Pacifism and Misc.

Have you ever noticed that you can’t spell PACIFIST without making a FIST?

That’s all I have to say about pacifism in spite of it being in my title. I don’t know much about it, and I don’t want to insult the pacifists and start a fight. So this post is really much more about misc than pacifism – meaning that it’s a bunch of unrelated items, none of which is big enough to be expanded into a post of its own.

Like this:

Decades ago, the state of Wisconsin decided it was time to replace America’s Dairyland on their license plates. They asked the public for suggestions. One citizen, let’s call him Harvey Curdcrusher, expressed admiration for New Hampshire’s slogan, “Live Free or Die,” (impressed on their plates by incarcerated felons.) He suggested that Wisconsin adapt a similar slogan, “Eat Cheese or Die.”

Another helpful citizen, let’s call her Hildegard Wheystrainer, thought the purpose of the license plate slogan was to encourage tourism. In that effort, she recommended, “Come Smell Our Dairy Air.” (Those of you who took High School French, try saying that out loud.)

I don’t promise that this really happened – just that I believed it when I heard it.

In a similar vein:

Perhaps twenty years ago Canada reorganized their tundranous territories in order to give the impression that people actually lived there. They decided that to make provinces, or provincials or something like that of what used to be called the Northwest territories. That meant that the Northwest Territories couldn’t be called the Northwest Territories anymore. The great Canadian poo-bahs in Ottawa decided to poll the burgeoning populace about possible names, take the two most popular and decide between them in a ballot. Maybe they decided to do this because it had worked so well with Wisconsin, (who you will note, still uses the phrase, “America’s Dairyland” on their plates.)

The most popular response was… Northwest Territories which either shows that bitter cold saps the imagination or that it makes you cranky with bureaucrats who can’t just leave well enough alone.

The number two response (thanks to a slick internet campaign, back when many people in rural Canada hadn’t yet seen a computer,) was Bob. No other response got enough votes to compete with Northwest Territories and Bob.

The proponents of Bob argued that it was a word that meant the same thing in English, French, and every Native American dialect present in the Northwest Territories, (or Bob.)

My haggard (and now quoted without permission,) supervisor at the time thought that Bob was a fine name for a province as long as they named the capital, Yessiree.

And now this reflection on aging:

When I was a youngster, I dreamed of running fast and easy.

When I was in my twenties, I dreamed of fast and easy women.

When I hit forty, I dreamed of making fast and easy money.

Now as I approach sixty, I dream of fast and easy bowel movements.

And that’s all the misc that’s fit to post.

All I know about Pacifism I learned from British comedy.  Now if someone could please explain British comedy.