tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57815861855941773862024-03-05T07:47:21.768-05:00Cheesehead Displacement SyndromeIs it in fact unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins, is it better to burn out or fade away?Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.comBlogger320125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-70363609980530725272014-02-13T08:00:00.000-05:002014-02-13T08:00:00.828-05:00Random Acts of Thursday - (not so) Free Samples<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0-431lChbYuM1ZOwcxH1secPk2_YSk3rRbg8JPP-TAoWwzLB-lPuiyZnST_A1ZW27GYw8Cro8lqe8OYv9R-NR7rAlKSBcSJEB2qVVPWz1rN3Ok-vaVjs-VaD3VVIcckxHnKXSopRrcY/s1600/junior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0-431lChbYuM1ZOwcxH1secPk2_YSk3rRbg8JPP-TAoWwzLB-lPuiyZnST_A1ZW27GYw8Cro8lqe8OYv9R-NR7rAlKSBcSJEB2qVVPWz1rN3Ok-vaVjs-VaD3VVIcckxHnKXSopRrcY/s1600/junior.jpg" height="313" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Samples? Yes, please. My grocery store (curse upon my life though it is) has started passing out samples of brownies on my last few visits. Doesn't make up for them raising all of their prices, but still - free brownies. Anyhow, it got me to thinking and I thought I'd regale you all with a little quiz about samples. (You're all excited and tingly, I know.)<br /><br />Below are songs that were sampled into other music, name the artist and song.<br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's a hard-knock life (The Cast of 'Annie')<br />Under Pressure (Queen/David Bowie)<br />The Ocean (Led Zepplin)<br />Good Times (Chic)<br />We Will Rock You (Queen)<br />Thank You (Dido)<br />I'll Take You There (The Staple Singers)<br />I'm a Man (Bo Diddley)</span><br /><br />The following films are sampled in song as well. Name the artist and song.<br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Full Metal Jacket<br />Performance<br />Young Guns<br />Animal House</span><br /><br />Even Mr. Spock got sampled! Name the song. You know you know it.<br /><br />The following bands and artists are mentioned by other bands in their songs. Name the song where each of these artists is referenced:<br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Anthrax<br />T Rex<br />Falco<br />Moby</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Beach Boys<br />Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart<br />Jimmy Page</span><br /><br />Bonus question: Why bother to sample when you're great on your own? Name three bands that mention themselves in their song titles.<br /><br />As usual, you don't win anything, except maybe some fine musical trivia knowledge to try out on your friends and family. Aren't you lucky?</span>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-78122902644270196152013-12-23T08:00:00.000-05:002013-12-23T09:46:58.945-05:00Movie Mania Monday - 'Tis the Season!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAI2JgoU-e-OhjK4UHJSY8xQxMNfwy5dO1fAbc6J8tK2IPa6ccUvKJO9ns7lU2VyRT_iPuWazCkhUKbpivWy-JggVT4dJ1pkJL0XOGMk1J61jt-HX5CzzDNBZrPUrlIx8weY6XzGdvXQ/s1600/martha-holmes-dean-of-santa-s-giving-lecture-at-the-waldorf-santa-convention.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAI2JgoU-e-OhjK4UHJSY8xQxMNfwy5dO1fAbc6J8tK2IPa6ccUvKJO9ns7lU2VyRT_iPuWazCkhUKbpivWy-JggVT4dJ1pkJL0XOGMk1J61jt-HX5CzzDNBZrPUrlIx8weY6XzGdvXQ/s320/martha-holmes-dean-of-santa-s-giving-lecture-at-the-waldorf-santa-convention.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In fact, it's been many seasons since I posted. What can I say? I'm easily distracted. What with the Twitter and all, brevity is wit. But Santa's a-comin', so let's hope you've been good boys and girls. Assuming you have been (or assuming you'll lie and pretend to have been 'good') I give you this gift of a long-overdue post.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Christmas has already been good to me. I have a beautiful granddaughter and we were able to celebrate on Saturday with a pork roast bigger than her. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNwAEnGmSjxyyKwQBKukwHq8v2S7Jed7o_udOJ_Y67-Tx4hWcJZmHZe1K2Hd1NYw1-X1eYyrk1KwVfQe0qvnx7y_3jK6zMtjraFZ1Wczn6uNRByH9vc8ZamFciF9hdUkm525e5X6EkpQ/s1600/porchetta+(mine).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNwAEnGmSjxyyKwQBKukwHq8v2S7Jed7o_udOJ_Y67-Tx4hWcJZmHZe1K2Hd1NYw1-X1eYyrk1KwVfQe0qvnx7y_3jK6zMtjraFZ1Wczn6uNRByH9vc8ZamFciF9hdUkm525e5X6EkpQ/s320/porchetta+(mine).jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I even captured a picture of the roast on my phone! That's a minor miracle for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(Yes, I have plenty of pictures of the granddaughter on there, too.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got my grinder and sausage attachments for the KitchenAid, bratwurst here I come.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of my Secret Santa package, for more delicious treats. I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Secret Santa package I sent, and hope my Sant-ee is as excited to receive it as I was to make it. Mmm, jam.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And for you, kiddos, I give you a film quote to guess upon. Or upon which to guess. It's been a long time, so here are the rules. No Google or Bing or other web searches, either you've seen this film or you haven't. Winner will be extolled as the Iron Quote-Guesser, and all the appropriate fame and accolades that go along with it. Allez guessing! </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I never pictured God with a fat gut and corset singing "My Way" at Caesar's Palace.</span></i>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-42076505506871206212012-07-31T08:00:00.000-04:002012-07-31T08:00:13.627-04:00A long-awaited, highly-anticipated review.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTO8mDz6MUBlfKJL45Naj8Snij9yh5RpEJMc6sC5LW0LS48ewiJAmVAT3kbCJpyFn8YXHp0wT-8Mb-1RHKknDTO7dq5HCDzX4e76q8bxzc0iWhtE2lbyI_GADElOaMYn-crwvTq-BTy8/s1600/2011-Chrysler-200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTO8mDz6MUBlfKJL45Naj8Snij9yh5RpEJMc6sC5LW0LS48ewiJAmVAT3kbCJpyFn8YXHp0wT-8Mb-1RHKknDTO7dq5HCDzX4e76q8bxzc0iWhtE2lbyI_GADElOaMYn-crwvTq-BTy8/s320/2011-Chrysler-200.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, kids, how was that for a build-up? I know it's been a while since you've gotten such a coveted rental car review from me. What can I say? I haven't been traveling much. However, last week I had a new Chrysler 200, and it was a mixed bag. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Pros: Great pickup, automatic headlamps and auto climate. The car has a nice roadfeel. For basic seating it was still relatively comfortable. Compass on the dash with the temperature, not something I expect in a basic car. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cons: Rear visibility sucks. The seats are so high and the headrests are fixed so you can't do anything about it. At slow speeds like the parking lot, the steering is cumbersome. It feels like there's no power steering at all. When I shut off the car at night, the headlamps look like they project the Chrysler wing logo. Maybe that's not a con, but it's gimicky and it's blatant product placement, to which I'm opposed. I don't like how all the doors unlock at once when you open the car, but that's probably a setting somewhere. The trunklid is heavy to open, like the little air pistons are fighting you instead of assisting. Plus, the liftover is quite high. Not a candidate for long-term driving, for sure.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's not one of the cubish little cars my boss gets from time to time, so that's a plus. I don't know that I could take myself seriously in a Kia Soul or one of those little Nissans. But it's also not the new 200, a beautiful departure from the 2011 model I had. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Overall, I could be nitpicking because it's not as cool as the 300. I still think the car is quite drivable and not bad looking in its own right. Once I figured out the climate control, it was a polar excursion for me, a nicety in hot, humid weather. I give it a tentative B-. </span></span><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-1707968950943322872012-06-25T08:00:00.000-04:002012-06-25T08:00:02.658-04:00I'm ready for my foil hat, Mr. DeMille<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEXDKigqU7J_-XYRSCLVb3gPWSb5vEzeFc_HIOf7_ybGL3YCo1HQAgWqxNzq8GezY8HhJjBHzj1lHsYkx48rLwiRKpxyJdGdVRG-jjSss9IyOovzIE0JUc8YfQdtjCJYbzzpF2iBmSPM/s1600/TinFoilHat2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEXDKigqU7J_-XYRSCLVb3gPWSb5vEzeFc_HIOf7_ybGL3YCo1HQAgWqxNzq8GezY8HhJjBHzj1lHsYkx48rLwiRKpxyJdGdVRG-jjSss9IyOovzIE0JUc8YfQdtjCJYbzzpF2iBmSPM/s1600/TinFoilHat2.png" /></a></div>
Can you feel it? The Internet is stalking us.<br />
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This is nothing new, it's been stalking me for some time now. Sidebar ads. Recommendations when I search for something on the great and powerful Google. Recipes for delicious Spam primavera when I go to my spam folder in email. <br />
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The most recent disturbing message came when I Twittered about our office coffee and it's lack of quality. Mere moments later, I got an email from WebMD asking me if I didn't think, perhaps, my caffeine intake was a tad high.<br />
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This is uncalled for. If good things happened with this whole Internet spying thing, I wouldn't mind. If, for example, it triggered shipments of free bacon to my home any time I mentioned #bacon on Twitter, or if someone mysteriously showed up at the office with a four-shot of espresso when I disparage office coffee, we'd be golden.<br />
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But really, Internet? Questioning my caffeine intake? Spam-kebabs? Who are you to judge, oh great Judgie McJudgerson? Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, that Zuckerberg kid from Facebook, whoever invented Google, and even Al Gore, I'm looking at you. Stop stalking me, just let me live my life in peace. Am I going insane, here? Are we in danger of the Internet ruling our lives until we run, screaming, to a tiny shack in the middle of Montana to write our manifestoes on manual typewriters, far from the prying eye of the Worldwide Web? I think so!<br />
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But then again, that could be the caffeine talking, I suppose.<br />
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Carry on.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-16957391412705029732012-05-04T08:00:00.000-04:002012-05-04T08:00:17.552-04:00Random Acts of Thursday - Spy on Spy Action!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZJYX_QQlZ22c1fuXz2JoYdwj3UJVLn_wjtRzZLwAgwnQPQdiYTFkwWTuDNWIDgJa2BaeRHrVxXGRGa8lRR8o3zSOqWQtGywe2UGXNq2e40yKlRld3LnD6IcLDVBdBVgBFjI_y64g2ao/s1600/misseditbythatmuch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZJYX_QQlZ22c1fuXz2JoYdwj3UJVLn_wjtRzZLwAgwnQPQdiYTFkwWTuDNWIDgJa2BaeRHrVxXGRGa8lRR8o3zSOqWQtGywe2UGXNq2e40yKlRld3LnD6IcLDVBdBVgBFjI_y64g2ao/s400/misseditbythatmuch.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
A few weeks ago we spent all our spying energies on James Bond. Well, on Bond girls, but still. <br />
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There are so many other spy films out there, I figured you could do with expanding your NetFlix rental list a bit. Below are twelve spies, eleven from film and one from television. Identify which movie or show each spy belongs to. Remember to show your work, kids!<br />
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<ul>
<li>Louis Salinger</li>
<li>Number Six</li>
<li>Joe Turner</li>
<li>Harry Tasker</li>
<li>Emmett Fitz-Hume</li>
<li>Ethan Hunt</li>
<li>Jack Ryan</li>
<li>Alex Leamas</li>
<li>Tom Bishop</li>
<li>Chuck Barris</li>
<li>Annabella Smith</li>
<li>Derek Flint</li>
</ul>
Enjoy yourselves, and go back and answer the Bond quiz as well. Never hurts.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-3652917220201283312012-05-02T08:00:00.000-04:002012-05-02T08:00:09.816-04:00Which Side Are You On?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9E4fVElWIQLWvwAX8BtSDPWz7c9FkInsL0-c3dvvI3pQO7pCSH4mxWdnlB24y32ABEH-NlSoIQh6yL8ACV5j1GwZ2j-MeCtRFF4U0oMvoD6CNVBzcxeNrA5ZRMqV1hLbVeHZsEmqJYw/s1600/bedhog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9E4fVElWIQLWvwAX8BtSDPWz7c9FkInsL0-c3dvvI3pQO7pCSH4mxWdnlB24y32ABEH-NlSoIQh6yL8ACV5j1GwZ2j-MeCtRFF4U0oMvoD6CNVBzcxeNrA5ZRMqV1hLbVeHZsEmqJYw/s640/bedhog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
I have always been a bed hog. When left to my own devices, I sleep diagonally or even across the bed sideways. Lori keeps me in check and usually on my left side, facing away from her so the snoring is slightly less locomotive-like. However, if, nay, WHEN I go to bed early, I'm sure I spread out and need to be moved. I know when I'm traveling for work, I revert to old habits and take up the whole bed again. <br /><br />Some years ago, probably about the time we got married, I got switched from the left side to the right side of the bed. I don't know exactly how it happened, but what probably started as a whim so I could be near the fan has become permanent. I suppose I don't mind this, but that might have something or another to do with why I gravitate back to the other side of the bed when left unchecked.<br /><br />A cursory search of the Internet shows studies to determine if you sleep better on one side versus the other (right versus left, not top versus bottom), or if it matters in a relationship, which seems to dictate that the man sleeps closest to the door, which I usually do by virtue of the room design. There's no feng shui of bed side that I can find. I don't even understand the feng shui diagrams available on Google, though admittedly I didn't try very hard.<br /><br />How about you, dear reader? Do you have a preference of side? Does the person with whom you share a bed have a side preference, thereby relegating you to the other side by default? Do you sleep on a side when you're alone?Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-7204691776850152092012-04-24T08:00:00.002-04:002012-04-24T08:00:08.364-04:00I'm a keeper!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhSD3xhKULvtoRZcb2IuYNvYA4dypkKAXLUYyja0nIB_Ks_9OmhvOKiVY5RnFv6KrQXE2zNRrQ9QvWB0T49c0VtTr4whRP7UrXdz_iJTn1kraSi8fwqrdTxvsfjWxBAhKDznszPPnrEnY/s1600/hoard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhSD3xhKULvtoRZcb2IuYNvYA4dypkKAXLUYyja0nIB_Ks_9OmhvOKiVY5RnFv6KrQXE2zNRrQ9QvWB0T49c0VtTr4whRP7UrXdz_iJTn1kraSi8fwqrdTxvsfjWxBAhKDznszPPnrEnY/s320/hoard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I've been known to collect a thing or two. Stamps and postmarks, Hot Wheels, telegraph insulators, cans, (ahem) straws (ahem), ugly neckties, cookbooks, rocks, shells, bottlecaps and matchbooks, to name a few. I also hang on to random crap in the event that it might, someday, become useful. Sometimes I fancy myself a sculptor of found objects, like the time in college I taped all of my friend's trash to his wall.<br />
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And titled it.<br />
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He was less than thrilled. It was even worse for him when the tape failed to hold the soda cans up through the night. Plink! Plunk!<br />
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Anyway, I digress. As a sculptor-to-be of found objects, it first becomes necessary to save found objects. As such, a random assemblage of rusted metal, uniquely shaped plastic and glass and disused motors have been collected over the years. Unfortunately, a minor incident last Friday told me I might be out of control.<br />
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My daughter sent me this picture:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigxjuAD3XE0ss0HAyxMAvAxBC0kxi3wBjm6wRlJRhgvRonUkS_avS5DpoJFKzzHYwSjiGBD_sHgjiT2hAs9pZ8UmqM5x6zTu6sackQK6BzE1yMMMSjmBDAhsTRn2vMTKgPS9jkBTSrOvY/s1600/714796411_2553734218_0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigxjuAD3XE0ss0HAyxMAvAxBC0kxi3wBjm6wRlJRhgvRonUkS_avS5DpoJFKzzHYwSjiGBD_sHgjiT2hAs9pZ8UmqM5x6zTu6sackQK6BzE1yMMMSjmBDAhsTRn2vMTKgPS9jkBTSrOvY/s320/714796411_2553734218_0.jpeg" width="241" /></a></div>This random plumbing part was rolling around in her car, which used to be my car, and she wondered if it was important. It's the washing machine hookup valve from our house. In Wisconsin. A valve that I replaced in 2005. A valve that, despite being seized up by calcium and iron deposits, seemed worthy to me of keeping. For integrity, I suppose.<br />
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Something apparently needs to be done about me. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilSNp3BK2_Mx4mAlsSLGsIz3Zk-B20-qlJIFjAjyWXZS-NZSmNfibYLZaaXCQAk1iIJXThnOFjyObm4zSvMPWbElGul1OZ_3hHJ3KppdGG2CSsSHr30Co4qErQmE1Tuih9FuoRZvCwSM/s320/hoarderdollhouse.jpg" width="320" /></div>I never set out to hoard, nor am I, ultimately, a hoarder. Not by any means. I'm not climbing over boxes in my entryway. I can, with minimal effort, get a car into the garage next to the motorcycles. We're not sleeping amidst piles of laundry on our bed. I don't have stacks of newspapers from 1978 on the kitchen table or a bag of empty candy wrappers in the hall closet. Our toilets flush. There are limits, after all. We rented our house to a hoarder, and I had to ask her to leave after she turned our house into a tinder bundle. I can't even watch that TV show without shuddering. Deep down, clutter actually bothers me. Not that my boxes of 'stuff' aren't taking up their share of floor space in our basement and on the shelves in the garage. The only redeeming quality is that I know what's in each of them.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFqyscQRt4aiheyYc75I0-bIPVatZjp5V_JLqgmYJkJGDosORr2degMvZ6Q4QuM2mzedy4LXSV8mIO5DhqRkmUv0PpJy17KDnd3iC0mDjWNOuvXuHFwZjQsrFRCDNuDLX5IOpd6ZASXss/s1600/batshitcrazy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFqyscQRt4aiheyYc75I0-bIPVatZjp5V_JLqgmYJkJGDosORr2degMvZ6Q4QuM2mzedy4LXSV8mIO5DhqRkmUv0PpJy17KDnd3iC0mDjWNOuvXuHFwZjQsrFRCDNuDLX5IOpd6ZASXss/s1600/batshitcrazy.jpg" /></a></div>And isn't at least one redeeming feature enough to keep me?Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-34999879331789459222012-04-20T08:00:00.006-04:002012-04-27T09:34:53.342-04:00No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to quiz!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know quizzes normally happen on Thursdays, but it's been far too long since I've quizzed you, my childrens. I'm here to resolve that and not make you wait another whole week. You're excited, I can tell.<br />
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For that matter, it's also been far too long since I've entrenched myself in a Bond movie marathon. I love the James Bond franchise, and while I'm generally a fan of the official (Eon Productions) films, there have been others made to feature 007 as well, with varying success. I'm looking at you, <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/never_say_never_again/">Never Say Never Again...</a>. In lieu of that, getting you to answer questions about the great and powerful Bond is some comfort.<br />
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Put on your thinking caps and get Googling, my little spylets!<br />
<ul>
<li>Which actor has starred in the most Bond films to date?</li>
<li> </li>
<li>Which Bond character has been played by the most actors in the franchise history: M, Ernst Stavro Blofeld or Felix Leiter?</li>
<li> </li>
<li>Which of those characters was played by more than one actor in a single film?</li>
<li> </li>
<li>Name two actors to play a different role in a subsequent film than in their original Bond appearance. (Check the CDS archives for this one, kiddoes!)</li>
<li> </li>
<li>Of the many makes and models of car James Bond has driven, and given his history of destroying anything he drives, which car has featured in more films than any other?</li>
<li> </li>
<li>What children's author wrote the screenplay for one of the film adaptations of Ian Fleming's novels?</li>
<li> </li>
<li>What non-Bond film did said author screenwrite based on an Ian Fleming story?</li>
<li> </li>
<li>Which film featured more actors playing Agent 007 than any other?</li>
<li> </li>
<li>Of those actors, who is the only one to act in one of the 'official' Bond films? </li>
<li> </li>
<li>Who was the best Bond girl ever? Discuss. Unless you think it was Halle Berry, in which case you're wrong. Even Denise Richards as a nuclear physicist exhibited better acting skills. And by acting skills I mean acting skills. Get your minds out of the <a href="http://www3.images.coolspotters.com/photos/89847/denise-richards-profile.jpg">gutter</a>.</li>
</ul>
Remember to show your work, kids! Spelling counts. When you're done, <a href="http://listoftheday.blogspot.com/2012/04/vid-of-day-double-o.html">check this out</a> at LOTD.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Answers <a href="http://microcows.blogspot.com/2005/04/bond-girls-are-easy.html">here</a>. </span>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-41409131215861971882012-04-13T17:00:00.002-04:002012-04-14T12:35:11.051-04:00It's official, I'm a Twit.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xOpFEvmPY4ek_GhZCEwSI-8r_SmwOhEtjQmxWGAfCZTek2FFeM3jgADhRQqSuOlGcmwNQrbfjW2td_BtOT3AhPkKFjJ2287QR2bSVzkVwtdlq7CVd4EGpyv15ijLxaVf0Gw4CLBtikc/s1600/twit3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xOpFEvmPY4ek_GhZCEwSI-8r_SmwOhEtjQmxWGAfCZTek2FFeM3jgADhRQqSuOlGcmwNQrbfjW2td_BtOT3AhPkKFjJ2287QR2bSVzkVwtdlq7CVd4EGpyv15ijLxaVf0Gw4CLBtikc/s1600/twit3.gif" /></a></div>A twit is, for the sake of definition, "<span class="ssens">a silly annoying person". Having read some Twitter posts, I'm not surprised this is the name Twitter's founders came up with.</span><br />
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<span class="ssens">With that said, however, I have joined the dark side. I am now a Twit. Check out @nerdy_fat_guy for proof of my twitty goodness. If you can. I honestly have no idea how to find somebody's Twitter feed in all the thousands of profiles out there. If you know, please tell me.</span><br />
<span class="ssens"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="ssens">I just want to fit in. </span><br />
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<span class="ssens">(This, of course, means I need to get a new phone, since I apparently can't download Twitter to my ancient Crackberry. And posting when I get around to it does tend to remove the spontaneity of the whole genre. Might be a problem.) </span>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-11137422545217673132011-10-26T08:00:00.000-04:002011-10-26T08:00:19.497-04:00Nothing to see here.Move along.<br />
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I'll be back, but not much writing's going on right now. Forgiveness, please.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-65431755547600937482011-08-30T08:00:00.004-04:002011-08-30T08:00:13.996-04:00Bunnies and Possums and Skunks, oh my.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4C7JcY4OUhLncIV2jxYpp2dMMjMxNj6nnR3wl_EzYfXJUIj1V5WWQvuF3nW5pFUYTlgeAfDgxzXEFEpUtcFKeMq3ufYRYWa2x0iUG8SsOdCdMB7Q1bIPqXMv470-gQ1zRxTZfkqfCZkU/s1600/pepelepew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4C7JcY4OUhLncIV2jxYpp2dMMjMxNj6nnR3wl_EzYfXJUIj1V5WWQvuF3nW5pFUYTlgeAfDgxzXEFEpUtcFKeMq3ufYRYWa2x0iUG8SsOdCdMB7Q1bIPqXMv470-gQ1zRxTZfkqfCZkU/s400/pepelepew.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>And since we've had deer in the back yard more than once since we moved in, it's almost like a scene from Bambi (without the hunter....) Quincy's come nose-to-nose with a skunk a few times now, and he broke his leash going after the rabbit, so now it doesn't retract like it should. He sits at the back door staring out into the darkness, sniffing through the screen, and thinks we're dense enough to think he just wants out to do his business. <br />
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The neighbors have a peach tree, and since they've been away most of the summer, the ground is littered with ripe fruit, making the shared boundary of our yards prime feeding grounds for small animals. Turning on the 200-watt spotlights on the back of our house doesn't faze them, either. They just keep munching away. Not that I want to startle a skunk. <br />
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And speaking of skunks, can someone explain to me the biological, ecological reason we haven't exterminated them all yet? Mother nature overdid the defense mechanisms there. Sure, they're cute-ish, but waking up at 3 am to a house filled with skunk musk, cute doesn't cut it. They'd better be our next alternative fuel source or the cure for cancer if I have to put up with that. I for one will NOT welcome our new skunk overlords, if it comes to that.<br />
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Next thing you know, our yard will be playing host to badgers. And we don't need no stinkin' badgers. Porcupines? Why not? Vernicious knids? Sure. I suspect we might even wind up with a flying monkey or two.<br />
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Ah, nature.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-45413114195888457452011-08-03T08:00:00.001-04:002011-08-03T08:00:15.487-04:00Ask the Nerdy Fat Guy - the Sequel (Return of the Fat Guy)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezXTlNaQzwiWIOzeuK7VWXngeYxZZSWG6XvyL-qADkVjSSeFLQ2BzwN_ROn8xqLFctkS9DKik_4bMzjOKACWv-2s5SU5hmeWqXckjk9QnPsQbF3eeRNPJy-vvINrfCTueUrvkuKXVR0I/s1600/Smart_Desk-380x380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezXTlNaQzwiWIOzeuK7VWXngeYxZZSWG6XvyL-qADkVjSSeFLQ2BzwN_ROn8xqLFctkS9DKik_4bMzjOKACWv-2s5SU5hmeWqXckjk9QnPsQbF3eeRNPJy-vvINrfCTueUrvkuKXVR0I/s320/Smart_Desk-380x380.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's that time once again, kids! Time for 'Ask the Nerdy Fat Guy'! We here at CDS Enterprises have been besieged by requests for the ol' NFG to put on his answer cap and help you out of a jam! Questions have flooded in from around the world, though we'll ignore the ones that just want gratuitous pictures of me in my boxer shorts.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09ixOYPzhA96-HZXwNN_sPq1_EkcjQNt9XK4jsyZ-oKS8fdnnXXW8gLS7yhQc1YgfT5sSUKS_qFk7H_17zWpMH0YSGkSJAUZ_j0IXKp_QOfgNjEgAsk92XaqdlmQwoiuLyy26BCUKD9o/s1600/Gonzo-Journalism-41262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09ixOYPzhA96-HZXwNN_sPq1_EkcjQNt9XK4jsyZ-oKS8fdnnXXW8gLS7yhQc1YgfT5sSUKS_qFk7H_17zWpMH0YSGkSJAUZ_j0IXKp_QOfgNjEgAsk92XaqdlmQwoiuLyy26BCUKD9o/s320/Gonzo-Journalism-41262.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Oscar A. from San Jose, CA writes: Dear NFG - what does a rooster's (ahem) reproductive organ (ahem) look like?<br />
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Well, Oscar, I'm going to refer you to the ever popular '<a href="http://microcows.blogspot.com/2010/02/fun-fact-friday-which-came-first.html">How do chickens do it?</a>' post, recently rediscovered by Muppet porn afficionados worldwide. Damn that Rule 34.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQoLFlyVWD_rszq5NIEWYpXsANYVtxJ5sx03FNf5_r0v7uTrrIKw3dMkDFnGCJKtgDTWSoh-QP2q6lGbykdNng7jU4EnwLrsxfz9Uv5NLhf-uD4tAHKf5d9if7jBPZGai3CX0vA2GcDs/s1600/ron-jeremy-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQoLFlyVWD_rszq5NIEWYpXsANYVtxJ5sx03FNf5_r0v7uTrrIKw3dMkDFnGCJKtgDTWSoh-QP2q6lGbykdNng7jU4EnwLrsxfz9Uv5NLhf-uD4tAHKf5d9if7jBPZGai3CX0vA2GcDs/s320/ron-jeremy-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Speaking of <a href="http://microcows.blogspot.com/2009/10/fun-fact-friday-food-pr0n-nsfv.html">Muppets and the pr0n</a>, Dougie from Vancouver, British Columbia asks: Dear NFG - have you ever cobbled together the vague plot of a 70's adult film for the benefit of your readers?<br />
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Okay, Dougie, we're not really that kind of website. However, I have talked about the decade of my early childhood before, and referenced a bow-chicka-bow-bow type of screenplay in my g-spot post, found <a href="http://microcows.blogspot.com/2010/01/fun-fact-friday-im-blushing-as-i-write.html">here</a>. Grab a Molson's and give it a look-see. Writing of a higher caliber can be found at our sister site, <a href="http://see-you-next-thursday.blogspot.com/">Crappy Unfinished Novel Time</a>. Sure, it's not very popular, but if the readership suddenly demands it, we can add more to the page. Who knows, I might even finish something.<br />
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Pam from Irving, Texas writes: Hey, NFG - is it really necessary to use such <a href="http://microcows.blogspot.com/2010/05/whatever-floats-your-motorboat.html">blatant filler</a> just to maintain your readership?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAO8x59yJGsGxi4jc5sZ_54xxBVOfSvZo8tsOfVeMJYcvQwN75XKpwb5PhecMktBcLWYQzbISYQM39hH8WE9V_EYSFUdE3ZenLa2D9XClSqyjJpYjitE3NeuEIh_E7czNsSCiTUN8Rvk/s1600/miranda-kerr-nude-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAO8x59yJGsGxi4jc5sZ_54xxBVOfSvZo8tsOfVeMJYcvQwN75XKpwb5PhecMktBcLWYQzbISYQM39hH8WE9V_EYSFUdE3ZenLa2D9XClSqyjJpYjitE3NeuEIh_E7czNsSCiTUN8Rvk/s400/miranda-kerr-nude-01.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>Oh, Pam. Of course it is. Most of this blog is blatant filler. When the queries that send people here are obviously crying out for more of my fat nerditude, I can only respond by giving readers what they so desparately crave. That means nerdiness and gratuitious near-nudity.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8sbKMoBvEI7mu92wpnWGAnl76h-JaeOXB_ygeIj4u_B0WGEi9y43Lx0qRpxnWN2cxodE0LnhyphenhyphenDyXyKHdCoEzAZJCL6QbRMGwjXQbIimrd9wc0SSkK8QCJbS94ZNSMPv-39Jp_OfM1l4/s1600/miranda-kerr-nude-05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8sbKMoBvEI7mu92wpnWGAnl76h-JaeOXB_ygeIj4u_B0WGEi9y43Lx0qRpxnWN2cxodE0LnhyphenhyphenDyXyKHdCoEzAZJCL6QbRMGwjXQbIimrd9wc0SSkK8QCJbS94ZNSMPv-39Jp_OfM1l4/s400/miranda-kerr-nude-05.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>Do you have a question for the Nerdy Fat Guy? Click on the icon in the upper right-hand corner of the screen to send me an <a href="mailto:nerdyfatguy@gmail.com">email</a>. No question is too obtuse, we welcome all queries. We here at NFG Worldwide would love to make this a regular feature, and that means your questions are important to us!Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-71437590765474099572011-07-25T08:00:00.005-04:002011-07-25T08:31:28.144-04:00I feel like a kid again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2lZfPiN7Q-9fwCRwIm3SxPuJXjNS1vPTo5a2MSCXd-SPIlYKt6v15lU7M79MdI7etZC2c01krAOh8AlAKWwJ83jWJ7WHMpnnj304iO_DKVZ8PgLeN3t9SR6ztT2YI7LoU9Gpug_DYjk8/s1600/pumpsclosed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2lZfPiN7Q-9fwCRwIm3SxPuJXjNS1vPTo5a2MSCXd-SPIlYKt6v15lU7M79MdI7etZC2c01krAOh8AlAKWwJ83jWJ7WHMpnnj304iO_DKVZ8PgLeN3t9SR6ztT2YI7LoU9Gpug_DYjk8/s400/pumpsclosed.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>I am a product of the 70's, the same decade that produced disco and glam rock. It was also the same decade as the great fuel crisis.<br />
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I don't remember the fuel crisis, so either it never hit Wisconsin, or I was just unaware of my father putting two gallons of gas into a car that got two miles to the gallon. <br />
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However, on Sunday, I faced my own little fuel crisis: our local stations were all out of gas. If I had gas in the car, this little tidbit wouldn't bother me at all. As it was though, the dash had been announcing 'FUEL RANGE LOW' for over a day, and I really felt like I needed a cushion (having run out of gas before...pushing my car once was more than enough.)<br />
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I was able to eke out a gallon from the gas can at home, to buy me a day or two until the stations can restock. And since it's been see-through-time hot the past few weeks, my lawn isn't growing, anyway. However, driving on 'E' makes me edgy, and not in a good way (like KISS in a world of Bee Gees and Gloria Gaynor.) Instead, I'm just anxious, waiting for the worst to happen (like a Bee Gees fan at a KISS concert.)<br />
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But I can just hope that when I can fill up again, the prices are closer to 1975 than 2011. Ah, the blind optimism of youth. And if I can't refill before I run out completely, I'll end up walking or riding my bike.<br />
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Just like I had to in the 70's.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-63634786591972825012011-07-21T08:00:00.003-04:002011-07-21T08:00:06.879-04:00Random Acts of Thursday - Wherein I bare my soul to the movie gods<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjGQdeu-Laot6hC50Fw0_zLQ0t93nnNp7JjWGUM9zjDDS7GzAsSAk1aRbDCF6zXF9Gq47tkBaKs7hAHnlcvetHw0ThJETE6vqW-J1jnXNIBeJrE5TVnyn-iS4-ag1nWD369o4dAU6ZQ9U/s1600/movies-watching-movies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjGQdeu-Laot6hC50Fw0_zLQ0t93nnNp7JjWGUM9zjDDS7GzAsSAk1aRbDCF6zXF9Gq47tkBaKs7hAHnlcvetHw0ThJETE6vqW-J1jnXNIBeJrE5TVnyn-iS4-ag1nWD369o4dAU6ZQ9U/s400/movies-watching-movies.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Some of you may have figured out I'm a bit of a film nerd. Some of you may recall that I keep a list of the films I've seen, which currently numbers well over 700 (and I keep finding films I forgot about seeing until they cross my path again....) It suggests that I've seen a new movie every 2.5 weeks since birth. An impressive waste of good time, and that doesn't count the films I've watched ten times over or more, like most of the James Bond oeuvre, 'Mad Max', any Eastwood western or Dirty Harry film, and 'The 39 Steps'. It's a wonder I get any sleep at all.<br />
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However, this is my list o' shame, films that I want to see, or probably should see, lest I be called out on my total lack of film nerdiness. I've seen bits and pieces of a few of these, but never start-to-finish. And that's just sad. Worse, even if any of these show up on IFC or AMC, I'll be forced to sit through commercials and that's not happening, kids. Even the ol' DVR can't get me past those breaks in continuity.<br />
<br />
Vanishing Point<br />
Be Cool<br />
From Dusk til Dawn<br />
Citizen Kane (it's been saved on the DVR for months)<br />
Natural Born Killers<br />
Blood simple<br />
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?<br />
North by Northwest<br />
Rear Window<br />
The African Queen<br />
Chinatown<br />
The Two Jakes<br />
Evil Dead<br />
Dawn of the Dead<br />
Night of the Living Dead<br />
Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid<br />
Pennies From Heaven<br />
Paper Moon<br />
Gypsy<br />
The Rose<br />
<br />
There are probably more, feel free to mock my unworthiness below. Also, gift subscriptions to NetFlix are quite welcome, feel free to click on the 'donate' button to the right.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-53766031466697627632011-07-18T08:00:00.003-04:002011-07-18T08:00:19.105-04:00Gunfight at the Golden Corral<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7BsjhXv9kiryIB8qcDvT7tBx7cs7XvJCLOCNwxHgf_w0JLcF3oy1MTk93ATReV0RwGFtBOXh0hxp0h0sj1Ie-7afXtcwN2mqNcsSfM3JVcv3DNi5N6__8Y8JD9Hxh1PKO4ehY_8tANc/s1600/screaming_child_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7BsjhXv9kiryIB8qcDvT7tBx7cs7XvJCLOCNwxHgf_w0JLcF3oy1MTk93ATReV0RwGFtBOXh0hxp0h0sj1Ie-7afXtcwN2mqNcsSfM3JVcv3DNi5N6__8Y8JD9Hxh1PKO4ehY_8tANc/s400/screaming_child_poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I'm a crotchety old man. Have been for around 20 years. I'm lying, it's more like 30 years. Something I've never been, though, is an unruly child in public. (As an adult, I've created scenes, both intentionally and not. Get over it.)<br />
<br />
Lori told me today about a <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Travel/restaurant-bans-young-kids/story?id=14056230">restaurant in Pittsburgh</a> that has banned children under the age of six following 'numerous' complaints about the unruly little ratfink fussbuckets screaming and upsetting an otherwise enjoyable dining experience. I'm sure they were also standing on chairs, annoying nearby diners by flinging food and crayons, walking around, refusing to sit up, crawling on the floors, flinging more crayons, and generally behaving in a rather pro-contraceptive manner. Some people are offended.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJ8gMGp-AEs_nwutpvMZ0A4S6NQxmZuWdJYsrHxsZcv1gTbbKZuCnAr5UHm7FK0_tp_dSS-q9NuDoxx5REC9tz892CLUkgB4jRtbEvKhum771cH5DgWH5CXuMB6KNU3R-eL8ZyQQGnpM/s1600/crying-child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJ8gMGp-AEs_nwutpvMZ0A4S6NQxmZuWdJYsrHxsZcv1gTbbKZuCnAr5UHm7FK0_tp_dSS-q9NuDoxx5REC9tz892CLUkgB4jRtbEvKhum771cH5DgWH5CXuMB6KNU3R-eL8ZyQQGnpM/s400/crying-child.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I say 'Right on, restaurant'. <br />
<br />
Lori and I have restaurants we avoid because they attract unsavory elements (see paragraph two, above.) Would I be more likely to patronize a restaurant, knowing that I won't have to endure crying, yelling, staring, annoying little weasels? Of course I would. One of our local restaurants has a 'kid corner', a section of the restaurant where they seat families exclusively, to keep them away from the beer-drinkin', good-time-havin' crowd. Which was great until, on a busy Friday night, we were seated in kid corner. My normal easy-going nature was severely cramped.<br />
<br />
(Shut up. You know the NFG has an easy-going nature.)<br />
<br />
As a public service then, I'd like to offer readers of the ol' CDS (all three of you) the NFG Worldwide Solution to avoid screaming kiddoes interrupting your well-aged Porterhouse or chicken Caesar salad. First, get rid of the kids' menu, with its chicken nuggets and mac'n'cheez. Lose the crayons. Better yet, let's adopt the tried and true bowling alley method of my youth, one appreciated by drunken keglers everywhere: on-site daycare.<br />
<br />
My grocery store has a kiddie corral, too. You have no idea how peaceful it is to shop without toddlers darting in and out of my legs. I like to imagine, too, that some of the parents don't even NEED groceries, they just use the free service to get a break.<br />
<br />
So why not introduce such a solution at fine restaurants everywhere? Pack your kid a sandwich (no peanut butter, never know who's allergic), check them at the door, claim them once you've enjoyed your veal picatta or trout meuniere, and everyone's happy. <br />
<br />
And if your kids are well-mannered little quietmonkeys, good for you for teaching your children how to behave in public. You should treat yourself to a nice dinner.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdp7gztqi5ng8qnXstk1psvcR2BEARGghwYhd2QkjH33LwovrA4tGEv73Wh9x5ktO966nQM39FNIR06ATNIkxp4e71cruKKNTe4h7gVgF4a8a3Vy1Ez8c24We14Wy-AigyrHdf89d2fU/s1600/girl-crying-on-plane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdp7gztqi5ng8qnXstk1psvcR2BEARGghwYhd2QkjH33LwovrA4tGEv73Wh9x5ktO966nQM39FNIR06ATNIkxp4e71cruKKNTe4h7gVgF4a8a3Vy1Ez8c24We14Wy-AigyrHdf89d2fU/s400/girl-crying-on-plane.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Next hurdle? How do we get airlines to follow the trend? <br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* For those of you who think I'm being a hard-ass, let me reiterate that I don't indiscriminately dislike children. Children are a joy, and I love my daughters, grandson and nieces very much. However, they have been (or will be, in the case of the wee ones) taught their manners. Enough said.</span>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-52303125621203801412011-07-14T08:00:00.000-04:002011-07-14T08:00:04.690-04:00Random Acts of Thursday - Bad Assitude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNA8-327Bp9JwSMLJy4JYgRjbDRivaVhlmYN3pOITJzetyzGzhpEClqXHywbLKu5fIT5Tgshz91ATuK-BON1aDcKvUNOJScVO-hJ3_Mvct5mGxdybdzFShL_yOl_JG15tlAs7da6r1lA/s1600/Wish_You_Were_Here.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNA8-327Bp9JwSMLJy4JYgRjbDRivaVhlmYN3pOITJzetyzGzhpEClqXHywbLKu5fIT5Tgshz91ATuK-BON1aDcKvUNOJScVO-hJ3_Mvct5mGxdybdzFShL_yOl_JG15tlAs7da6r1lA/s400/Wish_You_Were_Here.jpg" width="337" /></a></div>Hollywood doesn't make actors like they used to. (Prove me wrong, kids. Prove me wrong.) I lived to watch 'old' movies with my father on Sundays, anything with car (or horse) chases and lots of shoot-em-up action, and wishing I was more like their characters. I've mentioned more than once that I wish I was more bad-ass. <br />
<br />
Sure, there are actors who did some one-off action work among their comedic stylings (see also 'Last Man Standing'), but few men exhibited that true grit of a hard-ass like those listed below. Pick the movie that made their mothers proud, pilgrim. <br />
<br />
Steve McQueen<br />
Harrison Ford <br />
Chuck Norris <br />
Clint Eastwood <br />
John Wayne <br />
Humphrey Bogart<br />
Sean Connery <br />
Burt Lancaster <br />
Charles Bronson <br />
Lee Marvin <br />
<br />
Rio Bravo<br />
Raiders of the Lost Ark<br />
Death Wish<br />
Bullitt<br />
Gunfight at the OK Corral<br />
The Big Sleep<br />
Good Guys Wear Black<br />
The Enforcer<br />
The Dirty Dozen<br />
Thunderball<br />
<br />
Yes, some of the actors were in more than one of these films, so choose wisely. Half of these have been on television in the last few weeks, and I watched as much of them as time would allow. How about you?<br />
<br />
Speaking of bad-ass, I decided we're long overdue for another ever popular Dead Wrestler Trading Card (an NFG Worldwide exclusive!)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1WHugWt2JCZAv2kKLWX755rpmk-1gQkdhXQ2cAb38MdiIwFUCEXJXk4dkSydo5z5Ys-HnkTGORIPn0D_5H9OfVbqamWfS0rrDmdhBVdAFQV764jpBkaF0ipKwIHrFFmciCkq_OI_kr0/s1600/vonhess_karl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1WHugWt2JCZAv2kKLWX755rpmk-1gQkdhXQ2cAb38MdiIwFUCEXJXk4dkSydo5z5Ys-HnkTGORIPn0D_5H9OfVbqamWfS0rrDmdhBVdAFQV764jpBkaF0ipKwIHrFFmciCkq_OI_kr0/s400/vonhess_karl.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Karl Von Hess<br />
1919-2009</div><br />
Karl Von Hess, born Frank Fakety in Michigan in 1919, made his name heading to the ring in a full-scale Nazi guise in the years following World War II. He would enter arenas in a Waffen SS coat and a "Sieg, Heil!" salute. As a result, Von Hess was shot at, stabbed, attacked, and burned en route to becoming a white-hot heel in the late 1950s.<br />
<br />
"Karl Von Hess was absolutely wonderful," said Ted Lewin, wrestler-turned-author and illustrator in The Pro Wrestling Hall of Fame: The Heels. "He was very special because he didn't do a heck of a lot to make people angry at him. All he had to do was kind of keep turning and looking at the audience, and the audience would boo, and then he'd turn and look at them again." <br />
<br />
Before achieving fame (or infame), Von Hess was a lifeguard and swimming teacher, then entered the navy in World War II to serve in the Underwater Demolition Corps. Upon his discharge, he worked the carnival circuit for several years, then worked in various regional wrestling promotions before gaining national noteriety as the bad guy everyone loved to hate.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-16440124205131180552011-07-11T11:11:00.003-04:002011-07-11T12:26:18.991-04:00Beeeeeeeeep....(do televisions still make that noise?)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XuprddE3PboRotJS3pMg-aCm6oBu9o7IcLtWX3idvT0lvqgSu_J8JFhYOs2DmlYETATbcdNbWdhuME80Hgz_cEgeaFifH5Ta44pJpKWL08QVAloTdBIyXp_QbWHhFegKUMVxVAj1qt8/s1600/PLEASE-STAND-BY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XuprddE3PboRotJS3pMg-aCm6oBu9o7IcLtWX3idvT0lvqgSu_J8JFhYOs2DmlYETATbcdNbWdhuME80Hgz_cEgeaFifH5Ta44pJpKWL08QVAloTdBIyXp_QbWHhFegKUMVxVAj1qt8/s400/PLEASE-STAND-BY.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>We're experiencing some minor difficulties - technically, anyway. Your regular blog-reading experience will return shortly.<br />
<br />
I remember getting up early, early early, very very early on Saturday mornings sometimes, expecting to get a jump on my cartoon-watching activities. Some mornings, I'd catch the farm report. Some rare days, I'd get a screen much like the one above. The television would just 'squeeeeeeeeeeeee' at me like so much alien technology, mocking my cartoon-deficient life.<br />
<br />
Kids today have it easy.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-48455607626320442402011-06-28T08:00:00.001-04:002011-06-28T08:00:11.327-04:00Blast from the Past - Door goes up, door goes down. Door goes up, door goes down.(Originally published June 2007)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIavIQ4PD7duGyF5xpKoStVJESsb1Ws-BxZJ4w8pTlxhtzHhnIyyCXiGc9m97D-5feVieimXPLEfoDnG5Zj3A8AVzSrEkpdW6ma8iIhwsLmCJGqLVd4efrLIVz-I1TVOcDPRXr7qE2vTM/s1600/me_in_four_months.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIavIQ4PD7duGyF5xpKoStVJESsb1Ws-BxZJ4w8pTlxhtzHhnIyyCXiGc9m97D-5feVieimXPLEfoDnG5Zj3A8AVzSrEkpdW6ma8iIhwsLmCJGqLVd4efrLIVz-I1TVOcDPRXr7qE2vTM/s400/me_in_four_months.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>Ah, the joys of summer. Nothing like trying to fix a garage door in 5000% humidity. I left for work early today, gung-ho to get a small project done while it was still quiet there. Sadly, I was dry for a whopping seven minutes this morning before the fun began. I opened the garage to get the garbage can, only to find my newly-hung fluorescent shop light (they hum like angels!) dangling precariously above Buttercup, one of my new ceiling hooks clattering across the floor. Crisis averted and light removed from the danger zone (cue Top Gun theme).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpcK-9R3b5dZRs6qvPDCp4PI5Si7CTs4EnX8s5nB3uruYu_GhPVOdCXQ-lfMMgUotzo8QM9gAf5TLUC5pzee9hUW-mtcsnAnorfqB-_OmiIYwjNMAHcENMAzu8mQzvC2puVF9Q5XKfwc/s1600/broken-garage-door-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpcK-9R3b5dZRs6qvPDCp4PI5Si7CTs4EnX8s5nB3uruYu_GhPVOdCXQ-lfMMgUotzo8QM9gAf5TLUC5pzee9hUW-mtcsnAnorfqB-_OmiIYwjNMAHcENMAzu8mQzvC2puVF9Q5XKfwc/s400/broken-garage-door-1.png" width="400" /></a></div>Garbage delivered safely to the curb, soda retrieved from the fridge, I was ready to be on my way, and even be to work early today, when I attempted to close the garage door. Half-way down, I got a 'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr' as the safety switch kicked in and reversed the door. Hmm. Interesting. I hit the button again, only to have the same result. On further inspection, I noted that one of the two cables (or 50% of them for you math buffs) was no longer an active participant in the spring-and-pulley show, and the door was landing askew. I wound the cable and tried to slot the end into the pulley, at which time the cable unwound. About this time I decided wearing gloves MIGHT be a good idea, rather than filling my hands with oily metal shavings. I slotted the end into the pulley and then wound the cable around, and it unwound. I finally loosened the pulley, MOVED the slot to where it would actually reach, then wound the cable and tightened the pulley again.<br />
<br />
Success! Almost.<br />
<br />
This time instead of half-way down, I got to within a foot of the ground before 'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr'. I released the safety catch on the opener, re-tightened the cable, then tried closing it again. I think I got about 30 'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr's before I got within inches of the ground. One more tightening, one more 'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr'.<br />
<br />
I unlocked the side door to the garage, since it only locks from the inside, and opened the big door again, then dropped it to the ground without the opener attached. One final tighten, and now the door goes up, the door goes down. Door goes up, door goes down.<br />
<br />
And if you've ever been thrown into a pool with all your clothes on, just imagine that pool being bathwater warm and extremely salty. That's how I felt by the time this was all done. It should go without saying that I was NOT early for work.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-51558249386631301172011-06-24T08:00:00.000-04:002011-06-24T08:00:03.700-04:00Outstanding in my field<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1ScD5ZWFbl8dcUXva9_La-re9WD1myw0PJrACoL_AE_C14z6GwFF4Dxy5Te5rGLmfmTjJXmpqcJ6oxUE4VCj8VNbcdHan_eSVqKne0NUd7UQvKMvoK9Cb7nSK4-pp2NPLchAY687be8/s1600/minesnotthisbadyet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1ScD5ZWFbl8dcUXva9_La-re9WD1myw0PJrACoL_AE_C14z6GwFF4Dxy5Te5rGLmfmTjJXmpqcJ6oxUE4VCj8VNbcdHan_eSVqKne0NUd7UQvKMvoK9Cb7nSK4-pp2NPLchAY687be8/s400/minesnotthisbadyet.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>My lawn was starting to look untidy. I mowed, but instead of a neat, crisp mow, I'd be left with the grassular equivalent of split ends. I thought perhaps, maybe, it might finally be time to get the blade sharpened.<br />
<br />
I got this mower at least four years ago, before we left the great state of Wisconsin. I mowed my Wisconsin lawn repeatedly with the fine one-pull-starty goodness that was a new mower after spending two seasons fighting with a 30-year-old start-resistant machine. Since then, Florida 'lawns' have taken their toll on the newness. I might as well have been mowing repeatedly over the stump of our frost-killed palm tree. Or a large rock. The blade was awful. Never have I seen such a thing. A co-worker chastised me, telling me that the blade should be sharpened every year. You should have seen his reaction when I told him that no, I've never changed the mower's oil, either.<br />
<br />
I'm a bad lawnmower parent. <br />
<br />
But now, the blade is sharp. Sharpie McSharperson. Bladish Von Mowsalot. And, as if to taunt me, the weather turned Florida-humid yesterday before I picked the blade up, just so I couldn't use it. Well, I could have, certainly, but I didn't mow my Florida lawn when the weather was like that, no way was I mowing the Ohio lawn. <br />
<br />
And now, the weather's turned mild again between the rain, and I should probably face the task at hand, since Quincy's grazing. Soon, we'll lose him in the great pampas field of our back yard, and I'll have an entire oak grove in the front thanks to the damn squirrels. The neighbors are scalping ever further into my yard with each time they mow, and I don't roll like that. (Why do mowers even come with that lowest setting anymore? We've all learned it's bad for the grass.)<br />
<br />
Ooops, wait, it's raining. Never mind.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-87687307180073005242011-06-14T08:00:00.001-04:002011-06-14T08:00:10.102-04:00Bang your head<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HAsgHT3PewcsTjLTxlSKSKoC1bJDwZkom7CkXQhNwKqe8vQhR3TsAXgr12sfS0a88oYzhS-sdqh9LyerPikxaOcPRLgzxWL1Le9BGTXTglHIWXk80B-7SrxOKiHnPad_2x-L_5clhM0/s1600/bandaged_head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HAsgHT3PewcsTjLTxlSKSKoC1bJDwZkom7CkXQhNwKqe8vQhR3TsAXgr12sfS0a88oYzhS-sdqh9LyerPikxaOcPRLgzxWL1Le9BGTXTglHIWXk80B-7SrxOKiHnPad_2x-L_5clhM0/s400/bandaged_head.jpg" width="271" /></a></div>I am not now, nor have I ever been, the epitome of gracefulness. At age two, I fell out of the car and broke my collar bone. Age three, header into the door jamb, leaving a nice scar on my cheek and inside my lower lip. My first day of third grade? Basketball to the head. Eighth grade? Faceplant into the asphalt track. There's that giant chunk of chin I took out with a sharp new razor, unaccustomed as I am to shaving said chin. Matches the chunk I took out of my ankle going over the handlebars of my bike. MY bike, to be clear. I merely knocked the wind out of myself the other two times I went over other handlebars. My hands and arms and legs are all scarred like a five-year-old's. I have a rather impressive collection.<br />
<br />
The other night should have come as no surprise to me then, as I was blotting blood from my forehead following a gardening accident. I could have put my eye out, so the gash is almost uneventful. I had a tetanus shot in 2002, so I'm good for another year. The cut probably won't even scar, good thing since I can't afford any further damage to my mug. It should heal before my niece's baptism this weekend, though there's always Photoshop to the rescue if not. But still, I have to smack myself for not paying attention. <br />
<br />
And that might leave a mark.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-23712084616441073202011-06-09T08:00:00.001-04:002011-06-09T08:00:13.537-04:00Random Acts of Thursday - No more teachers' dirty looks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzMWYy3IURhXfoF7f2n2iKhWLR5XR_6qjJV3wf1o8T2OT1PXTe_W0J2VM5dWtry5A9PkwMKipPpOSE388wkJFOLUQER9rGHCAMvyxd_fOOXFjHmnPAEmVOywRm7Wa1o-pi6En7lMz-mE/s1600/schools_out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzMWYy3IURhXfoF7f2n2iKhWLR5XR_6qjJV3wf1o8T2OT1PXTe_W0J2VM5dWtry5A9PkwMKipPpOSE388wkJFOLUQER9rGHCAMvyxd_fOOXFjHmnPAEmVOywRm7Wa1o-pi6En7lMz-mE/s320/schools_out.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I'm not sure about your neck of the woods, but the end of the school year is ripe in the Ohio air. As such, I thought we'd give one last nod to those hallowed halls of education for the year, before ditching our good clothes in favor of swim trunks and amusing novelty tees.<br />
<br />
I remember taking that last week easy, as most kids were done learning. The big event was always the ceremonial locker cleaning, where items that never made it home during the school year got crammed into book bags or thrown in the trash. Notebooks, leaky pens, that cool generic Walkman-knockoff cassette player you brought in for a class project, and in the case of one classmate, half the cafeteria's silverware. Ah, memories.<br />
<br />
Consider this a final exam for the Spring term, if you must. You know I'll continue to get my nerd on year-round, but if it makes you feel better that this might be the last one for a while, so be it. I'll give you the school, you give me the corresponding film.<br />
<br />
<u>Elementary Education:</u><br />
Horace Green Elementary<br />
Warren G. Harding Elementary<br />
Welton Academy for Boys<br />
<br />
<u>Secondary Education:</u><br />
Hemery High School<br />
Rydell High School<br />
Vince Lombardi High School<br />
Westerurg High School<br />
Shermer High School<br />
<br />
<u>Post-Secondary Education:</u><br />
Faber College<br />
Grand Lakes University<br />
Pacific Tech<br />
<br />
Make sure you do your homework on this one, I'd hate to see anyone have to repeat the class this summer. Show your work, kids! (And as always, this quiz goes to eleven.)<br />
<br />
Extra credit? One of these films featured my favorite author. Which of his books did he write a report on?Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-63203799381632954232011-05-25T08:00:00.002-04:002011-05-25T08:00:09.280-04:00Dinnertime - Shiksa-Bob<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMy4ZqhY2V4LEt0eqrGkFQRJ4aUADH5uPxlzeR7xksj-ULHtKD0oUBo__g6R1Q9k_9_YYd2FlWV_khrfg5E3UeBeG7vT6-CYRmuBNUEL74IgwW29rOncPQJdyB_iNRu3_lPqbBiOkr-vc/s400/stockphoto.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stock Photo - we ate this too quickly for pictures!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Many of you know my affinity for pork products. If not, you should click </span><a href="http://microcows.blogspot.com/search?q=pork"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">here</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. I also like the flavors of India and Asia, and I'm looking for new things to do once we start harvesting the ample supply of wild pigs in this country.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1# Pork Sirloin, in 1-inch cubes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Cup Buttermilk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Cup Cilantro, loosely packed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 Cloves Garlic</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Tbsp Thai green curry paste</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Jalepeno or Thai chile, or more to taste</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Tbsp kosher salt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 Large Onion, 1-inch dice</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Combine all ingredients except pork and onion in a blender, puree until smooth. If you don't want to buy buttermilk, you can combine one cup milk and one tablespoon of vinegar. In a large bowl, add the contents of the blender to the pork and stir to coat. Cover and refrigerate overnight.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The next day, alternate onion slices and pork cubes on skewers, and cook over high heat on a grill or under the broiler (if it won't stop raining, like here in Cleveland, for example.) until golden brown. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I served this on warm naan with a green mango chutney from the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nirmalas-Kitchen-Everyday-World-Cuisine/dp/1891105264/ref=sr_1_10?ie=UTF8&qid=1305980455&sr=8-10">latest cookbook</a> in our collection, you could add this to rice or even add the marinade to tomato sauce and yogurt for a sauce. Makes four servings.</span>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-57474751869726623312011-05-23T08:00:00.006-04:002011-05-23T08:00:00.768-04:00Tastes (Kinda) Like Chicken, Looks Like The Lower 48?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-8fhUI_hoe_1xhcUOBDngpsRwUBviSQwyF01YSjrxhYsGnMZR9UkUt5MmoJ4v1v3PhToCRdxVr8HOQXW8bg6i8bY03s3f0Dd7jhVBTGUyeIZj9VBHVkyx0mh02cjQ__88hNClv8K_QM/s1600/BeakerHoneydew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-8fhUI_hoe_1xhcUOBDngpsRwUBviSQwyF01YSjrxhYsGnMZR9UkUt5MmoJ4v1v3PhToCRdxVr8HOQXW8bg6i8bY03s3f0Dd7jhVBTGUyeIZj9VBHVkyx0mh02cjQ__88hNClv8K_QM/s400/BeakerHoneydew.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Call me old-fashioned, but I like my food to look like food. Sure, it's a well-known fact that I enjoy the little cheese crackers with the peanut butter in them, and that color does not occur in nature except to scream 'poisonous!', but they do look exactly like they're designed to.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">On the opposite side of the coin, what's the deal with chicken nuggets? First it was McDonalds, and now it seems everyone is jumping on the 'that's-not-shaped-like-food' bandwagon. I don't eat <a href="http://i199.photobucket.com/albums/aa196/microcows/pictures_mcnugget.jpg">McNuggets</a>, but on occasion, nuggets from other fast food icons make a quick and tidy snack when I'm on the run, and they're all shaped the same. Some of them look like Minnesota. Some of them are shaped like animators used to draw pork chops back in the 1940's. Some of them are shaped like paramecia. Some of them have no rhyme or reason whatsoever, and they're only benefit is the ability to fit neatly into a vat of barbecue or sweet-and-sour.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I get the dinosaurs, the stars and the other amusing kid-friendly shapes, because we want our kids to eat something besides paste and scabs. But unless you come out with the full fifty state nugget pack to teach them geography, it seems wrong to pick on one or two. And 50 nuggets would just add to the growing childhood obesity issues in this country, especially dipped in honey mustard.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Round is good. Shape them like drumsticks, I'll be happy. It's an extrusion, you can't tell me these are the only shapes we can come up with.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mXO_g0wppg94rsGIq_Evo9GhInzKFeyKIbjbsa21rsLYGmT39TzQxtw9BGuPoZEJHlw6yCZgn2Y_zZ2-LoAculDlvRX7gpcFeKcJPW1dVIO0MMPM4M-SpdsoU_Xz2oKU6bjble7gC0I/s1600/bacteria.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mXO_g0wppg94rsGIq_Evo9GhInzKFeyKIbjbsa21rsLYGmT39TzQxtw9BGuPoZEJHlw6yCZgn2Y_zZ2-LoAculDlvRX7gpcFeKcJPW1dVIO0MMPM4M-SpdsoU_Xz2oKU6bjble7gC0I/s320/bacteria.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does that look like a McNugget/New Hampshire to you?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I mentioned my curiousity about this to someone the other day, and they sent me to <a href="http://blogs.villagevoice.com/forkintheroad/2008/04/test_tube_meat_1.php">this article</a> about genetically engineered ground meat. That's right, scientists are developing cell structures that will grow a hamburger without ever needing to be farm-raised, slaughtered or butchered, and it won't create the mass amounts of greenhouse gas expelled by real cows and chickens. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">This makes perfect sense to me, that half of the meat we consume is already ground, so why not remove the animal cruelty from the picture? I love the American farm and the American farmer, but I've read much on the environmental impact a single cow can have on global warming, and how each cow produces 1/16th the meat-to-pollution ratio of smaller animals like chickens. And now, everyone could grow their own meat. I'm on board.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The only tragedy here? Every day I don't finish my old novel is a day that my imaginary happenings become closer to truth.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Damn. I wish I had some of those cheesy peanut butter crackers.</span>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-53531095657433324392011-05-11T08:13:00.011-04:002011-05-11T08:13:00.662-04:00Where is my flying car? I was promised flying cars!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfaWp5EX_73cmqkBb5N4-kSMdd_ZyGhdpzDpoTWNn5Lq0eRzxtpXakrEO_TrXE27PUsuz7nx7R04peLam-iOLLlc76mAj-BWqGSFf0THc1QDeS-oLoRtX52G8MUAZXN_qMwN7QQsoNJY/s1600/Flying-Car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfaWp5EX_73cmqkBb5N4-kSMdd_ZyGhdpzDpoTWNn5Lq0eRzxtpXakrEO_TrXE27PUsuz7nx7R04peLam-iOLLlc76mAj-BWqGSFf0THc1QDeS-oLoRtX52G8MUAZXN_qMwN7QQsoNJY/s400/Flying-Car.