Welcome! Now Go Away!

Today is Ryan's birthday. I planned on devoting this space to a particular Ryan story today, much like I did with my aunt Bunny and my dad on their birthdays, but it seems he beat me to it. He's been doing that to me all week, that one. Anyway, visit his blog and wish him a happy birthday. And don't forget to check in on Michele, the shimmering beacon in my otherwise dimly-lit existence. She's bound to have a new post up soon, right? I've also heard rumors that some other guy has a blog, but that's probably just an urban legend. ...

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We Three Things

We all heard the stories when we were growing up. About the weary traveller who stumbled upon a gypsy camp, hundreds of years ago. Seeing that he was starving and frozen half to death, a kindly old gypsy woman handed him a sealed envelope and offered him some food and a place to sleep for the night, on the condition that he read the contents of the envelope and pass it along to at least five people before the next full moon. The man happily agreed, and spent the night eating a hearty meal and listening to wonderful music by a crackling fire. But the next morning, he discarded the letter as soon as he left the camp. The man died, of kidney failure,...

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Here's the Deal

Way back in the begining of December, Michele and I went to a Hibachi steakhouse for Wah-Kee's birthday. It was pretty cool; I'd never been to one of those before. The best part was one the chef cut up a bunch of onion slices and stacked them on top of each other to make a little ant-hill-looking thing, and then he squirted some stuff from a bottle into it an lit it on freaking FIRE! Boom! Onion volcano! The people that had had been to a hibachi before said this guy wasn't as good as some of the others they've seen. Aparently, the best hibachi chefs are more than a little insane. But I was still impressed. I think it's safe to say that onion...

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Blame It On Olestra

For whatever reason, there are women of all ages sashaying all over town wearing velour pants with the word "JUICY" prominantly displayed on their rears. Even little girls are wearing these things. That's just wrong on so many levels. Not only because the apparent message they're sending is "Look at me! I'm prepubescent sex kitten!" But also, well, do you really want a juicy ass? It just sounds gross. It's like, lurking just beneath the velour surface is a pair of moist, brown-streaked undies. Is that really something you want to announce to the world? That standard dry toilet paper just isn't going to cut it for you anymore? Actually, maybe...

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I'm Not Dead

Just in case you were wondering. The same can't be said for these guys, though. Michael Vale June 28, 1922-December 24, 2005 Vincent Schiavelli November 10, 1948-December 26, 2005 Patick Cranshaw June 17, 1919-December 28, 2005 All the articles about Patrick Cranshaw say he was best known as Blue from Old School, but I think that's only because most people are ashamed to admit that they really remember him as the hobo in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. Admit it. So long, Fred the Baker. Fare thee well, Buggy Ding Dong. God rest ye, Pappy from Bubble Boy. Why do they always die in threes? ...

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