September 30, 2005



If you recognize the John Wayne Gacy cake, you know that it's time to celebrate the Salad Bowl's anniversary.

Yes, today Side Salad is :::holding out four fingers::: fee yess olt.

Avid fans of the Salad might be interested in seeing the first posting:


So. This is it. The world of blogs.

Nice. Comfy. Ample leg room.

All that stands in the way of genius expression and public stupidity: actual ideas worth sharing.

No pressure there.

Welcome to Side Salad. What kind of dressing would you like?

Then again, maybe not. Exactly 2,521 posts later - 663 during the past 12 months alone - this is far as our civilization has advanced. How sad.

If there's one abiding principle here for what is worthy of blogging in the Salad Bowl, I'd have to refer to Jeff Goldblum's line from "The Big Chill" when his character, a reporter for People magazine, says, "pieces for publication should never be so long that they exceed the time it takes for the average reader to take an average crap."

To the Salad readers, I thank you for your patience and loyalty.

To the friends and family of the Salad, I hope I haven't shamed you unnecessarily with my actions.

To the many contributors - Rev. Joe, Rommie, Willie, Alan, Drew, Jolie, Patrick and Katherine, to name a few - I thank you for stoking the coals of this ugly beast.

So, with that in mind, here's the best from the previous year.


Ore Ida means its alrighta.

Things I never again want to see.

T-T-T-T-T-T-Touch meeeeee.

Oh, behave.

Mojo rising.

Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind.

What they're really saying.

Don't start me up.

Life in the slow lane.

Home Freak Home.

Knock-down, drag-out.

Requium for a carrot penis.

The Bump.

A Side Salad joint.

The best defense is a vas deferens.

Weird, by a hair.

Drum roll, please...

Mooka lahka hahki.

Go outside the bun.

Hit me baby one more time... on second thought, don't.

One big herpe family.

Crap safari.

It's official. I'm a stalker.

Scenes from a death march.

Misty, Rumplemints-colored memories.

What I did not do.

Posted by Jeff at 06:25 AM | Comments (5)



It's a sad time of year for my Uncle Pete, (yes, the one who was in the paper posing with a potato he grew that was shaped like a moose).

The cold weather is now a daily part of life on Alaska's Kenai Peninsula. "Termination Dust" aka "snow," is not far off. It's time to close up the homestead and head back on the highway to Florida for the winter.

Pete writes:

Last day of "Fisheaven", hate to leave!!!!!!

Leaves turn golden, beautiful.

Sports Lake, will be frozen soon.


Pete sends along these photos of the last fishing trip of the year:


Fall - all 35 seconds of it - is now firmly ensconced in Alaska. It's a glorious time full of color and absolutely no tourists whatsoever.


In a couple months, the bark of trees like these will explode from the cold. When it gets really cold - to at least 20 below - the noise sounds like gunshots.


Fish on!


Looks like there'll be dinner tonight.


Some friends - two bald eagles nestled on the shoreline - are hoping for a snack.

Space invaders.

A little snack on the porch.

The salmon don't stand a chance.

Fish tales. Big time.

The Last Fuzzy Slipper Frontier.

There's a bar in them thar country.

Flowers are a-bloomin'.

The fog rolls in.

Moose intruder.

On their way home.

Sunsets, salmon and civil ceremonies.

Volcanoes, churches and halibut.

Eagle tree, limb by limb.

A fantasy RV for The Last Frontier.

Heading north to the homestead.

Publicizing moose-shaped tubers.

Posted by Jeff at 05:56 AM | Comments (0)

September 28, 2005


So, I'm walking through the Holy Blessed Shrine of Costco on Sunday with the Salad Family. We're all dressed for the Bucs game - Salad Wife in her No. 97 Simeon Rice jersey, Salad Boy in his No. 55 Derek Brooks shirt, me in my No. 40 Mike Alstott getup complete with several layers of red, pewter and black beads around my neck.

All of a sudden, we see it. A large round object in the far distance.

Was this it? Was this the fabled inflatable Christmas snow globe lawn display that the Salad Mother-In-Law had called to tell me about while shopping a couple weeks ago? I hadn't gotten to the Holy Blessed Shrine in time before they were all bought out.

So, as we're walking through the store, I start my Forrest Gump immitation. Arms flailing. Legs kicking like a moron. I'm making no progress, running in place.

"Run Forrest!" Salad Wife says. With that authorization, the boy and I take off.

We get to the aisle and there it is, big as Gibraltar.


It's huge. Massive. Eight. Feet. Tall.

It's not only a globe, it blows a constant blizzard of styrofoam snow all over the three inflated snowmen inside the globe.

And there's only one left.

I dropped to the cold concrete floor and started convulsing like one of the newly converted on the Benny Hinn program.

Okay, not really. But I realized I was in the presence of the Mother Of All Airblown Inflatable Lawn Ornaments.

Then I look at the price. It's just expensive enough to make me feel stupid for wanting it.

I decide it's not worth the temporary pain.

"Do you think this is a sign, that there's one left?" Salad Wife asks.

"Yes," I say, but it's too much.

"Just put it in the cart," Salad Wife says. "Then if you decide you don't want it later, we'll put it back."

I'm not putting it in the cart and not buying it. That'd be like crawling into bed with Charlize Theron and playing chess.

I decide to go for it. This moment may not come again.

So I hoist this bad boy into the cart. The box is so big, it's blocking out the sun. I decide to go get another cart, a flatbed one they reserve for people buying an entire pallet of Worcestershire sauce.

I get back and Salad Wife and Salad Boy are being cornered by a woman on a scooter inhaling an oxygen tube through her nostrils.

"That's a good one," she says between gasps. "You put some lights on it and it would look real purty."

Lights? Lady, this is a self-contained lawn apparatus. It makes its own snow. It's lit from within by several bulbs.

Lights. Lights my ass.

So we continue our shopping, Salad Wife pushing her regular cart and me pushing this flatbed monstrosity. On the front of the Flatbed, Salad Boy is riding, looking like Captain Morgan after a conquest. We're akin to a double tanker truck of commerce trying to navigate the narrow cobblestone streets of Vienna. People are staring. Children are tugging at their parents and pointing. Grown men are chuckling with a mixture of amusement and envy.

A woman with a Costco badge approaches.

"That's the best dang holiday lawn ornament event we've ever had," she says. Her voice resonates with a prideful tone, which strikes me as odd because, you know, it's not like she built the damn thing.

This continues for about 25 minutes before we turn the corner on that original aisle. Salad Wife immediately stops her cart and wheels around to whisper in my ear.

"There's a guy looking at the display with the manager," she says. "I heard him say, 'There are no more.'"

I walk around the corner. There's a dude with a manager who is speaking into a walkie-talkie.

"Nope, that's the last one there on his cart," the manager says to him.

The Dude lets out a groan, not unlike what I'm sure Ali did after Foreman hit him in the ribs during the Rumble In The Jungle. I try to console him.

"Dude, if it helps, we came here a couple weeks ago to get one and they were sold out. Keep checking back. They'll restock it.'"

The Dude walks away with his wife and two kids, who are equally disappointed.

Which, you know, only quadruples my pleasure.