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't see any flying cars! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm 40 years old today. Age is just a number, nothing important as I've been an '<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKQNeHCGuZ3TamV5fk2j4ikMcF5W37E1zolh0cIdE9V9ljNg01xMjT3gyn-hKQMlqd5sTr3QAhrRGHJFaBcRPsw_tH5Wf3LNYw8yLOBiDs57hoss7AAD7RU7v-k3W137noplbHiD4ah8/s400/me_in_two_days.jpg">old man</a>' much of my life. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But 40. Forty. Four-Zero. That's 14610 days, if I include leap years (and I have, because that's how I roll. Nerd to your mother.) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of my favorite websites, IMDB, lists over 4000 people born the same year as me, actors and best boys and key grips born 40 years ago. Many famous, some that nobody's ever heard <a href="http://images.businessweek.com/ss/07/06/0611_celebrities/image/tomgreen.jpg">of</a>. And I share my birthday with the likes of Salvador Dali and Irving Berlin. They're no slouches. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1971 was a big year in the space race, astronauts and cosmonauts vying for supremacy of the heavens. I wasn't yet born when Americans walked on the moon during the Apollo 14 mission. I was alive and being adorable when we followed up with Apollo 15, but I don't really remember it. I was alive when DB Cooper jumped from a Northwest Orient flight and into history.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">We were doing that in 1971, and now? Nothing. Sure, there's a space station up there somewhere, waiting patiently to Skylab its way back to Earth, but are we really using it for anything? Science is all up in our faces over alternative fuels and clean energy, but where's my robot maid, my dog-walking treadmill? Do I need to download an iPhone app? I don't even have an iPhone. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">As for my physical prowess, I'm not going to win a <a href="http://www.twited.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/1283248820-97.jpg">Superbowl</a> or the <a href="http://crackbillionair.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/lance-bubbly.jpg">Tour de France</a>. Can you imagine? Especially those of you who've seen me throw a <a href="http://www.insidesocal.com/tomhoffarth/3-stooges-football.jpg">football</a> or witnessed my first bike ride without training <a href="http://blogs.citypages.com/blotter/bicycle%20crash%20500.jpg">wheels</a>. Anyone who actually witnessed my face-first assault on the school track back in 8th grade isn't at all surprised that I've never become a superstar athlete. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So, what have I been doing with myself? I'm married to a beautiful woman who puts up with far too much of my nerdilated insanity. Not that I'm asking her to stop. I have two wonderful daughters and a lovely grandson. I learned how to ride a motorcycle, and for anyone who was there for my early forays into the bicycle realm, that's probably pretty frightening.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">In all, I've managed a pretty positive forty years by most standards. And the future seems pretty bright. If only I had a flying car where I could keep my shades. Then again, I'm fairly old-school. My razor only has <a href="http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a79/ron_k/razor.jpg">two blades</a>. Most of my music is still on <a href="http://magnettheater.com/viewshow.php?showid=35919">cassette</a>, many of them taped off of the radio, and my first portable cassette recorder (like a <a href="http://llavelle.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/walkman-girl41.jpg">Walkman</a> without the name brand) required me to flip the tape over to the B-side manually. I did walk home from school in the snow. I've only owned a cell phone for a quarter of my life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But being old school means I was taught that when you make a promise, you keep it. And I was promised flying cars, so I want mine. </span>Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5781586185594177386.post-39539979990962825902011-05-09T08:13:00.001-04:002011-05-09T08:13:00.390-04:00Blast from the Past - The Other Organ Donor<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Times continue to be busy around here at CDS Enterprises (A wholly-owned division of NFG Worldwide, Ltd.) and despite recent posts, I still feel compelled to share past musings and crotchety posts from the ether.</span></em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">In light of my repeated musings on the subject of pork and pork products, I thought I'd share this little gem with you from May '07. </span></em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKQNeHCGuZ3TamV5fk2j4ikMcF5W37E1zolh0cIdE9V9ljNg01xMjT3gyn-hKQMlqd5sTr3QAhrRGHJFaBcRPsw_tH5Wf3LNYw8yLOBiDs57hoss7AAD7RU7v-k3W137noplbHiD4ah8/s1600/me_in_two_days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKQNeHCGuZ3TamV5fk2j4ikMcF5W37E1zolh0cIdE9V9ljNg01xMjT3gyn-hKQMlqd5sTr3QAhrRGHJFaBcRPsw_tH5Wf3LNYw8yLOBiDs57hoss7AAD7RU7v-k3W137noplbHiD4ah8/s400/me_in_two_days.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I've been thinking about the news stories reported <strike>below</strike> <a href="http://news.softpedia.com/news/Pig-Cells-a-Cure-for-Diabetes-18399.shtml">HERE</a> and <a href="http://www.diabeteswellness.net/WellnessNetwork/ArticleCloserandClosertoaCure.aspx">HERE</a> and the possible implications for the last few weeks, since it ran on our local news (actually, we just looked it up on the station's website, since I can't sit through 58 minutes of human interest drivel just to get to the one potentially significant news story of the evening…). I've had diabetic family members, as has Lori. Our friend was just diagnosed at age 35. One of my clients is active in the state's chapter of the ADA, and we've ridden in the 'Ride for the Cure' pledge drive. However, it doesn't mean I knew anything about the disease, and especially that 20 million people in the US alone are afflicted with it. I can't even imagine 20 Milwaukee-sized cities full of people <em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(or, as it turns out, 20 Cleveland-sized cities)</span></em>. In a world of 6.7 billion people, and even in a nation of over 300 million, the number suddenly seems insignificant. (Actually, the US Census Bureau projects that the US gains one person every 11 seconds, between births, deaths, and immigration, and our planet gains approximately 60 million people each year.) </span><br />
<br />
<br />
The medical community has been breeding immunosuppressant swine for years now, to develop xenotransplantation-safe organs since we're wearing ours out faster than we can donate them. For my further thoughts on organ donation, <a href="http://microcows.blogspot.com/2011/02/blast-from-past-eine-kleine-organmusik.html">click here</a>.<br />
I may be a selfish bastard, but if we keep curing diseases and cleaning up pollution and driving smaller cars and buying organic vegetables, how long will it be before we've outgrown the planet? Surely a topic for another blog entry would be the exponential loss of farmland in our nation to housing developments, and at the same time the fact that we produce more food on fewer acres thanks again to the scientific community. But that is, in fact, a topic for another blog so that's all I'll say here. <br />
<br />
Yes, this is a disjointed commentary, because I have so many unanswered questions. Anyone who knows me understands that this is how my brain works. So, without further ado or segue, what do they do with the pigs once they've donated their bodies to science? If the islet cells are taken from the pigs, do the pigs become diabetic, or can their bodies manufacture more? If the pigs give their lives for this process, does the research lab at least have a nice pig roast the following weekend? I can't imagine such a waste of resources if the resultant meat (as long as it remains immunosuppressantly delicious) were just thrown away, instead of being consumed. Unless, of course, once you've received porcine cells, that eating a pork chop would be tantamount to cannibalism. And what about the Muslim and Semitic populations of the world? Religious dogma for these groups dictates the consumption of pork is taboo, what does it say about having the swine's cellular makeup inserted into the very makeup of our genetic profile?<br />
<br />
Like I said, I have so many unanswered questions. And now I'm hungry, too.Elliotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13623810021177960310noreply@blogger.com1