Chamblee54

A recent post included the phrase “getting severely overweight dead people out of an apartment building.” Those are googling words. Most of the results are hand wringing about the number of overweight people. A couple of the results were worth clicking out.
The headline result is from Merry Olde England, which is becoming known as the fattest country in Europe. Fire service called in 50 times to winch fat people out.
“Paramedics in the West Midlands have had to call on their heavy-lifting emergency service colleagues, despite having extra equipment to help move extremely heavy patients themselves. Over a three-year period they called in West Midlands Fire and Rescue Service on 50 occasions, so the patients could be winched out with apparatus designed for lifting car wrecks. Sometimes morbidly obese patients, … can only be extracted from their homes after a window is taken out, say firefighters. …
Nick Harrison, chairman of the West Midlands Fire Brigades Union, said: “In most cases these people are quite elderly and are suffering from serious medical issues which have left them bedridden for a long time, and they have put on a lot of weight. “Many times we have to remove the whole window frame and get them out that way. It’s a lot simpler and safer both for them and for the rescuers.” …
Official statistics show the West Midlands to be the fattest region in Britain, which is itself the fattest major country in Europe. According to the Association of Public Health Observatories, about 25 per cent of adults in Britain are now clinically obese. In the West Midlands, the figure is 29 per cent. By comparison, across the European Union as a whole it is just 14 per cent. “
One of the commenters had a constructive suggestion: “The ‘feeders’ should be brought to court and punished. For every obese person there is one or more ‘feeders’, who shop, supply the food, help the person eat it etc. Being a ‘feeder’ should be a criminal offense.”
For some algorithmically correct reason, Minute mysteries was a result. “The object of minute mysteries (aka lateral thinking puzzles) is for you to unravel the mystery, based on very limited and somewhat ambiguous clues. You are given a scenario (usually involving a death of some sort), and you have to deduce what has happened. Someone must look at the solution so that you can ask them questions to try and figure it out. The questions have to be phrased so that the only possible answers are yes, no or not relevant. There is no limit to the number of questions, and it can be helpful to have multiple people working on the case.”
Evidently, number 71 was the connection. “71. Three heavy people try to crowd under one umbrella, and nobody gets wet.” The answer is “71. It is sunny and hot.”
PG heard someone telling these stories years ago. There are some on the list he remembers. “5. A man lives on the twelfth floor of an apartment building. Every morning he wakes up, gets dressed, eats, goes to the elevator, takes it down to the lobby, and leaves the building for work. In the evening, he goes through the lobby to the elevator, and, if there is someone else in the elevator (or if it was raining that day) he goes back to his floor directly. However, if there is nobody else in the elevator and it hasn’t rained, he goes to the 10th floor and walks up two flights of stairs to his room. ~ ~ The man is a midget. He can’t reach the upper elevator buttons, but he can ask people to push them for him. He can also push them with his umbrella. ~ ~ 7. A man walks into a bar and asks for a drink. The bartender pulls out a gun and points it at him. The man says, “Thank you,” and walks out. ~ ~ The man has hiccups; the bartender scares them away by pulling a gun.
Pictures are from The Library of Congress.

Tuesday September 25
At one pm Monday, September 24, PG thought he was going to be home all week. It was not a bad prospect. Life if neo Brookhaven is good. Suddenly, a message appeared from OD, who had a vehicle and was willing to drive to Short Mountain. An agreement was made to go at nineish Tuesday morning.
At 10:15 Tuesday, a Ford pickup truck drove past the house, with PG waving at the driver. The truck turned around, and came back to get PG. The Tennessee adventure was on. The ride was full of conversation, but little highway drama. The truck pulled in front of the barn a little bit before the second lunch bell.
At Short Mountain Sanctuary, there are two camping options. The yurt yard is next to the knoll, and is much less walking than the ridges behind the garden. The down side is the noise from the knoll, and frequent visits from goats. PG has a bum knee, which should not be confused with a knee bum. The idea was to walk as little as possible, which is still going to be a good bit. An empty spot was found in the yurt yard. The Tennessee mountain home was soon going up.
The idea is to set the tent up, and throw a tarpaulin over it. A rope is run to the nearest tree, and an you have instant shelter. The tent PG has is 26 years old. There is a door zipper which does not like to work. PG had taken it out of storage a few days earlier, had zipped and unzipped this door, and it seemed to be working.
The best place for the tent seemed to be a spot at the edge of level ground, with a steep drop inches away. That night, PG discovered that this was not a good location for the tent. An unsteady knee does not like to take the first step outside on 45 degree land. This problem would have to wait until Wednesday to be fixed.