"The fact that it was here and that someone else wanted it... if we weren't sure then, I'm not walking out without it now," I told her. "I know it's not in the spirit of Christmas, but this ain't Christmas.''

So I load it into the Big Red Machine and we drive it home. Later that night, I poke around online to see if I overpaid. I find out that not only did I not overpay, I probably saved close to a couple hundred bucks off the original retail price.

Then I notice something on the manufacturer's Web site.


An inflatable baby Jesus?

Band name!

Posted by Jeff at 07:52 AM | Comments (4)


newspaperjpg.jpg Got a couple bylines today, one on workplace food theft, the other an interview with Darren Rovell about his book "First To Thirst: How Gatorade Turned The Science of Sweat Into A Cultural Phenomenon," a chronicle of the creation and supremacy of Gatorade.

Rovell covers sports business for and also keeps a pretty interesting Gatorade blog.

Posted by Jeff at 07:36 AM | Comments (0)


Best thing on TV this week - other than the 17-16 Buccaneers win over Green Bay, of course - was the pregame interview Terry Bradshaw did with Jon Gruden on Bradshaw's "Ten Yards With TB" segment.

First question:


BRADSHAW: Who's your favorite Three Stooge?

GRUDEN: I like, uh... I like Curly.

BRADSHAW: Curly... 'cause he's...

GRUDEN: He could take a punch.

[Both men laugh]

GRUDEN: He's durable.


BRADSHAW: I'm gonna take you to a karaoke bar tonight. [pause] And... you're gonna have to get up and sing.

GRUDEN: [laughs]

BRADSHAW: I know. So what's the song? What's the name of the song?

GRUDEN: I'm kind of a country rock kinda guy. [pause] Probably be "What's Your Name" by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

BRADSHAW: [laughs]

GRUDEN: Really. I love that song.

BRADSHAW: [laughs]

GRUDEN: Heh, heh, heh. "Takin' Care Of Business"?

BRADSHAW: I love the old songs, [sings wrong version] What's your name...

GRUDEN: No, no, no.

BRADSHAW: That's not it?


BRADSHAW: And the Lynyrd's version is...?

GRUDEN: [sings] What's your name... little girl [pause] You know how that goes?

BRADSHAW: No, that's why I'm askin'.

GRUDEN: Well... I ain't goin' karaokeing tonight, just so you know. You asked me if I did. I ain't, so that's all I'm sayin'.


BRADSHAW: I'm gonna give you another choice here. Your favorite Jennifer.

GRUDEN: I'll be good at Jennifers. Now, you got Anniston.

BRADSHAW: You've got three. Okay, Anniston.

GRUDEN: You got Lopez.

BRADSHAW: I got Lopez.

GRUDEN: Like those two, man.

BRADSHAW: You got one more?

GRUDEN: Do I need a third? Sheeze.

BRADSHAW: [laughs] You got Garner?

GRUDEN: I'd go Anniston.

BRADSHAW: Anniston.

GRUDEN: Yeah. I like her.

To see the entire interview, click here (Scroll down the page to find the direct link. You'll have to endure an ad at the beginning of the clip).

Posted by Jeff at 07:00 AM | Comments (1)

September 27, 2005


AnyoneSeenAHumanBombAroundHere.jpgMan. I'm busy Saturday night. Almost makes me sick to miss this event. I know how the devoted Salad readership (now in double digits) expects coverage of the freakish and abnormal. This promises to be a happening chock full of weirdness and potential for immolation:


PLANT CITY, FL – September 26, 2005 – This Saturday, October 1, 2005, tens-of-thousands of bikers and motorcycle fans will gather in downtown Plant City, Fla. for the Third Anniversary Plant City Bike Fest.

The event will take place Saturday from 5:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m., near the historic Plant City Train Depot. Admission is free, and more than 20,000 spectators are expected to attend to enjoy food, live entertainment and of course the allure of more than 10,000 motorcycles.

Jesse, "The Human Bomb," will set himself afire in two separate appearances that evening, and there will be biker games in the south parking lot throughout the night. The highlight of this year's Bike Fest will be when 300 lucky people get the chance to participate in a dice roll to win a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

We've become so jaded as a society that a raffle - not a guy becoming a human tiki torch - is the highlight of an event filled with 20,000 motorcyclists. Perhaps our entertainment standards are a tad askew.

As my friend Rich at work wrote in an e-mail when I sent him this information:

It takes guts to set oneself ablaze.

It takes commitment to do it twice on the same night.

I feel the urge to chase this guy with a marshmallow on a stick... make a snack of the event.

If you can't make it to Plant City, you can view Jesse's handiwork performed at Bike Week in Daytona Beach by clicking here. Apparently he's some sort of house daredevil among the motorcycle set.

As he says with no sense of irony or regret in the video clip: "My name is Jesse. I'm known as the Demon Hellfire, better known as Jesse, the Human Bomb. I've been blowing myself up for 31 years."

Posted by Jeff at 05:48 AM | Comments (0)


I am haunted by randomness.

Everything around me seems in chaos and disarray.

The world is a mess, a game of 52 Pick-Up every second of the day with no reason, predictability or order to guide its path.

Or is it?

In March of this year, my buddy Drew snapped this photo coming out of Wal-Mart:


As I remarked at the time, he did not say if the tiger "growled" at him.

Then on Saturday while visiting a crafts fair at the USF Sun Dome (Don't laugh. It was hilarious fun), I snapped this photo:


Was she an apparition, a spirit guide sent to help me navigate and interpret the world I live in, a divine signpost delivered to give me a compass bearing for my soul?

Perhaps this merely was a white trash coincidence of the highest magnitude, visited upon me as I gazed at the splendor of a fake Christmas tree adorned with delicate, handmade NASCAR ornaments.

Questions I shall never know the answer to, I imagine.

The world is a vessel of mystery.

Posted by Jeff at 05:33 AM | Comments (1)

September 26, 2005


Willie Drye, author of Storm of the Century: The Labor Day Hurricane of 1935, thoughtfully sends along this link to a story on the Web site of eMarketer (Motto: We named our site back when "e" was cooler than "i."):

A new study finds that blogs are more likely to deal with personal matters than politics or current events, and nearly 50 percent of bloggers see the activity as a form of therapy.

According to an AOL survey conducted by Digital Marketing Services Inc., many bloggers write about "anything and everything." But while blogs often include comments on news topics, they are more likely to be about friends, family and other personal interests.

Although bloggers say they write about personal matters on their blogs, 43.9 percent of respondents said that they read other blogs to get a different perspective on the news. These findings are similar to a Harris Interactive survey from March 2005, which found that about 44% of US Internet users read political blogs, including 16% who read them less than once a month. And although most bloggers read other blogs, the AOL survey found that almost one-quarter of them do not.

About one-half of bloggers (48.7 percent) keep a blog because it serves as a form of therapy, and 40.8 percent say it helps them keep in touch with family and friends. Just 16.2 percent say they are interested in journalism, and 7.5 pecent want to expose political information. Few see blogging as their ticket to fame.

Bill Schreiner, Vice President, AOL Community, puts it in perspective: "In a way, blogs serve as oral history. When it comes to sharing blogs and reading other people's blogs, we like to connect with people, learn about their lives, and find common ground. There's no pressure to write about a particular subject or keep blogs maintained a certain way, and it's not necessarily a popularity contest."

To drive the point home, the story offers this detailed graphic:


You might at this point be noting that there are no replies that read, "It makes me independently wealthy," "It cures my impotence and male pattern balding" or "It helps me score with the ladies."

So Willie writes:

Maybe you should see a shrink instead...

That's very thoughtful, Willie. I appreciate the suggestion. But psychologists tend to take a dim view of electronic knuckle cracking, celebrity mockfests and gratuitous penis carrot burials. Lord only knows what dirty-paned window into my id he'd peer through to deal with my sombrero fixation and idolatry of inflatable lawn ornaments.

Plus, I saw a shrink last in the second grade following a long roster of petty abuses against the Catholic school system, several of its students, its overweight nuns who threatened to "pull down your panties in front of the class" and what I contended at the time - and still maintain to this day - were some very faulty bathroom door hinges that were not built to withstand the weighty stresses that a second grader with thyroid issues could apply.

This child psychologist asked me lots of stupid questions and I did my best to give him thoughtful, honest, deep, meaningful, stupid answers. After which he told my parents to gird themselves for a life of pain and ignominy while in my presence.

Fat lot of good that did them.

So, no. I'll stay on this side of the psychological fence for the time being. It's cheaper, there are more opportunities for exploitation of cute offspring, willing friends and adorable pets. Add to that the amusement attached to the more exhibitionistic aspects and you have one hell of an intoxicating technological cocktail. For me, anyway.

But thanks for asking.

Posted by Jeff at 08:12 AM | Comments (1)


Day3I.jpg Joe knows how to enjoy a city.

Last time we saw Joe, he was enjoying the architectural highlights of Chicago, as well as a little baseball.

Today, well... his pleasure extends elsewhere.

I'll let him explain:

Friday was a calming day marked by clouds and grayness but Saturday erupted in much merriment, thanks to the Cardinals' clinching of their NL Central Division crown on Cubby turf.

The reverend and pal hung out at Murphy's Bar right outside Wrigley's centerfield bleachers and took in many a sight and friend. Rev. Joe met two sisters, one a Cubs fan and the other a Cardinals fan and they mentioned their father spent his wedding night at a Cubs fan. That's what Rev. Joe calls faith.

The way home also featured some much sharing of glee among the female sect on the famed Red Line, which was more red than usual with the Cardinal fans rejoicing and sharing their spirit.

When viewing these photos, please share a healthy amen and hallelujah.

Amen, Brother Joe. Hallelujah indeed.


Joe's a Cubs fan and a Bud man.


He survived Dubya-Dubya-Two. Will he survive another dismal Cubs season?

It's anybody's guess.


It's nice to see two sisters putting aside their petty differences.

Of course, copious amounts of alcohol, cholesterol and nicotine heal most of those wounds.


When you can't find a hat that says what you want, sometimes you've gotta roll your own.


Oh boy. Someone's wearing her Days Of The Week underpants.


It's true what they say:

Soft 'n' Dry really does help hide when you're nervous inside.


"Did you ladies say you were in need of assistance?

We are the :::slap-slap-slap-slap-COUGH::: THREE AMIGOS!."


Using his special grip, Amigo Montoya attempts to apply the hind lick maneuver.

Posted by Jeff at 08:01 AM | Comments (0)

September 25, 2005


Two weeks into the season and things are looking strong for the Side Salads:


The Salads defeated The Last Throes despite a couple subpar performances.

The standings going into the third week of the season:


This week's opponent?


Bring it on.

Posted by Jeff at 12:58 PM | Comments (0)

September 24, 2005


Planet Dan shows a little industry and Googles the phrase "jazz hands" with hilarious results.

I wonder if Mitch's photo came up in that search?

Posted by Jeff at 11:42 AM | Comments (0)

September 23, 2005


When we last left the Rev. Joe Kendall, star of the show "Pastor Cop," 1996's Crimefighting Clergyman of the Year and an avid baseball fan who covered 2004 Spring Training for the Salad Bowl, he was chronicling his excursion to the hallowed confines of Wrigley Field.

Today's installment includes somewhat of a tour of Chicago proper.

It's safe to say that the right reverend is mighty impressed with the Windy City.

Rev. Joe, who tends to write in a disconcerting third-person style, reports:

On Friday, it was still drizzling and breezy and Rev. Joe and his Denver pal hit the Chicago River on an architecture tour ride. The Reverend was mighty impressed with the lovely mix of art deco and modernist buildings in downtown Chicago. The tour leader was a lady by the name of Syma, a former teacher who put on a command performance of wit, humor and insight. It was a one-woman performance worthy of an Off-Broadway career. Then it was off to the game for a 2:20 pm start. The Reverend and Denver pal snagged two seats six rows behind the Cubs dugout for $20 a pop -- a true Rev. Joe miracle.


Reminds me of my favorite line from "The Fugitive": "If they can dye the river green today, why can't they dye it blue the other 364 days of the year?"


Another shot that inspires a movie quote:

Sloane: The city looks so peaceful from up here.
Ferris: Anything is peaceful from one thousand, three hundred and fifty-three feet.
Cameron: I think I see my dad.


Blue sky. Green grass. My God, you can almost taste the Budweiser.


I told Rommie this week, "There are two kinds of people in this world; The people Rev. Joe knows, and the people he has yet to meet."


St. Louis may suck, but it has a couple rings on its fingers that Chicago doesn't have.

Tomorrow's episode: Girls gone wild!

Posted by Jeff at 08:05 AM | Comments (0)


Boing Boing has a strong post that points to a site that combines Google Maps with hurricane tracking data.

Boing also links to a posting by a reader who writes:

The newspaper I work for in Lake Charles, La., in the path of Hurricane Rita, has shifted operations to blogspot, since everyone who can update our usual site has evacuated. They will be updating as news occurs and as long as they have power. Lake Charles, located about 15-20 miles inland from the Gulf of Mexico, is expecting to see quite a bit of flooding from the storm surge, and more from the rains; everything south of I-10 will experience flooding, and areas 8 feet above sea level and lower are expected to be underwater for at least some time. The waterways around here feed into the gulf, and the storm surge alone will cause most of them to crest. I know the focus is on the Texas coast, but we're expecting to get quite a bit of damage and 100+ mph winds ourselves.

The paper online can be seen at this link.

Another amazing site: The Washington Post did panoramic photos of the areas devastated by Katrina. Absolutely breathtaking photos.

Posted by Jeff at 07:38 AM | Comments (0)


dumpjpg.jpgBeen ages since we last did a link dump.

So hold on loosely. But don't let go. If you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control.

*Your DNA as artwork.
* You know my name. You know my number too.
* Highest bidder? Maybe Craig Killborn.
* Please open your Hooters Employee Handbook to page 33 and read the heading, "How much ass should I show?"

* Jeeze people, get a life.
* Good rule of thumb: Don't take your mom to a job interview.
* Is it that hard to just put the bottle in the freezer overnight?
* For your viewing pleasure: The Daily Dancer.

* And when you smile for the camera, you know I'm gonna love ya.
* And here I thought the theme to "Charles In Charge" was the worst possible song.
* Insane Clown Potsie.
* Remember this? Now there's this. Go ahead. Get it out of your system.
* Haaaaaaaassellhofffffffffff.

Posted by Jeff at 07:34 AM | Comments (0)


TBTSalad.jpg Salutary crutons go out to to TBT, which featured the Salad in a list of Tampa Bay blog hot spots.

There's a companion piece with mini-features on local blogs, including Friends of the Salad, such as the excellent Sticks of Fire, the always enticing Sarah In Tampa, the always enjoyable Midnight Culmination and the fascinating Seminole Heights.

Word is that they wanted to feature local blogs written by authors between 18 and 35. I clearly fall out of that range.

Blog hot spot, eh? I feel absolutely peri-menopausal.

Posted by Jeff at 07:03 AM | Comments (1)

September 22, 2005


Safe to say that Friday night at this time, the northeast Gulf coast of Texas and the adjoining southwest Louisiana coastline region will be having one helluva bad evening.RitaSatellite092205.jpgHurricane Rita is taking aim and bearing down with Category 3 winds of 140 mph. That's a far cry from the 175 mph that were clocked earlier today, but at this point, it's barely relevant, given that the storm surge tends to do more damage than the wind.

Fresh from a soggy weekend of enduring Hurricane Ophelia and hunkered down in the Side Salad Weather Center's Doppler 12,000 North Carolina Bureau, Willie Drye, author of Storm of the Century: The Labor Day Hurricane of 1935, continues to pump out great reports for the National Geographic Web site:

Hurricane Rita is expected to make landfall at or near Texas's Galveston Bay late Friday or early Saturday. Forecasters think Hurricane Rita will weaken some before it comes ashore, but will still arrive with winds of at least 130 miles an hour (210 kilometers an hour) and inflict massive damage.

"It's the difference between tremendous damage and devastating damage," Beeler said. "It'll still be very bad. Texas hasn't been hit by something this strong in quite a while."

Like all of the recent powerful Gulf of Mexico hurricanes, Hurricane Rita underwent a period of rapid intensification. The storm climbed from a Category Two to a Category Five hurricane in less than 24 hours.

A Category Two hurricane has winds of 96 to 110 miles an hour (155 to 177 kilometers an hour). A Category Five hurricane has winds exceeding 155 miles an hour (250 kilometers an hour).

Hurricane Rita's rate of intensification approaches the most rapid intensification on record for any tropical cyclone. In 1983 a typhoon in the Pacific Ocean underwent an intensification that boosted its top winds from 75 miles an hour (120 kilometers an hour) to 173 miles an hour (278 kilometers an hour) in less than 24 hours.

Beeler said the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico have fueled the recent spate of monster hurricanes.

"For the last few years, the Gulf has had very warm waters," Beeler said. "That doesn't cause hurricanes to develop, but it acts like a high-octane fuel for them."

And while New Orleans is again escaping a direct hi, there are more than a few worried about whether the temporary measures will hold back the additional storm surge and rainfall.

As the folks at Wizbang (reciprocal Salad linker) noted with an alarming photo accompanying this comment:

That is the state of repairs on the 17th street canal. If you look at the height of the repair it is about as tall as the track on the crane. If you look next to the crane you will see the guy in the blue shirt... The track is about up to his waist.

So, plus or minus a little bit, we can handle about 3 feet of storm surge. Rita is hitting to our west but she has 175mph winds and about a 30 foot storm surge. Do the math.

Posted by Jeff at 11:59 PM | Comments (1)


Random photos generated by the Google Image Search directory under the name "Rita":








Posted by Jeff at 07:53 AM | Comments (1)


Rev. Joe Kendell took a little road trip to Chicago this week.

Usually serving as the Salad Bowl's spring training and minor league baseball specialist, the right reverend spent four days on a religious pilgrimage of sorts in the majors to the holiest of baseball shrines - and, in the process, visiting with many Cardinals and their fans as the Chicago Cubs played host to the St. Louis Cardinals at Wrigley Field

Rev. Joe and a close pal from Denver arrived at Chicago last Thursday evening, and took the famed Red Line "L" to Wrigley from their downtown Chitown perch. They grabbed a beer, watched the first inning on TV and saw a Cubs fan wearing some fur.

After snagging a pair of tickets, Rev. Joe and his pal settled in at Wrigley.

The following photos represent the first night of action.


It's nice to see Turtle from the HBO series "Entourage" getting out to meet the fans.


Nice getup, but the man could definitely use a sombrero.


The Rev. and his friend pay homage at the Shrine of the Blessed Futility, aka the "Bartman Seat."


It astounds the mind to think of how much vomit and spilled beer the hallowed ivy at Wrigley has absorbed.


Two-word caption for this photo: Fearful Reluctance.

Tomorrow's episode: Syma down now!

Posted by Jeff at 07:49 AM | Comments (0)

September 21, 2005


This made me laugh:



Found here.

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


ex34.jpgWhat's more weird, a Gillette shaver with five blades, or a blog about shaving? I say it's a tie.

Who the hell has a beard that needs this much shaving? Fred Flinstone? Sasquatch? Portia di Rossi?

Doesn't matter. The Onion predicted this long ago.

Posted by Jeff at 07:37 AM | Comments (1)


Took the Salad Family to Raymond James Stadium to see the game Saturday night between the University of South Florida and the University of Central Florida.

It quickly became a lopsided joke. USF won 31-14. The score really isn't indicative of how easy of a win it was for the Bulls.

As Mike Bianchi wrote in the Orlando Sentinel:

Can't do it.

Can't kick them anymore.

What would be the point?

They are already as low as you can go.

Kicking them now, after that pathetic performance against USF on Saturday night, would be like the hunter going up to Bambi's wounded mother and pumping another round of buckshot into her quivering body. Except Bambi's mother is a better run-stopper.

Just look at them and listen to them. And you can't help but feel compassion.

"Don't give up on us," UCF center Cedric Gagne-Marcoux begged the fans Tuesday.

"Don't quit on us," UCF linebacker James Cook pleaded.

I had intended to write an entire column today lambasting the community embarrassment that UCF's football program has become, but what's the point? They've already heard it enough around campus. George O'Leary already has a stack of e-mails on his desk telling him what a bum he is. And the message-board brickbats have gone from seething ("Fire O'Leary!") to sardonic ("New drinking game: Every time a UCF player misses a tackle, we drink.") to sad.

Needless to say, it was a lot of fun for Bulls fans, but it was more fun watching the crowd than the game.


Along Himes, there was this makeshift tent set up. Gotta appreciate the effort to multitask to reach the maximum number of customers.


You know your program has arrived when people start scalping tickets to your crap game.

As Dennis Miller said, "Hey folks, two of shit is shit. If they really want to screw you they'll give you three of them."


It was so quaint seeing the visiting UCF fans get so worked up over the contest. Compared to, say, UF versus FSU, this was like two beauty schools having a rumble.


At Bucs games, they usually have a dozen or so sturdy guards inspecting bags and purses or security reasons. At this game, they had two rather elderly gentlemen who looked like they just came from the balcony of The Muppet Show.


Despite having a very shallow pool of football tradition, USF did its best to rally the crowd. Which, as you can see, was spotty at best.


UCF cheerleaders attempted to do the same. And the fine folks at Raymond James did their best to disguise the stadium by rolling up the sails on the pirate ship.


A CGI bull marauding through the streets of Tampa. Mommy, make it stop!


Nice to see the Tribune's multimillion-dollar exclusive marketing agreement with Raymond James and the Bucs is airtight when it comes to the competition.


How to pronounce? Fooooozi? Futzy? Fuzzy? Futz-EYE?

Regardless, the boy registered a 9.5 on the Enthuse-o-Meter.

Which reminds me: Next time, bring the grass skirt.

Posted by Jeff at 07:11 AM | Comments (1)

September 18, 2005



Week 2 of the Wasted Sundays League finds The Side Salads facing the Last Throes.


The Throes are coming off a punishing 125.5-67 loss at the hands of 65 Toss Power Trap. With Daunte Culpepper and Tim Green as their starting quarterbacks, they should be an easy mark for the Fightin' Salads.


The Salads are in a tie for first place at the moment, but need to boost their overall points in order to make a legitimate claim for the top spot.

Posted by Jeff at 08:06 AM | Comments (0)

September 16, 2005


Katherine sent me a link to this site in an e-mail that had only two letters of text in it:


I took a look at the link. She was dead on the money.

KenDoll.jpg Here's the story:

Plastic Surgery Obsession: Meet the Real-Life 'Ken' Doll

STEVE ERHARDT is a man in search of perfection. A virtual human "Ken" doll, the celebrity hairstylist and makeup artist has undergone approximately 30 cosmetic surgeries and subsequent maintenance and has spent close to $250,000 out of his own pocket to achieve his current look.

ET followed along with Steve to watch him get Botox and hear his unique take on the ideal appearance.

"When you're in Hollywood, you have to keep yourself together and looking good to extend your career," he tells ET. "My photo gallery in my salon is like a chameleon. It's pretty amazing how I've changed over the years."

What started in 1987 as a nose job soon became an obsession. Steve went to the same doctor that worked on MICHAEL JACKSON, and intending only to get rhinoplasty, he also ended up getting a cleft chin. From there, Steve went on to get a facelift and lid work and has since added such things as pec implants, bicep implants (he was the first person to ever have that type of work done) and even painful butt implants, one of the most difficult surgeries to perform for both doctor and patient.

"I'm content with myself now because I've done everything that bothered me," says Steve, who says he looked like a cross between PATRICK SWAYZE and DAVID HASSELHOFF before he underwent his various surgeries. "There's no one I'm trying to look like. You have to work with the features you've got."

So, what's Steve's ultimate objective? "I think the goal is just to stay youthful and feeling good," he says. "It's not really to look like anything in particular. Keeping your face nice, you know?"

Dude, you spent two-fiddy large to look like... Chris Kattan?

KenDoll2.jpg ChrisKattanSmall.jpg

Posted by Jeff at 08:09 AM | Comments (2)

September 15, 2005


We don't get a lot of requests here in the Salad Bowl (other than to stop writing). KnuckleCrackingForPatrick.jpg But when my friend Patrick wrote to say that he was in need of seeing the site where you can crack a guy's knuckles, well, I got all warm and tender inside knowing that I was operating a warehouse for ridiculous amusement. At least for Patrick.

So Patrick, bud, this knuckle goes out to you, my man. Enjoy.

As for some other random amusements, enjoy these sites:

Mini Putt Putt

Trampoline Tricks

The Camel Toe Report

The Belching Bug Show

Burps and Farts

The Dog Prosecutor

Posted by Jeff at 08:15 AM | Comments (1)



Hunkered down in the Side Salad Weather Center's Doppler 12,000 North Carolina Bureau, Willie Drye, author of Storm of the Century: The Labor Day Hurricane of 1935, reports in that things are tense in Hurricane Alley:

Hi guys:

Have been cranking out so many stories about Hurricane Katrina that I almost overlooked the windy bitch that's headed our way. It looks like Ophelia is going to go over us about as slowly as elderly snowbirds driving through Miami in the fast-lane.

Like her Shakespearean namesake, Ophelia has been wandering around crazily for what seems like forever. Around and around, back and forth, then finally stumbling toward North Carolina a few days ago. You could tell the moment the thing got into the neighborhood. Monday morning was pleasant and cool, with low humidity. Late Monday afternoon, it was like someone flipped a switch -- warm and muggy, just like that. Rain bands started going through yesterday afternoon, and more today. Barometer has dropped from 29.84 at 7:30 this morning [Wednesday] to 29.72 at 5 p.m. So it's coming closer.

Today I did the usual last-minute stuff -- topped off the fuel tanks, got cash, fired up the generator to make sure it's working and then moved it from the shed to the back porch.

Beaucat and I are batching it for the next couple of weeks. Jane is en route to Wales with her mom, Aunt Linda and cousin Samantha. But we've got the essential supplies -- plenty of water, whiskey, cat food and litter.

By all accounts, this one isn't expected to be as bad as Isabel a couple of years ago, but I'm not going to risk offending the Mayan god, Hurukan, by speaking disrespectfully of Ophelia. You never know with these things. The worst is supposed to get here sometime tonight, and it'll be blowing most of tomorrow. The worrisome thing about this one is that it's moving so damn slowly. Even a Category 1 can tear things up if it takes 10 or 12 hours or more to pass you.

The Weather Channel is saying 50 mph winds for Plymouth, and if that's the worst we get I'll take it and say "Thank you very much."

It's after 5 p.m. Am going to go out on the front porch with a martini and the cat and watch the weather. Will keep you posted until the power goes out and/or the phone lines go down.



Posted by Jeff at 08:01 AM | Comments (0)


Okay, so gas prices are receding at roughly the same rate as the flood waters being pumped out of New Orleans.

That still doesn't make this Photoshopped sign, sent by my buddy Drew, any less funny:


Posted by Jeff at 07:36 AM | Comments (0)

September 12, 2005


Noticed this game while I was checking out the Cheese Nips Web site over at Nabisco:


Uh. I think I'll stick with Arithmetiles.

Posted by Jeff at 08:07 AM | Comments (2)


I spent almost the entire weekend absorbing as much football as possible, so I was bound to see some commercials along the way.

My favorite was for the new Cheese Nips chips.

Here's the storyboard:


ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Office hallway. Young, Souless Drone is seen through the windows of his corner, rectangular-box office wasting time behind a desk as the fluorescent lights burn off his vitamins. Co-workers pass his office in silence. Mechanical office sounds can be heard in the background. Office colors are sterile and muted, juxtaposed only by stark black, four-drawer office cabinets and dark office furniture dotting the landscape.

CLOSEUP - INTERIOR OF WINDOWED OFFICE: Souless Drone balances a pen on his upper lip, thinking no one sees him.

INTERIOR: Office hallway. "Cheesy" suit-wearing co-worker (actor from Geico ads) flirts with women who are quick-walking past him in an effort to appear busy and uninterested. Clearly he is a middle manager.

ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Office hallway. Cheesy Manager is seen through windows of Souless Young Drone's corner office. You can hear Manager begin to address the Drone using inauthentic-sounding colloquialisms that are not age-appropriate.

MEDIUM ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Inside windowed office. POV: From behind Drone's desk, shot over Drone's shoulder. Cheesy Manager is facing drone.

DIALOGUE - Manager: "Whassup, my man?"

Souless Drone looks at manager with blank incredulity, does not speak.


CLOSEUP - INTERIOR OF WINDOWED OFFICE: Souless Drone notices something in the corner while he ignores Cheesy Manager's meaningless verbal vomit.


CLOSEUP - INTERIOR OF WINDOWED OFFICE: POV of Drone, who sees a bag of New Bold Cheddar Cheese Nips on a chair in a corner behind Manager. Manager slowly walks backward, as if to take a seat. Drone says nothing, perhaps in a bid to see annoying Manager humiliate himself.


ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Office hallway. Cheesy Manager is seen through windows of Souless Young Drone's corner office as he unwittingly sits on chair with Cheese Nips on the seat. A dusty mini-Hiroshima-sized implosion erupts. An intense-yet-muffled "WHOOF" is heard.


ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Office hallway. Cheesy Manager and Souless Young Drone disappear in a cloud of Nip fallout. Particles disperse with such force that some seep through the top of the corner office's window frames.


MEDIUM ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Inside windowed office. POV: From behind Drone's desk, shot over Drone's shoulder. Manager is encrusted from head-to-toe with Nip dust. He looks, with a few stunned blinks, at Drone, who we can see from behind is covered in dust as well. They do not speak.


CLOSEUP - INTERIOR OF WINDOWED OFFICE: Souless Drone's face appears stunned. The air is full of Nip residue. He blinks. His eyes appear not to focus on any object. His curly hair, pug nose and hollow, round eyes are Michael J. Pollard-esque. You know, if Michael J. Pollard had been covered in Cheese Nip powder.


CLOSEUP - INTERIOR OF WINDOWED OFFICE: Camera tilts up as Cheesy Manager rises from his chair. He notices a chip on his left sleeve that did not implode. He plucks it from its place near his elbow and places it like a communion wafer into his mouth. We hear an audible crunch.


MEDIUM ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Office hallway. Door to Drone's office opens. Cheesy Manager steps out. He is covered in dust. The office windows are opaque with orangy Nip grit. Cheesy Manager sees a colleague across the room, points a finger and clicks his tongue as if to act like nothing happened.

DIALOGUE: Cheesy Manager - "Jimbooooo."


MEDIUM ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Two-shot of Jimbo and unnamed office assistant. They they watch incredulously as Cheesy Manager strolls down the hallway. They utter no dialogue.


ESTABLISHING SHOT - INTERIOR: Office hallway. Cheesy Manager is seen walking away from Drone's Nip-encrusted office. We cannot see Drone through the windows. A female co-worker walks toward Cheesy Manager. He flirts with her as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

DIALOGUE: Cheesy Manager (in a soft falstetto) - "Marrrrrcy."

ANNOUNCER delivers Cheese Nips pitch and tag line.


Posted by Jeff at 08:04 AM | Comments (5)

September 11, 2005


So the Tampa Bay Buccaneers took a big step today in returning to their former glory (brief, though it was).

The Bucs beat the Minnesota Vikings 24 to 14 today in Minneapolis in a game that was marred by sloppy play and lots of penalties.

All of which made Bucs head coach Jon Gruden his usual grumpy self:


I hereby present the first "Chucky face" of the 2005 regular season.

The Bucs did better in the second quarter than in the first, but the first was bloody awful, so that wasn't saying much.

One of my favorite moments came after Fox showed this dreadful statistic.


Ugh. It was that dreadful.

Which of course inspired Chucky Face No. 2:


Gruden kinda looks like he has scurvy or something.

Anyway, the game got better, the Bucs' play improved and the score bumped up to 17 points, while the Vikings trailed the entire game.

Things looked good most of the game. Up until the point we let them crawl back into it, getting within three points before the defense made an interception and then Carnell Williams ran a 71-yard touchdown run with 1:23 remaining that sealed it.

One of my favorite plays took place in the second quarter:


Simeon Rice, No. 97, ran around the left offensive tackle and went after Vikings quarterback Daunte Culpepper. Culpepper was about four steps ahead of Rice. Then it was three. Then two. Then Rice dove at him.


Rice landed on Culpepper's back and then stripped the ball from the quarterback as Rice fell on top of him. The ball popped out near the Buccaneers' sideline.


Chris Hovan, a former Viking now playing on the Bucs' defensive line, recovered the ball. All of which sent the Bucs players and coaches into full-blown hysterics.

Hovan accepted congratulatory pats from his teammates and then looked around to see Gruden running up at him.

At which point, Gruden gets up on his tip-toes and...


...proceeds to give Hovan - all 6-foot-2, 298 pounds of him - a full-contact chest bump.

It was all quite hilarious.


I mean, come on. If Hovan wanted to, he could have sent Gruden flying.

It's the happiest I've seen Chucky since he ran down the sidelines in Super Bowl XXXVII whirling a white towl helicopter-like as Derek Brooks returned an interception for a touchdown.

Perhaps this is a return to glory? Maybe? Possibly?

Let a guy dream a little, for crying out loud.

Posted by Jeff at 10:33 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack


Okay, I was in Florida. Really. I wasn't at the opening ceremonies of the Washington Redskins' home opener. I was at home in Valrico, putting up my inflatable Buc man and decorating the Buccaneer tree with beads and making a feast fit for, well, a family in Valrico.


But I will say that I recognized my technological clone in the crowd...


The guy on the right with the camera phone.

Recognized his type right away.

We're everywhere, man.

Posted by Jeff at 10:06 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack





Posted by Jeff at 09:05 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

September 10, 2005


We haven't done a significant update of The Sombrero Project (and its subsequent parts (Dos, Tres and Quatro and Cinco). The last one we did was a doozy, considering we set a world record for simultaneous sombrero wearing. That had to last us a while.

So here goes:


We have a habit of hazing the new hires by forcing them to pose in the sombrero. But once they do, they see its positive qualities and they certainly don't mind. Like Marla. Does Marla look like she minds? No. No, she does not.


Ted is not a new hire, but Ted had yet to be photographed in a sombrero, so on Friday at El Taconazo, we finally bagged big game. With the help of Rev. Joe Kendall, left, of course.


Ted brings an air of refinement to wearing a sombrero. So much so that I shall now and forever more refer to him as "El Presidente."

In other news, a sombrero was a key accessory in a parade through New Orleans last week as people there struggled to find something to celebrate in a town full of woe:

Southern comfort

The small crowd that gathered to carry on this year’s Decadence parade displayed the quintessential gay spirit.

Friday, September 09, 2005

DRESSED IN AN OUTRAGEOUS red polka-dotted tutu, and carrying a lavender parasol, Candice Jamieson marched defiantly down Bourbon Street in New Orleans on Sunday, Sept. 4, in what was probably the smallest Southern Decadence parade since the gay party got its start as an informal gathering of friends back in 1972.

It may well have been the most important Southern Decadence parade ever.

