October 31, 2004


The family gourd for 2004:


It was my son's design. "It has to have a square nose, Dad."

And because Halloween falls on a Sunday and Sunday is Football Day, we had to have a football helmet:


Looks like Charlie Brown's football helmet, if you ask me.

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October 30, 2004


And now, a picture of everything.

Posted by Jeff at 09:23 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 29, 2004


With only days to go in the campaign, we nonetheless continue to chronicle the bizarre imagery surrounding the way we elect a president.


"Mr. President, we've found the missing ammunition."


Some jokes just write themselves.

Beer and babies.
Kevlar and Snuggles.
Condi and Jumbos.
Ties and guitars.
Bloodlines and blood pressure.
Fishing and fans.
Baseball and Girlie Man
Cue cards and statues.
Jesse and the pits.

Posted by Jeff at 07:51 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack



What they don't tell you in the La Maze classes is that in 9 years, you'll be doing makeup for your kid at 6:30 in the morning so that he can go to school dressed up like a character in his favorite book.

So it was this morning, when I turned my kid into Shiloh. Or at least a reasonable facimile.


I have no explanation for why he looks as if he's just swallowed a gallon of NyQuil.


No dog would be complete without paws with pads on them.


And a tail, of course.


This kid was supposed to be Napoleon. Love the cowboy boots.

I never knew that Napoleon worked as a car line safety patrol.


My son's teachers dressed up, too. This one was Little Red Riding Hood.


His homeroom teacher was Snow White.


And his reading teacher was the evil queen.

I had a few teachers who should have worn that outfit.

Posted by Jeff at 07:17 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 26, 2004


Knowing the danger that this blog is turning into All Zook, All The Time, I still must impart these few photos. I was in Gainesville the past couple days on business. I drove past the 34th Street wall, where generations of college students have painted messages.

This is what was displayed:


Clearly the wall had read, "Fire Zook." Someone took a little white paint and turned the F into an H.

Not far from that one was this painting:


Clearly, Coach Zook was beloved by those who respected his hard work and his genuine goodness. Unfortunately that did not translate into wins. Or at least crucial wins against bigtime opponents and wins against teams he had no business losing to.

As for the wall, I drove on a little farther north.

I saw this:


They're the five names of the students who were killed by Danny Rolling in the August 1990 Gainesville student murders. The painting has been on the wall, more or less unchanged, since the week of their deaths.

The paint's been freshened up over the years, but the essential design remains the same.

Sort of puts everything in perspective, doesn't it?

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October 25, 2004


THe inevitable comes due.

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October 24, 2004



The threads are beginning to unravel.

It's about damn time.

I was in Chili's yesterday in my neighborhood, eating with my family, when the manager walks up and says, "I saw you were watching the game. I have bad news: the Gators lost."

I did not flinch.

"I am not sad,'' I told him. "Every loss brings us one game closer to firing Ron Zook."

And so it shall.

The drum beats for Zook's replacement are getting louder, now that the Gators have lost to doormat Mississippi State 38-31. Don't bother trying to log on to FireRonZook.com. Too many people are already way ahead of you.

How bad is it? We drove up to see them play Middle Tennessee last week and were shocked to see 10,000 empty seats in the student section.

I know Middle Tennessee isn't exactly FSU, but that had to alarm the athletic director, Jeremy Foley. It has seemed at times that Foley and Zook were joined in some death pact, with Foley extending Zook's contract and acting like the coach was more a relative than an employee. But you can't overlook 10,000 people who aren't buying your beer, your popcorn and your souvenirs. Even the doormat opponents brought out a full-house during Steve Spurrier's reign, if only for one quarter so we could see what kind of crazy shit the ol' ball coach would throw at them.

Like Indiana Jones snapping out of his trance in "Temple of Doom," Foley seemed come to his senses this week with one simple quote: "This certainly is not acceptable at the University of Florida."

Even my friend Rommie sent a despondent e-mail. "Why do I continue to waste my Saturday afternoons watching Gators football?"

Because, I told him. You want to be watching when Zook coaches his last game.

Joe Henderson summed it up nicely today in The Tampa Tribune:

Ron Zook is not a bad man, just a clueless one.

He doesn't cheat. He works hard.

His players seem to like him - ``We stand behind him 100 percent,'' Harris said.

But they don't play for him. He doesn't get them ready and he gets outcoached. He turns blowouts into close games, and close games into losses. He turns 24 1/2-point favorites into losers.

All of which has inspired this ream of Houcku. Consider it therapy:

Were you not awake?
You lost big to MSU.
Bad things lie ahead.

If I were you, Ron,
I'd start looking for new work.
Retail sales, maybe.

A frog that had legs
Wouldn't bump its ass to hop
To see Gators play.

One question for Zook:
How can we miss you if you
Won't go away, Ron?

Ten thousand bare seats,
For a home game in The Swamp?
You call yourself "coach?"

Ha, Zook rhymes with hook,
Which is what I'd give you if
You were my head coach.

Here's an idea:
Fire Ron Zook now and hire
Teresa Heinz Kerry.


Hold on to the damn lead.

Can't even figure out the coin toss.

Second place sucks.

Ski head first.

Posted by Jeff at 08:48 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack


Got to review the Brooks and Dunn concert. You can read the write-up by clicking here.
I was very impressed with opening act Gretchen Wilson. She had major league pipes. She'll be a big star if Nashville will let her.
Posted by Jeff at 08:31 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack



Got a blog that could use a little refreshing? The good folks over at Ciao! My Bella! are offering free redesigns to those with Movable Type, Word Press and Blogger sites. Just send them an email.

Posted by Jeff at 08:29 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 23, 2004


Went out to buy props for a Halloween story the other day and came across a blue wig in one of the stores.

And, you know, it just begged to be brought back to the office.

It has potential, if I can get enough people to pose, to become the Thing 1/Thing 2Project.

If successful, it could take its place in the pantheon that includes The Mullet Project, The Hulk Hands Project, The Sombrero Project (and its subsequent parts (Dos, Tres and Quatro),and The King Project.

See for yourself.


Rommie looks almost urbane. The hairnet says, "I care about hygeine."


Always the "jazz hands" with Mitch.


Rommie attempts to bridge the gap between the T1T2 Project and The Sombrero Project.


Karla steadfastly refused to partake. She even went so far as to say that no woman would ever pose in it.

The challenge has been declared, Ms. Karla.


My Muse had to try it on, too. Looks like any normal guy having coffee... with a windbreaker on indoors and a blue mop of hair on his head.

Posted by Jeff at 05:25 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack



We haven't seen Saddam in a while. The kids over at Fark were thinking the same thing. So they threw down a gauntlet to Photoshop the deposed dictator in disguises he might be wearing.

