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.