At some point Tuesday, PG was on the back porch. This is a dangerous place to be during dinner prep. Gabby had a bowl of something called almost waldorf salad, and was looking for someone to mix in mayonnaise. This is done with your hands, your fingers diving into a sea of cut up fruit. Hand washing is encouraged.
Tuesday was not a good night. After eating too much casserole and fistfucker salad, PG decided to go to sleep. The talent show was going on, and the audience appreciation would not allow sleep in the yurt yard. PG decided to get up, tried to open the tent door, and the zipper was not working. It would connect for a few inches, miss a few inches, and the connect again. PG was very concerned. The goats like to check out tents when humans are away. Even though PG does not keep food in his tent, he did not want to have a four legged investigation, with or without a search warrant.
So PG wandered around, talked to some people around the fire, and saw the end of the talent show. Eventually he went back to his tent, after almost tumbling down the hill trying to get in. After laying on the ground, thinking unpleasant thoughts, PG got up to pee. When he got back inside the tent, he tried to close the door zipper using the outside pull. The door zipper came together without a problem. Maybe this journey was going to work out after all.
Wednesday September 26
After breakfast, playback theater convened on the knoll. A dozen or so people did dramatic exercises, and then performed stories. The narratives come from the lives of the players. PG told the tent door story of the night before. The person playing PG taking a piss was a six foot four inch tall transperson. In another story, PG played the alcoholic mother of a no good roommate.
Adjustments were made to the Tennessee mountain home. The tent was moved back a few feet, and the tarp positioned accordingly. There was some background sounds while this was going on. A tent on the other side of the yard emanated the sounds of two people having a very, very good afternoon. Meanwhile, three tents up on PG’s side, a Kiwi-Filipino pair played ukeleles, and sang Abba songs.
Wednesday had the most fabulous dinner of the gathering. The theme was “Night of a thousand Agneses”. (Agni? Agniece?) The namesake queen has been a faerie fixture for years and years.
PG saw an Agnes show in New Orleans once. Her and then partner Gabriel danced and tried on outfits, while the crowd shouted put it on, put it on. The reason why people call them drag queens is because they are always dragging bags of costumes around.
And indeed, there were dozens of fabulous outfits on display. Everyone was Agnes. When you got to the kitchen, the dinner was arranged on the plate as a caricature of the eponymous diva. After dinner was some enthusiastic drumming by the fire, and a night of much improved sleep.
Thursday September 27
Thursday started out smoothly enough. PG brought a paper cup to the kitchen, got some coffee, and went back to his tent. He left this cup in the drink holder of his chair, and went back to the house. When he returned, his neighbors told him a goat had been licking the inside of the cup.
After a while, PG thought it would be fun to take pictures. He took shirt, pants, and shoes off, grabbed the camera, and walked towards the back of the yurt yard, There were a few pictures made of goat activity, especially of one short, dark furred animal. She came over to PG, and started to rub her horns against the back of his leg. We will call this animal Zette, which may or may not be her real name.
PG did not appreciate this, and tried to push Zette away. Every time PG pushed away, Zette pushed back a bit harder. Fighting a goat one handed is a losing proposition, and PG was starting to worry. By this time, Zette was taking a step back, and charging into PG, who kept stepping away, trying to declare a truce. There was no place to hide.
A longtime resident, who we will call Joe Floor, saw the action. Joe grabbed Zette by the horns, and dragged her to the ridge behind the yurt yard. Joe knows how to talk to goats. When Joe released Zette, she started to scratch her rear paws, as if getting ready for some serious charging. Joe grabbed her by the horns, and shoved her face into the ground. Zette learned that this was not going to be tolerated.
Later in the day, PG sat down in his chair. The camping furniture had been rescued from a garbage pile a few weeks earlier. It’s ease of transportation got it included on this trip, and until Thursday afternoon it was a good choice. When you sit in a fabric seat, and hear threads breaking under your weight, you think maybe you should have taken another chair.
The rest of the day was a symphony of sloth. There was an ice cream social two ridges over. The vehicle driving there was going up the driveway as PG finished lunch. The art opening was not what PG wanted to be doing, even if the cake was spectacular. The next move was into the kitchen, which is not a good thing to do when you are bored. There was a pile of garlic waiting to be shelled and pressed. PG got through most of it, until he could not squeeze the press any more.
After a nap, the dinner turned out to be pretty good. At the fire, PG found a drum that make good sounds without ruining your hands. There was a movie showing in the pavilion. It was about a young man who studied violin at Who Lee Yard. “Was that as difficult to play as it was to listen to?”
