Gives new meaning to the words "butcher block."
Speaking of cheesy products, I stumbled across one that almost made me lose my cookies: Cheetos lip balm.
It's made by the same people who make A&W Root Beer lip balm, Hostess Twinkie lip balm and Jelly Belly lip balms.
Almost as bad as the corn dog air freshener. Smells just like a carny on probation.
What do you do when your football team sucks, your quarterback is washed up and you live in a place that's frozen for five months out of the year?
These people need professional counseling. Or another glass of beer. But definitely one of the two.
2 Salad Dogs
1 Salad House
Lots of Salad Family Fun
Much to our amazement, Abraham and Lincoln are getting along famously. You would think they came from the same litter, they enjoy each other's company so much.
Next stop: Doghair City.
Maybe it's just me, but if I were the producers of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,'' I'd be writing checks to New Orleans annointing the city as Willie Wonka-worthy.
I mean, tell Johnny Depp to put his goofy top hat on and get his ass to NOLA to shake hands with Ray Nagin. STAT!
If I had to assess it in non-sequitur word groups, I'd have to say it was:
* surprisingly entertaining
* tardy to the point of being absent without leave
* a river of flaming guitar licks
* disturbingly Lenny Kravitz-free
Was walking back to work from lunch the other day when I noticed some delivery trucks parked in a lot across the street.
And thanks to you all for playing along. Participation is clearly more popular among the eastern half of the U.S., although there is representation throughout the country and even in our 49th and 50th states.
If you haven't had a chance to push your pin on the Salad Map, feel free to jump in. Unless of course you're name is Ding FriesRDone.
The lesson here: If you're going to prank a friend by filling up his camera with photos of stuff in your den, delete the photos before he can screw with you.
Here endeth the lesson.
If you're like me, your workplace has one of these:
Most people know it as a vending machine. You know the kind; push a button and it whirls around to show you a variety of food that's too big for a normal dispenser and too susceptible to food poisoning to go without refrigeration.
I prefer to call it the Wheel of Death. (Apparently, so do others.)
What items are for sale within the ones here at the Tribune?
Let's take a look, shall we?
Company Product Description: Generous 5 oz. serving of wings marinated with spicy seasonings - not too hot, not too mild. Spices are cooked in for just-right flavor. Fully cooked to stay juicy and tender.
Comment: Could this be a potential backdoor gateway for the asian bird flu pandemic in the U.S.? That seems unlikely. We're guessing this chicken wing product probably doesn't have a shred of chicken in it.
Company Product Description: 4 oz. Jimmy Dean pork sausage in a classic Southern-style gravy.
Comment: I've been waiting for someone to package a food item for vending purposes that tasted like dog. I wait no longer.
Rebuttal: A quote from Robertson Vending manager Vern Ricker of Carbondale, Ill., found on Automatic Merchandiser Online: "Our most popular items are: Jimmy Deans, Biscuit & Sausage Twin; White Castle, Hamburger; Jimmy Dean, Grilled Chicken Breast; Red Baron,Pepperoni Pizza Deep Dish; Tony's, Supreme Pizza; Pierre, Fish & Cheese; Pierre, Jumbo Bacon Cheeseburger. These are the best items according to our customers' preferences. We sell many more items, but these are the top movers."
Company Product Description: Catch the Wave! Giant-sized breaded 8-ounce fish patty topped with cheese and served on our World Famous microwaveable bun. Colorful packaging graphics encourage consumer trial.
Comment: If they freeze-dried Mrs. Paul and then ground her into a powder form and then formed the powder into a square-patty shape and then breaded and fried her remains and put it between a stale bun, it would taste more like real seafood than this does. This was wicked bad, my friend.
But thank God for the colorful packaging graphics. Especially the truth-in-advertising Big Az brand name. (No, we weren't fooled into thinking it was an abbreviation for "Big Arizona.'')
We can only wonder about the product names they rejected... Wyd Lode? Cheekus Maximus? Hips Ahoy?
Company Product Description: Bubba Twins tips the scales with two FULL-SIZE sandwiches in one package! Twin hot dogs are topped with zesty chili and shredded cheese. Packaged in fun, colorful packaging and featuring a Double Money Back Guarantee.