Here's what they came up with:

Posted by Jeff at 05:16 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 22, 2004


About 10 days ago, I mentioned the Jerry Reed portion to the Georgia Music Hall of Fame exhibit I saw while flying through Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

Well, I've collected my photos finally. Here they are for your perusal:

Funny, but you'd think that Gregg Allmann of The Allmann Brothers would wear something a little less... I dunno... flamboyant?





Remember the Atlanta Rhythm Section? Do "Champagne Jam" or "Imaginary Lover" ring any bells?

Me neither.

Actually, I do remember them, but just barely.

This is one of their fringe leather jumpsuits, for what it's worth.


Stage duds from Cindy Wilson and Fred Schneider of the B-52s.


A vest worn by Black Crowes singer Chris Robinson. I wonder how the rest of the band feels about their exhibit showcasing his wife, Kate Hudson. I bet she's their Yoko.



Ah yes, "Watching Scotty Grow." On behalf of a less than grateful nation, I thank you for that terrifically bad song, Mr. Mac Davis.



Seeing one of Bo Diddly's box guitars was incredibly cool.


I feel no shame in admitting I have no idea who the hell Jermaine Dupri is.


There's something anachronistic about being in an airport while looking at the outfits used to sing "Midnight Train To Georgia." But maybe that's just me.


I think Alan Jackson was the one who sang, "Where Were You (When The World Stopped Caring About My Career)."


Good Gawd.



"Freddie's Dead," and now so is Curtis Mayfield.


It's probably best Ronnie couldn't see this outfit.


What an awesome outfit. I bet Otis looked great in it at the Monterrey Pop Festival.


Ray Charles had the class that Ronnie Milsap lacked, apparently.


Unfortunately, Little Richard couldn't claim blindness as an excuse for these outfits.


These Lynyrd Skynyrd clothes are before the crash, I'm guessing


What does a middle-age, mullet-wearing country boy from Georgia wear?

Unfortunately, and not unexpectedly, this.



Former Stray Cats star Brian Setzer had an amazing array of beautiful guitars displayed. The collection was worth seeing for these alone:





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As I said earlier this week, Side Salad has passed the 2-year mark. Then I said it again, just to make sure.
And since anything worth doing twice is worth doing three times, here are some more golden moments from the past two years.
Great Moments In Theme Park Style
In An Emergency, Your Seat May Be Used As An Explosive Device
Tonight: Hell Freezes Over
These Are The People In Your Neighborhood
A New Project Is Born
Asses Of Fire Tour Stop No. 6
Asses Of Fire: The Article
Hi. Ho.
Posted by Jeff at 07:56 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 21, 2004


Saw this on the way to work yesterday:

Why does someone feel compelled to pimp out a PT Cruiser like this? Probably because Ford doesn't make the Pinto anymore. Poor guy had to trick up a shitty car and this was the only thing he could put his hands on.

By the way, you can tell it's a limited edition by the way he put six bullet holes around the words near the left bumper.

Limited it may be. But not limited enough, apparently.


Good thing he put the spinner hubs on the wheels. I'd have never noticed this car.

Damn thing looks like a hearse for a midget.

Posted by Jeff at 07:30 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack


Been about three weeks since we've done this. The campaign is winding down. The images are getting weirder and weirder.


"Did you hear? Boston beat Hymietown."


As if on cue, President Bush responded to the protesters chanting, "BUSH IS THE PITS!"

Beer and babies.
Kevlar and Snuggles.
Condi and Jumbos.
Ties and guitars.
Bloodlines and blood pressure.
Fishing and fans.
Baseball and Girlie Man
Cue cards and statues.

Posted by Jeff at 07:23 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


Okay, I guess I'm supposed to feel empowered now that the Boston Red Sox have at last made it back to the World Series. I'm told by SportsCenter and every baseball writer in America that this is a pivotal moment in our nation's consciousness, the moment when we realized that we could rise up, like the BoSox, and defeat Big Bad Corporate America.

And as a member of the blogosphere, I guess I'm supposed to feel compelled to comment on it somehow.


I've said it before and I'll say it again, millionaires playing against multimillionaires is only marginally interesting to me. Even after listening to all the pre-game hype on Wednesday, after hearing Peter Gammons say that this was the most important game in baseball history [as if that means something any longer], I still only had the capacity to watch the first out and the last out. In between, I attempted to swallow my tongue with the sweet, deep sleep that only death usually affords.

That's not to say I'm not a baseball fan. In fact, I still have the 1975 glass beer stein with the Red Sox lineup on it from the American League Championship Series. I inherited it after a friend passed away about 10 years ago.



As much as I fear this makes me sound like an old man, I love what baseball was. Even as late as the early 1980s, baseball had a purity about it that made it easy for me to root for teams and players. These days, I'll watch some key games, I'll even take in a Devil Rays game or three each season. But MLB has lost all of its charm. The closest I can get to the game is in the minor leagues, where it still feels intimate and warm and full of character. I can't imagine going out and rioting to celebrate my team's victory, like Boston fans did last night.

And I can't even fathom the emotion felt by a Sox fan watching the series from Iraq.

But in an attempt to understand the allure of last night's game, I went out on the Web after last night's game and captured a bunch of pages. It helped a little, but still left me a little cold.

Here they are:

The Boston Globe

Boston Herald




The New York Times

The Washington Post

Posted by Jeff at 07:07 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

October 20, 2004


About a week ago I posted ads created by fans of the Manchester United soccer club in England who are trying to fight the ownership takeover of the club by Tampa Bay Buccaneers owner Malcolm Glazer. The ads were fairly hilarious. They've also posted banners on barricades outside Raymond James Stadium in Tampa. (pictured above)
Well, they're still at it.
A friend of mine in Tampa who is in contact with the anti-leprechaun group forwarded me this e-mail:
On Sunday Manchester United are playing their 'big' game of the season against Arsenal at Old Trafford.
I'm not sure what is planned for Tampa by the other supporters groups.
A date for your diary would be 12th November in Manchester. The United plc AGM will be held on that day at 11 a.m. It will be a world media event.
If you want to get a real taste for the passion this group has for the legacy of the team and the rich tradition behind it, click here to see a video the group made.
In somewhat related soccer news, for some fun, try this game, in which you use your cursor to help a drunk soccer fan get home.
Posted by Jeff at 07:24 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack



Willie Drye, author of Storm of the Century: The Labor Day Hurricane of 1935, is back to thinking about penile trauma:

From: Willie
Sent: Tuesday, October 19, 2004 7:20 AM
Subject: domestic

When I was a cop beat reporter in Macon, Ga., the cops always told me that dometic violence calls were the toughest to handle because you never knew what you were going to encounter. Apparently that's a universal truth. This poor schlub in Cambodia gets drunk, gets mad at his wife (what male among us hasn't done that?), throws a sandal at her, then his female in-laws hold him down and his wife retaliates by ... well, read the story:

Police say woman stabbed husband's penis

PHNOM PENH, Cambodia - A Cambodian woman stabbed her husband's penis with a knife during an argument in which she accused him of being a violent drunk, police said Monday.

Tuy Narin, 35, attacked 37-year-old Chhun Saran earlier this month in Kandal province near the capital Phnom Penh, said Mang Penh, a local police officer.

Tuy Narin called her husband a drunkard, prompting him to retaliate by throwing a sandal at her, Mang Penh said. Tuy Narin's mother and two sisters then wrestled the outnumbered husband to the floor and his angry wife stabbed him with a knife, the police officer said.

The victim, who appeared to have been drinking, required seven stitches at a local hospital but the injury was "not life-threatening," he added.

The assault happened on Oct. 9, according to Koh Santepheap (Island of Peace) newspaper.

Chhun Saran withdrew a complaint against his wife after relatives intervened and urged the couple to reconcile, Mang Penh said.

I won't draw any conclusions about genital paranoia, but it was Willie who passed along the juicy news item about the guy who was found naked while pinned under his girlfriend's gate.

And it was Willie who sent the story of a man who celebrated his birthday wearing only nacho cheese.

I'm not saying anything, Willie. I'm just sayin'.

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October 19, 2004


Mark your calendars. Clear your schedules for late January.
Big things are afoot. An epic event the kind the world has never seen. Or at least I think it hasn't.
How epic? Imagine if the Superfriends had a reunion.
It's that big.
More than 60 stars are scheduled to appear the weekend of Jan 28-29-30, 2005 at the DoubleTree Hotel, 4500 W Cypress St. in Tampa, Florida for the very first WrestleReunion fan convention promoted by Bill Apter and Diamond Dallas Page. The weekend's event will feature multiple signings by many of the scheduled stars, and (for VIP ticketholders) a live wrestling card Saturday evening, plus two Q & A Sessions.
Scheduled to appear throughout the course of the weekend are Bruno Sammartino, Roddy Piper, Kevin Nash, Bobby Heenan, Mick Foley, Terry and Dory Funk, Jr., Wendi Richter, Marty Janetty, Tully Blanchard, Diamond Dallas Page, Kevin Von Erich, Bill Watts, Magnum TA, Ricky Steamboat, Abdullah the Butcher, Harley Race, Ted DiBiase, The Fantastics, Jimmy Garvin, Precious, The Midnight Express (Stan Lane & Bobby Eaton & Dennis Condrey), Jim Cornette, Cowboy Bob Orton Jr., Paul Jones, Masked Superstar (Bill Eadie), Bugsy McGraw, Jimmy Valiant, Malia Hosaka, Col. DeBeers, Kamala, Oliver Humperdink, The Wild Samoans, Buddy Rose, JJ Dillon, Mike Graham, Jack Brisco, Superstar Graham, Rocky Johnson, Mike Rotunda, Barry Windham, George South, and Kevin Sullivan, among others.
VIP ticketholders ($249 until 12/1, at which point the price will rise) will receive entrance into a Friday night Q & A Session with Foley, Terry Funk, Page, and Von Erich. There will also be a Sunday morning Q & A Session with the Midnights, Cornette, Watts, and Sammartino. In addition, there will also be several contests exclusively for VIPs including a trip for two to Wrestlemania 21, a Million Dollar belt replica and more.
Mmmm. I love me some belt replica. Can't wait to see the spectacle of weird when this thing rolls into town.
Posted by Jeff at 05:47 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack


We went to Gainesville over the weekend and had a chance to stop in at a favorite old haunt from our college days: Burrito Brothers Taco Co.


This place is a legend in Hogtown. The size of a broom closet, it makes hundreds of meals a day, all of them incredibly delicious. And I'm not just saying that because I've been drunk 99 percent of the times I've eaten there. In fact, the meals tasted as good coming up as they did going down.

You'll have to trust me on this one.

BBTC has been in business since 1976. It's had a long and twisted history. You can read the back story about the restaurant by clicking here.

The restaurant's Web site is pretty entertaining, especially the photos of their T-shirts taken in exotic places.

Then there are the answers to frequently asked questions:

Why don't you have guacamole every day?

We try to make guac every day, but sometimes we don't have any ripe avocados. We buy our avocados while they are still hard and green and ripen them ourselves and sometimes nature just doesn't cooperate.

If the neon guac sign is lit, does that mean you have marijuana for sale?

No, it means we have guac that day.

The restaurant gave away free food in exchange for the best haiku written last summer. The winner:

Hot lips sucking breath
Primo with jalapenos
Summer on the tongue

This was a runner up:

Just like Letterman
One bag, burritos and guac
SPLAT at the tower

Anyway, one of the highlights of the place is the people it attracts. On any given day, you'll see frat boys next to stoners next to secretaries next to auto mechanics.


Like this dude with the tribal earings and multiple piercings.


Did I mention it was small? The photo doesn't do it justice.


The counter area is so cramped, it's hard to tell the order line from the pickup line.


This is the most important guy in the shop - the tortilla maker. Alas, it's not as glamorous as you might imagine. Hence this ditty from one former employee:

And, filling containers with that magical sauce,
those pintos, so fresh, that salsa so hot.
All these memories of times at Burrito Bros gone by.
But I do not miss cleaning the fryer with lye.


The staff is not encouraged to pierce and tattoo themselves. It's not a job requirement, even. But most of them do anyway. Must be the effect of inhaling all that grease.


You can tell it's a college town by the bulletin board.


Nice typo. Must be a J-school grad.


How much has Gainesville changed since I was there? Well, I can't imagine that the basketball coach would have been featured on a tip jar when I was a student. Football was king - even before Steve Spurrier came and went.


Gotta love a little rumor control.


I had planned to shoot photos of the food we bought before we ate it. The aroma interrupted those plans.

This is a partially devoured beef and black bean Primo Taco.


This was a partially gnawed Primo beef and black bean burrito.

Want some? You're in luck. They ship burritos FedEx.

Posted by Jeff at 03:40 AM | Comments (10) | TrackBack


I lived in Alaska long enough to know that the place was full of weird stories just waiting to be told.

So it was with great amusement that I read a story of a moose found dangling 50 feet in the air, his antlers tangled in a set of rural power lines southeast of Fairbanks.


How did he get up there? I'll let the story explain:

The prevailing theory is that the moose came across the sagging and swaying wires and, in a testosterone-filled moment, decided to challenge the power line to a fight, as bull moose are known to do during the rut, or mating season.

"My guess is he was in full rut and probably seen that line moving out there," and decided to fight, said Marvin Pickens, line construction manager for City Electric in Anchorage.

Workers didn't know the moose was tangled in the line until they tightened it and detected a problem.

"There was nobody there to observe this happen," said Marian, noting that workers were much farther up the line when they tightened it.

Crews can lay up to five miles of line at a time before tightening it with a giant hydraulic winch, said Pickens. It's similar to stringing fishing line through the eyes of a fishing pole, he said. The line is pulled through leaders on the crossties at the top of the power poles and then winched tight with as much as 5,000 pounds of pressure, he said.

"As you're pulling, it constantly droops up and down," said Pickens. "My guess is that he was right in the middle of one of the sections when it got pulled up."

The moose, which probably weighed in the neighborhood of 1,200 pounds, was likely suspended in the air for only a matter of minutes, said Marian.

All of which got me to wondering about what the moose must have been thinking while dangling up there. Maybe he thought about tailoring the lyrics to the Tommy James and the Shondell's hit song, "Dragging The Line" to his own predicament:

Hoofin' a livin' the old hard way
Chewin' and gnawin' the alder away
I dig at the snow in the rain and the brief sunshine
Now I'm hung on the line

I eat trees and also flowers
My antlers are huge, now they've got power
No more lunch time...
'Cause I'm hung on the line
(Hung on the line)
Hung on the line

I feel fine
Me and my pea-sized mind
Dangling like a big Key lime
Bullwinkle never spent time
Hung on the line
(Hung on the line)
Hung on the line.

Posted by Jeff at 01:51 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 18, 2004


Yes, Side Salad is two years old. (Imagine me holding up three fingers like a toddler and saying, "I TOO YEARTH OLT.")
Hard to believe you can sustain crap this long, but I'm living proof. If the content of this blog isn't direct from the ass factory outlet - So we can pass the savings on to YOU! - I don't know what is.
Few would have predicted it would last this long. Then again, I did launch the U-boat with this gleaming bit of prose.
I've called it quits a couple times. I've come back. I'm still here. La-di-da.
I keep doing it because, you know, I'm vainglorious and I like to amuse myself.
Speaking of which, I'll be celebrating the Salad's birfday with not only the scariest cake on earth, viewed above (It's Carvel's John Wayne Gacy Cake, I believe. They make it in the shape of the Whale Cake.), but by also linking to the greatest hits of the Salad Bowl. Such that they are.
Enjoy. Please try not to hold the penis enlargment spam in the comments against me. A man only has so many hours in the day to clean filth from his blog.

Crap Safari 1
Crap Safari 2
Calendar of Disturbing Santas
Discovering My Muse
Mullet Nation
Adventures In Traffic
Posted by Jeff at 07:30 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack



When it comes to matters of finance, I have a mind like an over-ripened casaba melon that's been left in the sun to rot.

Thank God there are people like Liz Pulliam Weston out there.

Liz is an award-winning, nationally-syndicated personal finance columnist who can make the most complex money topics understandable to the average reader. Or, at least, that's what her Web site says.

But I can independently confirm that, yes, it spaeketh the truth. I worked with Liz almost 15 years ago (Jesus Jones on a jump rope, could it be that long ago?!?!?) when we were both stuck at The Anchorage Times in Alaska. Despite her ownership at the time of a Suzuki Samurai, I can attest that Liz is indeed plenty smart.

Liz appears weekly on CNBC's “Power Lunch,” has worked for papers like the Los Angeles Times, Seattle Times and Orange County Register and writes the syndicated "Money Talk" column.

Which, of course, is why she gets to write books like “Your Credit Score: How to Fix, Improve and Protect the 3-Digit Number that Shapes Your Financial Future.”

I have two friends who have written hurricane books. I only have one who has written a book about money. There's a reason: It's tough stuff to make readable. Liz does. Go buy it.

Pimping? Done.

Posted by Jeff at 06:46 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 17, 2004



The kids at Fark had a challenge thrown at them: come up with a costume that is as lame as the one worn by Halle Berry in "Catwoman."

You gotta love some of the results (A word of warning, not all of the images at Fark are suitable for work. Or home, for that matter):


*Wonder Woman


Sadly, the Tron one is not Photoshopped.

Posted by Jeff at 05:44 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


It's official: James Gandolfini is comfortable being tagged as Tony Soprano.
Seems he showed up in character on "Saturday Night Live" the other night, during the Weekend Update segment. He was there to deliver a New Jersey resident's reaction to Governor Jim McGreevey coming out of the closet.
Anyway, if you missed it, here's the transcript. And a link to download a video clip.
It was much funnier on the live broadcast than the transcript. Maybe.
Oh, and for safety sake, they had Ben Affleck show up. His goof on Matt Damon was actually less funny:
POEHLER: In a recent interview, Matt Damon criticized Hollywood actors who only take roles in potential blockbusters, because he believes that stardom is irrelevant and that it's important to choose only interesting roles. Here with a response to these statements... a Hollywood actor.
AFFLECK: Listen, bro. We all know who you're talking about. It's not a big secret, ya know. It's been kinda a "mainstream" year for me, okay, stop rubbing it in. I get it. Halfway through watching Paycheck I went to ask the theatre manager for my money back then I remembered I was in it. Alright, I gotcha! And I know you're "not into stardom," but, help me out here. I can't seem to recall which Chekhov play The Bourne Supremacy is based on. And I'm sure they'll be studying Ocean's 12 in the film classes at USC, believe me. Cause Ocean's 11 left so many unanswered questions. Wait til you lose your mind and make two movies in a row with your girlfriend, alright? By the way, Street Cred, how's Clooney's yacht treating ya? Is there a phone on that thing I've been trying to call you for like three weeks about this Project Greenlight mess. Another thing, if the Red Socks lose this year, it's your fault cause you moved to New York, you filthy traitor!
Posted by Jeff at 07:47 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 16, 2004


Blogging will be light today. We're taking the boy to his first Florida Gators game.
I'll have plenty of pics and stories when we come back tonight. Trust me.
(For a wallpaper-sized version of the above image, click here.
Posted by Jeff at 08:12 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 15, 2004


Been about a month since The Sombrero Project had an update.

Well, the weather is cooling a bit. Perfect weather to break out the 'brero.


This is Marta, the editor in chief of Zero Hora in Porto Alegre, Brazil. She's been visiting my office since late september as part of an international journalism exchange program. She's a lovely woman and she was very enthusiastic about participating in the project.

As a sign of that enthusiasm, she dragged a huge stuffed snake over for the photo as well. I have no idea what that is supposed to signify. Freudians, behold your ball of twine.


Things got so out of hand, my colleague Beth jumped in for her second stint in the hat.

Who was I to suppress a sombrero urge?

To see The Sombrero Project's subsequent parts click on: Dos, Tres, Quatro and Cinco.

Posted by Jeff at 07:56 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


I was combing again through my New Orleans photos and stumbled across some I shot in a cigar store in the French Quarter.


It was a great little store. Nice selection. Comfortable seating. And they had a football game on.

Not just any game. A Florida Gators football game.

In Louisiana. Deep in the heart of LSU country.

Gotta love it.

They had some great signs on the walls, too.


Bought me a nice, smooth Macanudo and smoked it while taking in the sights on Royal Street.


Even cooked me a long ash off that thang.

Speaking of "long ashes" (which, for the uninitiated, is a salutory greeting among cigar smokers), I have to give a shout-out to Cigar Dave, who hosts a radio show each week from Theater 1A in Tampa. Every so often, he'll get a surplus of new smokes in and will dole them out to friends. And a friend of his who's a friend of mine hands me one from Dave every so often.

In fact, the stogie on the right rail of the page was one that he sent along.

So my thanks goes to Dave. Best wishes in your campaign against "The Pleasure Police," my friend.

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October 14, 2004


Call in sick. Cancel your appointments. Close the drapes.
You'll be spending the rest of the day jumping into a Mini Cooper. Or at least trying to.
Posted by Jeff at 11:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


When it becomes an all-terrain vehicle, fer crissakes. Can't wait to see this thing bowl people over on the sidewalk.
Why not just make it an SUV?
Posted by Jeff at 10:55 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


Well, it looks like Malcolm Glazer, owner of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, may be dead in the water when it comes to taking ownership of the vaunted Manchester United soccer team in England. That is, if Scotsman.com has any validity in its reports.

Who's to say why it might have fallen through. Certainly the vitriol with which the Glazier bid for the most valuable sports franchise in the world was greeted had to be a factor.

Man U fans erupted with hatred when he announced his bid for takeover. Some even flew to Tampa to protest outside of Buccaneers games.

It got so bad, they created ads to mock Mal and his family. Rev. Joe Kendall, star of the show "Pastor Cop" and 1996's Crimefighting Clergyman of the Year, sent me a couple of them:


I love me some topical soccer humor. No overstatement here at all.

Then there's this one:


They even wrote a batch of lyrics to the the tune of the "Addams Family" theme:
They all have giant ears,
And Malcom has a beard.
They own the Buccaneers,
The Glazer Family.

To see all the lyrics and view a large version of the ad, click here.

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I've seen a lot of weird press kits in my time. Even got a straightjacket with my name on it this summer.

But the one we got yesterday to promote a TV show takes the cake.

The urinal cake, that is.


It's an "Interactive Urinal Communicator" manufactured by, whom else, Wizmark.

Let me explain.

Device sits in bottom of urinal. Male subject (assuming, of course) walks up, takes down the barn door and begins his duty.

Heh. I said "doody."

Anyway, as pressure is relieved, an audio message is delivered.

Here's how the company announced it in a press release:

First-Ever Interactive Urinal Communicator Targets Men: ´Don´t Miss Outlaws on CMT´

NASHVILLE, Tenn., Oct. 11 /PRNewswire/ -- "Target marketing" has taken on a whole new meaning in the first-ever viral marketing use of an interactive urinal communicator in America.

To help create buzz for its new landmark television event, CMT OUTLAWS concert and countdown specials premiering Friday, Oct. 29, CMT will target men at bathroom urinals in bars, concert venues, colleges and radio stations with the -- Wizmark(R) -- the world's first and only device of its kind. The deodorizing urinal drain filter cover - featuring a waterproof anti-glare lenticular viewing display, pre-recorded audio and flashing lights -- is motion-activated: step up to the urinal and the unit starts flashing, talking and alternating pictures. The units are designed to last more than 10,000 flushes.

"We're always looking for innovative ways of reaching viewers, in this case the male audience," says James Hitchcock, Vice President, Creative and Marketing, CMT. "The new interactive urinal communicator from Wizmark enables CMT to target a very captive and vulnerable audience with our humorous pre- recorded message -- recorded by a woman -- that commands, 'Don't miss OUTLAWS on CMT. You seem to miss everything else!'"


An aside: Using a female voice to get men to pay attention at a pee trough is not a bad idea, assuming of course that a heterosexual man is standing there about to "bleed the weasel."

But insulting the accuracy of the aforementioned man's urinary swordsmanship is probably a bad idea.

In unrelated potty news, I have a question maybe someone could answer:

Why did the Hilton Riverside Hotel in New Orleans fill their urinals with ice every morning?


I can report that this dissuaded me heartily from ordering margaritas on the rocks at the hotel bar.

Posted by Jeff at 08:11 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

REASON No. 412

Because you never know when Mike Ditka is going to drop by the office.


Posted by Jeff at 07:03 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 13, 2004


Funny in a sick, twisted, dark, I'm-Sitting-Next-To-Hitler-On-Express-Bus-No. 666-To-Hell kind of way, but wrong nonetheless.
But hey, if you're gonna buy one, you might as well double up on your damnation.
Speaking of which, it's cracking me up to see people on both sides of the aisle suddenly get in a twist over stem-cell research. I overheard a young couple talking about the issue while thumbing through CDs last night at Costco. They were very earnest in their discussion, which took place while they were trying to choose between the Tim McGraw and R.E.M. discs.
:::tapping the microphone::::
We can't even figure out how to make enough flu vaccine, for crissakes.
We live in a world that couldn't even figure out how to program the VCR.
And now we have TiVO.
Posted by Jeff at 08:02 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 12, 2004


Came upon a street performer on Royal Street while I was in New Orleans. It was a guitar player named Mike and his dog, Mojo.


Mojo was part chihuahua and part... whatever. His big act: dropping dollar bills into a hat.


Mojo had a major impediment: an incredibly lazy tongue that refused to sleep between the covers of his lips.

A side note: get a look at the shirt of the guy behind Mojo.

I worship irony in all its forms.


Another impediment: Mojo's acute canine attention deficit disorder. The dog couldn't focus on any one object for any longer than it took to sniff his butt.


Despite the sign's claim to the contrary, Mojo had no discernable skills.

Even the removable nameplate on the placard indicated that he was only temping his job.

The message was clear: Fuck up once, dog, and you can be replaced.


Actually, his replacement wasn't far away. Spike, an angry, bitter mongrel, stood nearby on a leash held by Mike's companion. Spike and Mojo don't like each other. Competition in the workplace on Royal Street only fuels their feud.


Mike had an interesting set of whiskers, too.

When I asked him about why he grew them, he said, "I needed a gimmick, something to stand out among all the others.''

We all do, Mike. We all do.


Hoping to boost his self-esteem, I offered Mojo a dollar to see his act.


He took two steps and dropped it. Spike offered to snatch it up. Only Mike's intervention stopped the interception.

So he gave it to Mojo again.

Again a turn, two steps and a drop.

This was pathetic.


Finally, Mike held the dollar bill directly over the hat. Mojo put his swollen tongue on the corner, lodged the dirty bill briefly between his lips and nonchalantly tossed it only as far as it had to go to topple less than an inch into the hat.

It wasn't nearly as fun as watching a horse jump off a diving board. But it was worth a buck for about two minutes of amusement and interesting conversation.


Perhaps as part of some canine victory dance, Mojo celebrated by scratching the crap out of my wife's legs and wrists.

We all have our little ceremonies, it seems.

Posted by Jeff at 11:19 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


I've been going through the 400 photos I took in New Orleans earlier this month. I keep finding chestnuts I forgot I had.

Like the Georgia Music Hall of Fame exhibit in Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

There were lots of great items in there - I'll share pics of them later this week - but the true gem was this rare artifact:


Who do those boots, vest, hat and guitar belong to?

"Smokey and the Bandit" co-star Jerry Reed.


Born in Atlanta, Reed is probably best known these days as Coach Red Beaulieu in "The Waterboy."

Back in the day when I was growing up, he had a string of hits, including "When You're Hot, You're Hot" (1971) and "She Got the Gold Mine (I Got the Shaft)" (1982).

One thing I didn't know until I did a little research: Jerry Reed was a guest star on "Scooby Doo."

Posted by Jeff at 08:20 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack


You might remember that about a year ago, I met a bunch of famous, semi-famous, barely famous and formerly famous musicians at the opening of the Orlando Hard Rock Hotel's new cafe, The Kitchen.
One of those was former Quiet Riot frontman Kevin DuBrow. He was very amiable - if predictably raucous - but we had a nice chat. He said he loved to cook. His favorite dish: "My meat and potatoes."
Ever since then, I've been getting e-mail from Kevin about the latest happenings with his solo career and his former band. (Previous letters can be read here and here.
Anyway, I got another one here at home yesterday. Seems Kev has some good news for all those disenfranchised metal heads out there. (Note the timestamp on the e-mail. Seems that Kevin's a bit of a night owl):
From: Kevin DuBrow Sent: Thursday, October 07, 2004 1:55 AM Subject: The Return of QUIET RIOT


The Return of QUIET RIOT!

QUIET RIOT, the band who introduced the world to their groundbreaking #1 selling album "Metal Health," are back after an eighteen month absence. Driven by vocalist Kevin DuBrow, powered by drummer Frankie Banali, both QUIET RIOT founding members, the band is now fueled by longtime QUIET RIOT contributing bassist Chuck Wright and energized with Beautiful Creatures' guitarist Alex Grossi to bring you their prescription for Metal Health.

QUIET RIOT have entered into an equitable and legal agreement with bassist Rudy Sarzo, now with Dio, making it possible for the continuation of the group. Former guitarist Carlos Cavazo has chosen not to participate. Everyone concerned wishes each other continued success.

QUIET RIOT will be releasing their first ever official live CD "QUIET RIOT Live & Rare" in January 2005. It will include tracks from their 1983 Metal Health tour and the 1984 Condition Critical tour as well as three rare 1981 "demo" tracks for their "Metal Health" release.


Posted by Jeff at 07:59 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


My friend Meg over at Sick Candy is a photographer for Fashion Wire Daily. (You can see some of her pics here.)
She also operates a side novelties business over at Karl 79. One of the main attractions: the Mancatcher Voodoo Kit.
Well, it appears that she's boated the celebrity marlin, so to say. Star magazine reports that Pamela Anderson snagged her boyfriend of the minute, Christian Monzon, after using the kit.
Coincidence? I think not.
Posted by Jeff at 07:40 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 11, 2004


Pulled up on this truck the other day. Couldn't make out the message on the rear window. So I pulled up a little closer:

Nice. I think the gothic lettering, the double prepositions and the similarity between the graphic testicles and the set dangling from the bumper lend an air of class.

PREVIOUS ADVENTURES IN TRAFFIC My honor student can kick your ass.
Garfield mudflaps.
Horse and buddy.
Posted by Jeff at 08:13 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack


As obscene tirades go, it doesn't come close in hilarity to Dick Cheney on the floor of the Senate. But this memo from Sean Penn to Trey Parker and Matt Stone has to be one of the best celebrity letters ever written.
The "Team America" movie, apparently, has upset Mr. Penn.
Who knew that a marionette movie could "lead to the disembowelment, mutilation, exploitation, and death of innocent people throughout the world"?
Posted by Jeff at 06:05 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack



Bummer news of the day:

Christopher Reeve, the star of the "Superman" movies whose near-fatal riding accident nine years ago turned him into a worldwide advocate for spinal cord research, died Sunday of heart failure, his publicist said. He was 52.

In an unrelated non-news story, Sharon Osbourne is not dead, no matter what ABC News says.

Posted by Jeff at 05:53 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 10, 2004


Looks like baby's got a full diaper.
Posted by Jeff at 07:30 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack



Hey there, Coach Ron Zook,

Do you think you might just once

Hold onto the lead?

Posted by Jeff at 03:47 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


I've never received a spam that was worth anything redeemable, until today.

This joke comes courtesy of someone who tried to lodge an ad on my blog's comment's list:

The CIA had an opening for an assassin. After all of the background checks, interviews, and testing were done there were three finalists - two men and one woman. For the final test, the CIA agents took one of the men to a large metal door and handed him a gun.

"We must know that you will follow your instructions, no matter what the circumstances. Inside this room you will find your wife sitting in a chair. You have to kill her." The first man said. "You cant be serious. I could never shoot my wife!"The agent replies, "Then you?re not the right man for this job."

The second man was given the same instructions. He took the gun and went into the room. All was quiet for about five minutes. Then the agent came out with tears in his eyes. "I tried, but I cant kill my wife." The agent replies, "You dont have what it takes. Take your wife and go home."

Finally, it was the womans turn. Only she was told to kill her husband. She took the gun and went into the room. Shots were heard, one shot after another. They heard screaming, crashing, banging on the walls. After a few minutes, all was quiet. The door opened slowly and there stood the woman. She wiped the sweat from her brow and said, "You guys didnt tell me the gun was loaded with blanks. So I had to beat him to death with the chair."

Posted by Jeff at 09:10 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 08, 2004


Posted by Jeff at 07:30 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack



South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone talk about their new movie Team America: World Police. I can't wait to see this ridiculously stupid film.

I guess the movie had to be toned down to get an R rating, since there originally was a marionette sex scene that the MPAA freaked out about.

Posted by Jeff at 04:36 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack


Remember the animated cartoon set to "This Land Is Your Land"?
The JibJab boys are at it again. This time, "It's Good To Be In D.C."

Posted by Jeff at 08:52 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


My Uncle Pete, (yes, the one who was in the paper posing with a potato he grew that was shaped like a moose), sent this photo and e-mail to let me know he's back from Alaska. Sounds like he had the usual snow to endure on his trek driving south all the way back to Florida from his homestead near Homer.
He makes this drive every year. Like a diver acclimatizing by slowly rising to the surface, Pete and his beautiful wife Cecile drive the couple thousand miles home. Pete misses Alaska and the fishing and the natural splendor of the summers so much in the winter that I think he uses the road trip to prepare himself for the loss. I think he'd explode from the pressure if he just flew home in one fell swoop.
Back after a thousand miles of this, some light and some heavy!!!!! Beautiful, but I think would get old after a few weeks, unless you liked winter sports - I'm a fisherman, and they don't bite in the snow.
Posted by Jeff at 08:35 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


I'm a freak about mascots. Always have been.

I have a new favorite:


The Hand Grenade, iconic figure for...


People walk up and down Bourbon Street with these green bottles of alcohol sold at The Funky Pirate that are shaped like a hand grenade with a long stem. Drink too many and you'll suffer from internal schrapnel. They claim it's New Orleans' most powerful beverage.

From funky butts to funky pirates, the town is all about the funk.

Posted by Jeff at 08:08 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


Overheard while walking through Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson Airport:

Mother: You've never heard of the Allman Brothers?

Daughter: No.

Mother: Never?

Daughter: No.

Mother: You've never heard "Midnight Rider"?

Daughter: Is that like "Easy Rider"?

Mother: No.

Daughter: Is it Allman, like almond?

Mother: [extended silence] No. It is not.

Posted by Jeff at 07:55 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 07, 2004


Saw this in New Orleans.


As the saying goes: "May all your butts be funky butts."

Posted by Jeff at 07:28 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack



While I was away in New Orleans last week, something of great import happened: the Tampa Bay Devil Rays' season mercifully came to a close.

As promised by manager Lou Pinella, the Rays didn't finish in last place in the division.

But the embarrassment doesn't end there. For every silver lining, there is a cloud - even after the season is over.

Like in this story about how major league teams and former players have come to the aid of a Little League ballpark in Tampa that was hit by arson.

Seems that after Northside Little League's concession stand was torched, The New York Yankees, who train in Tampa in the spring, donated $25,000 Wednesday to the league.

Former Yankee and former Devil Ray Wade Boggs said he planned to send $5,000 on his own from The Wade Boggs Foundation for Youth Athletics.

What did the hometown team do?

The Rays of Hope Foundation is chipping in $2,500 and concession food that was leftover from the season. The team also will donate an autographed Rocco Baldelli jersey to the league so they can raise money in a prize drawing. The winner will get a ticket to a Devil Rays game next season, meet the Rays player and get the jersey at the game.

Note the phrase "at the game." Bottom line: they will do anything to get one more butt in the stands.

Which would be one more than they had at the last home game of the season against the Boston Red Sox.

The Rev. Joe Kendall, Side Salad's official hardball correspondent, took in the game and filed this report and these photos. (A warning: He likes to write in third-person):

It ended Wednesday night where it began in March: in the bland, bizarrely-lit baseball warehouse known as Tropicana Field, home of baseball's most inconsequential ballclub, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. The Reverend kicked off the 2004 campaign by documenting the infamous queen bed on the turf of the Trop at Fanfest during the Grapefruit League. The Reverend documented the offbeat during the pre-season circuit, went on to enjoy many a game at the Phillies' new baseball gem in Clearwater and wrapped up the season with a Red Sox-Devil Rays match.

Rev. Joe was impressed by the never-say-die passion of Red Sox fans, many of whom filled Trop seats that usually go unfanny-ed. One Red Sox fan approached Rev. Joe after the Rays took a rare win from the BoSox Wednesday night and said he hated Devil Rays fans. The Reverend explained to this intoxicated chap that hate never accomplsihed anything and that he would be crying one more time this fall when the Red Sox would spend another autumn crying about another year without a World Series.

Here are the final baseball photos for the 2004 season. The Rev. Joe will be re-appearing on the sports beat if the owners and players of the NHL ever settle their labor impasse. For now, enjoy the following. This is Rev. Joe Kendall, out.


Looks good, right? Oddly, this half of a prime rib roast was enough to feed everyone who came to the ballpark that night.



There's something sadly ironic about the DRays having a sculpture in the centerfield mezzanine showing an outfielder breaking through the wall to save a home run from being hit out of the park. It'a slmost as if the club knew when they refurbished the Tropicana Dome that pitching would be a problem.

Note the gentleman strolling down the aisle. He is the loneliest baseball fan in the world.


Hate waiting in long beer lines? That's never a problem at the Trop.


Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you the 2005 pitching rotation: Malachi, Menachem, Moshe and Mordechai.


Due to the lack of customers, The Cuesta Rey Cigar Bar has been designated a non-smoking area.


Cue "Star Is Born" Music

"I wannnnt one morrrrrre loooooook at youuuuuuuuuu."

Posted by Jeff at 07:14 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


Got this e-mail yesterday:

Subject: Celebrity Auction For Prostate Cancer

Hello Jeff,

Now celebrating the month of "PROCTOBER", The National Prostate Cancer Coalition and Grolsch Premium Lager have teamed up in order to raise both money and awareness for "the biggest thing in men's health" with their "Pop Art" online celebrity auction.

First, you have to have jumbo, swollen, elephantitis coconut balls to try and refocus attention away from breast cancer during this month. Anyone with a pulse knows it's all about the pink ribbon.

Second, um... PROCTOBER?!?!?!

Posted by Jeff at 06:31 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 06, 2004


In an effort to be the 4,712,435th person on the planet to say this, New Orleans' Bourbon Street has some really nasty stuff going on.

Oddly, I saw no public displays of pulchritude. Must have been an off-weekend. Everyone was talking about how tame it seemed. But for all that was missing in public displays of obscenity, more than enough was made up in the shops and bars.

Here are some pics of stuff I saw in stores and on the streets. They're not really safe for work, for home or - for that matter - any place outside of New Orleans.

As a sign I saw on Bourbon Street says, if you're easily offended, don't click here:

Tattoo Girl.jpg
This was an odd little nicknack. At first I thought it might have been an Axl Rose figurine. Then I took a closer look. Not really something I'd put on my Steinway, but hey, that's just me.
Butt Show.jpg
I laughed at the sheer stupidity of this at first. Then I came to see it as sort of a periodic table of ass elements. Who knew you could mix your butt fetish with T-shirt expressionism and turn it into some sort of helpful tool?
After Sex Towel.jpg
This, of course, sells with a matching set of After Sex Finger Bowls and During Sex Bibs.
Porn Stars.jpg
Yes, but not as good as they smell after a long day at work.
Shelf Porn.jpg
A category I hadn't considered before I went to New Orleans: Shelf Porn.
Some of these were salt and pepper shakers, I believe.
Bitch Fell Off.jpg
Ah, another tender motorcycle shirt.
Bitch That Fell.jpg
A matching pair!
Fuck It Up.jpg
This should be the uniform for every power-hungry freak at work.
Oh Stewardess.jpg
And to think, all I asked for was a bag of pretzels.
Queer Eye Sauce.jpg
Exhibit 1: How To Tell When Your Show Is Over.
Big Daddys.jpg
Gee. The entrance to a strip club. There's so much to play with here.
Maybe it's me, but I prefer my strippers to be alive. Stating that they actually are so makes me wonder if there's another alternative inside I don't really want to consider.
I appreciate this kind of full disclosure. It's the sign of a thoughtful and polite strip club owner.
The mind boggles at the possibilities of this conversation. I'm guessing they're talking about the weather.

Posted by Jeff at 07:48 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 05, 2004


A bit of sadness that we knew was coming for a while has happened. Brian's principal at school, Sandra Frost, succumbed to cancer this week.
I took this photo of her and Brian last year during an awards ceremony. She kind of scared me when Brian started going to Cimino Elementary, before I got to talk with her and know her a little bit. I soon found her to be a lovely woman who had an obvious passion for teaching children. She was stern and strict, but fair and warm. When I asked her to pose with Brian, she immediately beamed and said, "Absolutely.''
When she was chosen to start Cimino two years ago, she got to hand-pick her teachers, who soon worked to create one of the elite public schools in the county.
In the last year, she could be seen at the school wearing a hat to hide her loss of hair during chemotherapy. She handled even that indignity with grace. She informed the children and their parents at the onset of her therapy that she would probably be losing her hair and that if they had any questions, they could ask her.
When Brian was told of her death on Sunday, he was sad, but not overwhelmed. One of the reasons I think he was so solid was due in part to the way Mrs. Frost taught the children how to handle her - and any - severe illness.
I have no doubt that she's taught them lessons in her death that they will carry throughout their lives.

A postscript: A guestbook for comments is available online.

Posted by Jeff at 08:21 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack


Under the heading, It Ought To Be Against The Slaw:

ENGLEWOOD - A sports bar manager was arrested Sunday after he heaved a container of coleslaw in an employee's face, pushed and choked him, deputies said.

David W. Neuman, 44, a manager at End Zone sports bar, was charged with misdemeanor battery. He posted $500 bail on Monday and was released from jail.

Deputies said Neuman argued with employee Kevin Vietts because Vietts didn't take sauces and coleslaw to a customer. Neuman hurled the coleslaw at Vietts. The two then scuffled outside.

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In trying to decipher the reasons that the Tampa Bay Buccaneers (Motto: We're old, we're slow, we gave away all our draft picks and we're uninventive!) are sitting on the bottom of the NFC Central with an 0-4 record, you might want to look at these statistics, compiled by my friend Rommie:

* Running back Michael Pittman’s last rushing touchdown: Dec. 15, 2002

* Fullback Mike Alstott’s last rushing touchdown: Sept. 21, 2003

* Running back Jamel White’s last rushing touchdown: December 2003, when he was with the Cleveland Browns.

* I've had as many rushing touchdowns as every one of the Bucs running backs this year. I also have as many touchdown catches as wide receiver Tim Brown.

Posted by Jeff at 07:42 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 04, 2004


Our long national nightmare is over, unfortunately. We got back from New Orleans late yesterday and have loads to unpack and sort out. Not the least of which was the 397 photos I just uploaded. It doesn't help that I feel like I have maple syrup clogging my veins. New Orleans is fun, but it's, um, a bit taxing.

I'm going to trickle out the goodies on the Salad Bowl here for the next couple days as time permits.

If you need any indication of what type of material you'll be seeing, take a look at this trinket, which I've dubbed "Madonna's Zydeco Washboard."

Madonna Zydeco.jpg

Posted by Jeff at 08:04 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 01, 2004


*There is a buttload of barge traffic up and down the Mississippi. So much so, it makes me wonder if there isn't some evacuation going on.
* Paddlewheel riverboats are to New Orleans what fake trolleycar buses are to Tampa. Neither of them are all that authentic.
* Every person on earth once before they die should hear Mavis Staples sing "God Is Not Sleeping." Preferably in person.
* If New Orleans didn't have drinking and sex and the party-all-the-time attitude and year-round warm weather, it would be the Baltimore of the Deep South. The cemeteries are almost identical in their grandeur and the accents of both cities residents are equally undecipherable.
* When the lieutenant governor speaks to a convention of reporters and editors on the morning that one of his judges has been indicted and has the giant, jumbo, elephantine coconut balls to hold up the paper and say, "This is not today's Louisiana, this case is 5 years old. We've turned the corner. This is a new Louisiana. Don't read the paper," it makes me want to move here immediately. Especially when he looks at the editor of that paper directly in the eyes while making that statement and then goes on a 25 minute praisefest of his state's virtuies.
* When you see a former co-worker and you make polite chit-chat by asking about how things are at the former place of employment, the phrase, "Well, I had my appendix taken out," provides a less than satisfying update on the working environment.
* The last words I expected to hear in a professional capacity while attending a journalism convention: bl**jobs, fingering, anal sex, analingus and the phrases "I'm the urine drinking expert," "e-mail photos of sores on penises and vulvas," and "fist f***ing when I'm 50." Then again, it was a panel with sex advice columnist Dan Savage, so the sky was the limit.
* Watching slightly lubricated middle-age white office workers dance to hardcore delta blues has to be one of the most enjoyable spectator sports known to mankind. I have so much fun doing so, I feel as if I should offer to pay them for all the mockery going on in my head.
* The concept of the open bar should be enshrined and honored in a museum somewhere.
* Offering an open bar to a room full of journalists is like offering bad sitcom ideas to Tony Danza. Neither can refuse the opportunity.
* The fervor displayed by journalists lining up at a free bar is surpassed in degrees of greed only by the offer of free food.
* Journalists would take bribes of free turkey tettrazini over money.
* Only booze will get journalists to ignore free turkey tettrazini, but only for a limited time span.
* Offering an open bar to journalists twice in two days in New Orleans is just downright reckless.
Posted by Jeff at 08:16 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack