Theric Jepson

@thmazing.bsky.social

537 Followers 398 Following

Untroubling and untroubled for a good fifteen minutes a day. thmazing.com/thbiblio thmazing.substack.com public school teacher | writer | current editor of @irreantum.bsky.social

It’s fascinating to watch hostility lodged at an earnest message of hope.
unions are why we have anything; unionize!
man about to cut an awful knot
Byuck by Theric Jepson
receipts dating back to 2013
four short films running from 1917 to 2026
cartoon by edward sorel uncle sam, depressed, comes home and hangs up his hat speaking to wife (statue of liberty), says, "Turns out the whole Star Wars project was part of a con game and I'm out $30billion"
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The result is the Noodle Dog—a flavor blast that unfolds in movements rather than bites. Rich butter. Deep roasted garlic. Just enough sriracha to wake everything up without stealing the spotlight. A touch of spice. Then the unmistakable snap of the hot dog, working in perfect symbiosis with silky garlic noodles. Neither ingredient competing with the other, but elevating it. It is at once familiar and entirely new. Equal parts ballpark comfort food and Oakland culinary manifesto. Proof that innovation doesn't always arrive in a laboratory. Sometimes it arrives in a paper tray. In honor of National Hot Dog Day, we've created a cinematic homage to Chef Myke's creative journey with all the reverence reserved for masterpieces. We hope you'll watch it. Then we hope you'll come to Raimondi Park and experience the Noodle Dog where it belongs: under the lights, surrounded by neighbors, with the sounds of baseball echoing across West Oakland. Every great baseball city deserves a signature ballpark meal. We think Oakland just found hers.
History has a curious habit of preserving the grand while quietly depending on the humble. Nations commemorate treaties, but families remember recipes. Ballparks celebrate championships, but generations recall the taste of a hot dog wrapped in foil, eaten two bites before first pitch. Somewhere between memory and mythology, the American hot dog earned its place—not as a side dish to baseball, but as one of its great co-stars. It has outlasted dynasties, survived fashion, crossed every neighborhood and tax bracket, and remained the one menu item that asks almost nothing of us except to enjoy the afternoon. Anthony Bourdain once suggested that food tells us who we are. If that's true, then the hot dog tells the story of America at its best: messy, democratic, endlessly adaptable, stitched together from cultures and traditions that were never supposed to fit until suddenly they did. Baseball has always shared that same gift. Every generation inherits the game, then leaves behind its own fingerprints. The game changes. The fans change. The city changes. Yet somehow, on a warm evening with friends, a cold drink in one hand and a hot dog in the other, time briefly stands still. Oakland has never mistaken tradition for stagnation. This city's greatest ideas have always come from fearless collisions—of people, neighborhoods, music, art, and cuisine. Which is why it feels only natural that Chef Myke would look upon the sacred American hot dog and ask an almost dangerous question: What if garlic noodles belonged here, too?
hegseth announces a testosterone-deficiency screening for soldiers over 30
locally caught wild alaskan salmon
But you have given us a birthday present beyond price -- yourselves, your faith, your loyalty, and your love. We thank you with full and friendly hearts.
it's not snowing
he's the one on your left
Lafayette’s commitment to “principles” remained, like his commitment to liberty, a central feature of his life. He was willing to compromise, but only up to a certain point: Strategic silence was acceptable, active lies were not. Freedom of the press was such an absolute that he refused to sue even ultra-royalists who published slanders about him under the Restoration.
idiocrcy vs trump's birthday
Hegseth approaches his job as if it’s a vacation rather than public service. He shows up on military bases looking as exuberant as a bored househusband who just got a kitchen pass from his wife for a weekend of paintball with the boys. He sports a pocket handkerchief that looks like an American flag. He carries himself with an effortful swagger that is meant to convey machismo but instead just looks awkward. He talks with practiced drama, like he’s constantly trying out for the lead in a school play.
Dying metaphors. A newly−invented metaphor assists thought by evoking a visual image, while on the other hand a metaphor which is technically "dead" (e.g., iron resolution) has in effect reverted to being an ordinary word and can generally be used without loss of vividness. But in between these two classes there is a huge dump of worn−out metaphors which have lost all evocative power and are merely used because they save people the trouble of inventing phrases for themselves. Examples are: Ring the changes on, take up the cudgels for, toe the line, ride roughshod over, stand shoulder to shoulder with, play into the hands of, an axe to grind, grist to the mill, fishing in troubled waters, on the order of the day, Achilles' heel, swan song, hotbed. Many of these are used without knowledge of their meaning (what is a "rift," for instance?), and incompatible metaphors are frequently mixed, a sure sign that the writer is not interested in what he is saying. Some metaphors now current have been twisted out of their original meaning without those who use them even being aware of the fact. For example, toe the line is sometimes written tow the line. Another example is the hammer and the anvil, now always used with the implication that the anvil gets the worst of it. In real life it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer, never the other way about: a writer who stopped to think what he was saying would be aware of this, and would avoid perverting the original phrase.
neither BALLS TO THE WALL nor BALLS-OUT refer to testicles (in the case of the former one, I didn't see how it could, which is why I looked it up)
What if all you needed to do was tap a button on a screen and any product you could think of would be with you in just a day? What would you rationalize and excuse away? You could do everything and anything you wanted, able to outsource your sense of responsibility or justice to an abstract and impersonal force, able to be a monumental coward and still indulge your own desire. We’re all so good at this. After all, capitalism trains us to treat other people like things.
And the sad truth is that, you know, we are just in another wheel of history. And I must admit that after 9/11 and Vietnam and Covid and Watergate and all the things I’ve grown up, I’m 68. I kind of thought, well, I’ve seen all the history I’m gonna see. I don’t feel that way anymore. I don’t feel so special anymore as a human who’s lived on the planet and lived in something called civilization. I think sadly, it’s sort of a Catherine Reel of repetitive stupidity.
professional cornhold player and quadruple amputee arrested for murder
shared vision the songs of the beatles in which cool people make the beatles suck
BEAU TRAVAIL (#7 to #9)
SUNRISE (#11 to #8)
CITIZEN KANE (#3 to #7)
MULHOLLAND DR. (#8 to #6)
THE GODFATHER (#12 to #5)
IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE (#5 to #4)
2001 (#6 to #3)
SINGIN' IN THE RAIN (#10 to #2)
VERTIGO (#2 to #1)
"That's my ride."
We all knew Ben-Hur would be #1, but The Shaggy Dog topping Some Like It Hot, Pillow Talk, Rio Bravo, North by Northwest AND Anatomy of a Murder???
most recent poll of CA gubernatorial candidates
david lowery's mother mary: poster
bfd
1776
The line “I experience rage thinking about everything this administration has done” could probably have been written in an email to friends by any number of the attendees at last night’s White House Correspondents’ Association dinner. But the line was apparently written by a man who showed up with a shotgun and pistol and was ready to kill “most everyone” there to get to Donald Trump and assassinate him and his Cabinet. In a manifesto-like email that he reportedly sent to family minutes before allegedly shooting, Cole Tomas Allen wrote that the assembled journalists and machers “chose to attend a speech by a pedophile, rapist, and traitor, and are thus complicit.” Allen never came near the president or the gala floor. A Secret Service agent was shot in the vest before Allen was tackled and arrested.
dangerous to give your kids books
in reality offres means of glen
the earth is nancy