I wonder how many tech heads we have here, but this is a real RFC :
A Standard for the Transmission of IP Datagrams on Avian Carriers
And there’s even an actual implementation.
I see the date is April 1, 1990 . . . . . .
I saw this all the time growing up. So true! So true!
Just one difference. My dad always bought the meat himself that he was going to grill (steaks) or BBQ. Mom never did. Dad claimed he just wanted to get the "right" meat. As though my mom had no idea how to buy! Sheesh! She did all the other shopping!
Only he prepared it and placed it on the grill. We women--mom and I and any female guests--could watch and do all the other work and clean-up, but only dad--and later my brother--could touch the meat! Mom and I joked to each other, and to dad, about it.
Would we taint the meat if we touched it? Or had anything to do with its preparation? Dad just brushed us away saying it was his job to use the grill.
One day my mom and I were sitting on the patio while dad was slow-cooking some ribs on the grill. He had set a timer for when he'd flip them around on the cool side. The timer went off while he had gone inside to take a piss and (you guessed it) get another beer. I got up and shouted through the patio screen "I'll turn 'em dad," observing that this was finally my chance to involve myself in the grilling. Mom got up too and stood next to me to enjoy my moment of encroaching on the sacred male ritual.
Just as I was ready to flip the slabs dad dashed out of the house and shouted "That's okay, that's okay, I got it," as he gently nudged us aside and took the tongs from my hand. Mom and I just stood staring at him as he performed this crucial task. I was 14 years old and thought myself quite the woman at that age. I blurted out "Geeze dad, it's not like mom and I are menstruating or anything! We won't taint 'em! Promise!"
Dad's mouth opened and his jaw dropped as he stared at me, looking for some words to say to his outspoken teenage daughter. "Really, Marcella," he said, obviously shocked., "must you?" Mom was laughing so hard I thought she's never stop. I was proud of myself! I has assaulted the male grilling hegemony!
Dad never spoke about what I had said, but mom and I to this day laugh ourselves silly every time we recall that special day on the patio.
True story.
Well, I buy the meat and cook it and put it on the plate, thanks very much.
When I was young the Australian BBQ ritual was very clear. All the men at the gathering were clustered around the BBQ, drinks in hand, talking about sport. BBQ was usually a rather solid brick affair down the backyard. All the women were up near the house, talking about babies and children. At least that was my perception as a child.
Not quite so pronounced now, and my BBQ is gas and on wheels, not like the wood fired ones of my childhood. But the men will still come out and stand around for a chat. And I have a separate fridge nearby suitable for dispensing drinks, too.