January 31, 2005


When it's your time, it's just your time.

Maybe if he had 60 half-liters of beer at his disposal, he'd be alive today...

San Mateo man dies in avalanche
Snowboarder's change of plans had saved him from tsunami

Bay Area native Daniel Berk had planned to spend the Christmas holiday in Sri Lanka, getting his scuba certificate, but canceled his plans at the last minute. He missed the deadly tsunami, but on Saturday, he was killed in an avalanche while snowboarding off-trail in the Austrian Alps.

Berk, 31, who grew up in San Mateo, had been living in Munich as a consultant for Intel Corp. for several years and was scheduled to be transferred back to the Bay Area in March, said his sister Valerie Berni of Tigard, Ore.

He had taken up snowboarding while living in Germany and frequently visited the Alps. On Saturday, he was snowboarding in the Austrian Alps with three friends who were above him on the mountain and saw him overtaken by the avalanche, Berni said.

The avalanche, which the Associated Press said had a width of about 300 yards, occurred at about 7,550 feet in an off-trail area in the western province of Tyrol. The AP said the area was "popular with thrill-seekers looking for deep, untouched powder."


There's snow going back now.

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For it easier to pass a tumbling gymnast through the eye of a basketball hoop than it is to enter the kingdom of Heaven.

Holy shitballs!

Hat tip to Lawren at Martinis, Persistance, and a Smile.

Posted by Jeff at 01:37 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


Note to self: If I'm ever traveling through avalanche country, bring 60 half-liter bottles of beer so I can drink them and pee my way to safety.
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From the New York Times:
In the Shiite-dominated cities of southern Iraq, and through much of Baghdad, Iraqis streamed to polling places, eager to give the country's largest group real political power for the first time. They did so despite relentless insurgent attacks that left 44 people dead, including nine suicide bombers.

In some polling centers, the mood turned joyous, with Iraqis celebrating their newfound democratic freedoms in street parties that, until the elections, were virtually unknown in this war-ravaged land.

As the sun went down, some Iraqis ran to the polling centers. Some election workers kept polls open late for them.

At least for now, the large turnout appeared to vindicate the strategy to hold elections sooner rather than later, over the objections of many Sunni leaders and in the face of the ferocious insurgency. That strategy, advocated by Ayatollah Sistani and President Bush, drew criticism that it would further divide the country and that, in any case, the Iraqis were not ready.

In polling places throughout the country, ordinary Iraqis not only braved significant violence to go to the polls, but also demonstrated that they understood the stakes, and that they knew what to do.

"We feel now that we are human beings living in this country," Muhammad Abdul-Ridha, 25, a Najaf goldsmith, said after dropping his ballot into the box. "Now I feel I have a responsibility, I have a vote. Things will go right if people leave us alone to do what we want to do. If they leave the Iraqi people to decide for themselves, things will get better."

The mood among many Iraqi leaders, and those who set up the electoral infrastructure, was jubilant. Some said the success of the vote, in a nation so traumatized by tyranny and war, had put to rest any notion that the Iraqi people, or indeed the Arab world as a whole, were incapable of grasping their political destiny.

"We have established the principles upon which a democracy can be built," said Fareed Ayar, the spokesman for Iraq's electoral commission.

In many parts of the country, the turnout seemed to rebuke the violent campaign to sabotage the balloting and the threats by insurgents to kill Iraqis who voted.

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January 30, 2005


The Cheese Mistress has a little meme going on. She's tagged me, so I'm it. I've decided to play along with her reindeer games.

Random 10 Songs in My Playlist:
1. Poe - Hey Pretty
2. Paula Cole - You Make Me Feel Love
3. Nikka Costa - Like A Feather
4. Johnny Cash - Delia's Gone
5. Jeff Buckley - Last Goodbye
6. Radiohead - Creep
7. Prince - If I Was Your Girlfriend
8. Aimee Mann - Save Me
9. Stone Temple Pilots - Sour Girl
10. Ghetto Boys - Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta

1.) What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
About 600 MB.

