dealer maintenance plan.
Between the FTC, the JAG lawyer and the credit union they got him from $1000 down to $625 a month.
The hot one at the base near where I used to work was Hummers. Brand new Humvee. I always saw 18 year olds with a shaved head, really good shape, jump boots, driving a brand new Hummer.
Will the US ever return to a manufacturing-based economy?
The return of the United States to manufacturing is a social structural issue and also a philosophical question.
First of all, can it be achieved? The conclusion is of course it can. After all, if the Germans who were reduced to ruins by the artillery fire of World War II could do it, Americans can do it too.
Secondly, how should it be done? In modern high-end manufacturing, there are almost few workers needed.
In China, there are many factories called “lights-out factories”. The entire factory has no workers. The machines on the entire production line are continuously manufacturing products in the roar in the dark.
Now, comes the most crucial question.
See this car?
A company has put thousands of driverless taxis in Wuhan. Within a month, the income of Wuhan taxi drivers was halved. Taxi practitioners protested.
Yes. The problem is here. New productivity will destroy the original social system structure. How can ordinary people who are harmed by technological upgrades obtain compensation?
Can American society accept such social changes? This is the most crucial thing. Some of the huge unemployment problems China is facing now are closely related to this industrial upgrade. We have investigated many companies or factories. Under the condition of reduced staff, they have produced more products and obtained better profits. But these profits have nothing to do with ordinary people except for the bosses of the companies.
Now, the industrial products of only one country, China, can supply the whole world and there is still overcapacity. If 350 million Americans join this competition to manufacture goods again. Then there will be no market in the world that can digest these industrial products.
The solution of the United States and Europe to overproduction is to meet the scarcity of commodities through periodic wars. This is reflected in World War I, World War II, and including the current “US-China trade war”. Through wars, scarcity is artificially created, and excess profits are firmly controlled.
Now the solution proposed by the Chinese is to make more people in the world rich through the Belt and Road Initiative and use time to exchange for the pressure of overproduction. The Belt and Road Initiative is equivalent to an upgraded version of the Marshall Plan. Only when Africans, South Asians, Middle Easterners, and South Americans live a better life will they have the ability to consume more industrial products.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On October 26, 2024, I replied to Rob Jamieson. The benefit of the “Belt and Road Initiative” for Chinese people is that due to the expansion of the “demand population”, industrial products produced in China have a lower price due to the advantage of scale, which allows all Chinese people to enjoy cheaper industrial products. The price of Toyota Corolla in the United States is 22,050 US dollars, which is about 156,000 yuan. However, according to the current industrial production cost in China, the correct selling price of Corolla should be between 5,000 and 6,000 US dollars. Because BYD’s electric vehicle of the same level, which has better quality and handling than Toyota Corolla, is only close to 10,000 US dollars. Why do ordinary American families need to pay an extra 4,000 US dollars to buy a car that is inferior to BYD in both driving experience and quality? This feeling is equivalent to you paying 180% more for a product. You will definitely shout loudly that you have been cheated. You should know that when your country is experiencing inflation and soaring prices, China is in deflation. All product manufacturers want to obtain cash flow by dumping products. And other countries in the world, even the United States, cannot compress the production cost of Toyota Corolla within this range. This is one of the reasons why the sales of Volkswagen and Toyota in China are gradually declining.
If Africans, South Asians, and Americans all become wealthy… they will inevitably build new roads and will also inevitably buy cars produced in China. When they have more vehicles, the business of Chinese automobile factories will be better.
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When your customers don’t have money to spend with you, your business can’t be better. When a small or medium-sized country may get rich overnight through “robbery”, “deception” and “theft”. But for a country like China with 1.4 billion people, even if it robs the wealth of the whole world, in the end it still can’t make the lives of every ordinary Chinese person much better. This is like in a fairy tale. If a wolf kills all the sheep in the community, then the wolf’s fate is to starve to death. This is destined that the only choice for Chinese people is to continuously produce, trade, innovate, produce, and trade… This cycle. Only in this way can we barely maintain making the lives of 1.4 billion people better.
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Dear Donald McLellan, I have investigated numerous factories and various industries in China. The crisis that the Chinese people are currently facing is a structural contradiction resulting from highly intelligent and large – scale manufacturing. Take an example that we have investigated. At one of the world’s largest container ports, there are no drivers. All the transfer work of containers at the port is completed by AI – powered robots. Moreover, the transfer vehicles are also electric vehicles. You may wonder where those dockworkers have gone. The answer is that they have become “taxi drivers”, “long – distance truck drivers”, or “food delivery workers”. However, now many large companies have launched unmanned taxis, unmanned trucks, and even unmanned drones for food delivery. Many technologies are already in the test phase before large – scale deployment. Many “food delivery workers” in China have received higher education. They can even solve partial differential equations. They work more than 12 hours a day to deliver food just to support their families. Another example is the solar photovoltaic industry. The cost of solar photovoltaic modules produced in China is approximately 0.58 – 0.6 RMB per watt, and the price of exports to Europe is around 0.62 RMB per watt. Yes, including tariffs, this is dumping. Big capital groups are now dumping products all over the world in order to maintain cash flow and better stock prices. Germans even use solar panels purchased from China as road guardrails. The First Solar company in the United States would be torn to pieces by the manufacturing capabilities of Chinese enterprises immediately if it weren’t for the tariff barrier. Yes, many people will say: innovation is needed. But the physical limit is right here. At most, only 27% of the energy of each watt of sunlight can be converted into electrical energy.
Third, it’s not that the United States cannot fully return to manufacturing. The real problem lies in the fact that according to data from 2023, there are approximately 3.05 million truck drivers in the United States. This includes 2.05 million heavy truck and semi-trailer truck drivers, as well as 1 million light truck (such as delivery trucks and vans) drivers. If a company deploys 3.05 million driverless trucks. What should these 3.05 million truck drivers and their 3.05 million families do?
China’s large-scale industrial manufacturing capacity is constantly influencing the world. Even in the current Russia-Ukraine war, if the Chinese government lifts export controls on drones, Russians/NATO can immediately obtain various lethal drones at a very low cost. In just one city in China, the production of lethal drones can be maintained at a production rate of one million drones per day. But the price humans pay is that there are at least nearly 100,000 or more deaths every day.
If the United States returns to manufacturing, where are their comparative advantages in industrial manufacturing? Even if the United States fully returns to manufacturing, can this make every ordinary American family live a happier life?
I have investigated countless enterprises and interviewed countless government officials who are attempting to revitalize manufacturing. As far as I know, currently, not to mention in Europe, the United States, Southeast Asia, or even in India or Japan, there are not enough mold technicians, let alone sufficient cheap electricity to support industrial production. Any country that lacks these two necessary conditions cannot implement large-scale manufacturing. Moreover, what is the purpose of the United States’ comprehensive return to manufacturing? Is it to enable all ordinary American families to live a happier life? Or is it to “develop manufacturing” for the sake of “the return of manufacturing”? This is a crucial question.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reply to Rob again.
I have investigated the industrial production costs of many industries in China. Even when compared with Southeast Asian countries or South Asian countries known for their cheap labor costs, China’s industrial production costs are still the “lowest” relative to other countries. Let’s take the textile industry as an example. In fact, the cost of textiles manually produced by female workers in Bangladesh is not cheaper than that produced by China’s “lights – out factories”. In the production of a commodity, the labor cost only accounts for one – fifth or even less. The others are logistics, raw materials, energy, and taxes. China’s industrial manufacturing is very likely the bottom line of human “large – scale” industrial manufacturing. Even so, the vast majority of Chinese people are still “poor”. There are still 600 million people with an annual income of less than 1,000 RMB per capita. This is a “dilemma” in the history of human development. When you produce more goods, you are still “poor”. And the people on the consumption side don’t have a better life either. Where is the core reason for this problem?
【 三味線×Led Zeppelin 】ロックの伝説を和風に！！あなたのNo.１は？
Shorpy
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Talent Show Tango: A Farmyard Fiasco
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of talent, turmoil, and toe-tapping chaos! Today’s adventure takes us to the heart of the farm, where Bingo the Dog has decided to host the first-ever Farmyard Talent Show. With a cast of characters more colorful than a rainbow after a rainstorm, this story promises to be a laugh-a-minute romp filled with puns, gags, and a healthy dose of farmyard drama. So, grab your popcorn (or hay bales) and let’s dive into the madness!
The Announcement Heard ‘Round the Farm
It all began on a sunny afternoon when Bingo the Dog, known for his love of naps and occasional howling, decided it was time to shake things up on the farm. He stood on an overturned bucket, his tail wagging furiously, and announced:
“Ladies and gentlemen, animals of all species! I, Bingo the Dog, am proud to present… the Farmyard Talent Show! A competition so grand, so spectacular, that it will make the cows moo, the chickens cluck, and the geese honk with joy! Sign up now, and may the best animal win!”
The farm erupted into a cacophony of excitement. Doris the Hen clucked so loudly she nearly fainted, while Ferdinand the Duck immediately began practicing his scales. Even Sir Whiskerton, who was lounging on the barn roof, raised an eyebrow in mild interest.
“A talent show, you say?” Sir Whiskerton mused, flicking his tail. “I suppose it’s time I showed these amateurs what true talent looks like.”
The Contestants: A Motley Crew
The sign-up sheet was quickly filled with a roster of farmyard stars (and wannabes):
- Bingo the Dog: The self-proclaimed host and contestant, Bingo planned to wow the crowd with his “howling symphony.” (Spoiler: It was just him howling at the moon… in the middle of the day.)
- Ferdinand the Duck: The farm’s resident “quack sensation,” Ferdinand was determined to win with his operatic rendition of “O Sole Mio.” (Spoiler: It sounded more like a duck being strangled.)
- Jazzpurr the Beatnik Cat: Armed with his bongo drums and a beret, Jazzpurr planned to perform a “poetic ode to the cosmos.” (Spoiler: It was just him meowing rhythmically while hitting a tin can.)
- Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow: Bessie, the farm’s unofficial therapist, decided to showcase her interpretive dance skills. (Spoiler: It was mostly her swaying and mooing about “peace and love.”)
- Sir Whiskerton: The farm’s genius detective entered the competition with a magic act titled “The Disappearing Tuna.” (Spoiler: The tuna didn’t actually disappear; he just ate it.)
- Rufus the Radioactive Dog: Rufus, still glowing electric green, planned to light up the stage with his “glow-in-the-dark disco routine.” (Spoiler: He mostly just spun in circles until he got dizzy.)
- Ditto the Echoing Kitten: Ditto’s act was simple—he would repeat everything the judges said. (Spoiler: It was both adorable and incredibly annoying.)
The Judges: Feathers and Fury
The judges’ panel was a recipe for disaster. Doris the Hen, Gertrude the Goose, and Harriet the Hen were tasked with deciding the winner. Doris was already biased toward the chickens, Gertrude was fiercely protective of the geese, and Harriet was prone to fainting at the slightest provocation.
“This is going to be a disaster,” Sir Whiskerton muttered as he watched the judges bicker over who should sit in the middle chair.
The Show Begins: Chaos Unleashed
The talent show kicked off with Bingo’s howling symphony. Unfortunately, his howl was so off-key that it scared the chickens into laying eggs mid-performance. Doris clucked in disapproval, while Gertrude honked, “Next!”
Ferdinand took the stage next, belting out his operatic masterpiece. Halfway through, he forgot the lyrics and started quacking random notes. The geese were unimpressed. “Sounds like a duck in distress,” Gertrude muttered.
Jazzpurr followed with his cosmic poetry. He meowed dramatically while banging on his bongos, but the only thing he inspired was a headache. Harriet fainted halfway through, and Doris had to fan her with a wing.
Bessie’s interpretive dance was… unique. She swayed back and forth, mooing about “harmony” and “the universe.” The judges were confused but mildly entertained. “At least she didn’t quack,” Gertrude admitted.
Sir Whiskerton’s magic act was next. He pulled a tuna out of his hat, declared it “disappeared,” and then ate it. The judges were not amused. “That’s not magic; that’s lunch,” Doris clucked.
Rufus’s glow-in-the-dark disco routine was a hit… until he spun too fast and knocked over the judges’ table. Gertrude honked in outrage, while Harriet fainted again.
Finally, Ditto took the stage. He simply repeated everything the judges said, which was both hilarious and infuriating. “Stop copying me!” Doris squawked. “Stop copying me!” Ditto echoed, grinning.
The Verdict: Feathers Fly
After much deliberation (and more fainting from Harriet), the judges announced the winner: Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow! Her interpretive dance had somehow won over the crowd, and even Gertrude admitted it was “peaceful.”
Ferdinand quacked in outrage, while Bingo howled in disappointment. Sir Whiskerton simply shrugged. “I suppose even a cow can have her moment in the sun,” he said, licking his paws.
The Moral of the Story
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Talent comes in all shapes, sizes, and species. Sometimes, the most unexpected performer can steal the show, and even the silliest competition can bring a farmyard together. And as for Sir Whiskerton? He returned to his sunbeam, content in the knowledge that he was still the farm’s most brilliant detective—even if his magic act needed work.
Until next time, my friends.
The End.
P.S. Bingo has already announced plans for next year’s talent show. Rumor has it, Porkchop the Pig is working on a stand-up comedy routine. Heaven help us all.
Why doesn’t China like India?
I used to be a sales of industrial products and solutions for 20+ years in an international company, and worked with Indian colleagues and customers when I was responsible for export business.
I cannot say that I don’t like India.
India has many smart and kind people, just like we Chinese. India has a rich culture and is striving to develop itself with a huge number of ambitious people. I understand that India has a long way to go, just like the way that China has gone through and is moving forward. Both routes won’t be straight and smooth; setbacks and frustrations are expected.
However, I am sorry to say that doing business with Indians is one of the most difficult experiences among all countries across five continents. The main issue is credibility. I could list two cases for your understanding out of my large amount of personal experience:
- One Indian customer came with an inquiry of an astronomical quantity. We were in this business for decades, and we knew clearly there was no way in the world there would be a need for such a quantity. So we asked again if something was wrong, and the confirmation was that the numbers were correct. So this customer asked for the best price on this quantity. Even though with a lot of doubt, we were so happy and ran all around the organization, asking all high levels of management to do our best to make the best offer. We sent out the quote and were so hopeful for positive feedback. Despite some back-and-forth further bargaining, we were told that our price was too high. OK, fair enough, there are some things we could not do. However, after about half a year, this customer came and placed an order of a few pieces with the pricing for that astronomical quantity. We were pissed off. You know what, this customer claimed that this order was just a trial order. If we had not experienced many such cases, we would naively believe in his claim. We could not afford to lose our credibility further toward our management and wasted no time on that order. We see that this kind of practice is quite common among many Indian companies.
- I had been losing hair over payment issues with Indian customers. We have experienced cases of not receiving money after delivery, being requested for a discount after delivery based on false claims, and not picking up goods, etc. etc. When I told my problem to my friends in export business, they all mocked my bravery and recklessness as they all had learned lessons and are smart enough to avoid doing so. Finally, we drew a line: for all deliveries to India, the terms had to be FOB with 100% down payment.
What made you think, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” when someone sat next to you on an airplane?
A few years ago, about 2005, I was coming back from Zante, and was surprised to find that I had to take a seat away from my wife, “as this plane is very full” Why that meant we could not sit together I have no idea. Until the woman arrived to get into the seat next to me. She must have weighed forty five stone! Apparently, she claimed she had booked three seats, one for her friend, and two for herself. it took three of those seat belt extenders before she was strapped in. I realised why I had been separated from my wife, I was the thinnest bloke that had got on up until then. It was the most horrible flight I have ever been on. I spent most of the flight trying to keep the waves of blubber from flowing over my Kindle. There was no hint of compensation from the tour operator either…
Chinese Showing American TikTok Refugees Their Cutting-Edge Electric Cars!
Not a pro in this but it seems China’s deepseek has screwed Nvidia & Corporate stocks
Contrary to chat-gpt its completely free.
and open source.
I am waiting when in media we see reports that;
“Deepseek ai prompts” are generated by an underground slave-colony who is typing really fast😂😂
Have you ever seen someone treat someone else horribly and receive instant karma?
Several years ago I was on my way home from a night shift. It was just past 8am and there was heavy traffic going into the city moving at little more than walking pace. As I was going in the opposite direction the traffic was moving along at a reasonable 30 – 50 mph. Everyone driving nicely, nice safe gaps between cars.
Anyway I was behind another vehicle and we got stopped at an intersection where there are multiple light stops. A car came zooming up behind me and was right up to my bumper. I didn’t think much of it but at every set of lights he would be zoom up and then back off. He got so close to me that I could actually see that he was really angry and could lip read him swearing at the traffic conditions, and probablyme in particular. I wouldn’t have minded but there were multiple vehicles in front of me.
Anyway we cleared the intersection and picked up speed now doing 45mph. The limit on the road was 50, there is ample signage and road markings that there is no overtaking on that section of road. The driver then decides to overtake me. I had already started to slow down along with the other traffic but red tail lights seemed invisable to him. As he sailed past me, his middle finger prominent, he rubber necked to see what kind of an idiot dare be in front of him.
That was probably the last thought in his head as he hit a raised central reservation at, what the police said was in excess of 60mph, before his car went airborne landed on its roof and then cartwheeled 100m through a farmers fence and across a field.
He was barely breathing when the paramedics got to him. I remember the look on his face was one of utter puzzlement. Unfortunately he did not make it.
Letters to a Dying World
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.… view prompt
Jonathan Page
“You loved the herdsman, shepherd and chief shepherd
Who was always heaping up the glowing ashes for you,
And cooked ewe-lambs for you every day.
But you hit him and turned him into a wolf,
His own herd-boys hunt him down
And his dogs tear at his haunches.”
–“Gilgamesh VI” in Myths from Mesopotamia by
Stephanie Dalley.
A mysterious book appeared on the shelves of every bookstore the world over, translated into every language. Its title hinted at our deepest fears: “Letters to a Dying World.” The author, Actaeon, claimed to be an extraterrestrial traveler from Lelantos, a moon world orbiting HD 38858b in the Orion cluster.
Thumbing through the pages, with descriptions of an alien hunter race hell bent on wiping out mankind, I wondered at the author’s inclusion of entries containing forgotten human folklore and mythology the author had collected over his two-thousand years walking the earth. I hated the idea of dying at twenty-five-years-old having never written a book, hell, having never even sold a poem for that matter. I’d also never been loved by anyone, and that was a real let down. But my crippling anxiety and despair about how things would turn out for me which tormented my every waking hour, was suddenly gone—gone, gone, not better, just gone. And I had become low-key obsessed with my theory that the decision to include these folk tales was “nostalgic” and I wasn’t so sure that murderers or prosecutors indicting an entire people would be harboring “nostalgia” before an execution.
The Guardian headline read, “End of World at Hand.” The New York Times editor went with, “Unearthly Message of Doom.” Yomiuri Shimbun ran “E.T. Alarm: Alien Invasion Imminent.” My favorite was the Chinese Reference News headline: “Cosmic Warning. Actaeon Heralds Destroyer of Worlds.”
I am Duncan Newkirk, a twenty-five-year-old book clerk at the Argosy Bookstore on 59th Street in New York City. I’d hoped to have a chance to write my first novel before the world ended and to see that name in print, and perhaps be able to point at it on the shelves to the envy of my co-workers, but now it doesn’t look like I will get the chance. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it. As I place “The Letters” on the shelves, I wonder whether the choice to bind the volume in the most durable calfskin leather leaves room for some hope. Byron Parkes is hedged-in by a stack of books and assorted packing materials, preparing mailers to send out to readers who’d purchased copies of “The Letters” online.
“Why would Actaeon include his favorite lost folk tales,” I asked.
Byron said, “maybe it was just his way of summing up a civilization-spanning project. Perhaps he grew fond of us and felt he had some kind of duty to issue a final warning before he went. I dunno, maybe he thought a nod to our art might soften the blow?”
“Sure, sure. But why warn us if we can’t do anything about it?”
“I’m not equipped to puzzle out the motives of a demigod Duncan, are you?”
“I just can’t help thinking there is something we’re missing.”
The book arrived under the strangest of circumstances. The publishing details were absent: no publisher, no year of publication, and no place. The book had no ISBN. Yesterday, I had cross-examined a delivery driver and went through his shipping manifests, but I was unable to search out a clue there either.
Strangely, no bookseller could recall ordering the volume, yet it materialized on shelves daily, seemingly flying off them. “The Letters” occupied prominent spaces in bookstores worldwide—shelved in end caps, local author showcases, and the “staff favorites” section at every bookstore (which is where I had placed this copy). It was all anyone could talk about. And rightfully so.
Here is the first entry, which everyone was talking about on the news, in Congressional Hearings, in the upper chambers of the Argosy bookshop, and pretty much anywhere else people were gathered:
“We are that hunter in the dark forest, that huntsman that hunts the hunters. Any potential threat to our dominance is our prey. We don’t worship gods: we are masters of our own fate. Unlike you, we have no loftier purpose than supremacy. Dominance is our birthright and sole ambition. We have been called ‘pitiless butcher.’ But we see our purpose clearly, we are the purifier of the cosmos. We are the blue star, Kachina. We are the “Day of Purification.” We are annihilation. We are the flail of the gods. The immutable decree of our law is to raid the stars and level galaxies. In the watery worlds we have wrought all the seas, in the lofty skies of gas giants we have clipped the wings of all that soar, and now—my gracious hosts—we stalk the terrestrial planes to rid the land of all the beasts that roam. If we can tame the oceans, subdue the skies, and bridle the plains, dare you doubt that our inexorable march will reach your doorstep? And so, if a Lelantian should ever reveal himself, know this—you have come upon Armageddon and your hour is at hand.”
I was up in the map room stealing away some solitude and immersed in “The Letters” when I was rudely disturbed by Eliana Huchens. Eliana wore her curly locks parted and they reached down to her mid-ear, reminiscent of a boy’s bowl cut. A smile tugged at her lips and pulled up her sharp triangular jaw line a bit, rounding her cheeks. Now, Eliana was a real nerd and was a first-class know-it-all who no doubt had already finished “The Letters” and probably outlined them to boot.
She pulled off the circular glasses she was wearing and said, “Happy End of the World to you Duncan!”
“Same to you Eliana,” I managed.
“What are you reading?”
“Just trying to figure out what this alien thing is all about,” I said refusing to look in her direction in the hopes that would cause her to disappear or at least prevent her from giving me the spoilers. And that was when the idea struck me.
To understand why this particular insight would come to me, of all people, you have to know the most interesting thing about me. And that is that I don’t know where I was born. I’m an orphan. I’m the kind of orphan that doesn’t know who their parents are or even where they are from. My best guess is that I’m from Romania, even though I was given a Scott-Irish name at the Harlem Dowling West Side Center. Growing up in foster care, occasionally with different foster families, I was raised by Catholic priests and faculty members at All Hallows High School in the Bronx, rather than by a traditional family.
I had a persistent fantasy that my real parents were special people who had left me alone in New York City to protect me from a terrible fate but continued to watch over me, with plans to return one day. I didn’t come up with this on my own. I was big time into myths and the story of Zeus’s birth really hit home for me—how he was raised in a cave by nymphs so his father wouldn’t eat him (as Chronos had his five other children)—in an attempt to subvert the prophecy that one of Chronos’s children would overthrow him.
“Eliana—what is that cave where Zeus was raised in Crete?”
“You mean Mount Aegaeon,” she said raising her voice at “aeon” to accentuate her ability to produce the right answer to a question completely out of left field like she had seen it coming.
“Do we know where that is by any chance?”
“It is on Mount Ida.”
“How would we get there and how long would it take?”
“Counting the stop-over in France, my guess is about a full day.”
“Hey, this might sound strange—you want to go there with me?”
* * *
“Entry: “Myth: Lord of Darkness. Names: Erebus or Ratri or Nott or Nox or Nephthys or Tezcatlipoca or the Aztec Council of Nine. Origin: Erebus entity is without form and void. Out of chaos, the dark shadow gave a space to be alit. At once created as empty, silent, and endlessly dark—this creature fell madly in love with Nyx, embracing her in a veil of shadows. Aether was born from their union and brought the daylight that brightens the world. Story: Erebus looked out on the suffering of the hunted, tortured, and put up for death. Seeing Prometheus in agony, Erebus lamented the pain of distress. Thus, Erebus used his powers to darken the lenses of the eyes and dull the light of the mind, so as to shorten the time that one suffers. And from that time forward, Erebus lurks in shadows and dungeons and foul places to give relief to the suffering and to give peace to the tormented. And Erebus, it is told, was once deployed to darken the midday sun.”
* * *
From Heraklion, we journeyed South and West toward Mt. Ida. And passed the time looking out at the line of pyramid-shaped mountains before us bordered by a white desert of hills and limestone. We talked about “The Letters” and looked back at the haunting coast behind us, as we travelled to the Cave of Zeus.
We had been climbing on a twenty-degree grade for over two hours on a well-marked trail with a stone path, when we reached the ridge and the summit ascent. At the top of the mountain pass on the flat saddle of the range was a square hut made out of stones with a small door.
Looking into the cave, was a long descending stone path and a winding staircase that made switchbacks into the moss-covered depths. Stalagmites hung down and oozed in the green light, obstructing our path. Finally, we reached the great hall in the bottom of the cave but saw nothing. The green lights shone on the cave-ceiling overhead but in the well of the cave, we were eclipsed in an eerie darkness, unable to see the contours and outlines of the cave walls.
* * *
“What did you think we were going to find here,” Eliana said.
“It is just that Actaeon is an orphan. And he is obsessed with Greek myths.”
“Duncan, you brought me to Crete. Explain to me again why you think this alien is hiding in a cave on an island.”
“If you read what he wrote, he was obsessed with the Athenian Gods of Mt. Olympus. Zeus was their King. And Zeus lived as an orphan on this Minoan Island until he reached manhood. He was raised by nymphs who acted as his caregivers and nursemaids.”
“So, you are using your orphan whispering skills to conclude that this is where he’d be hiding?”
“ACT—AE—ONNN!! ACT-AEO-NNNNNN!!” I shouted, “come out if you’re here—we mean no harm.”
* * *
Seated on a stone, Actaeon resembled an older Alexander Skarsgård but he had a Bruce Campbell voice with a low gravelly rumble that occasionally chirped up with a sharper baritone.
His features were Nordic. He wore a full length black and gold Corinthian helmet with black and gold horse-hair plumes. His torso was covered in black and gold armor with a cuirass entirely of black except for off-facing dragons above the chest plate and a central rounded lion’s head at the solar plexus, flaring at the waste with black tassels and gold lion’s head buttons. On his arms and legs were gauntlets and greaves of leather, with gold metal coverings. In his left hand, he held a three-foot-tall round shield with golden embroidery and a golden Medusa’s head in the center. Both the bowl of the helmet and the body of the shield were silvered and patinated to appear like blued steel. Across his lap was a golden javelin that glittered in other worldly green.
His eyes looked out from beneath the ovular hollows of his mask, as if transfixed on unspeakable anguish. He turned his regal head toward me and looked at me for a long time.
“So, you read my book,” he said in a sad and melodious voice.
“Uhh, I think pretty much everyone has. It wasn’t subtle, if you know what I mean.”
“Hrmph. I mean, you really read it. You must have. Or else you would never have thought to look for me here.”
“Sir…uhh… master of the hounds… ahh… I’m not sure what to call you. You see, I am an orphan too and it occurred to me you might identify with Zeus being orphaned in a cave. That’s what made me think you might be here.”
“Very, very good. You were exactly right. But why have you come?”
“I suppose, sir, uhh, what I was thinking was, is there any way our world might be spared?”
“Nothing lasts forever, kid. I’ve really grown fond of this place, but it’s smoke ‘em if you got ‘em time, if you catch my drift.”
“But there must be some way?”
“Here kid, maybe this will help—but I can’t guarantee how things will come out. Luna is coming, my hounds are coming, the whirlwind is coming—and there’s f**kall anyone can do about it now.”
Actaeon had handed me a thin pamphlet that contained a final verse, that I decided to save and read on the way down the trail. I thought I’d read it aloud to Aliana while we planned our next move.
“There’s something else kid, for you and your girlfriend.”
“Excuse me! I am not anyone’s girlfriend—I am Eliana Huchens if you must know—I was the one that knew where this cave is, not Duncan.”
“Wooee! A real firecracker. A spirited independent woman. You remind me of Luna. That woman will always be one step ahead and never back down for anything.”
“Wellll,” Eliana began, “did you ever consider just letting her win?”
“Mwahaha. We are Lelantians. You want me to let her win. Are you mad! She might blot out a whole galactic neighborhood for cheating her out of an honorable victory.”
Eliana raised her hand as Actaeon shook his head and looked in my direction, shooting me a glance that meant to say what is she doing here anyway. Eliana kept waving her hand and said, “Over here, Mr. Houndman—you weren’t listening—didn’t you say you’ve been living among us for two-thousand-years, sheesh. You can’t possibly be this dense.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, let her win. I didn’t say that you had to let her know about it.”
“You know, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“That’s why I brought her along, sir,” I said, “she is the smart one—she always has the right answer.” Elaina shot me a loving glance like she wanted to kiss me.
“Tell you what, kid. Wear this bracelet. You’ll be able to reach me. This is ‘emergencies only,’ you get me. And I’ll call if I need you.”
* * *
Walking down the mountain, I read the verse in the pamphlet:
“My lord, Luna (who your myths refer to as Artemis or Cynthia or Phoebe or Diana), is the most ruthless of us all. She was my playmate and at full age my lover. We two were protégés of Lupa (who your myths refer to as Chiron). But Luna was highborn, whereas I was a countrified orphan foundling adopted by a noble house. Despite my lowbred station, I excelled even above Luna in the art of tracking and the stealthy kill, for I am the doyen of hounds. Our rivalry spanned eons and star systems. I strove to prove myself by bringing her under the submission of my prowess, bringing her ever more exotic and elusive prey and the prizes of galactic game auctions for her to display in her temples. She sought to dominate me by arresting and chaining my heart with beguiling deceit and finesse, with cunning zero-option challenges that could test the honor of the immortal one himself if she had but a moment’s audience. This past week, we rendezvoused on an ocean world. I came upon her bathing nude in the luxurious aquamarine waters of a sundrenched and endless sea. In my ardor, I made my petition that she fulfill my yearnings and join with me in the hunt. I told her that I was helpless like a deer panting for water—would she satisfy my deep thirst at last? Whatever affection she held for me could not compete with her ambition. ‘Loutish prole’ she said, ‘how dare you! I will not deign to come when called. I am not some trophy to be pricked by a hunter’s arrow. I am the wraith of shadows that travels on moonbeams—the muse of the toxophilite whose aim is guaranteed.’ And in her outrage, she made me a devil’s bargain. I could reveal the location of the world I had been scouting—your Earth—so its destruction could commence, or she would turn me over to my own hounds. Do not despair, you will be pleased to know that your world is safe for a time… until I am laid low at least, I’d expect. Alas, she has marked me as prey for my own hounds with a mark that cannot be expunged. Though I be the maven of concealers, my bloodhounds possess all time in their droopy jowls and will flush out death itself if it is marked for them to do so. And now that they are on my trail, my days are numbered, and if you read these words, my number is up already.”
Reading it aloud, I wondered if Actaeon might avoid his fate, if mankind might also, and I was determined that it would be so. I finally had a book worth writing.
Caprese Chicken and Orzo Skillet
Featuring all the flavors of a caprese salad—including tomatoes, mozzarella and fresh basil—but on a hearty bed of orzo and chicken breasts, this meal will fill up the whole family. And perhaps best of all, it’s an easy way to make a weeknight dinner extra special in under an hour!
Prep: 20 min | Total: 40 min | Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 4 boneless skinless chicken breasts (1 1/4 pounds)
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 cup Progresso™ chicken broth (from 32 ounce carton)
- 1 (14.5 ounce) can Muir Glen™ organic fire roasted diced tomatoes, undrained
- 1 cup uncooked orzo or rosamarina pasta
- 1 (8 ounce) package fresh mozzarella pearls*, drained
- 1/4 cup shredded fresh basil leaves
Instructions
- Rub chicken with 1/2 teaspoon of the salt and the pepper. In a 12 inch nonstick skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add chicken; cook for 3 to 4 minutes on each side or until browned. Remove chicken from skillet.
- Add broth, tomatoes and remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt; heat to boiling. Stir in pasta; return to boiling. Place chicken over pasta. Reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer for 12 to 16 minutes or until most of liquid is absorbed, pasta is tender and juice of chicken is clear when center of thickest part is cut (at least 165 degrees F).
- Top mixture with mozzarella pearls; cover, and continue to cook over medium-low heat for 2 to 4 minutes or until mozzarella slightly melts. Sprinkle with basil.
Notes
* Can’t find mozzarella pearls? Substitute 1 cup shredded mozzarella.
Why did China reunify numerous times throughout history when the Roman Empire never did?
I think it’s the stability of history and language.
In Chinese prisons, there’s always this slogan:
“Who are you? What is this place? What are you doing here?”
Although it’s meant to remind prisoners of their crimes, what’s interesting is that I find these three sentences carry a kind of ultimate philosophical undertone.
Because:
The Chinese obsession with recording history. (I’d dare say that of all the written historical records in the world, China might account for 99%. When I was a kid, I loved going to our county library, where there were local history—books documenting the history of our county. And China has over 4,000 counties.)
(The partial Fuzhou local chronicle published in Taiwan is just a small Fuzhou prefecture, but the price of this set of books is already 8,000 US dollars. If it is for the whole of China, the total price will be incredible)
And,the incredible stability of the Chinese language. Middle school students can read books from 2,000 years ago without much effort. The novels I read at age 9 were older than Shakespeare. I always read while eating, though usually light, casual books—sometimes they get dirty, so I’d buy multiple cheap editions. But those cheap books? Their texts date back to the Tang Dynasty (June 18, 618 AD to May 12, 907 AD).
So, cultural heritage is easily preserved. Even through the darkest times, culture still manages to endure. This makes it easy for us to answer those three questions:
“I am Chinese.”
“This is China.”
“I’m here to build my motherland.”
Ha, don’t get me wrong—I’m not subtly mocking anything, like suggesting that “China under communist rule” is a prison.
Not at all. I just find it fascinating.
Once, when I visited a prison and saw those three sentences, I was pretty stunned. I thought, “Wow, this is way too philosophical, isn’t it?”
Have you ever known a murderer? Were you surprised?
There’s one guy I knew relatively well. He was my friend’s cousin, call him “E.”
At one point — this is in like 6th or 7th grade — four of us were playing tennis. None of us were actually tennis players, we were just screwing around at the public tennis courts. For all I know, we weren’t even really observing the rules properly.
In any case, I had a run of good serves. I served to “E,” and he missed. Then again. Then again. Something like four or five times. After the fourth or fifth serve, “E” walked up to the net. He slowly climbed over it, one leg at a time. Then he slowly walked to me, like he was going to tell me something.
Then he punched me hard in the face.
(I guess he did tell me something.)
I didn’t really fight back. I was so surprised at what happened, and I guess fortunately for me by the time I got back on my feet he was walking away, just as casually. Suffice it to say, the evening was over after that.
What struck me was how calm he was. Had he run to the net and jumped over it, that would have made more sense. I didn’t know if he was just really good at containing his rage, or if his threshold for violence was far far less than what normal people think of as “rage.”
I later learned that he killed someone at a gas station, maybe 6 or 7 years after our tennis game. The story on the street was something similar to my tennis incident. “E” didn’t know the victim. The guy pulled up and probably said the wrong thing. “E” calmly went in his car, got his gun, and shot the guy.
Was I surprised? Only a little.
Is it possible for US tech firms to operate in China without sharing any AI tech with the government?
I really don’t know why Americans think that the Chinese government will care about the details of a company’s operation.
The government is a political institution.
What it requires of companies is that they do not break the law and pay taxes on time.
What it wants is results, not details.
Ask Microsoft and Apple: Has the government ever asked them for their data in China?
What does it feel like when a car’s airbag deploys?
–I experienced it in 2015–A deer jumped out at the car as we were traveling south on Highway 41, I veered, at 40 mph, strike the guardrail–There was a sound like a shotgun blast, the airbag hit my face at two hundred miles an hour–Felt like being punched by a heavyweight, no warning–Just explosion, impact, then confusion, couldn’t breathe right.
–Already, the airbag was losing air–White powder everywhere, sodium azide and cornstarch, smelled like gunpowder and chemicals–My chest hurt where the steering wheel airbag hit.
I quickly developed red spots on my forearms–My ribs were bruised by the side airbag, all this in less than a tenth of a second, fast and brutal–I sat there stunned, the car was dead, from the hood came steam, my glasses were gone–Found them later, bent to hell on the floor.
For weeks afterward, my wrists hurt–The doctors said typical airbag injuries, nothing broken, just soft tissue damage–I was saved by the airbag, but the violence of its deployment is something you don’t forget, like being in an explosion but surviving it.
