- MUSIC BOX: Soul and country coming to the Hole
- FEATURE STORY: For Rent? Forget it! Housing crisis hits home hard
- THE BUZZ: Housing Summit high on hope…low on inventory, funding
- Cosmic Cafe: Ready to let go of trying to fix other people?
- The Foodie File: Putting Up Morels
- FREE WILL ASTROLOGY: WEEK OF MAY 27
- GET OUT: LSR offers indoor and outdoor adventures
- TRANSIT UNLIMITED
- GET OUT: Signal Mountain has history, views, nachos
- WELL, THAT HAPPENED: The Golden Age of Women
GALLOPIN’ GRANDMA: The other white meat
JACKSON HOLE, WYO – I had a ham sandwich for lunch and it reminded me of my friend, Gertrude, the big momma pig back in my hometown of Corn Cob. I had written recently that she had sent me a note about the county fair. It is rather unusual to get a note from a pig, but maybe not where I come from.
Gertrude was having a porcine fit because she wasn’t chosen biggest hog at the county fair and so she didn’t get to compete at the Iowa State Fair. There, the winner would get to meet celebrities and be sculpted in butter standing next to the State Fair Butter Queen. As it was, there was a big fight at the fair because someone wanted to reproduce Michael Jackson in butter instead of the State Fair Butter Queen. There was a power outage, the butter melted and no one could tell who it was.
There has been much talk lately about the swine flu. Gertrude can’t understand why everything gets blamed on the nearest pig. Why not call it the dog flu or the zebra flu? Gertrude says she has never given anything to anybody, although she would like to.
Gertrude recently heard pork referred to as the “other white meat.” Now what the hell is the other white meat? Surely, they can’t be referring to those smelly, feathered, skinny-legged chickens as the real white meat? What an insult. A pig is not an other anything.
I told Gert that I recently saw TV chef Paula Deen doing an ad for Smithfield Hams. Gertrude informed me with a sniff, that those hams were snooty, Southern distant relatives; over-smoked and over-salted and just not our sort. I told Gert that Queen Victoria loved Smithfield Hams, and I was firmly told that no wonder Victoria looked like a mountain and her kids were idiots.
Well, fair days are over and everyone can go home and sulk and carry on about how they didn’t win anything, and how it wasn’t their fault and how the judges picked favorites. Gertrude isn’t feeling well, her ankles are swelling, and she’s put on a couple hundred pounds. She’s afraid that she’s “that way” again. She says she is just like that crazy OctoMom, she wishes she could just learn to say no.