Comment: Best machine-vended animal lips money can buy.
Sunday was the birthday of Elvis Aaron Presley. And around these parts, that date is celebrated as somewhat of a holy day.
Last year, Walt brought some Elvis-themed food to work. This year he topped himself, bringing a professional waffle iron and making Peanut Butter and Banana Waffles for everyone.
The smell emanating from his concoction tormented all who were in the room. I had visions of floating on my tiptoes Fred Flinstone-style toward the kitchen, buoyed only by the aroma.
Secret weapon: the Christmas mixing jug.
My first impression was that it looked like he was making it in a Miracle Whip jar.
"Are you making that with mayonnaise? I asked.
The answer was no. Secretly I hoped it was yes. If for no other reason than authenticity sake.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Viscous peanut-butter-filled waffle batter.
Could there be a more perfect foodstuff? I think not.
And, viola'! Minutes later, golden brown heaven.
All of which started attracting a crowd. As people got word of the treats, they started running - running - for the kitchen.
The definition of masochism? Watching Peanut Butter and Banana Waffles being cooked while snacking on a baby carrot.
But you can't make pancakes in a professional workplace setting without making a bit of a mess. After dropping the first batch in the elevator - and spraying a few bystanders - a supplementary run to the grocery store produced additional supplies. Walt's shoes were worse for wear, as was...
...the place where Elvis' belt buckle would have been.
Next time, Walt should wear his protective jumpsuit.
Gotta love a toddler who throws a fit at a Wal Mart, throws his sippy cup as a diversion and then snakes his way into the claw machine to get his favorite toy.
I'm not really the best person to comment on store tantrums. Salad Mom still bears the emotional scars she suffered every time we tried to walk into the grocery store past one of those electric ponies they used to have outside. I remember one time hitting the deck outside a Publix like some sort of immature Jim Morrison and her being way too happy in walking away from my hysterical fit. She called my bluff and I got up. Eventually.
The great God of Retribution came calling a few decades later when Salad Tot (Early-Salad Boy, you understand) would throw a hissy whenever we'd try to sneak him past the rideable toys in the middle of the Treasure Coast Mall in Jensen Beach.
The world needs more electric ponies.
Seems that there's particular drink that's popular with a segment of the drinking population in Maine. The drink can be adapted into something called "a sombrero."
Mainers Love Coffee Brandy But Suffer Its Downside
Portland, Maine —The dark-brown liquid that some people call “the champagne of Maine” tastes, to the uninitiated, like equal parts alcohol, sugar and coffee-pot slag. It puckers the cheeks, coats the tongue with syrupy sweetness, and leaves a mouthwash feeling on the lips.
This is coffee-flavored brandy. It is one of the odder stories of American imbibing, the number-one-for-20-years-running liquor obsession of Maine.
The caffeine-infused spirit, largely unknown outside New England, is a staple at house parties, mill town bars and urban street corners here, popular enough that a Bangor newspaperman once suggested putting it on the back of Maine's state quarter.
At Raena's Pub in the northern city of Bangor, bartender Carrie Smith said she can spot the brandy drinkers coming through the door.
“Bleached-blonde, teased hair. ... They always play the 'Redneck Woman' song” on the jukebox, she said, describing the typical drinker who orders a “sombrero,” or Allen's mixed with milk. Smith said she once saw a woman dump her cocktail on the head of a beer-drinking man who referred to the drink by its nickname, “fat ass in a glass.”
Well, that's not a very nice name now, is it?
What's next? They just sew our foreheads to the screen?
The legacy of the "Lazy Sunday" video continues to build.
The latest: T-shirts emblazoned with one of the lyrics: Mr. Pibb + Red Vines = Crazy Delicious.
This is in addition to the AIM icons you can download.
The cruel heavens have snatched another mythic creature from our midst:
LOS ANGELES, California - Patrick Cranshaw, who achieved cult-like status as fraternity brother "Blue" in the 2003 comedy "Old School," has died. He was 86.
The veteran character actor died of natural causes Wednesday at his home in Fort Worth, Texas, his personal manager, Jeff Ross, told the Los Angeles Times.
Throughout his career spanning nearly 50 years, Cranshaw had dozens of roles, including a bank teller in "Bonnie and Clyde" and a demolition derby owner in "Herbie: Fully Loaded" (2005). Other credits included "Bandolero" (1968), "Best in Show" (2000) and "The Hudsucker Proxy" (1994), as well as television series "Mork & Mindy" and "The Dukes of Hazzard."
But he was probably best known for his role as elderly frat boy Joseph "Blue" Palasky in "Old School," starring Luke Wilson, Will Ferrell and Vince Vaughn.
In the hit comedy, he was about to wrestle two topless girls but dies of an apparent heart attack from overexcitment. After singing "Dust in the Wind" at Blue's funeral, Ferrell's character calls out in agony: "You're my boy, Blue!"
Fans would yell the signature line whenever they saw the actor and erected Web sites paying homage to his "Old School" character. He was even invited to meet with the Texas Rangers when they played the Angels in Anaheim.
"It was a great experience and an acknowledgment for him," Ross said. "He loved the recognition and would turn back and say, 'I'm your boy Blue."'
Fametracker had a great take on Cranshaw's career in their "Hey, It's That Guy!" section devoted to easily-recognizable character actors whose names escape most normal people's recognition:
Patrick Cranshaw, we don't just love you. We're in love with you.
But wait. We know what you're thinking. What does he do in these films? Does he just stand around and be old?
And what does all this have to do with "my dick"?
Well, in Breakin' All The Rules, Cranshaw plays a senile hospital patient whose one recurring joke is that he keeps asking Gabrielle Union to "hold [his] dick." (Wow! This movie really does break all the rules!) You may also remember him from Old School, in which he played "Blue," an aged gent who dies while wrestling two topless women in a plastic pool of KY Jelly. Ah, Hollywood -- where the elderly are ushered through their golden years with dignity and respect.
That is, when they're not being horny. Or rapping. 'Cause that shit is just funny.
Still, we say: All hail Patrick Cranshaw. He is the King of the Codgers, the Emperor of the Elderly, the Grand Poobah of Grandpas.
And, Patrick Cranshaw, though we have no interest in actually holding or even seeing your dick, we'd happily "hold your dick," if by that you mean "respect you" or "give you our sincere praise." Yes, we¹d hold that dick, Mr. Knickerbocker. Any time.
But perhaps the most touching tribute is this 10-bell salute someone assembled, blending sound clips from "Old School" with a somber funeral bell.
All of this, of course, is a reminder that 2005 has drawn to a close. And as such, the Reaper's Delight 2005 dead pool has reached a conclusion.
Guess it's time to mack on some puss cake.
Can't wait for Spring Training to start so you can throat some Dodger Dogs? You don't have to. Target sells a Ballpark Hot Dog Rotisserie and Bun Warmer for $49 online. Way cool.
Among its features:
• Make baseball stadium style rotisserie grilled hotdogs
• Stainless steel spikes warm up buns or baguettes
• Non-stick, easy to clean cooking surface
• Detachable oil tray for quick clean up
Regular readers know that post topics here are cyclical, with every six months being marked by photos of some sort of pyrotechnical display in the neighborhood. Fourth of July. New Year's Eve. Fourth of July. It's the circle of life.
But without my usual fireworks compadres Mike and Drew, I was left to my own devices to entertain the masses.
Before I go any deeper into the topic, let me just say that my fireworks sucked this year. I waited too long to buy them and the only ones I could find that were worth a darn were at Costco. Which, you know, is where I buy everything. Usually I'm more than satisfied. This time, I was not.
How bad were they?
They were so bad, I stopped lighting them with a quarter of the box left. I got bored
They were so bad, I didn't even take any photos of them going off.
They were so bad, I let Salad Boy light them off by himself. They were that harmless.
That should tell you everything you need to know.
That and they cost me a hundred bucks.
Yeah, I was very pleased.
The sad part was that the best entertainment the box of fireworks had to offer was the warning on the back:
If you look closer, you'll see that the manufacturer employed a superhero to explain the basics.
That superhero's name?
And what does he advise?
Subliminal message: Don't bother suing us.
Subliminal message: Unless they're the offspring of Danny Bonaduce.
Subliminal message: Unless you're incinerating a man-eating hibiscus.
Subliminal message: Is that a mortar tube in your pocket or are you just Preventor?
I was, however, puzzled by the name of one of the fireworks in the box:
I wasn't about to light this one in front of the children.
Tommy over at the outstanding Tampa group blog Sticks of Fire mentioned something a couple weeks ago about Frappr, a map-based database that allows groups to put a pin on a virtual map to show the general vicinity where they're located.
As an example, take a look at the Florida Blogs Frappr (Frappr actually has an exclamation point at the end, but much like Larry David using the informal "tu" form, I refuse to punctuate the way the company prefers. It's much in the same way that Yahoo insists on an idiotic exclamatory. I won't do it, I tell you. You can't make me.) The Tampa Blogs one is small but growing, too.
Anyway, I thought I'd invite the Salad Bowl readers to show where they're reading from. It's entirely voluntary (there's no spam involved as a result of participation). But since I know that the Bowl visitors are a varied bunch in terms of geography, I thought I'd take this opportunity to include everyone.
To join in on the Salad map, click here.
We had the good fortune of enjoying another Latkefest at Rev. Joe Kendall's lovely abode on Sunday, simultaneously gorging ourselves on a multicultural buffet of Jewish, Greek, Italian, Cuban and Deep South cuisine while soaking in as much football on TV as possible and sharing fellowship with friends and family.
The reverend, as always, was a gracious host, greeting everyone who attended:
He also was polite enough not to ask why the Salad clan was all dressed as if we were about to be put into the game by Coach Gruden.
That's the great thing about Rev. Joe; he overlooks your faults and celebrates your ideocyncracies.
The food was beyond outstanding. Rev. Joe here slices a wedge of "multilevel vegetable lasagne."
To borrow a phrase, it was to die for.
The best part of the party is the meeting of old friends and the making of new ones. Here, Jose introduces his beautiful son Dylan to some of the reverend's neighbors.
We resisted the urge to put a sombrero on the tot.
For extended Latkefest 2005/2006 coverage, click here to see a photo gallery. (I would have shot more photos had I not been feeding my face every 30 seconds.)
One of the joys of running a blog is dealing with the maintenance of it. That includes fixing things - or trying to fix things and failing miserably and then looking ridiculous for keeping non-functioning stuff on the blog.
So it has been with the code that allows people to comment on the Salad.
Recently, I saw this posting on April's site talking about what a comment Nazi I am. I thought it would be good to post my reply so visitors to the Bowl would understand that there isn't a vast right-wing conspiracy by The Comments Man to keep you down:
If you had e-mailed me, I would have explained that there's a difference between filtering and bad comment code.
I've had problems for 6 months with the code and have tried to fix it to no avail.
It even stops my comments from being posted on the site on occasion.
So before you go all witch-hunty on me, understand that some things are restrictive and some things are just downright faulty.
On that note, nice blog. I like the writing and the personal posts.
Could today be the last regular season game for Tampa Bay Buccaneers fullback Mike Alstott? All signs seem to be pointing in that direction.
This despite Alstott's increased touchdown production in goal-line situations. And his improved blocking for Carnell Williams. And his effectiveness in punching through for tough first-downs.
Unfortunately, what makes him expendable is not Williams but Michael Pittman, whom coach Jon Gruden still seems to love for some reason. Used sparingly this season, Pittman has gobbled up huge gains in key situations. He's still easily his own best tackler - I've never seen a guy in the NFL so easily toppled by his own feet - but he's done a decent job in the limited carries he's had this season.
That doesn't mean the Bucs don't still need a battering ram like Alstott. But under what terms? One more year? Maybe. Two? Unlikely. The Bucs have righted the ship enough that they could draft a young pile driver and have him in shape and flowing within Gruden's offensive system (such that it is) within a season or two. Holding on to Alstott would appear to be a only sentimental move, and the Bucs - especially Gruden and general manager Bruce Allen - aren't sentimental guys.
If Alstott goes out this season, he won't go out on a stretcher or on a weak season. I wouldn't hazard a guess about his chances for the Pro Football Hall of Fame - I don't think he has the numbers or the prestige - but his place in Buccaneer history is more than secure.
In moderately related news, you can see more photos of Alstott and the rest of the team that I took at last week's overtime victory over the Atlanta Falcons, by clicking here.