Update: the fine folks at wordpress.org forums helped me figure out the change to the gallery css that made it so wonky. See? Thumbnail at normal height!

Bill Gates has retired from Microsoft; today was his final day at the office. He’s worth somewhere in the neighborhood of $50 billion dollars and has a charitable organization that he and his wife have endowed with billions (not millions, billions) of dollars to improve the quality of human life on our planet.

When I retire I’ll be lucky if I get so much as a gold watch.  I know I won’t be getting that many zeros in front of the decimal point on my final paycheck.

This is a really good lesson in what you should do when you have more money than you can spend in your lifetime.  My donation on behalf of AIDS research: $300.00. Bill Gates’ donation: $300,000,000.00.

Guess I shoulda been a geek.

I know that Paula Deen is a Southern icon and perhaps its most famous proponent of baked chitlins but I cayn’t never watch her without feeling she ain’t particklerly jin-u-wine. Now I know y’all are likely a-gaspin’ and a-shriekin’, “Lord have mercy, Miss Ninjadoll, you simply cannot take the name of The Bag Lady in vain!” To all y’all I say, “Tough tatas, this is my blog. Go play carebear on yer own damn innernet.”

I’ve tried to figure out just what it is about this lady and her Sunnybrook Farm “Hey y’all!” that turns my stomach like a pig in a waller. For the past two holiday seasons I’ve watched her hawking Smithfield hams but couldn’t bring myself to try one. I managed to sit through her special episode detailing her dream vacation in France with husband Bubba - er, wait, that’s her brother. I’ve tried to digest (pun intended) all the “y’alling” in several episodes of her cooking shows. Inevitably I want to wring her neck in the same, put-off way that makes me want to slap Rachel Ray across the face.

I’ve not got a clue why I find Paula repugnant when she’s probably more sincere than the Grand Ole Opry and certainly much more Suh’thren than me. Having redneck cousins, a birth certificate that says “Kentucky,” and the ability to slip into a Dead Dog Holler accent doesn’t make me an expert on Confederate legacy any more than my having ingested (and liked) pork chitlins, collard greens or grits as a child. If Dolly Parton sold hams I’d try one in spite of the fact that Dolly ain’t all that when it comes to all-thatness, neether - though I have to admit she’s got a damned fine plastic surgeon.

I must be daft as a doorknob to not see the appeal of Paula Deen. I wish I could get a grip. Perhaps it’s because I grew up with Hari Kojima and Tamashiro Market instead of Piggly Wiggly and Stuckey’s. If I ever figure it out, it may explain why I don’t cook…that’s a long, far maybe but it’s a maybe nonetheless.

Oh, and the slapping Rachel Ray bit? Yeah. Always have and probably always will wanna punt that bitch. Sorry, ’ster. I know you like her.

By the by, this here’s a right adorable website if’n yer lookin’ to raise up yer Suh’thren vocab.