May 22, 2006

WHY DON'T WE START SMALL.
WOULD YOU LIKE A FRESH TOWEL?
MAYBE YOU COULD ROLL THAT UP AND SMOKE IT.

You know you're in Berkeley when they leave a card like this on the bed:

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What's it say?


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I hate it when the hotel staff is all hemped up.


Posted by Jeff at 10:04 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

I PREFER SYRUP

Saw this on the baggage carousel when I arrived at Oakland:


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A five gallon bucket? Interesting choice of luggage.

What's inside the bucket?


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That's either an accessory for the biggest waffle in the world or someone's got one helluva weekend planned in the Castro District.


Posted by Jeff at 09:51 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

May 21, 2006

THE SALAD HEADS WEST

One of the reasons that the Salad Bowl has been a little sparce lately is that I've been trying to write Double Words For The Man so that I can take a week off to attend a journalism fellowship at the University of California at Berkeley.

I've written about old-school pro wrestlers getting back into the ring, complete with a photo gallery I shot. I did a piece on Meals on Wheels in Tampa. I wrote about Ybor City restaurant maven Clarita Garcia, chased down some Devil Crab recipes and wrote about a new snack bar.

It's been somewhat of a bizarre month even without having to write double-time.

Take Friday, for example, when I had to interview two European sumo wrestlers outside a Sweetbay supermarket and then later at a YMCA in central Tampa filled with kids.

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It's a long story. One that I will explain in due time once the story runs in a couple weeks.

In the meantime, just know that when one of the sumo wrestlers is named Hans and he's from "da Nedderlands," all bets are off.

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The first rule of fight club is...


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...no "atomic wedgies."



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The second rule of Fight Club is...


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...loofah your keister every now and then, you crazy dutch bastard.


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The third rule of Fight Club is...


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...nobody wants to see sumo pubes.


As if that wasn't an odd enough display in a room full of after-care children who will now need extensive therapy...

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...they had to throw ThunderBug into the mix.


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DOWN GOES INSECT!!! DOWN GOES INSECT!!!

And on that note... I'll talk to you soon from the left coast.

Cheers.

Posted by Jeff at 12:19 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

A PERSONAL PLEA

Dear Mr. Taylor Hicks,

I'm a casual fan of "American Idol." I was sucked into the show after browbeating from my mother, who is addicted to mindless reality programming. As someone who has a well-honed appreciation for bad television, your show has become not unlike a low-rent, industrial-powered heroin speedball for me every Tuesday and Wednesday evening.

Since it appears, Mr. Hicks, that you're going to beat the thick-hipped, over-vocalized, endlessly insecure and hopelessly needy crotch-popping Katherine McPhee like a rented mule, I have a couple requests.

First...


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Please stop doing this. It is very annoying.

Much as you try, no one is confusing you with Joe Cocker or Ray Charles. On them, this move looks authentic.

On you, quite frankly...


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You look as if you've damaged your cochlea.

If you have, in fact, suffered a debilitating inner-ear disorder that compels you to bend hard to port every Tuesday and Wednesday evening in front of millions of half-witted heroin addicts, please disregard my request.

Another request: If you're asked again to sing another dreadful version of Bruce Springsteen's interminable "Dancing In The Dark," please, whatever you do...


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Don't act out the words "This gun's for hire" with a finger gun.

If you, in fact, choose to do the finger gun, then by all means do not...




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...pretend to blow the smoke off the muzzle of your .357 index finger.

And if you, in fact, do the finger gun and then blow the smoke off the muzzle, by all means and for the sake of all things holy and sacred, please, I beg of you...



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... don't reholster your pretend digital handgun.

Oh, and one more thing:

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If you're going to kick the mike stand over in order to look cool...


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...make sure you don't whiff.

If, in fact, you do whiff while trying to kick the mike stand in order to look cool...


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...don't go back for seconds. It makes you look desperate. And white.

It also triggers massive depression in your former competitor, Chris Daughtry, who still can't believe he lost to a schmuck bar mitzvah singer like you.

Oh, and Mr. Hicks? Sorry to be a burden, but there's just one teensy weensy absolutely final request:


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Could you ask a stagehand to move Ms. Abdul's beverage?


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Apparently plastic is attracted to plastic.

Otherwise, good luck this week in the finals. And continued success in looking like George Clooney's boozy, underachieving little brother.