“We’re trying to bring up everyone’s morale,” Jamieson declared to a bevy of reporters gathered around to watch him and approximately 30 others carry on the Southern Decadence tradition, despite the devastating affects of Hurricane Katrina.

The small but intrepid crowd included a handful of men in nothing but grass skirts, some sporting Speedos and others painted up in make-up.

Plastic, multi-colored leis were around everyone’s necks.

And a few onlookers managed to throw from rooftops strands of multi-colored beads, the symbol of this annual party.

Matt Menold donned a huge black and white sombrero, slung his guitar around his neck and strummed “Smoke on the Water” as he joined in.

He said that he and the others were there to send out an important message: that New Orleans, and its indomitable spirit would survive.

Not even a catastrophe can suppress the joy that a sombrero can provide.

The sombrero is so beloved, it now is the symbol for a signature soccer move:

La Liga Preview: Real Madrid v Celta Vigo

9/10/2005 3:17:00 AM

All eyes will be on Robinho when Real Madrid entertain Celta Vigo on Saturday evening after the Brazilian gave a brief insight into what lies in store for Spain’s unsuspecting defences in his first appearance for the club.

The 21-year-old has seen a media frenzy created around him after his long running transfer saga finally culminated in his debut against Cadíz two weeks ago when he came on for the final 24 minutes of the match and drove Madrid to victory.

Whether his coach likes it or not, the weight of expectation at the club will be carried on his young shoulders until the hype dies down and the public become accustomed to his outlandish ability.

After a few ’bicicletas’ and one outrageous ’sombrero’ (flicking the ball over the head of an opponent and controlling it on the other side) during his short, but impressive, first appearance in the all-white of Madrid, everyone is demanding a repeat performance this weekend.

Outrageous Sombrero?

Band name.

In related news, apparently someone has an interesting surname in the Native American community:

Navajo Nation short on law enforcement staff

Friday, August 6, 2004

The Navajo Nation is having trouble finding qualified people to fill positions within its Department of Criminal Investigations.

Acting director Harry Sombrero said the department only have five captains. They are being shuffled around the reservation to fill other open positions.

The captain position requires a bachelor's degree.

Harry Sombrero?

Another band name.

The esteemed chapeau also showed up in this video game review:

Total Overdose, PS2, Eidos

FANS of the film El Mariachi will love this game. I certainly did.

The game – without implicitly saying so – is loosely based on the cult ‘Mexican western’.

A first person shooter, it’s a cross between Max Payne, Mercenaries and Grand Theft Auto.

Set in Mexico, you’re a gunfighter hi-jacking any vehicle you like, and making use of whatever weapons you can find, in your quest to find your father’s killer.

It’s mission-based style is reminiscent of the Grand Theft series.

But Total Overdose doesn’t just copy the best games, there’s much more too it than that.

As a gunfighter, you have some extra special moves, which almost reminded me of some of the fight scenes in the original Matrix film. They include The Tornado, Golden Gun, Sombrero of Death and El Mariachi.

Sombrero of Death, eh? I like the sound of that.

Posted by Jeff at 11:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack


This was certainly a commitment:


Bet that was an interesting conversation at the body shop.

Posted by Jeff at 11:00 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

September 09, 2005


I enjoyed Thursday night''s start of the NFL season, especially since Tom Brady threw for 300 yards and two touchdowns. (Fantasy league points... schwing!)

Anyway, I was impressed with the pre-game, as well as the game, but a few things struck me as odd:


Have things gotten so bad for the Rolling Stones that Charlie Watts has to dress like his drum kit?


The nice thing about musical superstardom for Mick Jagger is that he can save money by wearing hand-me-downs from Michael Jackson.


Jagger is so skinny, he's acting as his own microphone stand.


This wireless mike, his favorite, is reportedly nicknamed, "David Bowie."


They showed a brief shot of the Oakland Raiders locker room before the game, including footage of former Tampa Bay Buccaneers defensive lineman Warren Sapp.
Wait. What's going on with the back of his head?


Sorry. I forgot. Warren is part shar pei.


One of the coolest moments was when Ozzy Ozbourne appeared from beneath a retractable helmet in the end zone, under which the New England Patriots emerged while he sang "Crazy Train." It was a real "Monster Garage" kind of moment.


That fog, by the way, is a visual metaphor for Ozzy's thought processes.


Good lord. Any more eyeliner and we'd have to call him Ozzy Minnelli.
By the way, that's Ozzy with a 'Z.'


I don't like to make predictions, but I'm guessing that after this encounter, every man this girl will ever grow up to date and marry will fail to live up to this moment in her life.


Trisha Yearwood was perched about 250 feet up on a ledge near the upper deck of the stadium as she sang "The Star-Spangled Banner."
There hasn't been a woman that heavy hauled up on a pedestal since they installed the Statue of Liberty.


John Madden got a little racy during the broadcast by showing a little too much skin.


In the "Forbidden Triangle."


Chris Berman had a busy night, first hosting the ESPN pre-game show, and then...


...showcasing his journalism impartiality by schmoozing in a luxury suite with Patriots' owner Bob Kraft over a glass of chablis.


Is it me or is Berman starting to resemble...


Tampa Bay Devil Rays owner Vince Naimoli???

Nah. But that hair is making him dangerously close to looking like...


Googly eyed "Hollywood Squares" alum Marty Allen.


Not to worry. All was settled by a fine display of sombrero appreciation.

Posted by Jeff at 08:12 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack


We were trying to have a little fun on Saturday doing something that, you know, didn't involve the expenditure of too much gasoline. So of course we drove from Valrico to downtown Tampa to go to "Florida's Largest Home Show" at the convention center.

Salad Wife and I had visions of picking up tasteful decorating ideas from showcasing designers or possibly finding some sort of accessory our home couldn't do without.

We found neither.

What we did see was a whole lot of weird.


The first thing we saw through the front doors something of a an island of misfit statues and sculptures that were for auction. There were your requisite swooping eagles and pulchritudinous mermaids (a home show theme, as you'll see).


And a bronze sculpture of two frogs, one of which appears to be using an illicit lillypad to service his amphibian counterpart.


Unimaginably, there were half-wits bidding on this stuff in a makeshift auction. In this photo, the auctioneer is backlighting a tiffany window hanging of an indian head. You know, just in case someone from the NCAA is in the audience.


Sales plus: This company is selling hurricane-proof "safe rooms" the weekend after Hurricane Katrina.
Sales minus: The "safe rooms" are not Lake Ponchartrain-flood-proof.


Repeat after me the random geriatric-inspired "Caddyshack" quote:
"That's a peach, hon."


Tacky sculptures: $50.
Safe-rooms that aren't that safe: $3,000
A refined sense of home furnishing taste: Priceless
For everything else, there's Garlic Card.


This is Ron Burgandy, reporting from the booth with the mirrored fireplace fish tank, saying, "Stay classy, Tampa Bay."


Some people are way too comfortable sleeping in public places.


Let me pause to think here for a moment...

:::How can I spend the maximum amount for something wet, ugly and expensive that's bound to break down in the first two weeks due to moisture exposure...

I know! I'll outfit my spa tub with a retractable plasma TV screen!:::


How much for a reclining leather chair that's the color of vomited flan and comes with an attached swivel eating desk?


Marked down?!?!? What a steal!


No doubt these are made by the same people who manufacture Schwety Balls.

As the advertising slogan goes, "No one can resist their dryer balls."


Sally was dumbfounded that her banner's offer wasn't reeling in passersby like it had been three weeks ago.


A little sticker on these swings reads, "As seen in 'Behind The Green Door.'"


Status among hot tub suppliers is conveyed though two visual cues: large yellow plastic ducks and tubs filled with peppermint schnapps.


Is this the largest commercially available hot tub on the market?


It's actually...


A conversion of Captain Pike's wheelchair from "Star Trek."


Introducing the Pimpbot Tiki Tub 9000, perfect for any luau, prom night or adult movie shoot.


If only Barry White had lived long enough to see the hot tub artform elevated with mood lighting worthy of a 1979 Chevy conversion van.


You know, at a certain point, an outdoor kitchen ceases being that and instead becomes a kitchen in need of an actual house.


The find of the day: Large, glowing theraputic salt lamps.

How theraputic, might you ask?


Eh, if nothing else, they'll make you really, really thirsty.


Larry Flynt called. He wants his shower doors back.


I think I saw Tara Reid modeling for this on "Wild On Tara."


What does that sign say on the side of the box?


Well, that's comforting to know.


Didn't Jimi Hendrix play with The Friskies Experience?

Posted by Jeff at 07:41 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

September 08, 2005


Oh, yeah. HELL yeah.

The 2005 NFL season officially begins tonight. Speaking for only myself and not for any loved ones or friends, I'm in serious need of some pigskin immersion. That said, I have to think that this self-contained, sensory isolation device forwarded to me by my friend Katherine would just about do me right. Called an Ocula, apparently it turns you into some sort of multimedia Tic Tac. If only they made it in Buccaneer red, black and pewter instead of Birth Control Pastel, then we could talk about a purchase.

Until then I'll have to make do wth my fantasy football team in the WSL (Wasted Sundays League)

The league's lineup of matches for Week 1:


This week's tilt for the Side Salads is against The Fat Mags (named for the team owner's fat dog, Maggie).


A reminder of the 2005-06 SIDE SALADS roster:

Tom Brady (NE - QB)
Jake Plummer (Den - QB)
Torry Holt (StL - WR)
Donald Driver (GB - WR)
Joey Galloway (TB - WR)
LaDainian Tomlinson (SD - RB)
Brian Westbrook (Phi - RB)
Todd Heap (Bal - TE)
Mike Vanderjagt (Ind - K)
Atlanta (Atl - DEF)

Ben Roethlisberger (Pit - QB)
Ronnie Brown (Mia - RB)
Terry Glenn (Dal - WR)
Jimmy Smith (Jac - WR)
Pittsburgh (Pit - DEF)

And before you castigate me for my irrational fantasy football enthusiasm, consider the league I used to be in, The TFL (Times Football League). wit-pulled.jpg
Those former colleagues of mine are flying into Cleveland this year to hold their fantasy draft together. They even film the traditional annual two-hand-touch football game held after each year's draft. Then they go out on various beer-fueled excursions. Last year's convention was in Buffalo, after which they rode the Maid of the Mist boat into Niagra Falls. These boys don't kid around.

Posted by Jeff at 08:15 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack



Rommie sends this e-mail link to something called The Wilhelm Scream.

As the site explains:

One sound effect that has found a following with many sound editors and observant movie fans is a distinctive scream named Wilhelm.

In 1951, the Warner Brothers film "Distant Drums" directed by Raoul Walsh starred Gary Cooper as Captain Quincy Wyatt, who leads a group of soldiers to stop some Seminole Indians from threatening settlers in early 19th Century Florida. During a scene in which the soldiers are wading through a swamp in the everglades, one of them is bitten and dragged underwater by an alligator.

As is usually the case with the making of a movie, the scream for that character was recorded later. Six short pained screams were recorded in a single take, which was slated "man getting bit by an alligator, and he screams." The fifth scream was used for the soldier - but the 4th, 5th, and 6th screams recorded in the session were also used earlier in the film when three Indians are shot, one after another, during a raid on a fort.

After "Distant Drums," the recording was archived into the studio's sound effects library, and was re-used in many Warner Brothers productions.

In "The Charge at Feather River" (1953), the scream is heard when a soldier named Pvt. Wilhelm (played by Ralph Brooke) gets shot in the leg by an arrow. Originally released in 3-D, the film used the "Distant Drums" scream recording two other times as well.

Up until the mid-70's, the scream recording was used exclusively in Warner Brothers productions, including "Them!" (1954), "Land of the Pharaohs" (1955), "The Sea Chase" (1955), "Sergeant Rutledge" (1960), "PT-109" (1963) and "The Green Berets (1968).

In "A Star is Born" (1954), the scream is heard twice - one of the times because a scene with the scream in "Charge at Feather River" is playing in a screening room.

One person who noticed the same distinctive scream reoccurring in so many movies was sound effects fan Ben Burtt. Ben and his friends in the cinema department at USC, Rick Mitchell and Richard Anderson, noticed that a scream was popping up in a lot of movies. One of the films they made together, a swashbuckler parody "The Scarlet Blade" (1974) included the scream - which they borrowed off another film's audio track.

A few years later, when Ben Burtt was hired to create sound effects for Star Wars (1977), he had an opportunity to do research at the sound departments of several movie studios. While looking for sound elements to use in the space adventure at Warner Brothers, he found the original "Distant Drums" scream - which he named "Wilhelm" after the character that let out the scream in "Charge at Feather River."

Ben adopted the scream as a kind of personal sound signature, and included it in all the "Star Wars" and "Indiana Jones" films, and many of the other films he has worked on including "More American Graffiti" (1979) and "Willow" (1988).

Ben's friend Richard Anderson also continued the tradition. Both Anderson and Burtt worked on "Raiders of the Lost Ark" (1981), and Richard used the screams in the film's truck chase - one of the sequences he cut sounds for himself.

Rommie writes:

Have you heard of this before? What a great piece of trivia.

I agree. I bumped into this site about a year ago and was disturbed at the fact I actually remembered some of these citations truly disturbs me.

But I love great tidbits of movie trivia like this.

Posted by Jeff at 08:04 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack


ass.jpg Sorry to alarm my reader, but outside circumstances prevented me from updating the Salad for an extended period of time.

Contrary to whatever rumors may be swirling, I did not stop blogging because of the:

1.) Loss of a puppy.
2.) Loss of a relative.
3.) Loss of a mind.

Nope. The explanation is pretty simple, really. You see, I've been writing my ass off in a professional capacity and I simply ran out of ass. I had no more ass to give.

What hath I been scribbling? Well, I wrote a weepy paean to New Orleans food, and I interviewed Jerry Greenfield of Ben & Jerry's. Also had a couple of Big Question columns to punch out.

I hope you'll understand. Especially you, Cupie, who confessed that. "I've been scratching my ass for 5 days. Nice. You might think about updating. My ass is raw, thanks!"

It seems we all have ass issues.

Anyway, thanks to my reader(s) - that's you, Mom, and Cupie and Cessna, apparently - for your patience.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled ass.

Posted by Jeff at 07:45 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack