Yucky Salad with Bones

April 18 '07

Awful, awful, awful, awful, awful. What else can be said today? Don't you wish we could still give a flying squirrel about Don Imus or Sanjaya? Please know the following is simply our way here or providing an oasis of silliness in an otherwise terrible, tragic moment in our national history.

But loyal Saladist Kenny (not musical-theater Kenny, the other one,) reminded me that in a world gone mad, there is always Heloise.

Dear Heloise,

Whenever the three-roll packages of paper towels go on sale for $1, I stock up on them. When cleaning the bathroom, my biggest concern used to be spreading germs when using rags or sponges. These inexpensive paper towels can clean the bathroom for pennies without worrying about spreading germs.

WHAT, You buy paper towels on sale?? I cannot believe I haven't thought of this. I'm constantly waiting for stores to jack the price up or buying them at the Galleria where, surely, they're more expensive. I feel so foolish! When I think of all the money I could've saved over the years, it makes me want to eat Fig Newtons until I vomit. Now, what do you mean when you say "clean the bathroom"?

Does...not...compute...

OK, I'm yanking your chain, I clean the bathroom sometimes. It's just that I'm usually too busy wondering why the heck none of the menfolk I live with can hit the target, if you know what I'm sayin', or how to get 17 pounds of Barbie hair out of the tub drain to worry whether the sponge I'm using is spreading germs around. My son wore his mud-caked cleats to bed last night. Germs shmerms.

Dear Heloise,

I would like to interject my thoughts on spoon rests. (ed. note: I wonder how long she's wanted to speak up, but just didn't feel the time was right or have the confidence? Cue colorful, swirling Romper-Roomesque graphic, ushering in a dream sequence:

A woman lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. She looks over at the clock; the neon-green numbers shine 3:30 a.m.

Her husband, or the man lying beside her, I don't know if they're married, to be honest...given her history of antibiotic abuse, it's a safe bet she just picked this guy up at Bunny's last night, stirs.

Him: "Honey? What is it? Why can't you sleep?"

Thinking she's going to go off on another rant about the new Gonorrhea super bug, her answer surprises him:

"It's just that...(sigh) I've wanted to write to Heloise for a while now, about spoon rests. I have some thoughts about them that I think could help. I'm just, I don't know, afraid to speak up. I guess it's because when I was a young girl, once I raised my hand in math class and the teacher hit me. And now I'm really promiscuous."

"Oh, honey, that was a long time ago. No one's going to hit you. And you know what? I'm glad you're promiscuous."

She turns to him, tears in her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really. You go ahead and write to Heloise. And, um, as long as we're both awake..."

"Ew. You think I'm going to let you touch me after you cleaned the bathroom with that germ-riddled sponge? Even I'm not that easy."

Aaaaaand scene.)

I take a small saucer-type plate out of the cupboard and use that. When done, I put it in the dishwasher. No extra dish required, nothing sitting out collecting dust on the stove, no fuss! I keep it simple and uncluttered.

Kenny says,

I'd also like to interject my thoughts on spoon holders. I have a special stove with a non-porous top. I simply place my spoons there when cooking. When I'm done, I wipe off any food residue with a another handy item I've found - a "reusable dishcloth" which, conveniently enough, is usually loaded hot, soapy water in the critical "soon-after-dinner" time frame. Voila! No extra oddly shaped items or saucer-type thingies to clutter up my dishwasher. And, as a bonus, those spills from pot boilovers and dripping ladles can all be addressed in one kitchen-efficient trip to the stove top!

Nicely done.

April 14 '07

Do me a favor, loyal 'Saladists ('Salad loyalists?) and try to muster up some enthusiasm for one more screed about the whole Imusgate thing; this next post is Bill's take on events:

Thank goodness there weren't any blowhards involved in the whole Imus/Rutgers fiasco.

I love stories like this because they make me think I might be the smartest person on earth. (Actually, there's no way I'm in the top 20.) The cast of characters lined up to pontificate on the events of the past week reads like a "Who's Who" of media whores. Any self-respecting blabber-mouth who hasn't done two or three media-round-table shows this week needs to fire their PR people a helluva lot faster than CBS ditched Imus.

A passing comment from a cranky, out-of-touch, curmudgeon of a morning shock-jock has turned the media world into a Three Stooges episode. Has SNL ever done an hour long skit before? I think I'm borrowing from Jesus' "Sermon on the Mount" when I say, "So many people to make fun of and so little time."

In what's fast becoming one of the most infamous 30 seconds in radio history, Don Imus and producer Bernard McGuirk spat out both "jigaboo" and "nappy-headed hos" in reference to the Rutgers' women's hoop team that had lost the national title game the night before. Jigaboo???? Has anyone used that word since 1975? It turns out McGuirk was referencing a line from Spike Lee's movie "School Daze". Here's a tip for you genius, if you're going to quote an un-usable word from a movie, it should probably be one that more than three people will pick up on. And here's a better tip for you, if that's the line you're going to quote, don't. Grow a brain.

Boss-man Imus came right back with, "those are some nappy-headed hos".

And then.... well, let's just say that if planet earth were having a party, the needle just scratched on the record and everyone stopped dancing. How much attention did the media pay to this story? Put it this way: I read through two pages on a journalism message board debating whether or not it should be "hos" or "ho's"-- I'm crapping you negative. Maybe I am in the top 20 after all.

