If you ever get to Nashville, make sure you save a little room to have lunch at Monell's.
Housed in a restored brick Victorian home on 6th Avenue in historic Germantown, the boardinghouse-style restaurant looks like it was sliced from the belly of the Deep South.
Walking up the sidewalk is like walking back in time... They even grow heads of cabbage along the walkway.
A meal at Monell's involves sitting around a family table with people you don't know. Think if it as a family dinner at Grandma's house with relatives you've never met. The food is good, old-fashioned home cookin' and everything is all-you-can-eat.
The house is filled with grandiose antique mantles, elaborate murals and the occasional shrine to the romance of southern gentility. (Not the least of which was embodied by Monell herself.
The main dining room is lined with windows, giving the feel that you're having lunch on the porch.
Then when it's time to pay the bill, you sidle up to the register, which resembles something from a country drug store.
A suggestion: Remember to say "please" when you ask for the meatloaf, cucumber salad or strawberry lasagne. You never know who you'll wind up meeting. One gentleman at my table named Mike wound up being a fellow alum of the University of Florida who knew someone who works at a paper just south of my own.
It's a small world, folks. Please pass the taters.
Consider this an apology for a lack of posts recently, but I was in Nashville the past two days filling young skulls full of mush with delusions of journalism grandeur.
That said, I had a great time in Tennessee. I only got to go out on the town on a foggy and damp Sunday night, but I still got to see a little bit of night life.
You can tell a lot about a place by the tchochkes they sell in their tourist traps. As you can see The King is still very much alive in Nashville.
I know, I know, Elvis was a Memphis boy. But when you're The King, the whole state embraces your visage. And so do jet-lagged tourists.
I knew Elvis had made a fortune and was now in a box. I didn't know E was now reduced to telling fortunes from a box.
If Elvis trinkets aren't your speed, you can still find a few collectibles from a little scuffle from a while back. And you can pick up a tacky-but-quaint mini-license tag for the kids back home. One question: isn't anyone just named Joe anymore?
Alas, not every Nashville landmark was open. The Ernest Tubb Record Shop turned in early that night, but it still left the light on for us.
Tomorrow: Good eats at Monell's.
Howard Dean has had a rough week. I don't care if you're Democrat or Republican, Green or politically agnostic, you have to feel for any guy whose wheels have totally come off the track.
First the New York Times story on his wife not giving two hoots and a happy damn about being First Lady (or even being with her husband on the campaign trail). Then being criticized over... wearing sweaters. Then came the butt kick of the Iowa caucus and his resulting, um, overexuberant exhortations at a campaign rally.
Now, as a result of his outburst on Monday, Dean has made a connection with America's youth. It's not a good thing.
To listen to the results, click here, here and here.
And I guess, you know, this was bound to happen.
People are even mocking him on their cellphone cameras.
Gotta give the guy his props, though, for poking fun at himself.
It's gotta get better for Dean. As John Lennon said, "It couldn't get much worse."
Am I the only one bothered by Coke getting into the music business?
I feel like one of those anal kids at the Thanksgiving dinner table who doesn't like the portions of food on his plate to come in contact with each other. Having Coke sell music isn't unlike other non-musical brands doing the same, I guess. Starbucks sells the music it plays in its stores. Apple is now selling music, but that's because they have the iPod.
For some reason this just feels... weird.
And I won't even go into the naming of the site. What, they couldn't lock down the "MusicToCokeMyselfUpBy.com" domain?
One of my favorite newspaper features for the past several years has been the "What They Were Thinking" column in the New York Times Sunday Magazine. It can get a tad melodramatic, but it's a nice concept for a paper that tends to be a tad... impersonal. (This week's column, however, featured Olivia the Pig, and wasn't worth the paper on which it was printed.)
Anyway, Steve Steinberg over at Blue Donut does a great spoof of how the column sometimes is too casual with big events.
I do a lot of reading on the Web. I find a lot of interesting stuff. And I like to share.
