Subdivided We Stand Meets Marathon Man

We Don't Get Much Call For It Around Here, Sir

Had a delightful lunch with Mrs. Subdivided today.

A lunch made all the more delightful by the fact that when she wasn't looking, I stole a bite of her sandwich.  And it was yummy.

Was it the turkey?  No, that was rather pedestrian.

Was it the roll?  Well, it WAS a nice soft roll, but with a bit of a chewiness to it, which I like.  But still, no, that wasn't it either.

The thing that took her turkey-and-cheese out of the realm of the ordinary can be attributed to one thing, and one thing only...the thing that I've got a hankerin' for a hunka, a slice or piece or chunka, a hankerin' for a hunk of...

Cheese.

What, you say?  Surely no run-of-the-mill sandwich cheese could be so spectacular that it inspires a blog entry, could it?

Well, dear reader, if it was your standard Swiss, or the ubiquitous cheddar, or (god help us) "American," well then I'd tend to agree.

But no.  The thing that made Julie's sandwich gooda was gouda.

Damn, that's a good cheese on a sandwich.  Hell, it's good anywhere (especially the smoked variety which has been ground up and included with gobs of mozzarella on a nice wood-fired pizza), but it's especially good on a sammich.

Which leads me to my latest cause.  I'm starting a new organization, and I invite you to get in on the ground floor of the...

Group Opposed and United against Dull American, Inane Swiss, and Gross Other Dreck, aka GOUDA IS GOOD.

My friends, it's time we took a stand.  Demand that your local sandwich shop provide you with Gouda.  Today.  Do it.  You'll thank me.

Blacksmith's Girl: Chapter Twenty

Pop Hairston was close to legend in this part of South Carolina for his smithy works. He kept at the craft past the time when it was necessary, perhaps, but he had a sense that the art would still be desired. Maybe he just wasn't inclined to practice another trade. Old stylings in the houses along the Battery in Charleston from the colonial era, early federal period, historic homes with the iron works and railings that were rusted or were in need of repair, Pop was there to replace them. Heating and stoking the fire in his forge with his old bellows, he did things the old way, turning the iron with his mallets on the anvil.

He’d be in greater demand now, it was true, with the new money pouring into Charleston to revive old properties. Pop’d have to bring on apprentices, something he never felt inclined to do. That was a fatal flaw in Pop’s worldview. You should always leave something of yourself behind, if you’ve got something worth leaving behind, by teaching somebody else. But Pop started his own fires, and kept them burning, and swept up his own floors, and turned the red-hot metal, hammering his designs alone. When he went there was no one left to carry on.

(Continue reading Chapter Twenty of Blacksmith's Girl.)

The Good Fight

Have you been watching the Ken Burns WWII series?

We have -- when time (read "when our kids get in the sack" early enough) allows.  It's been pretty good so far.  Maybe not the grand-slam-in-the-bottom-of-the-ninth-in-Game-Seven-of-the-World-Series smash that his Civil War piece was, but that's a once-in-a-lifetime achievement.  Episode 6 airs tonight, with the finale tomorrow night.  Even if you haven't watched up until now, don't hesitate to jump in. 

Last night's episode recalled the battle for Iwo Jima -- and that, combined with some recent work discussion regarding the concept of "running" in a "race" (a co-worker tried to convince me to run in "The Great Race", while I tried to convince her that I would "die" if I ran more than a mile), reminded me of this excellent, excellent post from way back in May, 2006 by my blogging buddy Marathon Man.  Please have a look.

Here We Go

Ugh, that was a brutal weekend for the local teams. 

Here's a little something to take away the bad taste of the weekend, though -- a photo gallery of the kids in their Steelers gear.