"But at Konbi, a tiny restaurant in Los Angeles that the chefs Akira Akuto and Nick Montgomery run together, the egg salad sandwich is both delicious and alarmingly pretty..."

"... so much so that it’s become a star on Instagram, with its saturated colors and satisfying symmetry. The egg salad is tucked between two slices of super-soft Japanese milk bread, with a snug soft-boiled egg hidden in each piece, revealing the deep orange, jammy yolks like a culinary magic trick. “A lot of times if you get an egg salad sandwich when you’re out, it doesn’t tend to be very good,” said Mr. Montgomery, understating the situation...."

There's an article about a famous egg salad sandwich in the NYT.

Don't get me started on the egg salad sandwich! Click on the "egg salad" links if you want to know more about me and egg salad sandwiches.

"I pledge to him, not to receive a photo of the potato salad, but because I love the idea of pledging to a potato salad."

"It makes me happy when people are not dead serious about everything."

So, yeah, I just have one thing I'd like to say about potato salad guy. I was irked — irked I tell you — for, like, 10 seconds. Because here's this guy who's raised over $70,000 on Kickstarter just for planning to make potato salad. And I was all: That was my idea! And I only got $200!

But then I got hold of myself. He's talking about potato salad. My idea was egg salad.

"Maybe you don't think you'd get much out of it, but if it's not prohibitively expensive..."

"... maybe it's worth a try just to get commenters to stop harassing you about travel," says the jackal, commenting on my disinclination to endure 8+ hours crammed in a metal tube to see how I feel when the tube poops me out somewhere other than here. That vaunted amalgam of arrogance and humiliation that is travel — I could blog about it.

My response, at the link, ends with the phrase "readers would need to pony up something like $20,000."

"The Screwtape Letters" is not an egg salad sandwich.

In yesterday's Boardwalk Café, Saint Croix said:

I should have said this in the Scalia post — the devil made me not do it — but one of the interesting things about The Screwtape Letters is the insight that a devil is simply an angel with free will.

Thus if you believe in an afterlife — and an overwhelming number of people believe in an afterlife — you should acknowledge devils. They are simply angels who are in rebellion with God. Which God allows, because God believes in free will for humanity.

What a fantastic book The Screwtape Letters is.

I would pay money for Althouse to blog that book!

Pay money to get me to blog about something? That's been done... to get me to eat an egg salad sandwich. I'd written a post — back in 2005 — listing "10 things I've never done," and #2 was "Eaten egg salad, devilled eggs, or cold hard-boiled eggs" — hmm, interesting second appearance of the Devil in this post! — and somehow that led to my saying you'd have to pay me $200 to eat an egg salad sandwich, and some commenters got together and collected $200 and PayPal'd it to me, and I blogged — vlogged! — The Eating of the Egg Salad Sandwich.

But I didn't want to eat an egg salad sandwich. Reading the "Screwtape Letters" is something I would like to do. I read it years ago — and I'm old so that "years ago" in the history of Althouse is almost half a century ago — but I'd like to read it again, especially with the ability to blog it and the context of Scalia's recent remarks about it.

So I added it to my Kindle. You can add it too: here. And if you use that link, you'll be sending me a little money (without paying more). If you like this blog, you can funnel money to me by entering Amazon through the Althouse portal and buying something, anything, at some point before clicking away. But to get me to blog on specific topics, you could attempt the Egg Salad Method. That might work for some things — bloggable, vloggable things, for the right price. You could also just ask, as Saint Croix did, and it might work, if I'm interested enough. This blog is all and only about what interests me.

So I bought "The Screwtape Letters" and read a few pages last night. Here's the first thing I highlighted, and I'll put it here out of context, because you know that I like isolating sentences from their context — so sue me — for the purposes of discussion. That's what we did last winter with The Gatsby Project, which actually has one post that got the "egg salad" tag. It was the post with the "salads of harlequin designs." Remember?

I'm not saying these "Screwtape Letters" posts will only be isolated sentences in the manner of The Gatsby Project. But I am getting us started with this sentence, as the devil Screwtape advises his nephew devil on how to screw with some human being, referred to as "the patient":

"By the very act of arguing, you awake the patient’s reason; and once it is awake, who can foresee the result?"

Are you going to the "conservative Woodstock" — the "Showdown In Searchlight"?