This, however, does not qualify as a Link Dump because I have not bookmarked these sites. They're just ones I've found in recent days. It's a technical distinction. Nay, might I say one that almost involves the splitting of hairs. So be it:
There are things that have happened and things that have yet to happen. Don Steinberg is keeping track.
The Anchorage Daily News tells about the unique phenomenon of suburban Alaska families building hockey rinks in their back yards, the way a kid in Florida might put up a basketball hoop. The full story is here.
Bloggers are starting to act more like traditional forms of media, in that they're starting to morph from diaries to reportage. For example Zulkey interviews the snarky pop culture raconteur but occasionally funny wunderkind writer Joel Stein. Loved this exchange:
Zulkey:When do you usually come up with your ideas for columns? At work? In the shower? At the VH1 studios?
Stein:I come up for ideas when I have a deadline.
Michelle over at A Small Victory has a great rant about hockey fights. I've yet to see one in person. Unfortunately, the Tampa Bay Lightning tend not to be as chippy as other teams.
Gregg Easterbrook has a great take on the way that big honkin' pickup trucks are displacing SUVs as the suburban mode of transportation. As the owner of an Explorer, I applaud this, since it just cost me hundreds to fix that crappy beast and I've been considering bumping up to a big honkin' truck. As the owner of a VW Jetta wagon, I fear this trend shall one day result in the smearing of everything I hold dear all over a roadway because someone in a steroid-choked vehicle will be paying too little attention while they're loading a DVD for the kids and talking on a cellphone at 142 miles an hour.
I had a chat with a friend the other day about Pete Rose's admission about gambling on baseball. "I think it sends a bad message to kids if they let him back into baseball after having bet on the game,'' he said. "No it doesn't,'' I told him. "Kids haven't watched the game on their own in 20 years." Anyway, in that vein, it only serves to reason that a museum exhibit about a dying sport would fail as badly as that dying sport would. How sad, the way that greed has killed that game.
Speaking of horsehide, Jim Baker (No, not that one.) has a great column on ESPN.com about the most entertaining baseball players. About Cubs first baseman Randall Simon, he writes, "There is something fascinating about a player who honestly believes he can hit any pitch -- or, failing that -- who simply cannot help himself from swinging at any pitch. As Schwarz says of Simon, "He looks like he'll dislocate both shoulders reaching for pitches in the opposite dugout."
I've always wondered what it would be like to write for a late night comedy show. Now I know: Lots of carbs. If you consider Kilborn's show comedy, that is.
Her majesty's a pretty nice girl but she doesn't have a lot to say. Lizzy does, however, love her some goofy iambic pentameter. Especially when it goofs on her husband Phil.
Where sports and celebrities collide. Could there be anything more vapid? God help us all.
I don't know about you, but this was the best part of Bush's speech:
That's Cheney behind him, right?
Bumbles not only bounce, they can hit for distance.
See if you can top it.
Birthday props go out to Otis Dewey "Slim" Whitman, who turns 73 today.
He's one of America's favorite recording artists, you know. At least that's what the infomercial pimping his records I saw as a kid claimed.
I don't care how much product this guy has pushed. To me, he'll always be the master of "The Indian Love Call" You can't measure that kind of impact in sales units.
Click and enjoy.
It's easy to forget, tucked between New Year's and Valentine's Day, that January 20 was the date of many an important event.
"Sure," you undoubtedly said to yourself, "It's Inauguration Day."
But it's much, much more.
Did you know that on this date:
In 1518, Tetzel's theses against Luther were issued at Leipzig.
In 1320, Wladislaw I, also known as Wladislaw the Short, was crowned king of Poland. In defeating the Knights of the Teutonic Order, he created strong foundations for one Polish nation.
In 1327, King Edward II of England was forced to abdicate by powerful barons in favor of his son Edward III.
In 1612, Rudolf II, the Holy Roman Emperor from 1576, died. Suffering from depression, he was unable to reconcile Roman Catholic and Protestant factions which eventually led to the Thirty Years War.
In 1778, Captain James Cook discovered Hawaii when he landed first at Waimea on Kauai Island.
In 1841, after lengthy talks between Britain and China concerning the Opium Wars, the convention of Chuanbi was signed by which Hong Kong island was ceded to the British by China.
In 1936, Britain's King George V died. He was succeeded by his son Edward VIII, who caused a crisis later the same year by abdicating.
In 1945, with his inauguration, Franklin Delano Roosevelt began a record fourth term in office as president of the U.S.
In 1981, fifty-two American hostages seized in their embassy in Tehran were released after 444 days in captivity.
In 1987, Terry Waite, the Archbishop of Canterbury's special envoy in Lebanon, was kidnapped. He was not released until November 1991.
In 1996, Palestinians voted for the first time in elections that consolidated PLO chief Yasser Arafat's rule of the West Bank and Gaza under a peace deal with Israel. He became the first democratically-elected leader of the Palestinian people with 88.1 percent of the vote.
It's also the birthdate of:
Actor DeForest Kelley, 77.
Actress Patricia Neal, 71.
Former astronaut Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin, 67.
Comedian Arte Johnson, 63.
Actress Shelley Fabares, 55.
Director David Lynch, 51.
Actor Lorenzo Lamas, 39.
Me. I'm 39 and sliding fast toward 40.
History has a way of putting it all in perspective, doesn't it?
Why do I love newspapers?
Because two Alaska publications put a photo of my Uncle Pete holding a moose-shaped potato in their news pages.
That's right two newspapers. If it had run in one paper, yeah, maybe it would be a fluke. Two papers, though, makes it truly a news happening. Talk about complete validation.
And THAT'S what people want to read about. Not boring Iowa Democratic caucuses. Not the slutty tendencies of Britney Spears. Not pie-in-the-sky analysis about how much it will cost to go to Mars.
THEY WANT TO SEE MOOSE-SHAPED TUBERS!
When it comes to moose, my uncle should know. He and my Aunt Cecile leave their beautiful waterfront home in Florida and spend about 9 months of the year on Alaska's Kenai Peninsula. He also took this photo not far from this cabin, which just so happens to have a spectacular view.
People ask me why I'd want to live in Alaska. I ask them, "Why you would want to live anywhere else?"
Now that I think about it, that potato would resemble something else if he pointed the moose's nose northward. It would still be newsworthy, but for an entirely different reason.
My buddy Alan decided to bike up to the Forum Monday night to see how little he could pay a scalper for a ticket to the Tampa Bay Lightning hockey game against the Colorado Avalanche.
He said he found a corner with a bunch of scalpers standing around and fanned out five $1 bills, the way they do with tickets.
He yelled, "Who wants them?" and one guy jumped forward and put a ticket in Al's hand.
"Enjoy the evening,'' he said, before disappearing.
I suggested to Al that this could become a running experiment: "How Little Can You Pay For A Ticket?"
I told him next time to just wave a roll of pennies. Or a lottery ticket and a package of paper towels. Or maybe he could just bring a bag of Dollar Store stuff and let them pick their favorite item.
Anyone have any better ideas he should try?
The State of the Union address is tonight. What once was meant as a chance for the President to talk directly to the nation's occupants has evolved backwards into an Olympic hand-clapping/standing-and-sitting decathalon. Hell, in the '90s, it worked as a kind of pulmonary stress test for half of the members of Congress. In 1993, Strom Thurmond almost stroked out after the 142nd ovation.
Anyway, the drama of the event loses its appeal after the first 5 minutes. Which, I'm guessing, is the reason that The State of the Union drinking game was created.
I particularly approve of the requirement that 1 Tequila shot or 1 Cerveza be imbibed if anything in Spanish is recited.
Call me morbid. Say my actions denote bad taste. Accuse me of taunting the afterworld.
Say whatever you want. But predicting celebrity death can be fun.
Especially when it's done right, like we do it in the Reaper's Delight dead pool.
Each year for the past several, friends and co-workers at my place of employment have been selecting 10 celebrities at the beginning of the year that they think will assume room temperature.
Generally, this leads to selections of the aged, the infirmed or, sometimes, the unemployable "Love Boat"-quality actor.
When I joined my place of employment, the job fell to me to perform as Death Commissioner, so I built a Web site and off we ran.
Lo and behold, I wound up winning the 2003 contest. Three of my 10 took a dirt nap - Gregory Peck, Maurice Gibb and Johnny Cash. For this, my victory was celebrated with a delicious frozen Carvel Cookie Puss.
When asked by my colleague and competitor Karla what I wanted drawn on the cake, I said, "Death Facilitator."
"They're not going to be able to spell that,'' she said. "How about R.I.P."
Anyway, the 2004 contest entries are in.
My choices this year are:
1. Mary McGrory, 85; Washington Post columnist learns the new meaning of deadline.
2. Janet Frame, 79; New Zealand author. Sing with me now: FRAME! She's not gonna live forever...
3. Jack LaLanne, 89; King of the push ups starts pushing up daisies. A question: Do they wear unitards in heaven?
4. Billy Graham, 85; The original Bee Gee goes to meet his maker.
5. Bob Sheppard, 87; Now batting in Heaven's On-Deck Circle, Yankee Stadium announcer, Bob....Sheppard.
6. Mike Douglas, 79; His first guest when he gets to heaven: John Lennon!
7. Paris Hilton, 23; Skanks for the memories.
8. Kirk Douglas, 88; "I...am... DEADICUS!"
9. Blake Edwards, 82; Victor, Victoria... doesn't matter. Both will be toes up by the end of the year.
10. Lee Roy Selmon, 49; The former Tampa Bay Buccaneer reportedly has a heart rate similar to a hummingbird sipping from a bird feeder filled with espresso and crack.
There were some great picks this year, especially by Katherine (9. Woody Allen, 68; No hits + no rich partner + married to adopted daughter = karmic retribution.), Jill (3. David Blaine, 30; Abra-Cadaver.), and George (9. Adam West, 75; "Holy, shit, Batman.")
My favorite, though, was Rommie's. Admitting that he rarely scores points in this contest, he instead opted for style. His list is "a morbid homage to the lovely ladies who ushered me into puberty." They include Donna Douglas of "Petticoat Junction," Jan Smithers of "WKRP in Cincinnati" and Heather Thomas, (Jody from "The Fall Guy''; born 9/8/57).
What's her fate? Rommie predicts, "The object of my first bedroom-wall poster gets "Zapped!''
If only words could make it so, my friend.
Like I said, it's not a tasteful effort. But I tend to think that it embraces the idea that our time on earth is limited. And that all your money and fame buys you is a bigger headline when it's time to walk that Red Carpet In The Sky.
Here are some of the final pages from last year's The Onion day-by-day calendar:
Near-Death Experience Followed By
Right-On-The-Money Death Experience
Report: TV Helps Build
Valuable Looking Skills
Eight Million Americans Rescued From
Poverty With Redefinition Of Term
Third Grader Won't Shut Up
Divorced Man Forced To Get
Back Down To Dating Weight
New Grill To Revive
Insurance Salesman Celebrates 14th Year
Of Quoting Fletch
U.S. Leads World In
Tantric-Sex Class Opens Up Whole New
World Of Unfulfillment For Local Couple
'Farm Aid Aid' Concert To Benefit
Struggling Farm Aid Concerts
New Stapler Makes All
Other Staplers Look
Like Worthless Shit
New Pompous Asshole Magazine
To Compete With Cigar Aficionado
'I May Be Hazardous
To Your Health,'
Chinese Woman Gives Birth To Septuplets;
Has Once Week to Choose
Condemn Casual Day
Over there? That used to be a Ponderosa Steak House. Now it's Becky's House of Fabrics. The wagon wheels out front give it away.
Around the corner, they turned the Long John Silver's into a Century 21. Even kept the nautical rope along the sidewalk.
Downtown, the KFC is now a liquor store. Didn't even paint the roof.
This tour sound familiar?
Seems like every town has a distinctive fast-food establishment that has gone belly up, been sitting a while until someone plucks the property off the tax roll and then converts it into something that doesn't match the surroundings.
Not Fooling Anybody documents these bad conversions and offers a gallery to document the DQs that went awry, the rejiggered IHOPs that still have the pointy rooflines and the old-school Taco Bells that still look like adobe forts even though they're now Wang's Chinese Take-Out.
As I stated last week, 2004 is the Year of the Sombrero. At that time I promised gala festivites.
Let the games begin.
The first event will be the Romancing the Sombrero party on Feb. 15 in Tampa. It's a combination Valentine's/housewarming/Harry Caray Tribute/Sombrero party. To see a copy of the invitation, click here.
There will be themed entertainment, including a Harry Caray-oke contest in which participants will be asked to sing songs in the voice of the legendary broadcaster.
And, since this is taking place the day after Valentine's, we will be offering the option for either a renewal of vows for couples who are already married, or we will actually marry anyone on the spot who chooses to do so in our Little Sombrero Chapel of Love.
More details to come. And of course, the party will be B.Y.O.S. (Bring Your Own Sombrero)
For directions, e-mail me at: jhouck2[at]tampabay[dot]rr[dot]com.
What a coincidence, I beat it too!
This reminds me; only a few more weeks until the NASCAR season kicks off.
I could somewhat buy James Brolin as Reagan. Somewhat.
But Tom Selleck as Dwight David Eisenhower?
What's next? George Clooney as LBJ? Brad Pitt as F.D.R.? Russell Crowe as Jimmy Carter?
I mean, seriously, look at the comparison:
The news report I read said that on Tuesday, Selleck wouldn't directly answer whether he'd shave his head to play President Eisenhower. That's right, the guy who has hair in places monkeys don't is wavering on whether he needs to shave in order to physically mimic the president who most closely resembled a talking thumb.
"I will try to physically get in the ballpark," he says of the A&E movie. "But I probably won't be wearing appliances."
He admitted, however, that, "These are the final days of my mustache."
Yeah, you might want to lose that for the role, Tom. Unless you want to go back to roles like Lassiter.
Thanks to Jen at Very Big Blog for pointing this one out.
The Poynter Institute for Media Studies Web site offers a feature called Headline of the Day. Journalists and media junkies contribute the good, the bad and the horrific headlines they see in their respective papers. What makes it great is that there are usually links to the actual stories. Something about that cracks me up, to see tangible evidence of fallibility.
Anyway, Poynter's multimedia editor Larry Larsen has picked his favorite headlines of the year.
My faves from this collection:
Snack whacker fails to nip Nipchee in bud
It's Bowie Like Doughy, Not Bowie Like Howie
Minnesota's population aging faster than predicted
`Spooning' Comes Second To `Forking' And `Knifing'
Iceland Suffering Through Testicle Shortage
Is it shuttle debris, or is it burnt toast?
Two One-Legged Inmates Skip Jail
If you need to see more, click here.
It has been decreed and it shall be ever thus: this year will be the Year of the Sombrero.
Decreed by whom? Well, myself and my friend Alan at the always brilliant Hudsonian.
Anticipate a jubilee like you haven't seen since the turn of the millennium.
There will be parties. And poker games. And pool tournaments. A bike marathon. Watersports. And possibly announcements of celebrity endorsements.
Details are still in development, but trust me on this one small thing: It will be very, very big.
For the uninitiated, there is a long and tawdry story behind all this:
Back in the early 1990s, Alan and I developed a common fascination for the often swollen-tongued Chicago Cubs announcer Harry Caray. Alan and I shared a joke about the time Harry decided that instead of calling a 3-2 pitch in the bottom of the 9th in a 3-2 game with bases loaded, he'd make a remark about a certain head adornment on a fan in the stands.
"Haaaaaaayyyy, didja get a look at the guy in the sombrero?" Harry remarked. "Now THERE'S a good-lookin' fella."
This anectdote amused Alan and I to no end. It sparked months and years of Harry impersonations between us over the phone and in public conversations. It's stupid, I know, but we're guys.
Anyway, the bit accelerated one year when I mailed Alan a straw sombrero for the holidays. Sumbitch cost me almost $100 to mail because of the size of the box. It was that big.
Alan, who by then was living in Denver, responded by sending me an authentic Mexican sombrero that weighed, roughly, 4 tons.
And it still does. But that's part of the allure, of course.
The sombrero inspired me to develop two theories:
1. Everyone looks great in a sombrero.
2. Everyone looks happier than they were before they put the sombrero on.
About a year ago, I decided to use the sombrero in a photo project I was doing at work, and it stayed on a hat rack next to my desk. When I got a digital camera for my birthday a year ago, I decided that I needed to prove my theories by shooting photo of everyone who passed by my desk. Of course, they had to wear the 'brero. Thus The Sombrero Project was born.
I badgered, I cajoled, I needled and I flat-out bribed people to put it on. Some looked better than others. Some took on super-hero qualities with it on their head. Others, well, would rather have been caught dead with it on. And some were actually dead at the time.
You can see the the first online gallery of the project here. The first part was followed, as logic would have it, by Part Dos, Part Tres, Part Quatro and Part Cinco.
The 'brero has been to parties, to Bucs games, to restaurant reviews. It has even posed with the Lombardi Trophy.
And that was just in 2003.
Imagine the possibilities for 2004.
Consider last year just a warm-up.
New readers may not be familiar with a semi-regular phenomenon here in the Salad Bowl by which I expunge an ever-growing list of "favorites" that I accumulate on my browser.
I affectionately share them using the less than gentle colloquial term: Link Dump.
Click and enjoy. Or not. But definitely one of the two.
I know so little about so many things. Like how to wash a hamster. How To: By You thankfully supplies an answer.
There may be times in your life when you'd like a message spelled out in animated naked men. I've never felt that urge, but who am I to judge? For those moments, there is Nude Messenger.
Keeping in that vein, there are a good number of you who like to molest statues. You now have an online home to showcase your shenanigans.
James Lileks' matchbook collection reminds us of a simpler time, when people could light their cancer sticks and learn about a new career. As he says about the book above, "Hell, in 2000, experienced men lost that much in a DAY."
This photo proves the Denis Leary maxim that "marijuana doesn't lead to harder drugs, it leads to carpentry."
I have an 80-pound Golden Retriever. Whenever I take him in the truck, he insists on jumping into the front seat if I park for a few minutes to go into a store. I come out and he's behind the wheel and he's big enough to make it look like he's driving. It always reminds me of dogs playing poker. Someone in the UK seems to think it's pretty funny too. He has a gallery of photos of dogs in cars. Some are funnier than others.
Not nearly as profane as the nude messengrs is the site that takes the words you type and breaks it up into rock 'n' roll sound clips. Very cool.
Got a site you hate? (Hopefully not mine.) Send it through the Shredder. It's thereputic, I can assure you.
Few experiences can match the befuddlement you'll feel when you hear Rolf Harris belt out "Stairway to Heaven" or "I Touch Myself" on his saw.
Aww, damn. Tug McGraw has died.
I met Tug McGraw when I was a kid. He came to my Cub Scout meeting once, wearing a powder-blue leisure suit. He threw a pitch to one of the scouts who was a catcher and knocked the kid backwards with a fastball that made the air in the school cafeteria sizzle. We ate it up with a spoon.
After it was over, he signed my Little League ballglove, the one from Sears I played every game with. Then the photographer for the local paper shot his picture with us around him.
I still have the news clipping and I still have the glove with the signature.
I was never a big Mets fan, although they had spring training a bike ride away from my house. And I was never a big Phillies fan, either.
But I was a huge Tug McGraw fan. And I always will be.
News reports over the weekend say Britney Spears married a childhood friend from Louisiana in an early morning ceremony Sunday in Las Vegas, but quickly arranged to have it annulled.
Apparently, what happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas. At least not when The Smoking Gun gets ahold of your marriage license.
Entertainment Tonight's Web site breathlessly reports that hours after she tied the knot, eyewitnesses described the pop princess as "nervous," and her husband-to-be, Jason Allen Alexander, as "a bit blank."
You sure that wasn't the other way around?
For what it's worth, Jason, you may not have the princess of pop on your arm anymore, but you can always wear this shirt proudly back home in Kentwood.
The Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority offers an abundance of tasty marriage statistics about Sin City:
**Marriage licenses purchased yearly in Clark County (includes Las Vegas, Laughlin, Mesquite):
2000 - 122,902
2001 - 123,149
2002 - 120,385
**Most popular wedding days in Las Vegas: Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve
**Most popular wedding dates in Las Vegas: Dates with consistent numbers, i.e. 1/01/01, 2/02/02, 3/03/03
**Over the years, some of Tinseltown's biggest names have come to Las Vegas to say, "I do!"
Elvis and Priscilla Presley (divorced)
Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow (divorced)
Jane Fonda and Roger Vadim (divorced)
Bruce Willis and Demi Moore (divorced)
Cindy Crawford and Richard Gere (divorced)
Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward (still married)
Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme (still alive?)
Ann-Margaret and Roger Smith (still married. And that Steve and Eydie joke wasn't funny.)
Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie (still divorced and still, amazingly, alive)
**The aforementioned may be stars but according to Clark County Marriage License Bureau officials: "All wedding parties are considered celebrities to us."
If only the happy/now-depressed young Spears/Alexander power couple had talked to Grillboy, they'd have learned lots of things they needed to know before going to Vegas. Such as:
1. In the early morning hours, the hotel staff at the Flamingo will occasionally leave those big blue laundry carts, unattended in the hallways.
1a. A grown man can climb inside of these carts, and then be pushed down the halls by a second grown man.
1b. It is difficult to steer such a cart, as the person pushing can't see directly in front of them, and has to drive by looking around the sides.
1c. Full speed can be achieved, if the person riding in the cart will help steer by pushing off the walls when you get to close. (Such as in corners)
But back to Britney:
Those of you who have been longtime readers of the Salad Bowl already know that Britney, or at least moments of her, fuel somewhat of an obsession.
With that in mind, we offer our previous Moments of Britney for your consumption:
Britney swaps spit with the Rosetta Stone of Skank.
Britney poses for photos that make her look even more plastic and lifeless than she already is.
Britney, as she would look if she hit the all-you-can-eat Seafood Lovers Special at Red Lobster every night for six months.
Britney runs a restaurant into the ground.
Britney has an evil twin available for parties.
Britney and George cut a rug.
Britney proves the axiom: Beer affects the way males respond to females.
Or does the name for this product sound like a great name for a doo wop revival band:
On a more strange and equally tangential note, this site showcases a gallery of macaroni and cheese boxes. Enjoy
New Year's proved the axiom true: smaller is better.
This year's festivities included hanging out in front of a neighbor's house with friends from down the street, imbibing moderate amounts of adult beverages and firing off insane amounts of incendiary devices.
The kids ran around with sparklers like Ritalin cases who had too much espresso...
...while the adults attempted to blow up the neighborhood...
...and then by land again.
The high point came when a 16-shot mortar tipped over like a drunken frat boy and started firing at random throughout the neighborhood. It pegged a house. It narrowly missed immolating a minivan. And then for a finale it vomited a round underneath a collapsable lawn chair and started a fire. Nothing major. About the size of the bonfire Jimi Hendrix lit when he set his guitar ablaze. We tamped it out, but the burn mark on the dried grass of the front lawn remains, like the spot of a burnt offering to the gods Cuervo and Smirnoff.
Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron.
The game was lost when you gave
up the damn coin toss.
In other countries,
The name "Ron Zook" is defined
As "big, goddamned schmuck."
Nice guy, this Ron Zook.
Too bad nobody told him
"Nice guys finish last."