The Prophet recommends…

The Prophet recommends

In these uncertain times, it’s good to know The Prophet is still on the case, clarifying the complicated political races. All I have to do is vote for “THAT” one. And to think I’ve been agonizing at the polls all these years.

Thus Saith the Prophet 09/02/08

After a weeks-long hiatus, in which recycled signs were lazily posted outside his home office — to say nothing of my own laziness — The Prophet is back, just in time for the Sarah Palin media fest. On with the show.

Thus Saith the Prophet 07/31/08

Thus Saith the Prophet 07/23/08

Thus saith the prophet

The latest utterances from The Prophet of El Dorado Street. I’ll try to cruise by today to see if he’s created new signs. I’m still trying to figure out when he puts out new signs. It appears to be more often than weekly but beyond that, I’m not sure. Prophets are like that, I suppose.

Phil Urie is a veteran prosecutor for the San Joaquin County District Attorneys Office, who is running for Judge.

The prophet of El Dorado Street

There is a house on our morning commute whose owner has anointed himself as the neighborhood prophet. Sort of like a block parent, for those old enough to remember the concept, only with creepier signage and no milk and cookies.

No, in true prophetic fashion, this person doesn’t ask for permission and he certainly doesn’t make apologies. He simply reportsinterprets the news. And he’s been doing this a longs as we’ve lived in Stockton. There is a pickup parked down the street with similar declarations, only bigger, on whitewashed plywood and festooned with American flags. As a service to you, dear reader, I’ll find out the pickup prophet and the prophet of El Dorado Street are one in the same. I hope to make his signage a semi-regular offering here on I Write The Blogs.

In the meantime, enjoy these gems.

Hey, sounds good to me

In this age of soundbite journalism, thank goodness for The Onion and its timely, in-depth coverage of issues that really affect my life. Really.

New Wearable Feedbags Let Americans Eat More, Move Less

The new look PLUS baby strollers

I’m toying around with the blog again. I want a simple look and I really like this theme. The problem(s): it only allows for one photo per page with now links/blogroll/widget column. The WP folks say that the idea, but still it would be nice to at least get additional page links at the top. I sent an e-mail to the creators of the new theme and asked them for an additional page display workaround. We’ll see.

In other news, a dear childhood friend of mine is expecting her third child and sent the missus and I links to the latest in Stroller Technology. It would appear that the strollers of tomorrowday come equipped with online training videos (not to be missed) that showcase their maneuverability and versatility while keeping their cost hidden to the casual web user.

These aren’t merely strollers — no!, thou Philistine! These are baby systems! In today global market economy, our babies must be prepared for full mobility, from crib to playdate to shopping with mother while looking fabulous. These glamorous systems allow baby to be prepared for all life demands. Please, give your child a supreme act of sacrifice and get them the accessories they need. Don’t delay. Your child is counting on you.

OK, in all seriousness, I want one. A cup holder, an interlocking travel system, I’m all over it. Now if I can only get the book deal to accompany this lavish must-have item.

The wife: Adventures in Ethnoculinary delights

One of my great joys in life is mocking my wife’s primitive ways in the kitchen. We live minutes away from several cooking stores that sell the latest in kitchen gadgetry, but no!, my wife is content, even joyful at the prospect of grinding pepper in late grandmother’s molcajete when she needs it.

I don’t have the patience for this anthropological field work. When I’m hungry, I grab and go. If there’s no pepper, I do without. Who am I kidding? I go to Noah’s on most mornings.

My wife’s a fabulous cook but I can’t help but mock her ethnic ways. We listen to too much NPR and drink too much coffee in our house, so in the morning, I walk around the kitchen and pretend I’m a field reporter in some remote Mexican village.

High in the mountains of central Mexico, Xochitl rises early in the morning to grind the fiery pepper that will season her family’s food, as her ancestors have done for centuries.

I never realized how Americanized my upbringing was until I married my wife. She cringes when I tell her I never knew tacos were actually made with finely chopped, seasoned meet cooked on a grill, not ground beef. Which goes to show you how sheltered my upbringing was in Salinas, or how underground authentic Mexican cuisine was in those days. These days, you can’t walk 100 feet, it would seem, without running into a neighborhood taqueria.

I wasn’t planning on writing about this

I can think of more honorable ways of staging my triumphal return to bloggerdom. But I’ve had enough.

Every day for the past several weeks, the men’s bathroom in our office complex is festooned with a sizable wad of toilet paper. Every day it’s in the same place.

You would think I work in a slum but it’s a respectable place, with landscapers, painters and a small cadre of handymen who tend to the handful of one- and two-story buildings. We have a janitorial staff who vacuum and empty the trash as well as tend to our community bathroom. So what’s with the TP on the floor?

Please, in the name of all that is sacred and sanitary, pick that stuff up!