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Thar be a foul wind a blowin? across the fruited plain

As I scroll down the Speakeasy discussion list, I get the feeling that many CNETizens have been sipping much too much DNC and RNC flavored party Kool-Aide as they prepare for Oktoberfest?err-r-r?that is Novemberfest.

As we all debate just how many Purple Hearts Kerry?s "Swiftee" Angels can balance on the head of a pin in three months, while we take another sip of either DNC or RNC Kool-Aide, ratty-tat-tatting along on our wireless or wired key boards, the deals in the "smoke-free" back rooms are being made.

In spite of this fact, we Speakereasy'ers continue e-burping out some good and thoughtful food for thought (yes, there is some fast-food too).

Considering the subject of food and as I click on and drink in the Del-ster?s last Kool-Aide blurb, Are You Paying Attention? ?Winds are starting to shift?? I offer a bakatcha Sunday Dinner learning experience from my early years in the Simpler Times.

I learned a lot about the consequences of shifting winds at a very young age. As a tot in the Toddling Town, my family used to make Sunday visits to my relatives who lived in the shadow of the old Chicago Stockyards and Slaughterhouse, in the Bridgeport area of the City's Southside.

On those Windy City Sunday?s, the prevailing winds were usually brisk and off the lake. Those toddling Sunday dinners were an aromatic buffet offering from the home cooking Gods of Eastern Europe. But on some Sundays, in the middle of dinner, the dark forces of evil would cause the winds to shift 180 degrees and begin blowing from a westerly direction across the Stockyard?s animal pens. When this occurred, even the heavenly aroma of my dear Bubuti?s finger-lickin', freshly cooked fried chicken and Kugela could not bring back my eyes-bigger-than-my-stomach toddler appetite.

Whether the winds are blowing across the cowpie littered Texas cattle lands of Crawford, west across Mayor Daley?s home voting district of Bridgeport or across all the dog runs on the various Heinz-Kerry estates, I once again find myself to be loosing my appetite.

As I offered elsewhere in this Speakeasy pseudoblog, Election 2004 is a Hobson?s choice. Some say it?s better to stick with the Devil that you know rather then to go with the Devil you that don't know.

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