"Searchlight is not a destination by any means. It's a tiny town. And the locals have told us this is already by far the biggest thing that's happened in their town's history. That's how we see it, a huge number of people coming to a unique place where the draw is, we are going to put on this show and this rally."

***

We're already in Boulder, so it's only about 800 more miles — beautiful, scenic miles. Meade's toying with the idea of us going. It would be great blogging. 

Anyone want to egg me on? (Egg salad me on?)

***

Searchlight is Harry Reid's little home town, so getting thousands of anti-Reidites to go there is pretty prankish. It got me thinking about those Philadelphia flash mobs that have been in the news these last few days:

[H]undreds of teenagers have been converging downtown for a ritual that is part bullying, part running of the bulls: sprinting down the block, the teenagers sometimes pause to brawl with one another, assault pedestrians or vandalize property....

“It was like a tsunami of kids,” said Seth Kaufman, 20, a pizza deliveryman at Olympia II Pizza & Restaurant on South Street. He lifted his shirt to show gashes along his back and arm. He also had bruises on his forehead he said were from kicks and punches he suffered while trying to keep a rowdy crowd from entering the shop, where a fight was already under way.

“By the time you could hear them yelling, they were flooding the streets and the stores and the sidewalks,” Mr. Kaufman said.....

Most of the teenagers who have taken part in them are black and from poor neighborhoods. Most of the areas hit have been predominantly white business districts.

In the flash mob on Saturday, groups of teenagers were chanting “black boys” and “burn the city,” bystanders said....

[T]he mobs started as a kind of playful social experiment meant to encourage spontaneity and big gatherings to temporarily take over commercial and public areas simply to show that they could.

“It’s terrible that these Philly mobs have turned violent,” he said.

Tea Partiers need to maintain a strong culture of peaceful friendliness. Please don't rampage through the city. And don't chant anything racial this time. Just kidding. I don't believe anything racial was ever chanted by the Tea Partiers. But Tea Partiers do chant. They chanted "Kill the Bill," last weekend, and a crowd chanting anything with a violent word — like "kill" — is going to upset some people. Their opponents are keen to portray them as violently angry. Remember how a group of people from outside the neighborhood looks to the people who live and work there and keep the Conservative Woodstock true to the original Woodstock idea of peace and love.

"I was inspired to make a sculpture and studied many other logs, but I realized that I was only interested in this particular one."

I love this line of wall card next to a sculpture at the museum:



That line made me — and, independently, Meade — think of the way the Little Prince felt about the rose he loved. Eventually, the Prince encounters a garden of roses:

"You're lovely, but you're empty," he went on. "One couldn't die for you. Of course an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than you altogether, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass. Since she's the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except for two or three for butterflies). Since's she the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose."

Here's the sculpture that was made out of the loved log:



"Hinoki," by Charles Ray is actually one of my favorite things in the Modern Wing of the Chicago Institute of Art. I've criticized the writings on the wall at the museum. I dread these explanations of art, but I loved Ray's essay, which you can read in full here. The man found and fell in love with a log, but the log was about to rot, so he got big cypress tree and got it carved into a replica of the log:

"With several friends, I transported the tree, cut apart by a chainsaw, back to my Los Angeles studio. Silicone molds were taken and a fiberglass version of the log was reconstructed. This was sent to Osaka, Japan, where master woodworker Yuboku Mukoyoshi and his apprentices carved my vision into reality using Japanese cypress (hinoki).... When I asked Mr. Mukoyoshi about the wood and how it would behave over time, he told me that the wood would be fine for 400 years and then it would go into a crisis; after two hundred years of splitting and cracking, it would go into slow decline for another 400 years. I realized then that the wood, like the original log, had a life of its own, and I was finally able to let my project go and hopefully breathe life into the world that surrounds it."

"What's the prize for guessing where the tattoo is on your body and what the tattoo is?"

Asks Old Grouchy in yesterday's "New look" thread, the one where I tweak and re-tweak the design of this blog, which makes Alan say: "This is why you should never entertain the idea of getting a tattoo." I said, "What makes you so sure I don't have a tattoo?," prompting Old Grouchy's remark.

In fact, I don't have any tattoos, but circa 1968, I often spoke of getting a rose tattoo the back of my hand. I thought it would change the course of my life, and it would have, don't you think? That was back in the days when high school girls in middle class suburbs did not get tattoos. It had to be a rose and it had to be on the back of my hand where it would be seen. None of this lower back/iliac crest bullshit. The idea was to affect people's minds and to make a permanent decision to have that be the thing that would make the impression.

But what are your suggestions? It's 40 years later. What tattoo would you suggest for me? Don't say none. I'm smart enough to know that's the right answer. Assume I must get a tattoo. If this comments thread works out the way I'm hoping, I'll do a poll later. And maybe even a new "egg salad" challenge.

It's up to 882.

Come on! We can hit 1000!

Thanks to all the many commenters who hung out with me for the VP debate live-blog, some of whom are still hanging out there, trying to drive the comments into the 4 figures for the first time. There's some great stuff inside -- I front-paged some of it -- on-topic and off-... off-topic and off-color. There's the funny, and there's the search for a better, more Cuban, recipe for creole shrimp... and I'm sure we'll all find what we're looking for.

IN THE COMMENTS: Ruth Anne Adams said...

Why don't you sweeten the pot? Why don't you promise to vlog an egg salad sandwich or burned pasta or creole shrimp or something when we hit 1000?

I know! A pork-and-crap sandwich!

I'll do a vlog when it hits 1000, so give me some more ideas here. I don't really see why it should involve abasing myself however!

UPDATE: Whoa! We hit 1000!

I think I'm going to have to stop watching "American Idol."

Monday marked the first day of my 5th year of blogging, and during each of those past 4 years, I blogged every episode — did I miss even 1? — of "American Idol." Last night, a new season began, and I started watching and got about halfway through before I abandoned it (with the recorder going) to check out the Democratic debate and the Michigan primary returns. Will I go back and watch the rest of the show?

It feels too much like an obligation, but what's worse is that I don't feel that it works well for me as raw material for blogging anymore. Must I once again live through the early auditions, where one mouth after another opens and something either reasonably good or horribly bad comes out?

What difference does it make? It will either be good or bad. If it's bad, you're to laugh.

(And I did laugh pretty hard at one poor man last night. He told us he was like Paul Robeson, sang with his mouth oddly constrained and his lingual frenulum on obscene display, and then blamed his failure to impress the judges on his choice of religious material. )

If it's good, you're supposed to bond. You're supposed to care as these characters begin their journey into the months long sifting process. They prod you to bond by presenting mini-melodramas that emphasize the contestants' close bonds to their mothers, their sick children, and their horses and kitties.

You're supposed to upload the significant singers one by one into your consciousness so that you can appreciate the experience of seeing them systematically and slowly eliminated, until there is one left standing, at which point, you — or at least I — will realize I am not at all interested in this person. Get off my TV screen.

And then they do. They go away. They hibernate — they estivate and they hibernate — until the following January, when you will have forgotten what a pain it was to follow the show week after unrewarding week, and you'll be able to feel excited by the return of the boinging theme music, and the old panel of judges, who will file in wearily and act pained that they have to sit through it all again.

But they are being paid. I'm not. Seriously, my readers paid me $200 to eat an egg salad sandwich that one time, but no one pays me to blog "American Idol." Would I take a job watching and writing about "American Idol" for $200 an episode? Of course not! But even as we do some things for money that we wouldn't do for free, we do some things for free that we wouldn't do for money. Nevertheless, somehow, this year, blogging every episode of "American Idol" doesn't seem to be one of them.

IN THE COMMENTS: Lots of great discussion of later episodes.

ADDED: Actually, there's a glitch that cuts off the comments in that old post making it impossible to see all of what I pointed you too. So here are the comments from this week's girls show (and some more), all by ace commenter Trooper York:

Now the ladies.

Carly is up and guess what her secret is? SHE"S IRISH AND SHE WORKS IN A BAR!!!! WOW.

She sings Crazy on you by Heart and does an ok rendition. The judges are trying to rehablitate her since the controversy seems to have blown over about her prior record contract. But she has a long way to go to really have a chance to win.

Syesha's up and does a smokey, sexy version of Me and Mrs Jones, but turns it into Me and Mr. Jones which freaks out Simon since he can't deal with gender confusion, (see his relationship with Seacrest). The judges dog her and she seems sad, but I think she is safe unless everyone forgets her. But she has the Latin base and the Miami people so she might be ok this week since other people will suck much worse.

Brooke is up next and takes her guitar and sings a letter perfect copy of Carly Simon's Youre so Vain to Simon. He loves it because it plays to his image and praises her for it. It's funny how they ask for orginality and then love a letter perfect copy. This is pure karioke if I ever heard it. I do admit she does have the horse face and lips of Carly Simon. Lets give her a carrot and move on to the next contestant.

Which is our favorite, little Ramile who belts out some Donna Summer. The judges don't buy it because they want her back in her box. It's funny because she is the only contestant who could actually fit in a box. Maybe a hat box. Or even a McDonals happy meal box. Or a happy ending box. Simon does call her one of the three best singers in the competition. So she should be good for this week.

Next up is pony girl Kristy Lee Cooke who sings "Youre No Good." Very appropriate because she is no good and I hope she is one of the two who are out this week. Simon says she has a lot of potential, but I think that is on her looks alone, cause she can't sing for shit. I would pay good money to see her saddle up horse face Brooke and ride her around the Surreal Life house, but that won't happen for a year or two.

Amanda Oversinger, I mean Amanda. Overbearing, I mean Amanda Overmeyer the motorcycle chick is next and she sucks big time. The judges really trash her big time and deservedly so. But the looks she is giving them are classic. I bet she's thinking, let me get a tire iron and come back here and see what's what. I guess she is going back to singing in bars and raping waitresses on pinball machines with pool cues. Sweet.

Alexandrea comes out in the professor's favorite outfit: a bubble shirt and cargo shorts. This outfit would be good for about six posts if some dude wore it on the Promonade. She sang "Hopelessly Devouted to You" in a hopelessly depressing monotone. The judges trash her gently and give just enough encouragement so she might skate this week. But I think she has a chance to go this week. [NOTE: He's right.]

Wait a minute I screwed up. It was Alaina Witaker who sang Hopelessly Devoted and ALexandrea who had the bad outfit. Both sucked and have a chance to be out. See what happens when you wait a day and rely on your notes. You forget. I feel like Roger Clemens. Please don't tell Congress.

Next up is Kady Malloy who does the Britney impression. I said it before and I will say it again, if she wants to be noticed she needs to show her cootch just like Britney cause otherwise she is out this week or next. Jeeez.

Last but not least, Asia'h rocks. All By Myself and the judges diss her lightly but I think it was the best of the night. Since she got the pimp spot she should be ok and get throught to the next round. Good tone, good belting, good dance moves, good look. She will be in the final ten.

So to recap, I think Amanda and Kady will be out this week. Also Jason the child molester guy with the Damien kid and Robbie the Axel Rose douche bag guy. Lets see. [NOTE: He was right about the guys, but wrong about the girls.]

Remember don't look at the spelling because I am typing as fast as I can and I can't spell for shit. Sorry....

I think that the Humility Kid [David Archuleta] will wear out his welcome before the final. He is peaking way too early. I think it will be a surprise winner this year. The Hernandez kid has good instincts and might go far, but my bet is split between Syesha or Ramile. Hey it might be the year for people with strange names to win it all. Right Hillary?

Not [Archuleta's] singing, but his popularity. He is the fave of the little tweener girls, notice the squeals and the screams at his performance. He might keep that demographic but everyone else gets pissed off. Witness the Talyor Hicks fiasco. Plus kids have a short attention span and most of the tweeners favs fade just as it happened in the first season with that bozo haired guy.

The question is who gets the Ralph Nader protest votes marshaled by Vote for the Worst. My bet is Cha-cheese-ie or Noriega. That is important because it kept Sanjaya and Scott Savol the secret squirrel around for quite a while.

A good personality can go a long way. People get tired of wise guys, but that is what puts the Vote for the Worst guys in your corner. Although that might have died out too since it was fun last year with Sanjaya but will Stern and the rest of them get on the bandwagon. It's not a good idea to talk back to the judges and overly bitchy like Noriega goes quick. But who ever thought that old pineapple face's kid would be on American Idol. General Noriega must be proud wherever he is these days. (Dead?)

The 100 greatest moments in the history of food.

Assembled here.

Of course, you know what #1 is. #2 is harder to guess, and it's a matter of opinion, but I approve:

1762 The sandwich is created as gambler John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich, calls for his dinner to be put between two slices of bread so he can continue his card game with one hand and eat with the other. Lunchtimes would never be the same again.

The discovery of egg salad must necessarily rank far lower. But in the egg category, I think the greatest moment is the separation of yolk and white. Think of all that follows from that!

But actually, the egg hardly figures in the top 100. Its first appearance is at #21 as a mere ingredient in the Caesar salad:

1924 In Tijuana, Mexico, restaurateur Caesar Cardini is short of food after a big party. Scouring the kitchen, he digs out lettuce, bread, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, Parmesan, eggs and lemon, and knocks up the first Caesar salad, a dish that does at least look healthy despite being full of fat. It is, needless to say, hugely popular.

Ha ha. I love the idea that one of the all-time great recipes is a quirk of what one guy, one day, happened to have in the kitchen. But I'm sure this is the source of many recipes, including the most horrendous ones.

What's the best/worst/weirdest concoction you ever made from what you happened to have on hand? Tell the story. I remember once being treated — along with a large group of partyers who'd stayed overnight somewhere on Long Island — to a breakfast of eggs with sliced hot dogs scrambled into them. Since we were very hungry, it tasted delicious. That was decades ago, and I've never felt the urge to make scrambled eggs and hot dogs.

I do remember once making creamed tuna on mashed potatoes — in a situation where soft food was a medical requirement. It seemed really good at the time, but I never made it again... needless to say.

What do you think? Should I learn how to fly?

Maybe. If I had this $450,000 airplane...

ADDED: I don't actually want to own a plane, even if I had an extra $450,000 to spend. But if one of my millionaire readers wants to hit the PayPal button for $450,000... well, don't impetuously give me $450,000 and think you've made a contract that obligates me to do any particular thing. I may eat an egg salad sandwich for $200, but I don't want anyone giving me $450,000 and then thinking they've bought the right to tell me what to do, with access to courts to enforce the obligation. Paying for the plane would only be the beginning. First, it might be taxable income, and I'd have to pay for a lawyer to advise me on the subject (unless TaxProf wants to give me free advice). Second, I'd have to get insurance and pay and pay for it. Third, I'd have to pay to keep the plane somewhere and to use various airports. Fourth, I'd have to use it to go places, with all the expenses of travel. Do you know how expensive hotels and restaurants and clothes are for a person with a $450,000 plane?

Therefore, I think I would need several million dollars before I could learn to fly. But if you love this blog and would love to see more travel and adventure blogging here and if you are very rich, you see the PayPal button over there. I say this, worrying that anyone who gives me several million dollars might feel entitled to intrude into my private — and mysterious! — life. I would really prefer more of a John Beresford Tipton character. A John Beresford Tipton who operates via PayPal. Isn't there some web geek turned billionaire who would find fulfillment giving $1 million PayPal donations to the bloggers he loves?

Anyway.... the inside of this Cirrus airplane looks and feels very much like a car (a very nice car). I thought the design was beautiful, and I enjoyed sitting in it — which wasn't my idea. The guy showing off the plane invited me to get in. His idea was to get lots of people to sit in the plane. Most wouldn't buy, but the company is surely correct to assume that there were a lot of rich people walking by here at a PGA tournament and that seeing the plane close up would plant the idea of owning it in the heads of some people who might actually buy it.

I think the plane was designed to make an ordinary car driver feel safe, at ease, and capable of flying. I can drive, so why can't I fly? The seats are constructed to adjust to your height, so as you pull it forward so your feet reach the pedals, the height of the seat changes according to an assumption about the length of your torso. I got into a discussion with the guy who was demonstrating the plane about leg-torso disproportion, and he admitted the design only took account of the average proportion. But he swiftly called attention to the way my eyes were at exactly the same perfect level as the eyes of the tall man sitting in the other seat, and had had me close the door to see how the comfy armrest put my hand in exactly the right place to hold the throttle. I've never considered learning to fly, but I had the real sensation that with a plane like this, I could do it.

ADDED: Hey, I got linked by Daily Aviator. Thanks. And a special hi to anyone who hasn't read this blog before.

"We have viewed $1,000 an hour as a possible vomit point for clients."

Seriously, how much can a lawyer charge an hour?

Here are the guys -- they're all guys -- who aren't cowering in the 900s anymore. They've cast off that fear of the fourth digit and demanded what they know they deserve.

IN THE COMMENTS: Ruth Anne writes:

Big deal. You charge $1000/hour for eating egg salad sandwiches.

$200 for 1 sandwich which took approximately 12 minutes = $1000 for a whole hour of egg salad sandwich eating.

That was funny... until I read the words "a whole hour of egg salad sandwich eating." Then, it was terrifying.

"I don't want an egg at this hour."

ADDED: It's always a Fellini film chez Althouse. We're watching this one.

MORE: Martin Scorsese has this in today's NYT:

[Michelangelo Antonioni's] “L’Avventura” gave me one of the most profound shocks I’ve ever had at the movies, greater even than ... “La Dolce Vita.” At the time there were two camps, the people who liked the Fellini film and the ones who liked “L’Avventura.” I knew I was firmly on Antonioni’s side of the line, but if you’d asked me at the time, I’m not sure I would have been able to explain why. I loved Fellini’s pictures and I admired “La Dolce Vita,” but I was challenged by “L’Avventura.” Fellini’s film moved me and entertained me, but Antonioni’s film changed my perception of cinema, and the world around me, and made both seem limitless. (It was two years later when I caught up with Fellini again, and had the same kind of epiphany with “8 ½.”)...

I crossed paths with Antonioni a number of times over the years....

But it was his images that I knew, much better than the man himself. Images that continue to haunt me, inspire me. To expand my sense of what it is to be alive in the world.

I'm in the Fellini camp -- can we go to a place called Fellini Camp? -- where the images continue to haunt me and inspire me and expand my sense of what it is to eat an egg or a banana.

AND: Right under Scorsese's piece, Woody Allen writes about Antonioni's death partner, Ingmar Bergman:

To meet him was not to suddenly enter the creative temple of a formidable, intimidating, dark and brooding genius who intoned complex insights with a Swedish accent about man’s dreadful fate in a bleak universe. It was more like this: “Woody, I have this silly dream where I show up on the set to make a film and I can’t figure out where to put the camera; the point is, I know I am pretty good at it and I have been doing it for years. You ever have those nervous dreams?” or “You think it will be interesting to make a movie where the camera never moves an inch and the actors just enter and exit frame? Or would people just laugh at me?”...

I learned from his example to try to turn out the best work I’m capable of at that given moment, never giving in to the foolish world of hits and flops or succumbing to playing the glitzy role of the film director, but making a movie and moving on to the next one. Bergman made about 60 films in his lifetime, I have made 38. At least if I can’t rise to his quality maybe I can approach his quantity.

Because, among other things, size matters:






That's from "Sleeper," and note that Woody Allen also made a film called "Bananas."

Now, let's compare two men -- Woody Allen and Marcello Mastroianni -- as they encounter the banana:





It's true that Woody has the bigger banana, but I'm going with Marcello!

AND: The weirdest part of it is that Woody Allen has a movie that is entirely about a recipe for egg salad!

Egg salad...

Is it wrong to do it this way?

"I've mostly stopped reading Ann Althouse, really."

TRex cannot stay out of the vortex... especially when it's baited with food.

And apparently, I give him "all-over creepy shivers, like someone just dumped a bag of live spiders over my naked thighs." I'm picturing chubby, pasty white thighs. No wonder he sympathizes with Bill Clinton so.

He riffs on what eggs mean to him. It's kind of wistful and sweet really. It sounds like the boy loves his mommy. Ooh, but not that way, no! He dips a little into homophobia territory... probably thinks it doesn't count when he does it. Oh, but it does! It does, T.

Oh, what the hell? Why not have a full-on flamewar? Ellen Goodman thinks we female bloggers aren't sufficiently warlike. And, anyway, I'm not afraid of the doughy little nerd. I faced him down in person. Check it out:



He's afraid to look. Compare how nice his co-blogger was.

Here, T! Here's some candy!



Come on. Take some of my candy!!



Don't be a baby! Fall into the vortex!



IN THE COMMENTS: Joan writes:

The comments section over there is bizarre.

What an odd post. Why the excessive use of exclamation points and question marks? The speculation that Ann is a repressed lesbian is just bizarre, and also, obviously wrong. Ann is grossed out by eating egg salad, you moron! The idea of consuming the "female" symbol (as you've identified it) is abhorrent to her. If anything, that should prove that she's as hetero as they come.

As for the egg being a symbol for the female, I don't know where he got that one. I've always heard that eggs symbolize life, rebirth, springtime. I've never heard before that eggs are the symbol for the female, as if the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth is strictly feminine, or under the control of females.

Wait -- did TRex make this association because they're sort of round, like onion rings, completely ignoring centuries of tradition as to what eggs really symbolize? Sheesh.

Teach that boy some Spanish, starting with huevos.

MORE FROM THE COMMENTS: Christy writes, quite aptly:

I thought his posting was funny. Even funnier is realizing he gets Althouse, but doesn't recognize it. He thinks the Fellini reference an insult? Am I wrong that part of the appeal here is blog-as-performance-art?

Boring comments, though. Althouse wins as a blog salon. The mantle of Madame de Stael rests lightly on her shoulders.

ADDED: The new vlog is -- once you get into it a ways -- about the TRex attack.

UPDATE: TRex falls into the vortex, and I respond here.

The Egg Salad Sandwich Challenge.

(Background.)

ADDED: If TRex sent you, I answer him here.

Egg salad... 10 million....

Things happening on the blog today:

1. I'm preparing the egg salad sandwich vlog.

2. The Site Meter is getting precariously close to 10 million visitors. What am I going to do to mark the occasion? Surely, it can't be to eat an egg salad sandwich. Momentous though that is.

Eating an egg salad sandwich for $200.

I said I'd never eaten an egg salad sandwich and that you'd have to pay me $200 to eat an egg salad sandwich, so people gave me $200 and now I'm essentially obligated to eat an egg salad sandwich. Has anything like this ever happened before in all of blogdom?

"Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe."

The whole "egg salad sandwich challenge" got me thinking about "Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe":



If you don't know what the egg salad sandwich challenge is, watch the last part of last night's vlog... and check the sidebar.

You'll say Herzog does it for art, but Althouse is doing it for commerce. And also, it's much harder to eat a shoe than an egg salad sandwich. I concede that it's harder to eat a shoe, but not that I'm doing it for the money rather than art. It was for art that I made that list of 10 Things I've Never Done. And it was for art that I put a price tag on doing various things that I don't want to do. That's for art both because: 1. it's a writing riff and 2. the first thing I wrote about needing a particular amount of money to do was to go see some awful theatrical production. #1 is doing art -- not necessarily the high quality art. #2 is taking a firm stand against low quality art. Now that people are actually offering me the money, it's true that I'm taking the money, but I do see the acceptance of the money as performance art. And, of course, eating the egg salad sandwich -- on YouTube -- will be performance art.

And remember: "Our civilization doesn't have adequate images."

Bonus images:



So Charlie Chaplin ate a shoe for art.... or made art out of our feelings about eating a shoe. In fact, he was eating a prop made of licorice. But I won't cheat. I won't cheat because: 1. I'm taking real money, 2. I can't think of anything that would look like egg salad and not be more disgusting, and 3. any art that may come from this depends on my reacting to actual egg salad.

Traveling through western landscapes.

Tonya has pictures from her rafting trip on the San Juan River in Utah -- including petroglyphs and Anasazi ruins. And I quote this though it threatens to set up a theme of the day on this blog:

One unusual thing about camping in remote areas is that there is an excessive amount of discussion about bodily functions -- when to go, where to go, how long you can avoid going, etc.

Much as I'd like to take in these sights and even knowing how much fun Tonya had, I can't see going camping. And camping with boating seems even worse, because you've got all that sun exposure. But that's just me. I love the Western landscapes. Taking them in, however, I have some strong preferences. Transportation: car. Where to sleep: hotel. Place to tend to physical needs: women-only bathroom.

UPDATE: I will note that I would be willing to go on the kind of rafting trip Tonya describes if I were paid enough. Putting a price on things like this is an Althouse tradition. I'm assuming a week-long raft trip, well-run, well-supplied, with people I enjoyed and through a landscape I wanted to see. I would do it for $1,000 -- the equivalent of "Star Wars" and an egg salad sandwich in Althouse valuation.