Sunday evening uff da

Some days the chores sort of cascade down into a chore avalanche. Today, for example, I was going to get the bathmats washed, only to find out that after a mere ten and a half years of daily use, the little green one had fallen apart. Fallen rather comprehensively apart at that: so now we have another thing on the "to buy" list and a very, very clean washer and dryer, because the sensible thing seemed to be to throw the other bathmats in the dryer after I'd cleaned them up as best I could, and let the dryer tumble the crudlets out, which it did, but then there was cleaning the dryer. Whee.

Also, if you like Goldfish crackers but were thinking, "It's too bad they don't taste like manchego and red pepper flakes instead of general supposed cheesiness, and also they are inconveniently fish-shaped," do I ever have the recipe for you. But if you suspect that there are better uses for your time than grating and grating and grating a very firm cheese in order that it might eventually remind you of Goldfish crackers, you may have a point there.

I deviled some eggs on the theory that it's SuperBowl Sunday, and plenty of atheists eat gingerbread at Christmas without feeling the least need to go to church. Actually I deviled quite a few eggs. And then we got two fewer potential deviled egg eaters than expected, and...yah. So the menu for the week appears to be manchego cheese straws and deviled eggs. I am not even interested in SuperBowl commercials, frankly. I know a lot of people find them entertaining, and I'm happy for them, but: meh. I think part of the problem--aside from the fundamental "look, people attempting to sell me things using a value system to which I do not subscribe" thing, which is a bit of an issue--is that they are supposed to be the cleverest and best commercials by such a long margin that I end up depressed that this is as clever as it allegedly gets. Best to just dodge the whole thing.

Maybe it's just that we don't get any commercials featuring Theresa Mauer or Al Newman during the SuperBowl. Silly marketing people.

In other depressing news, our governor thinks domestic violence metaphors--in favor of the violent party--are the way to elevate the tone of political debate. Way to stay classy, T-Paw. The Strib gives the quote as, "It's just like Tiger Woods' wife. We should take a nine-iron to the back windshield of big government spending and smash it out." Hahaha. Oh, the hilarity. When spouses get really angry with each other and do violent things, that's awesome, and should be the subject of both jokes and serious emulation on a state and national scale. I tried to figure out what the alleged Big Government Liberals should try to do in this metaphor, but I was offended by all the ways that could go. All of them. Ye gods.

And anyway, seriously, seriously, don't politicians know to stay away from pop culture by now? "My party is...like, um, like, the M. C. Hammer of American political life: u can't touch this. Unless u can. Because u have moved on in the many years since then. Um. We are the Prince of the American political landscape: you might have made jokes about our symbolism for awhile because you were ignorant of business practices that caused our seemingly bizarre behavior, but we have reverted to a much more familiar labeling now. And also making up really stupid football fight songs, we have reverted to that, too. You can't vote us off the island! Well, you can. But you shouldn't. Because then it would be a one-party state. Unless you counted the Greens or maybe the Libertarians, and the what's-their-names, Independence Party? Something like that." Really, really: pop culture: leave it alone. You are not shooting for, "what a hip and with-it person that politician is." You are shooting for, "That guy knows his ass from first base." That is enough to set you above the pack. Try to nail it. Do not get fancy. Fancy is not your friend.