2. The last CD you bought is:
"My Baby Don't Tolerate" by Lyle Lovett

3. What is the song you last listened to before this message?
"Trying To Get That Feeling Again" by Barry Manilow. It was on in my Mom's house. I swear. She has it on that Mom-Sings-Along-With-Every-Song-Regardless-Of-Its-Musical-Value channel on her kitchen radio. My right hand to God.

4. Five songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you.
"Asshole" by Denis Leary. A-S-S, H-O, L-E, Everybody...
"If I Had A Boat" by Lyle Lovett. It's a perfect song. Witty... illustrative.. wonderfully melodic. And just weird. Whenever I start to think I could write a decent song, I listen this this and put the pen down.
"God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys. I think of my wife when Carl Wilson sings, "If you should ever leave me/Then life would still go on, believe me/But the world would show nothing to me/So what good would living do me?/'Cause God only knows what I'd be without you."
"Drunken Angel" by Lucinda Williams. Written about Townes Van Zandt in the wake of his alcohol-related death, Williams is angry and bitter about the waste of a truly original American talent. I listen to this when I'm angry and bitter.
"Home" by Sheryl Crow. Okay, so I'm drawn to haunting songs of disillusionment the way Scott Baio is drawn to "Baywatch" bimbos. So sue me.

5. Who are you gonna pass this stick to (five persons and why)?
Tommy at Sticks of Fire, since he pushes so much traffic my way.
Scott and Eileen at Home Sweet Road, because they're gonna need a shitload of road music in roughly 155 days or so.
Carly at Pornblography, a friend in California who has a little free time on her hands lately, since she got fired from her porn company PR job. A word of warning: Don't click on the link if adult photos and discussion of professionals-paid-for-making-hot-monkey-love-in-front-of-a-camera bothers you. It's hilarious and wonderful reading, if you can get past the smut and the human degradation. She also has the best pencil holder I've ever seen. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Cupie at Cupie Spew, because she proves you really can lead a horticulture - and make her drink.
And JD at JDLand, who had the first Beatle CDs I had ever heard. She has more CDs than I do, which is no small accomplishment.

Care to play along?

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January 27, 2005


Michelle at A Small Victory has a great thread on the Best Movie Endings Ever.
The Usual Suspects gets a mention. So does Soylent Green, The Sixth Sense and Fight Club.
But for my money, I agree with Chester, who writes:
The end of Office Space with Milton on the beach complaining about the "big grains of salt" on his margarita and threatening to take his travelers checks elsewhere.
I've watched all or parts of Office Space at least a dozen times in the past month.
Draw your own inferences about that as you will.
Posted by Jeff at 05:51 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack


...save your old jeans...children like Stephanie really need your help.
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Because you never know when you're going to find...






... a portly Dutch man dancing and singing along to “Ozone’s Dragostea Din Tei.”

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January 26, 2005


A member in good standing in The Sombrero Project has re-upped her dues.

Andrea at work joined Rommie and me at El Taco Nazo the other day and was able to reaquaint herself with the charms of the sombrero.


Amazingly - although not so amazing to those who understand the sombrero's ability to unite divided souls - Andrea saw someone in line that she knew the moment she walked up to the bus.

It was a joyous reunion.


It was a beautiful winter day outside, cool but not chilly, so we ate outdoors. Our order? P'shaw. Chicken burrito, of course.


These ladies sat next to us at the adjoining table. I imagined, based on their clothing color, that they had all come from the Mortuary Cosmetology University.


After impaling ourselves on Mexican torpedoes, we repaired to the dining room and sampled the sombrero wares.

As you can see, no Nazo or sombrero experience is truly complete without a sugary Jarritos tongue bath.

For the morbidly curious, The Sombrero Project's parts - Uno
Dos, Tres, Quatro and Cinco can be found online.

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Saw this car pulling out of my son's school on Tuesday:


Wait. What's that on the bumper?


Forget the "soccer moms." I've always said that it was the "jazz hands moms" that put Bush over the top.

Ugly lug nuts.

Pretty ballsy.

My honor student can kick your ass.

Garfield mudflaps.

Horse and buddy.

