SIDE SALAD - Everything crunchy is good.

TIMING IS EVERYTHING

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."

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS OF
TIMING IS EVERYTHING

There's snow going back now.

IT'S IN DA HOLE!!!

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.

DON'T YOU EAT THAT YELLOW SNOW

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.

GIVING TERROR THE FINGER

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.

MUSIC OF MY MIND

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?

THIS IS THE END

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.

PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL
THINGS HOLY AND SACRED...

...save your old jeans...children like Stephanie really need your help.

WHY DO I SURF THE WEB?

Because you never know when you're going to find...

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

THE SOMBRERO PROJECT ROLLS ON

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.

ADVENTURES IN TRAFFIC

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.



PREVIOUS ADVENTURES IN TRAFFIC
Ugly lug nuts.

Pretty ballsy.

My honor student can kick your ass.

Garfield mudflaps.

Horse and buddy.

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES

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.

TIMING IS EVERYTHING

Last week. Last week. Last week. This week.

THAT LONG, LONG ROAD

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."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MUSE

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.

IT IS FINISHED

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:

WINNER OF THE WEEK

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.

IT'S OFFICIAL. I'M A STALKER

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.

JOKE OF THE DAY

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."

DRIVE, SHE SAID

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.

ROAD TRIP: NEW YORK CITY

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:

ROAD TRIP: SKYWAY JACK'S

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.

HORN BROKEN, LOOK FOR FINGER

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.

CAN YOU HAVE TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING?

Nah. Especially when it comes to wacky party pics.
I'm hoping the guy in the middle is named Charlie.

SUNRISE, SUNSET

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.

OH, BEHAVE!

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.

SO LONG, FAREWELL... UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

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.

I WANT TO SEE HER DO THE ELLIPTICAL

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