Friday September 28
Friday got off to a roaring start… not to be confused with Arora Thunder ,,, with a breakfast of rice, granola, hot sauce, and coffee. The dog’s breakfast is alive and well. Speaking of which, the sanctuary has two dogs now. Sharday has been joined by Biscuit. The canines show great patience towards the overdressed visitors. Rumors of a Biscuit and gravy dinner turned out to be reckless hearsay.
PG thought that maybe he could sit on the edge of his chair, but the fabric continued to rip further asunder. There was a pile of wood by the fire (duh,) and some of the logs had a flat cut on one side. PG found one that was just a cat’s hair wider than the chair frame, and secured it with bicycle innertube bungee. The contraption was surprisingly comfortable.
By this time, the faerie gathering lifestyle had sunk in. A trip to the house could take two hours, with all the stops for conversation along the way. Whole sun drenched afternoons float away. PG spent some time with his book, Skin Tight by Carl Hiaasen. It is a crime story with lots of bloodshed, crookiness, and weirdos. PG enjoyed the sensation of drifting between the alternative realities of the yurt yard, and Miami plastic surgery. “I stopped counting the bodies at seven. The higher the pile of corpses, the less clothing and/or morals.” Those amazon commenters just have a way with words.
PG picked up the book Thursday, after missing the ride to the ice cream social. There was a typo on page 27 of the First Ballantine Books Edition: October 1990. A young lady named Tina turns up not missing on page 25. The name Tina appears five times on page 26. In the 7th line of page 27, Tina became known as Tiny. She went back to being Tina the rest of the story.
Saturday September 29
Saturday was more of the slack gathering lifestyle. The most energetic PG got was attending the heart circle. Someone drew the Moon card from the Tarot deck, which was considered an omen of harvest moon synchronicity. Some powerful stories were shared in this circle.
After dinner, PG got into the drumming with a bit more vigor than was wise. He began to feel sleepy, and went to sleep soon after the full moon ritual. It turned into a replay of Tuesday night, with the noise from the knoll harmonizing with the noise in PG’s head. One day the mind/body chemistry will allow PG to be happy more of the time, or at least to avoid nights like Harvest Moon Saturday.
Sunday September 30
Sunday was another slack day. The sunshine was hidden behind ominous clouds, and rumors of nasty weather were rampant. After dinner, a joke telling circle got started on the back deck.
Why can’t Unitarians sing? Because they are looking at the next line to see if they agree with it.
This girl asked her daddy if she could use the pickup truck. Yes, you can use it, but you have to give me a blow job first. The girl pulled his pants down, and was about the taste the sausage when she threw her head back in dismay. Dayaddy, your diiyick tastes like sheeyit. Oh yeah, your brother had to use the truck this morning.
Monday October 1
This was to be the leaving day for PG and OD. The rain came in Sunday night, and by accounts was going to get worse on Monday. There was a deceptive break in the precipitation, which convinced OD that it was a good time to pack up.
PG got his gear in order, and dropped it off by the barn. OD left to get his truck. The parking for gatherings is on a neighboring ridge. The trail is two miles of steep hills and rough terrain. If you can get a ride, then you take it.
Waiting for your ride to get back from Pan meadow is a mellow end of the gathering. PG usually finds something to read. Today it was So Many Ways to Sleep Badly, by fellow blogger Mattilda. PG settled into the porch swing, and got through five paragraphs. Then people started to gather, then more people. Somebody started reciting lines from “Paris is Burning.” PG had stumbled into a viewing of PIB this summer, and knew what the person was talking about.
And the wait continued. PG was not sure when OD left, and didn’t think to look at a clock until quarter until three. At about four, OD finally appeared. It seems he had gotten on the wrong van, and taken an unexpected trip to the Nashville airport.
PG put his gear in the truck, and got in. OD drove about three miles down the Seals Hollow Road, when he saw a rock that he liked. When PG got out to pick up the rock, he noticed that OD’s trunk was not in the truck. The pickup turned around, and went back to the Sanctuary to get the trunk.
The emergency McDonalds in Woodbury was ignored. On the road to I24, a serious rainstorm hit. Major storm warnings were on the radio for the Nashville area. The storm was weathered, and a dinner stop was made at the Shoney’s in Manchester. The slowest server in Tennessee was working on that table. There was another storm waiting for the trip through Monteagle pass. These things shall pass.
Pictures are by Chamblee 54. The humans gave consent. This was written like J. K. Rowling.

PG has a FBF that we will call Deutsch. He recently moved to Ohio to do graduate school. This is the opposite of the normal pattern, whereby people from Ohio move to Georgia. Something about trying to get to Florida, and running out of gas halfway through.
Deutsch has been keeping up on facebook. He wrote “I think I have a mullet now. I don’t know how to feel.” Somebody added “It makes me look just like a cow. Or a pig that needs to squeal.”
Apparently, Deutsch knows someone who reads Cosmopolitan. There was a post, 17 Shades of Stupid: Cosmo’s Worst BDSM Tips. There is no hint of a memorial to Helen Gurley Brown here. PG skimmed over this list.
9 – “Out at dinner, massage him over his pants — stop when he becomes hard. You want him to squirm throughout the meal like a two-year-old who needs to pee.”
13 – “Lie across an ottoman, and tell him, ‘Professor Wankerton, I’ve been bad and need a spanking.'”
15 – “Instruct him to wrap your chest and torso in plastic wrap and touch you through it — the muted sensation feels amazeballs.”
When you googlize the phrase “cosmopolitan bdsm,” the results are painful. Cosmopolitan.uk reports “Cupid.com have surveyed 2,000 dating Brits and found couples are not quite as prudish and ‘vanilla’ in the bedroom as we first thought thanks to the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon.”
A blog chimes in, Cosmo Has Some Terrible 50 Shades Of Grey Inspired BDSM Tips For You To Try. “What happens when the towering work of literature that is 50 Shades Of Grey collides with the erotic genius of Cosmo? A list of sex tips that would make Christian Grey jizz all over himself! I mean, assuming he likes ice cubes on his dick or eating food off his lady. Because all editions of Cosmo must contain at least one reference to each of those things. It’s in the bylaws.”
The Cosmonut Strikes Back (Emma Goldman’s materialistic lovechild) is a blog with a cool template, which PG might want to use at Chamblee54. (The template would reduce the picture width by 80 pixels. It is not going to happen.) The article about Cosmo was not very good.
The last thing published there is My beer is taunting me. “I bought myself a sixer of Magic Hat No. 9 yesterday, and I discovered that the bottlecaps include little phrases on them. My first one said “You need to write more” The second said “Heed the Spirit. If You can Hear It” The third said “Don’t hex what’s best” My personal favorite read “You were expecting something funny?” No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t even expecting my beer to tell me to write more. Which I’m doing, obviously.”
Another blog chiming in is Evil Slutopia: Home of the evil slut clique. “After years and years of boring repetetive sex tips and describing the “tie your man’s wrists with a silk scarf” trick as the most outrageous, naughtiest sex act ever, Cosmopolitan magazine has decided to endorse bondage… sort of. Yes, the April 2011 issue of Cosmo actually has the words “KINKY SEX” on its cover!”
This trendy sadism is usually blamed on Fifty Shades of Grey. It turns out that FSOG is sort of a publishing phenomenon. It was an internet “fanfic” that went intensely commercial. Obsidian Wings has a three part series about FSOG. Publishing may never be the same. (Spell check suggestions for FSOG: FOG, FROG, FLOG, SOGGY)
So, we need to consider the book before this post goes on too much more. PG has not read it, and there is little chance that he will. The next quote is part of a one star review at amazon. It seems like the author likes repetition.
*UPDATE*: Thanks to the many other perturbed readers who have shared their own choices of the most annoyingly overused phrases in this masterpiece. Following up on their suggestions with my ever-useful Kindle search function, I have discovered that Ana says “Jeez” 81 times and “oh my” 72 times. She “blushes” or “flushes” 125 times, including 13 that are “scarlet,” 6 that are “crimson,” and one that is “stars and stripes red.” (I can’t even imagine.) Ana “peeks up” at Christian 13 times, and there are 9 references to Christian’s “hooded eyes,” 7 to his “long index finger,” and 25 to how “hot” he is (including four recurrences of the epic declarative sentence “He’s so freaking hot.”). Christian’s “mouth presses into a hard line” 10 times. Characters “murmur” 199 times, “mutter” 49 times, and “whisper” 195 times (doesn’t anyone just talk?), “clamber” on/in/out of things 21 times, and “smirk” 34 times. Christian and Ana also “gasp” 46 times and experience 18 “breath hitches,” suggesting a need for prompt intervention by paramedics. Finally, in a remarkable bit of symmetry, our hero and heroine exchange 124 “grins” and 124 “frowns”… which, by the way, seems an awful lot of frowning for a woman who experiences “intense,” “body-shattering,” “delicious,” “violent,” “all-consuming,” “turbulent,” “agonizing” and “exhausting” orgasms on just about every page.
Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives,Georgia State University Library”.