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We're riding in the car the other day. Brian is humming to himself. I recognize the tune.
It's "Dream Police" by Cheap Trick. It was a song I put on a CD for him.
But when he gets to singing the lyrics, problems ensue.
Actual lyric: The Dream Police/They come to me in my bed.
His lyric: The Dream Police/They make me pee in my bed.
Posted by Jeff at 06:39 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 24, 2005


Last week.
Last week.
Last week.
This week.
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I heard in the car Sunday afternoon that Johnny Carson had died. Remarkably, especially for a man diagnosed with emphysema, he was not named in our dead pool at work.
My earliest recollection of his show is when I was a kid. I remember that there used to be a gag shop called the Barefoot Mailman in the Tyrone Square Mall that had a toilet which, if you lifted the lid, would emit the phrase, "HEEERE'S JOHNNY!" I later found out that Carson's lawsuit against the manufacturers made case law for celebrities who had their catchphrases used without license.
My other strong memory of him was the time when we lived in Anchorage and an earthquake took place while we were watching his show. All of a sudden the vase above the TV started to swirl and the chandeliers began to swing. I ran outside, only to find my truck wobbling from the tremor. It was a little disconcerting to come back into the house and see the program, which went on, of course, as if nothing had happened.
Something that doesn't get mentioned much in his obits: He had three sons, one of which died in the early 1990s. His son Cory, is a musician and has a Web site with MP3 samples. I did not know that.
I also didn't remember that he had been a character on The Simpsons:
My favorite of his quotes:
If life was fair, Elvis would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead.
New York Times writer Bill Carter has a nice story today in the New York Times about Johnny's post-show life. It includes an interview with his longtime producer Peter Lasally.
"He really missed doing the monologue," Mr. Lassally said. "So he started doing them for me."

Sometimes once a week, sometimes more often, Mr. Carson would call Mr. Lassally and, over the phone, perform his little monologues - for an audience of one. "They were always funny," Mr. Lassally said, and one day about a year ago the jokes struck him as so funny that he had a suggestion.

"I told Johnny he should call Dave and give them to him," said Mr. Lassally, who, after Mr. Carson retired, went to work as executive producer for David Letterman.

Thus began a quiet collaboration, which delighted Mr. Carson in his final months. "He was like a little kid when Dave would do one of his jokes," Mr. Lassally said. "He was not blasé about any of it."

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January 21, 2005


My Muse had a birthday yesterday. We share the same birth date, so he and I are kindred spirits of a sort.
But regardless of his age, he'll always be a man of action to me.
Keep your boots bottom side down and don't let them doggies knock you around, pardner.
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So, I've finally finished vomiting pics from our New York City trip into my Webshots galleries. I am spent. I'm a shell of a husk of a pawn.

The galleries can be seen here:

New York City, Day 1

New York City, Day 2

New York City, Day 3

Here's a sample of what you'll see:







Posted by Jeff at 08:13 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 20, 2005


A judge in Manhattan federal court has ruled that Spider-Man creator and 'Spider-Man 2' executive producer Stan Lee is entitled to 10 percent of the profits from movie and television productions involving Marvel Enterprises Inc. characters, as well as movie-related toys manufactured and sold by the company itself.
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I guess I've made the big time; I've sent something to Gawker's "Gawker Stalker" file that actually got published. I'm batting 1-for-1.

My tidbit on seeing Howard Stern at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City got sandwiched in between an Anne Hathaway and a Alec Baldwin.

I couldn't be more proud.


Unfortunately, I'm not savvy enough to actually have attached the photos to the e-mail I sent to their tip address.

So here they are:



A stalkerazzi I'm not. I'm just a bumpkin with 5 megapixels and a loaded battery.

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My Uncle Pete, (yes, the one who was in the paper posing with a potato he grew that was shaped like a moose), sends me this joke with the notation: "Finally a Dumb Blonde joke that really made me laugh."
A blonde, wanting to earn some extra money, decided to hire herself out as a handy-woman" and started canvassing a nearby well-to-do neighborhood.
She went to the front door of the first house, and asked the owner if he had any odd jobs for her to do.
"Well, I guess I could use somebody to paint my porch," he said.
"How much will you charge me?"
The blonde quickly responded, "How about $50?" The man agreed and told her that the paint and everything she would need was in the garage.
The man's wife, hearing the conversation, said to her husband,"Does she realize that our porch goes all the way around the house?"
He responded, "That's a bit cynical, isn't it?" The wife replied, "You're right. I guess I'm starting to believe all those dumb blonde jokes we've been getting by e-mail lately."
A short time later, the blonde came to the door to collect her money.
"You're finished already?" the husband asked.
"Yes," the blonde replied, "and I had paint left over, so I gave it two coats."
Impressed, the man reached into his pocket for the $50 and handed it to her.
"And by the way," the blonde added, "it's not a Porch, it's a Lexus."
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January 19, 2005



There's a new site added to the Salad Bowl blogroll: Home Sweet Road. It's a site a friend of mine, Scott, created to document the weeks leading up to a 365-day road trip with his wife, Eileen, as well as the entire journey. And, I expect, a little post-trip reflection as well.

They're T-minus 167 days and counting until departure, by the way.

Both have a wonderful writing style and are introspective about their mission without descending into the bowels of navel-gazing. They share the kinds of thoughts any one of us would have if we went on such a journey of self discovery.

Take this recent passage:

The Curse of 1492
A week ago I headed to New York on a business trip with my good friend, Joe. Our mission was to hang out in gourmet grocery stores and visit a chocolate factory (and to shoot a little video in both places). Yes, it is a hardscrabble life.

We took the 7 p.m. train out of Union Station. Once our tickets had been punched and we'd settled in for the journey, Joe leaned over and shot me a puzzled glance. "So what are you going to do on the road for a year?" To me, the answer was obvious: anything and everything. But I noted a glint of skepticism in Joe's eyes, and it rattled me. So I attempted to defend our decision to leave behind our friends, families, and careers, but it was not a particularly convincing defense--not to Joe, or even to me, and I'm the one taking the damn trip.

As the train rumbled past the ghostly silhouette of Baltimore, Joe kept after me. "I took a trip like yours, for six weeks, and by the end I'd had enough," he said. He paused and I could see he was reliving the experience. "I wish I had been born a few centuries ago. Back then you could really discover something new. You could walk on land that no on had walked on or write a book about a place no one knew existed. But today, well, we've got the Internet, GPS, satellite maps. You can learn everything about the world without leaving your computer. There's nothing left to discover."

"You don't need to plant a flag in polar ice cap to discover something new," I countered. Then, seeking some validation I added, "Right?"

But Joe wasn't buying. He merely responded with a skeptical grin that said, "I don't really get you, but I do enjoy trying."

I sunk back in my seat, still defiant, but experiencing doubts for the first time. Joe's words had cast our adventure in an entirely different light. Perhaps this trip was a silly indulgence, an exercise in "art" that was little more than an excuse to slip the stultifying rhythms of daily life. Maybe it has all been done before.

No, a little voice in my head protested. No! I reject that way of thinking. We may not discover rivers or flora or mountains, but we will discover plenty. Because while countless others have combed America with the same basic intent, we have't. You've never seen America through our eyes, nor we through yours, and there's beauty--and discovery--in that.

Yes, we will discover something new. We will linger where others stop only for fuel. We will peer into the shattered windows of abandoned stores, kick up dust in forgotten doorways, and venture into dark and forbidding alleys. It's not the Northwest Passage, granted; it is our passage.

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January 17, 2005


So my wife shows up on Friday at my work, taps me on the shoulder and says, "Happy Birthday, let's go to New York City. Our flight leaves in two hours."
Thus began a whirlwind wheekend.
I'll post photos over the next few days. Here's a sampling of what's to come:
Posted by Jeff at 07:55 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 14, 2005



My son the other day said, "Dad, I feel like just getting in the car and driving."

Which since he's 9 means that he really feels like riding.

So I piled the family into the Big Red Machine and headed south across the Sunshine Skyway Bridge to Skyway Jack's restaurant.