Sincerely,

The Staff At Side Salad


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May 18, 2006

THANKYOUVERYMUCH

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Elvis Week continues in Tampa this week. If you have a chance, go see Gary Elvis (pictured above). I met Gary two years ago at work when he stopped by to perform on TV. He showed me his rings and gave a group of us an impromptu concert.

Anyway, here are the details about his upcoming performance:

WHERE: Lowry Park Band Shell – Sligh Avenue @ North Boulevard
WHEN: May 19
TIME: [Act 1] 7 p.m.-8 p.m.; Act 2 8 p.m.-9 p.m.]
Act 1 – Buddy Verdi Big Band
Intermission Act - David Jankiewicz, the songs of Elvis
Act 2 – A Tribute to Elvis featuring Garyelvis and the TCB Band

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THESE WORDS COME TO ME IN A WHISPER.
I SAY THESE WORDS AS A PRAYER,
AS REGRET, AS PRAISE, I SAY ...


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Lowenchimp... Lowenchimp...



PREVIOUS SEPARATED AT BIRTH:

Poufy lips and butterscotch stallions

Everybody's working for the weekend

K-K-K-K-Katie

Mr. Jones and me, we gonna be big stars

Poor or a pond. Pond would be better for you.

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May 17, 2006

ROOMBA WITH A VIEW

It's not as funny as the Woomba, but this video clip about what a Roomba does when its owner is away is pretty hilarious.

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MY BREAKFAST WITH ANDRE

BrianAndDaddyO.jpgSCENE NO. 1: INTERIOR OF HOUSE. DINETTE TABLE.

Ten-year-old, redheaded boy sits cross-legged in his school uniform, eating Wild Berry Pop Tarts and drinking a glass of skim milk. His Scooby Doo multipurpose vitamin sits on the napkin next to his plate. A few feet away, his father slowly empties the dishwasher and prepares to reload.

It is 6:53 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. Up to this point, the two have been too groggy to speak.

BOY: Dad?

FATHER: Yes.

BOY: How long did George Clooney have a mullet?

[several seconds pass as father attempts to decipher the question]

FATHER: Wha?

BOY: How long did George Clooney have a mullet?

FATHER: Did George Clooney have a mullet?

BOY: Yeah.

[several seconds pass again]

FATHER: I, uh ... don't know.

[A minute of silence]

FATHER: Is there a reason you asked?

BOY: Not really.

FATHER: Was there a particular time period that you thought he had a mullet?

BOY: Not really.

FATHER: Was there an acceptable window of time for him to have had a mullet?

BOY: What?

FATHER: Nevermind.

END OF SCENE

SCENE NO. 2. INTERIOR OF HOUSE. LIVING ROOM.

Boy is packing his bookbag for school. He has just finished brushing his teeth and is walking through the living room wiping his mouth with his left forearm. He crams a giant white vinyl binder into the bag like a farmer attempting to force-feed a fois gras duck.

The father continues to clean the kitchen. They speak in near monotones. Neither makes eye contact.

BOY: Dad.

FATHER: Yeah?

BOY: What arm do you feel a heart attack in?

FATHER: What arm?

BOY: Yeah.

FATHER: Either one, I guess. But when it happens in a big way, it's can be both.

[several seconds of silence pass as the boy and father continue their morning tasks]

FATHER: [sounding in no way alarmed] So I take it you think you're having a heart attack?

BOY: Yes.

FATHER: Which arm do you feel it in?

BOY: This one. [boy waves right arm matter-of-factly]

FATHER: Hmmm. That's unfortunate.

[each continues their morning rituals until it is time to take the boy to school]

END OF SCENE


SCENE NO. 3: INTERIOR OF HOUSE. LIVING ROOM.

Boy is ready for school. His heavy backpack droops from his shoulders. His soiled, electric-lime-green safety patrol belt dangles from his left hand. He shuffles his feet toward the front door of the house, heading for the family vehicle for a ride to school.

His father shuffles behind him, shooing their Labrador and golden retrievers away from him so they don't execute an opportunistic escape from the domicile.

The boy begins to sing the lyrics of a Toby Keith song in a fake country voice.

BOY: [singing] "I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever waaaaaaaaas..."

[several seconds of silence pass]

BOY: Wait. That doesn't make any sense.

FATHER: Yes it does.

BOY: Then what does it mean?

FATHER: You'll find out when you get older.

BOY: Why will I find out when I get older?

FATHER: Because it's a song about what happens to you when you get older.

BOY: Seriously, dad. What does it mean.

[father pauses to consider how to interpret the lyrics in a family friendly way]

FATHER: It's like basketball. I used to be able to play well all the time. Now I can play really well, like, once. Then I'm done for a while.

BOY: Oh. I get it.

[boy and father get into a red Nissan Titan pickup truck, pull out of the driveway and head to school.]

END OF SCENE

SCENE NO 4: INTERIOR OF PICKUP TRUCK. CAR LINE AT A SUBURBAN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

Father turns into the long driveway of the boy's elementary school, which is only a few blocks away from their home.

BOY: Why do people consider George Clooney attractive?

FATHER: What?

BOY: Why do people consider George Clooney attractive?

FATHER: I don't really feel qualified to answer that question, Brian.

BOY: Seriously.

FATHER: Seriously. I don't feel qualified to answer that question. Some people just do, that's all.

[father continues to drive through school's parking lot]

BOY: Can you live on one brain cell?

FATHER: I wouldn't recommend it.

BOY: Why not?

FATHER: It's not exactly the best way to get through the day.

BOY: But could you?

FATHER: I think George Clooney proves every day that it's possible.

END OF SCENE

Posted by Jeff at 07:26 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

May 16, 2006

STICK IT

Ah, the havoc you can wreak with 2,700 Post-It Notes.

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Oh, and two boxes of Oreos and a package of Gummi bears.


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Posted by Jeff at 07:58 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

May 12, 2006

HAPPY BIRFDAY

Best wishes go out to Salad Mom (who is pictured with Salad Wife doing "The Brownie Smile" last weekend at a company fiesta.)

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Just to show you that this wasn't a one-time bit of playfulness...

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...here she is playing cowboys and indians with her cousin Bruno and his father Dominick.

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For which they had to express extreme repentence in front of a portable statue of the BVM for aiming weapons at him.

You can tell her recitation of the Act of Contrition is genuine by the smile on her face.

Bruno is no better. He's probably asleep in mid-clasp.

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Amazingly, she still fits into this dress.

Happy birthday, mom. I love you with all my heart. (I hope you still love me after putting these photos on the Salad.)

May you never act a day over 13.


Posted by Jeff at 07:36 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

SIT ON IT, POTSIE

One item I will not be buying for Salad Mom on her birfday:

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The weird thing: the ovarian cyst looks really comfy.


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No way I'm sitting on this.

I sat on a testicle once. Hurt for a month.


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

May 11, 2006

WORDS TO THE WISE
FROM THE FOOD GUY


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If you're going to bring a piece of carrot cake to work the day after a big party, don't just blindly pick at it while you go about your business.

The reason?


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Carrot cake doesn't have almonds. Especially not almonds that move like spruce beetles.

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And by following this simple guideline, you won't be forced to re-enact the moment of horrified discovery.


Posted by Jeff at 07:28 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

May 05, 2006

THIS MAKES ME LAUGH

JoeRedner.jpgJoe Redner is one of my MySpace "friends."

Then again, so are Larry the Cable Guy, Kevin Federline, Pam and B.J. from "The Office," and, of course, U2.

Oh, and Raymond, the Devil Rays' mascot.

How stupid is all this? Very stupid. Very, very stupid.

I don't think any of us will be exchanging Christmas cards anytime soon.

Posted by Jeff at 09:04 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

EASY DOES IT

EasyBakeOven.jpgIn November, my buddy Rommie and I did a little thing we called Easy Bake Thanksgiving. We had a blast making turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole and yams. You name it, we had it. It wasn't always appetizing, but we committed to the task.

As a follow-up, we're going to bust out a new oven today for Easy Bake Cinco de Mayo. (I found a fancy model at Goodwill for $3.)

We're going to try to do mini tacos, nachos and quesadillas. We'll see how it goes. We might even bust a move on a burrito. Check back this weekend for photos.

This being the unofficial feast day of the sombrero, I have to do it up right. (You can read about the genesis of this blog's fascination with the flamboyant headgear by clicking here and by clicking here.) I'm making a huge pot of black beans and am bringing the rice cooker to work.

I'll also be attempting to set a new world record for number of Sombrero Project photos taken in one day. I'll have to stretch ahead of time for this one. I wouldn't want to pull a groin muscle or anything.

You can view The Sombrero Project (and its subsequent parts (Dos, Tres and Quatro and Cinco and Seis).


Posted by Jeff at 08:44 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

May 03, 2006

DOWNEASTER ALEXA

I opened this e-mail and liver spots started bursting on the back of my hands:

Alexa Ray Joel to Perform Live at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino, Tampa

Alexa Ray Joel, the 20-year-old daughter of musician Billy Joel and supermodel Christie Brinkley, will perform live in concert at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino Tampa, on Thursday, May 11th. Credited with a soulful, jazzy voice, singer/songwriter Alexa is a gifted musician with the voice to match.

When Emimen's daugher Hailie goes out on tour, I'll go ahead and kill myself.

Posted by Jeff at 03:32 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

WHEN I GET THAT FEELING
I WANT WAFFLE CONE HEALING


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Oh my.

This video is wrong in so many ways. Although the teary eyed Gummi bear was a nice touch.


Hat tip: Rich

Posted by Jeff at 09:33 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

GOT A DEVIL'S WAX POCKETKNIFE IN MY MIND

Got an e-mail from my friend Rich at work the other day. Rich covers technology.

He had a suggestion for putting spam to better use. Or at least some use:

Sent: Monday, May 01, 2006 5:38 PM
Subject: Dada poetry

So all this spam I’ve been getting lately has used the filter-blocking technique of random words in the subject line…..which if you string together starts to sound like really good Dada poetry. The trick is using either a totally monotone voice to read aloud, or a fanatically passionate screech.


This one, I’ll call “Flyswatter lip-synch”:

Module bohemian
Junta bogus
Sputter
Noisy Adaptable
Cuisine Loincloth
Sunglasses
Coarsely wooden
Devil
Wax pocketknife
Healthy intent
Flyswatter lip-synch
Idyllic hind

An aside: I saw Wax Pocketknife open for Dylan on his last tour. They were awesome.


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

May 02, 2006

HOWDY, PILGRIM


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If you haven't yet found your way to meeting the BBQ Pilgrim, you really should stop by the site.

Photographer and former professor Mark Dolan is criss-crossing this great land of ours on a sacred mission: to find the best stories that barbecue chefs have to offer.

Full disclosure: Mark and I worked together in Alaska at the Anchorage Times, where he was photo chief and I was a columnist. Mark helped throw my bachelor party, in fact. And we went sledding down a trail with a bunch of co-workers at the Arctic Valley ski complex that was, how should I put it, testicle-shrinking in its ferocity.

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That's Mark in the middle. He brought what we later called "The Bat Sled" to the party. Not satisfied with the Mach 1 speed, we sprayed it with WD-40. That mutha flew down the hill like a Stealth fighter.

But I digress.

Mark's sold everything and gone on the road, staying with friends, driving to various places in pursuit of barbecue's holy grail. Whatever that may be. And since he's a Gator and warm and friendly man, he's never without a place to stay.

His approach to the Web site: to mix video and stills and text in a Ken Burns-ian kind of way. What you get is a multimedia experience that is powerful and, well, mouth-watering. You can almost smell the smoke.

My favorite: Curtis Tuff.

As Mark writes:

Curis Tuff has been cooking and serving up BBQ in Putney Vermont since 1965. "After 39 years I’m starting to get the hang of it," Curtis joked. "another five more years and I should have it down pretty good," he added. Curtis said the part of his business he most enjoys is being able to meet and talk with his customers. Curtis, along with his pet pot-bellied pig C.J. are known to people from all over the country who make his barbecue a regular stop when they visit Vermont between April and October, the months they are open for business.

It's worth the click just to hear Tuff talk about his "supervisor," an 80-pound pot-bellied pig, C.J.


Posted by Jeff at 08:54 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

PRESS KITS I HAVE KNOWN

Got the promotional materials for "Big Momma's House 2" the other day.

You might remember the film. It was in theaters for all of 30 seconds.


Nathan Rabin of the Onion A.V. Club noted about the premise:

The FBI has taken a lot of hits over the past five years and endures another blow in Big Momma's House 2, a muckraking exposé of bureau incompetence cunningly disguised as an idiotic slapstick comedy. In the least necessary sequel this side of Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo, it takes the nation's preeminent domestic law-enforcement agency half the film to realize that the portly country nanny (Martin Lawrence) employed in a house they have under surveillance is actually one of their agents in a hideous fat suit, an unfortunately plausible plot point.

Unfortunately, the press kit included a giant pair of red panties.

And unfortunately for movie critic Bob Ross, I had a camera.


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Bob looks thrilled, doesn't he?

Thank goodness Rommie was around:




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New comedy math:

Rommie + Giant Underpants



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= Ensuing guffaws





Posted by Jeff at 07:47 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack