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According to the CDC, one in six American adults is a binge drinker:
The study — which defines binge drinking as five or more drinks in a short period of time for men and four or more for women — breaks down the nation’s 38 million binge drinkers by a variety of measures, including geography, age and income level. Wisconsin is the state with the most binge drinkers at 25 percent of the population, while Utah, home to the teetotaling Mormon church, comes in last at less than 11 percent. [...]
The CDC report noted that half of all alcohol consumed in the U.S. is consumed during binge drinking. For young people, that rate shoots up to 90 percent.
This photograph, titled “The Peeple vs. Scott Walker” was posted by @escapetochengdu with no comment as to its origin. With Peeps diorama contests taking entries at several newspapers, it might even win a prize! Link -via Everlasting Blort
The following is an article from Uncle John’s Slightly Irregular Bathroom Reader.
From the “Dustbin of History” files, here’s the pungent tale of two midwest states whose pride and honor were once challenged…by a slab of stinky cheese.
IT AIN’T EASY BEING CHEESY
It began in the winter of 1935 when a doctor in Independence, Iowa, prescribed an odd medicine to an ailing farm wife: Limburger cheese. The doctor figured the heavily aromatic cheese would help clear the woman’s clogged sinuses. (If you don’t know what Limburger smells like, give it a whiff the next time you’re at the supermarket.) So the order was put through to Monroe, Wisconsin, to send some Limburger cheese-post haste.
Why Monroe? Swiss cheesemakers first arrived there in 1845. At the time, Wisconsin was in the depths of an economic depression and cheese helped pull them out of it.By 1910, Wisconsin had become the cheese-making capital of the United States, producing more cheese than any other state. And Monroe was the Limburger capital of Wisconsin.
THE BATTLE LINES ARE DRAWN
Monroe’s postmaster, John Burkhard, approved the delivery and sent it on its way. But the mail carrier in Independence, Iowa, who delivered the Limburger was so offended by the stench wafting through his roadster that he refused to deliver it. Citing a postal rule that said mail would only be delivered if it “did not smell objectionable,” Independence’s postmaster, Warren Miller, concurred without examining or even smelling the cheese. He had it sent back to Monroe on the grounds that it could “fell an ox twenty paces.”
Burkhard took it personally; to insult Limburger is to insult not just Monroe, but all of Wisconsin and its proud cheese heritage. So Burkhard rewrapped the package and sent it back to Iowa. Miller promptly returned it to Wisconsin. War was brewing.
THE BATTLE OF DUBUQUE
Burkhard took his gripe all the way to the United States Postmaster General in Washington, D.C. At first, he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. So Burkhard sent him some Limburger. The Postmaster general then decided that, yes, the cheese smelled bad, but no, it wasn’t hazardous. And the war was over, right? Wrong.
By this time the press had sniffed out the story. At a time when the nation was mired in the Great Depression and Hitler was rising to power in Germany, a story about smelly cheese was a breath of fresh air. And unwilling to give in, postmaster Burkhard challenged postmaster Miller to a “cheese-smelling duel”-if Miller could sit at a table and not wretch from the stench of freshly-cut Limburger, then he would never again raise a stink about Wisconsin and its cheese. Miller accepted. Dozens of people from each town-as well as a throng of reporters-showed up at the Julien Hotel in Dubuque, Iowa, on the cold afternoon of March 8, 1935, to witness the standoff.
A Duel to the Breath
The two sat across from each other at a table. While flashbulbs flickered and onlookers whispered, Burkhard placed a box on the table, unwrapped it, and produced a very strong sample of his state’s pride and joy, praising not only its medicinal qualities, but boasting that nothing on Earth tasted better with beer. The tension was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Famed Milwaukee Journal reporter Richard S. Davis sent out a dispatch, calling it a “duel to the breath.”
As Burkhard prepared to push the slab of cheese over to Miller, he offered Miller a clothespin and a gas mask. But Miller just shook his head and meekly surrendered. “I won’t need that clothespin,” he lamented, “I haven’t any sense of smell.”
The crowd gasped. The battle was over before it began. Burkhard was immediately declared the winner, and Miller had to agree to allow any and all Wisconsin cheese safe passage through Iowa’s postal routes. The next day newspapers in 30 states ran a picture of the olfactorily-challenged Miller looking bewildered next to a piece of steaming Limburger. And now the war was over, right? Wrong. The final battle was yet to come.