Skyway Jack's is a restaurant that used to be adjacent to O'Neill's Marina on the approach to the Skyway Bridge. Everyone who was going boating in south St. Petersburg or those on their way to Bradenton would stop for breakfast.
The last time I was there was probably 25 years ago, when my parents took me for breakfast on our way out on the boat (you could dock your boat behind the restaurant).
Since that time, the Skyway Bridge has been renovated and Jack's had to move because more lanes for the approach highway were needed. It was a long, protracted fight between the restaurant and the DOT officials. Jack's finally lost, but they were able to relocate to a spot farther north on 34th Street.
The restaurant is nothing to look at, really. (Neither was the previous location.) But what it has is kitsch up the wazoo. This is old St. Pete in it's fading glory.
Get a load of the paintings on the windows:
I bet the police and the minority community love that one.
Landscaping isn't really their forte'.
I think they picked this fountain up from a garage sale at Love Canal.
As you walk in, you're confronted with a huge testimonial to Skyway Jack, the man who fought the government and lost.
Yes. Yes they should, Jack.
Inside, you'll find an odd variety of customers, everyone from young couples to fishermen to retirees to construction workers and bikers.
Menu? Who needs a stinkin' menu when you've got walls.
Mmm. Sounds good.
These are the daily specials.
Remember, no subsitutions.
Celebrities often dine here.
Who's that in the back at his usual table?
Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis Presley.
After soaking up all that atmosphere, food is almost secondary.
The bacon was a big hit with my son.
My order: Fish and Eggs, with a big honkin' biscuit and a side of taters.
If I could read her mind: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
The servers were quick, efficient and lovely. And tolerant, to say the least, when you consider the shirts.
Yes, before there was Hooters, there was Skyway Jack's.
The one on the left asked that I not take her photo.
This was her name badge:
The waitress on the right, who served us our food said:
"You don't want your picture taken? What, do you think he thinks you're Dolly Parton or something?"


While not everyone likes using online dating sites, if you've just moved and you're looking to meet St. Petersburg Florida singles, or maybe singles in any other new town, the Internet could help.
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January 12, 2005


Can you tell that this was a woman who was stuck on an interstate for 10 hours in a blizzard on her way to St. Louis the day before Christmas?
Maybe the absent fingernails on her middle fingers give her away.
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Nah. Especially when it comes to wacky party pics.
I'm hoping the guy in the middle is named Charlie.
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Have I mentioned how gorgeous the weather in Florida has been lately?

That photo is another from my Uncle Pete taken from his back yard in Bradenton, Fla.

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January 09, 2005


Went to an Austin Powers-themed party Saturday night.
I'd explain what was behind the following photos, but that would ruin things:
For more photos, click here.
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There's a great read in the Tampa Tribune today, Joe Henderson's "Malio's Serves Final Steak, Last Big Deal."
Just about any blockbuster sports deal in the past 15 years was made, consummated or celebrated at a booth at Malio's.
Posted by Jeff at 11:25 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


The story of the day comes from the New York Times about Maggie, a 9,000-pound African elephant that has resided at the Alaska Zoo since 1983.
That's right, an elephant in Alaska.
Seems that Maggie is the focus for a struggle between zoo officials and tusk huggers who object to her location.
But the real story is about what they're doing to keep her happy:
Facing growing demands that she be moved to a warmer climate, where she could socialize with other elephants and get much more outdoor exercise, Alaska Zoo officials decided to keep her in Anchorage for now but came up with an unusual proposal to improve her exercise situation: They plan to build this 9,120-pound elephant a treadmill.
"I just don't know where you are going to put her where she's happier than she is here," Rob Smith, Maggie's trainer and manager for the last seven years, said on a recent frigid afternoon at the zoo, as Maggie stomped around her concrete barn.
The zoo has been under fire from national animal rights groups and some Alaska residents, who, in atypical acceptance of outside interference, have called for a boycott of the zoo until Maggie is moved south. Other zoos across the country, including those in San Francisco and Detroit, facing similar criticism and internal debates about the treatment of elephants in captivity, have closed their elephant exhibits in recent months, saying they were relocating the animals to warmer climates and to wide-open sanctuaries where they could roam for miles, as they do in the wild.
The plan here is to complete the treadmill, a first-of-its-kind $100,000 elephant exercise machine, by the summer. It would be 20 feet long and 5 feet wide, according to the plans, with a conveyer belt strong enough to allow Maggie, who is kept indoors here during most of the long winter, to get her blood flowing and move her creaky joints, zoo officials say.
A donor has already paid for the treadmill, the officials say, part of a roughly $500,000 "elephant house" improvement plan that would double the space in Maggie's 1,600-square-foot barn and add other amenities. Maggie, who has been trained to play the harmonica and to paint in watercolor on cardboard with her trunk, would have to be trained to use the treadmill.
If it keeps Maggie in shape, preventing the arthritis and foot infections that have plagued other elephants in the nation's zoos, then remaining in Anchorage is best for her, zoo officials say. Maggie has a history of not getting along with other elephants, and is easily made anxious by change, so the risks in moving her from "the only home she has known" outweigh the benefits, they say. Posted by Jeff at 10:18 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 08, 2005


Been about four months since The Sombrero Project (and its subsequent parts (Dos, Tres and Quatro) had an update.
That changes now:
We took the new guy at work to El Taco Nazo on Friday. While we were sitting in the dining room, we told him that part of the rookie initiation included him posing in a sombrero.
A woman sitting at the table behind us suggested that we make him wear one of the sombreros already hanging on the walls. We told her that this sombrero was part of a tradition for us.
"Well,'' she said, "you want me to wear one and be in the photo?''
Before we knew it she was standing there waiting for a hat.
"Here you go,'' Alan said. "This one matches your hair."
She eyed him suspiciously.
"Okay... Romeo.''
We borrowed a few more sombreros and made the above photo.
And a nickname was born.
Posted by Jeff at 08:16 PM | 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 from his waterfront home near Bradenton, Fla.

As much as he loves living half the year in Alaska, this kind of winter scene is hard to resist:

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In case you didn't know it, today is the 70th anniversary of Elvis Presley's birthday. We had a little fun with that fact in the Tribune.
But as avid readers of the Salad Bowl know, the King has always held a special place in our collective heart, from The King Project to the week we got to hobknob with some Elvis impersonators.
Then there's our favorite joke:
Q: Know how you can tell if your mobile home is haunted?
A: The eyes on the velvet Elvis painting move.
Happy Birthday, E, wherever you might be.
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Rev, Joe Kendall sends along this story, along with this comment: "Glad to see psychologist doesn’t think this is normal."
Gardiner man facing charge he cooked, ate a pet rabbit
Gardiner – A Gardiner man is facing felony charges after cooking his roommate's pet rabbit and then eating the animal, police said.
Mark Wallace of South Mountain Road, stands accused of the gruesome act that resembled a scene from the movie "Fatal Attraction."
Wallace's roommate had kept the rabbit for years in an outside hutch. The beloved bunny had a name and was regarded as a companion domestic animal, Ulster County sheriff's deputies said.
While the roommate was out, Wallace, 40, killed, gutted and baked the rabbit as a meal, deputies said. He managed a few bites of his dinner before the roommate came home.
Deputies had no information on the particular type of rabbit or whether the roommate had ever raised rabbits for market.
The allegations are similar to a famous scene from the 1987 film "Fatal Attraction," in which a married man's ex-lover boils his family's pet rabbit as a means of revenge.
Goshen psychologist Dean Scher said even if Wallace was a regular hunter and regarded rabbits as a food source, there is no case in which eating a roommate's pet could be considered normal.
"It's a pretty extreme action." said Scher a practicing psychologist for 30 years. "It's an interpersonal violation ... like saying, 'I'm the boss. I ate your rabbit and I could eat you.'"
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... I say thank you to Fox.


Rejecting Rooney's Super Butt

The ghost of Janet Jackson's breast apparently has scared off Fox from Mickey Rooney's bottom.

The network's censors have rejected a 15-second commercial designed by the cold-tablet company Airborne for February's Super Bowl in which Rooney shows off his bare 84-year-old backside.

"I would say that he's disappointed," Airborne coowner Rider McDowell said of the screen legend.

A Fox Sports spokesman told USA Today that the commercial was deemed "inappropriate for broadcast." And although the network didn't mention the words "Janet" or "Jackson," McDowell doesn't need to be a mind reader to see them as a factor in its decision.

McDowell maintains that the Rooney spot "is a whole other scenario."

In the commercial, for which Airborne was willing to pay $1.2 million to air during the game, Rooney is bathing in a sauna when a cough from a nearby person sends The Black Stallion star galloping out of the water. In his huff, he drops his towel, revealing his gluteus maximus to the camera for about "two to three seconds," McDowell said.

Ever the show-biz trouper, Rooney did his own tush work.

"I don't think you could find a body double for Mickey," McDowell said. "He has a unique physique."

To Rooney, there's nothing at all offensive about his bottom. Rather, he finds the Airborne spot "fun" and educational, in a health class kind of way.

Posted by Jeff at 02:34 PM | TrackBack


Fans Can Meet Lou Piniella, Don Zimmer, New Rays

ST. PETERSBURG, FL---Tickets for all Tampa Bay Devil Rays regular season and spring training home games will go on sale Saturday, January 15 at Noon.
Rays Manager Lou Piniella, Senior Baseball Advisor Don Zimmer, new Rays’ players Alex Gonzalez, Josh Phelps and Kevin Cash, and Raymond, the team’s mascot will be on hand to kick off the event at Tropicana Field. In addition, Pepsi products and Papa Johns Pizza will be available free to fans while supplies last. The first 2,000 fans purchasing tickets at Tropicana Field will also receive the Rays Timeline DVD.
The Rays’ new regular season ticket price plan will include 55 games in which all upper deck seats are just $5, a promotion the Rays offered for several games last season which was overwhelmingly popular with Rays fans.
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January 06, 2005


Separated at birth? You be the judge:


Bill Murray



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More adventures in retail at the discount mondo warehouse big metal barn shrine to conspicuous consumption.

Saw this for sale the other day:


I had to look at it for a second to realize what it was: a plush, leather, vibrating recliner.

I did a little poking around online. Seems that it's for sale online at eBay. It's being billed as, "THE ULTIMATE HUMAN TOUCH MASSEUSE."

That just sounds nasty.

Features include:

* A device which measures the length of the user's back and calculates the width of the shoulders so it can then calculate the precise massaging paths to customize the treatment.

* Kneading -- tapping and rolling functions.

* 15 air massage bags.

* 4 heavy duty massage wheels.

* Automatic reclining for back rest and foot rest.

* Extendable foot rest for taller users.

One question: What the hell does that thing in the middle exactly do? What target area is this intended to reach? I'm almost afraid to hear the answer.

Another question: Do we, as a society, really need this much comfort?


Uh, not for this price we don't. (Although it's a steal compared to the $3,500 buying price on eBay.

Come to think of it, there's only one chair I'd pay that much for:


Posted by Jeff at 08:17 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 04, 2005


Posted by Jeff at 08:32 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


From the If An F-Bomb Drops And No One Cares, Does It Really Matter Dept.:
LOS ANGELES - NBC hasn't received any calls about the F-word that Motley Crue rocker Vince Neil dropped during the live New Year's Eve broadcast of "The Tonight Show With Jay Leno."
"Happy f---ing New Year, Tommy!" Neil said to bandmate Tommy Lee (news) shortly after midnight Friday.
Leno normally tapes his show for broadcast later in the evening but does a live version for New Year's Eve. He had never a problem with profanities before, although the word has slipped out from time to time on other programs.
"The network has not received any calls regarding the incident," an NBC official, who asked not be identified, said Monday.
Personally, I think they're blowing this way out of proportion. I distinctly remember New Year's Eve 1972, when Guy Lombardo called one of his Royal Canadiens a "dumb a-- motherf---ing Cannuck" at the stroke of midnight.
My grandmother was none too pleased.
Posted by Jeff at 08:15 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 03, 2005


So I went to get my eyes checked last week. It's always dangerous to do so when you're within a month of your next birthday and everything on your body feels like you're trying to hold back a mudslide with a wet paper towel.
But I went. And I'm glad I did, although I'm still a little puzzled by what I saw.
First was this sign in the waiting room:
Hmmm. Pads. Okay. Not really sure what those are, but they sound important.
Then I saw this sign about three feet away from the first:
Ahh. I see. The pads are $5. And you have to sign in on the clipboard to get them from the lady with the bad breath who adjusts your frames while spewing halitosis up your nostrils as she invades your personal space.
Wait a second, though. This sign was directly above the second sign:
Well of course you're out of pads. You had two really excellent signs out there in the waiting room. That kind of thing always leads to panic buying.
I never found out what the pads actually do. Guess I'll never know, since they're out of stock.
Yes, pads they're out of. Stupid-ass signs? They've got plenty.
Posted by Jeff at 08:37 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


I traipsed through the discount mondo warehouse big metal barn shrine to conspicuous consumption the other day and saw this cover on a box set of CDs. I was stunned at the temerity of this attempt to not only rip off a classic Elvis album cover concept, but to infer that John - er, Jon - Bon Jovi and his band of blow-dried hacks were somehow worthy of even putting on a gold suit that looked remotely like The King.


Reminds me of the Denis Leary line: "How is it that Stevie Ray Vaughan is dead and we can't get Jon Bon Jovi into a helicopter?"

Allow me a direct appeal here for a moment...

Dear Mr. Tico Torres,

You're the drummer. You're the Paulie Walnuts of the band. You have a life outside the group as a painter. You're cool. You married and then dumped a supermodel. Even at 104 years old, you still have street cred. The crow's feet around your eyes are so deep, they look like they were made by pteradactyls hopped up on Draino and Ketel One.

You're not like Ritchie Sambora, who has to be told by his far-more-butch wife Heather Locklear that his Rachel cut went out of style four years before Friends went off the air. You're the soul of this soulless bunch. You're the anchor, the bedrock, the gravity in their helium-filled musical galaxy.

Please, Tico. I beg. Tell me you had to be paid extra to stand around in a photo studio while wearing the gold lame'. Tell me that it pained you and that you were only doing it to be part of the band. Tell me it made you bleed from the eyes just to gaze upon those golden sleeves. Tell me Amazonian tribesman stood just off camera with poison darts, waiting for a signal to blow one into your jugular, lest you take it off before the shoot was complete. Tell me they threatened you with blackmail that included video of you with midgets, Vaseline and Andy Dick. Tell me they attempted to cauterize your sack to the inside of your leg. Tell me you were just doing it for a blog.

Anything. Tell me anything. Just don't tell me you willingly went along with this. I've gotta believe in something real, man. Drummers are real. Aren't they? They're the 2 and the 4, the alpha and the omega, the Count Chocula to the rest of the world's Frankenberry. Don't take this one away. Don't crush my world. Please, for the love of all things holy and sacred, make me believe that there is something holy and unsoiled by commercial lust.

Eagerly Awaiting Your Reply,


p.s. Chris Gaines called from 1999. He wants his soul patch back.

Posted by Jeff at 01:53 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 02, 2005


Been a long time since we did a link dump around here. The new year seems a perfect time to purge:


* Postcards From The Attic offers a glimpse of cards from years gone past.

* A brilliant rendition of the fight scene between Spider-Man and Doctor Octopus. In Lego form, of course.

* Elvis water, smoking jackets, hoity-toidy chocolates. The Luxist life in a nutshell.

* Violent. Bloody. And extremely satisfying. Meet Whack Your Boss. (Disclaimer: Side Salad does not condone office violence nor does it intend to promote the bloody deaths of workplace supervisors under any conditions beyond self-defense.)


* I pity the fool who don't go and visit Mr. T and Me.

* A bunch of hacks, tricks and other cool stuff at 43 Folders.

* Apple, Phinneus, this blog's for you.


* The Vendee Globe around-the-world sailing contest. Talk about lucky... they missed the tsunami by only about a week.

* Think of ProHipHop as the Wall Street Cred Journal.

* This is a franchise opportunity I may not be able to refuse.

* Why is there air? For to use our lungs for snarkiness, of course.


* Cool art from the covers of comic books.

* Roadside fun from the Gallery of Huge Beings.

* Impersonating an officer in one easy step.

* How can you free a man who isn't imprisoned?

Posted by Jeff at 10:39 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


Singer Barry Manilow has announced a long-term agreement with the Las Vegas Hilton to perform his show 'Manilow: Music and Passion,' beginning Feb. 23.


I have no comment on this, other than to say that Barry could pass as Sigfried's older brother, so it only fits that he's going to Las Vegas.

However, I do know one woman at work who is thrilled:


Posted by Jeff at 10:08 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack