The Zoo over Ambuscade Street

Oh Maryland
We’ve got some hills, we’ve got some trees,
We sing in four-part harmonies;
There’s shopping malls and city halls,
And cats and dogs and ponds with frogs;
But none of us has ever meant
To overthrow the government.
From Baltimore to Hagerstown,
Just take your car and drive around.

We’re near the nation’s capital,
But we are not stuck up at all,
So take a stand and shake the hand
Of every crab in Maryland.
We touch four states and several bays,
The highways mostly run both ways,
We hope you come and say hello
And maybe stop and spend some dough.

When I was ten my family
Moved here from West Virginia;
I went to school in Annapolis,
I studied Greek and calculus,
And now I live in Baltimore
And that’s what Maryland is for.
Oh Maryland, oh Maryland,
Oh Maryland, oh Maryland.

I have a dog whose name is Jack,
I threw a stick, he brought it back.
My sister had a cat, I think,
My mother had a kitchen sink.
My father was a decent man,
And we all lived in Maryland.
Oh Maryland, oh Maryland,
Oh Maryland, oh Maryland.

Our nights are dark, our days are fair,
We’re right next door to Delaware.
Our song before was full of gore
But we heard the Union won the war.
We’re sorry if we made you mad,
It was the only song we had.
Oh Maryland, oh Maryland,
Oh Maryland, oh Maryland.

I vote this Most Boring Day Ever.

This is the most confounding CD I've ever had the pleasure of listening to. It has some of the best fiddle and accordion work I've heard, and the vocals (especially in "Anachie Gordon") are breathtakingly gorgeous, and then it throws Track 13 at you to cause genre confusion and general head scratching.

It does qualify as the most eclectic CD I own, though. In a big way. Anachie Gordon is amazing.

[EDIT] Oh god, not bored anymore, but not doing some of the work I ought, either. This, this, and this ought to provide hours of amusement. You may have to go down a page or two of comments to get to the amusement, though. I'm finding myself in the mood to read mystery books for some odd reason; good thing I ordered half a dozen more Cadfael books yesterday.

How many of these can you identify? And how many good, old-fashioned detective books can you recommend?

I’d been staking out the carpenter’s shop for hours, but my patience paid off. The proprietor, a young guy with a beard, dashed out the door and hurried down the street towards the market. I strolled into the shop the minute he turned the corner. A brass bell over the door jingled; the place smelled like freshly-sharpened pencils. The girl behind the counter looked up. She looked tired and a little cranky, like she hadn’t been sleeping well lately and she didn’t know why. “He’s not here,” she said. “The carpenter. He’s gone to get us some falafel. He’ll be back soon, though.”

“No worries, kid, it’s you I’m here to see.” I slapped my envelope down on the counter. “Have I got news for you.”



Genius, pure and simple genius.

The Old Man sat listening to me, tapping his desk lightly with the point of a dry goose quill, staring past me with mild blue eyes that sheltered no human emotion. When I had brought my story up to date, he asked pleasantly:

"What remains to be done?"

"Nothing. Everybody who was anybody in the place is dead now, except the best friend, and it's not likely we'll get anything more out of him, but we'll keep squeezing. Outside of him, it's a dead fire.

"And what do you make of it?

"Murder. Suicide. What you will. The kid had a bee in his bonnet ever since his old man died, and one night he just snapped. Told the friend he'd seen his dead pop, and after that, he was a sort of killing engine, bent on revenge."

"And did he?" The Old Man's smile was polite, and nothing in his eyes showed that he probably knew more than he was saying. "Did he see his father?"

I looked away a moment. "He saw something that convinced him. After that, he charted his own course, and satisfied himself he was right. He was, too. I'm sure of that."

"But we never could have proved it," the Old Man murmured softly, "Without evidence, it would have all blown over. Perhaps we should thank him."

We talked a little while longer and he dismissed me. There wasn't anything else I wanted to say. The stained sheet was one expense that wouldn't go on my account.



Is it bad that I want the whole thing written like this?

The old man lived in a one-horse burgh out on the plains, and he played at being an aristocrat, although as far as I could see all he had to his name was an old flintlock, a spavined gelding, and a lame mutt. Most of his dough went for ham hocks and collard greens, and sometimes a scrawny chicken or two on Sundays.



Yay!

What a blonde she was. A tall, striking blonde. Enough to make a monk head straight back to the whorehouse. I had always tried to stay away from friends’ wives. Too much trouble. This one was different – I’d bumped off her husband, just a couple of days before. And here I was, walking behind the coffin with her. The coffin wasn’t much. It had more silk than the pope’s bed and cost about as much as one of the new houses in Santa Monica. She was wearing her grief like a medal, and she knew I’d done it. How many dames have fallen for their husband’s killer? Probably more than you or I want to know. She gave me the normal kind of lip. Even spat at me, as we walked behind the coffin. That’s when I knew she was ready for me. A guy with my looks needs a couple of flattering lines up his sleeve to keep the gals coming. Practice, that’s all. Just a few words. Some modulated vibrations in the air. She melted when I told her I’d killed him for her; give a dame some passion-talk, and they all melt. Still, I’d never done it like this. That afternoon, I could have talked her into kissing a hippo.


*twitch* So...wrong...But that may just be my bias in the other direction talking.

I'll stop there. But there are lots of gems in that thread. And if you click on no other links today, click this one (the second 'here' in the last post), because it's brilliant. And you don't have to read far to find the funny.

Dear US Navy, in all you Infinite Wisdom:

So, a year and a half ago, you up and decide that the base and everything on it, and everything contained within it's ground (including, may I add, my fiber network that I still have to inspect daily and write Memos of Doom for. That we paid for. Yet, you speaketh and now you own it). You own the base, and you declare that Henceforth we Shalt Be Called a part of Naval District Washington (DC), with all Rights and Responsibilites and Snow Days that that entails.

Also, Henceforth, the Pleasures and Privileges we have previously known are to be Null and Void, and only the rules of Naval District Washington shalt count.

Great. Special. Spec-fucking-tacular. I can handle that. Until today.

See, I get this email that sayeth "All Federal Employees in the DC Area shalt have tomorrow, the Presidental Inaguration, as a paid holiday." Yay! But it is, of course, followed up with "Oh yea. You hicks at Dahlgren don't count."

Thanks. Thanks a lot.

It's snowing. An automatic day off tomorrow would be really nice, since I probably won't be able to leave my house again until Monday. (Note to self: Stop at grocery store on the way home) (Also: Wear socks tomorrow even though socks and sandals is a big no-no)