THE BATTLE OF BEAVER DAM
While Burkhard was basking in victory, something he’d said about Limburger at that table in Dubuque-that nothing tasted better with beer-was churning through Miller’s head. Every good Iowan knew that the best food to eat with beer was smoked whitefish, not some stinky piece of cheese. Miller just couldn’t let it go. So he challenged Burkhard with another contest: a fight for the title of “Best Snack in the World.” Once again the press got whiff of the food feud, and they convened at the neutral site chosen for the contest: the American Legion Hall in Beaver Dam, Wisconsin.
This confrontation was even more serious than the first-now there were judges. And with so much at stake, both sides used underhanded tactics; they bribed the judges with beer. The fish-heads bought a round, then the cheese-heads. And once all palates were properly whetted, the showdown began.
Carnage
First came the sliced Limburger with beer. Then the Iowans gave the judges smoked whitefish…and more beer. The battle raged on: Limburger and beer, whitefish and beer. Limburger and beer, whitefish and beer. Finally, when the judges could eat or drink no more, they sent the least-inebriated member of their panel to the podium: “The judgeth have reached a dethision. It was unamus… unans… they all said the same darn thing! Cheese’n beer s’wunnerful. Fishes’n beer s’wunnerful, too. But when you have Limburger cheese and smoked whitefish and beer, heck, it don’t get no better than that!”
Both sides were declared victorious, Burkhard and Miller retained their respective states’ honor, and Limburger cheese had risen from being referred to as “hazardous material” to holding the co-title of “Best Snack in the World.”
VICTORY PARADE
That October, Monroe, Wisconsin, held its annual Cheese Day parade. All the press coverage from the Limburger cheese war made it the biggest Cheese Day ever. Fifty thousand people showed up to bask in the glory-including the farmer’s wife (who had healed quite nicely). Warren Miller came all the way from Iowa and was given a place of honor in the parade-right next to his friend John Burkhard.
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The article above is reprinted with permission from Uncle John’s Slightly Irregular Bathroom Reader, a fantastic book by the Bathroom Readers’ Institute.
The 17th book in this the Bathroom Reader series is filled to the brim with facts, fun, and fascination, including articles about the Origin of Kung Fu, How to Kill a Zombie, Women in Space and more!
Since 1988, the Bathroom Reader Institute had published a series of popular books containing irresistible bits of trivia and obscure yet fascinating facts.
If you like Neatorama, you’ll love the Bathroom Reader Institute’s books – go ahead and check ‘em out!
Inspired by food-dispensing kiosks in remote European locations, a restauranteur in Madison, Wisconsin is planning to build a cafe that can ONLY be accessed by pedestrians and bicyclists.
Food would be served on plastic or ceramic dishes at seating made from tree trunks. Coffee and juice would be dispensed in purchasable mugs that would fit in a bike holder. And to capture the zeitgeist of the Wisconsin north woods, beer and wine would also be on the menu.
The proposed location near a golf course is “the one place where you can’t hear any cars in the middle of the city,” beside a bike path that sees 2,600 users/day. The city’s mayor has indicated he supports the proposal.
Link. “Type Bike” image available on t-shirt from Neatoshop.
Most states and countries would be loathe to name a state bacteria, but Wisconsin is not most places. After boasting their dairy products in the form of giant foam cheeseheads for years, the state is taking a new step towards celebrating the substance that put the state on the map –cheese.
Wisconsin Assembly Bill 556 aims to honor bacterium Lactococcus (the little guy that helps make milk become cheese) as the state microbe.
If the measure passes, be sure to keep an eye on the Neatorama store, because I’m sure it won’t be long until Giant Microbes releases the first ever state microbe, Lactococcus. The cute guy to the left is in fact not him, but his distant cousin, mad cow disease.
The budget wasn’t the only thing that the council members of Madison, Wisconsin, had to consider during its meeting: they also decided to make the plastic lawn flamingo its official bird!
The new mascot was debated for five minutes, and then the Common Council voted 15-4 to make the plastic pink flamingo the official city bird.
The idea was by a 1979 prank on Bascom Hill when the Pail and Shovel Party on campus put out 1,008 of the birds. "It sure lives in Madison lore as a really fun thing," said Wisconsin State Journal writer Doug Moe. Moe proposed the idea in a column, and Alder Marsha Rummel brought it to the council. "Let Madison have a little fun and laugh at itself. We’ve always been pretty good at that. I might suggest in these so-called tough times, a little laughter is not a bad thing," Moe said.
Not everyone embraced the idea of voting on the plastic flamingo. "I respectfully ask for this City Council to devote more time to more serious business at hand," said Alder Thuy Pham-Remmele, of District 20. But Rummel defended bringing the proposal to the council. "We are capable of multitasking in life, and if you don’t have a little fun, it’s not worth living, and I spent like 20 minutes on this since April," Rummel said.
Channel3000 has the story: Link – via L.A. Unleashed