In what was probably long overdue, the Jenga piece with no support had been pulled on Imus' career. In typical big-business fashion, CBS "gathered all the facts" (read: "waited to see how the money was going to react") and then fired him. In the meantime, the blabbermouths and the TV cameras came together like bugs to the backyard light to discuss in no particular order: free speech, hip-hop, misogyny, forgiveness, man's inhumanity to his fellow man and how a 66-year old man can walk out his door in the morning with that hairdo. (David Spade, take a look at your 66-year old self-- at some point, you're going to need to get a haircut.)

In the first of many "what the hell?" moments to arise from this, Rutgers held a news-conference to tell the world how offended they were. Who knew you could do that? Every school-yard playground should set up a podium and the last 10 minutes of recess should be set aside for those who had been called names the previous half-hour. (I'm obviously joking, but you know what? I'd watch. It's actually a damn good idea... top 20, here I come!)
It was a silly, bizarre, awkward newser, but in the end it worked.

Everyone covered it, it ramped up the story to the next level, got people talking, and served to provide some type of really weird justice. Now having said that, there were some comically blabber-mouthy things said at this newser.

The president of Rutgers opened things up by saying these young women who, through their NCAA tourney run had, "captured the hearts of the nation". Whoa there Sparky, take it easy. If any young woman has captured the hearts of the nation, it's Sanjaya, not some college hoops team. He went on to say that, "we have to make sure these students have as much support as they need to make it through the school year".

Look, these young women were picked on out of the blue by an idiot with a bully pulpit. But isn't the main point of this newser to show us what remarkable, strong, capable young women these are? Sticks and stones will hurt them, not the vile garbage out of some old grouch's mouth.

Imus, of course, immediately went into spin mode. He gave a severely disingenuous apology and punctuated it by saying, "I'm a good person and I'm not a racist". The last person to have to say that publicly was Michael Richards. What do these guys think you have to do to actually be a racist, have slaves in chains in your backyard???? Hiding behind "I was trying to be funny" just doesn't cut it. How is referring to female college basketball players as "nappy headed hos" funny at all? A lot of people have jumped on the "Chris Rock says stuff like that all the time" argument. He does, but there is a huge difference-- Chris Rock's targets usually deserve it. There's a truth to most good comedy.

What Imus said has no place anywhere.

So who comes charging into the fray to tell us this? Who else but Jesse J and Al Not-So-Sharpton? The same Jesse who, while running for President in 1984, referred to NYC as "Hymietown". Yet Jesse is a veritable voice of reason when put alongside Sharpton, THE blowhard of a generation, about whom Les Payne (a black columnist for Newsday) wrote, "a noisy answer for which there is no known question".

I have to say, Jesse looked really old and disinterested as he marched with the protesters outside CBS Radio in Chicago. I swear, at this point in his arguments, he's just reading off of index cards that have plenty of "insert name here" lines.
Here's a quick recap of the interview between Imus and Sharpton on Al's radio show:

Al: "You're a racist and need to be fired."

Imus: "Am not."

Al: "Are too."

Imus: "Am not."

Al: "Are too."

Imus: "Okay, sorry"

Al: "No you're not, bitch"

Imus: "You people...."

Okay, I made the "bitch" part up. And it has dawned on me that as I write this post, I'm just another blabber-mouth. (So much for my being in the top 20.) So anyway, it was a fun week to watch people look and sound really stupid and I can't wait to see what South Park comes up with. The moral of the story is to be nicer to each other, which, in a nutshell, is what Jesus was getting at in that Sermon on the Mount. (And, truth be told, it was actually more of a hill-- there are no mountains in Galilee, or it's surrounding areas.)

And finally, I'm sorry Sanjaya. You don't need to hold a news conference.

Five songs to download this week:
1. The Story-- Brandi Carlisle
2. '92 Subaru-- Fountains Of Wayne
3. Knocked Up-- Kings Of Leon
4. # 9 Dream-- REM
5. Want To-- Sugarland

April 12 '07

Stayed up way too late last night watching "Rocky Balboa". OOf.

Mike was completely sucked in (much like Sly's surgery-riddled face) and got more upset with me with every giggle that escaped me. I tried hard to be quiet, but it was like when you're nine or 38 or whatever and you start laughing in church; you just can't stop and you turn into a boiling kettle of snorts and honks.

It wasn't terrible, OK? I mean it wasn't great by any means, it was basically Mr. Stallone's attempt to scream at the world that he still has some juice left in his nethers, but it was essentially the first movie all over again done hilarious-style. Thing is, I think Sylvester Stallone is a good actor. I would like to see him in a real movie. (Never saw "Copland", but I'll put it on my list.)

I have to go. Molly update: she's doing much better, knock on wood. She's been going to bed at 7 every night and it's definitely making a difference.

April 9 '07

So how was your Easter? Ours was fab, thanks, we stayed up too late the night before but the kids had the good sense to sleep 'til 8:30 in the morning. Angels is what they are! Oh, except for my youngest, who recently has decided to spend all her recess time at school auditioning for Kill Bill 3. Oh, did I not tell you? Yeah, I got a call from her teacher last week before we left town, seems another little girl told her to shut her yap so Molly slapped her. Then she turned around and slapped the girl behind her, too.

Cue requisite parental shame, lecture, punishment, more lecture, make her write notes of apology to the other girls, lecture lecture lecture, role play, leave town, come back to town, prepare her for her return to school this morning, lecture lecture lecture, GET ANOTHER EMAIL FROM HER TEACHER THIS AFTERNOON SHE DID IT AGAIN.

Oh, my Lord.

She's in bed, no dessert, no story, I talked to the other moms and begged their patience and they had mercy on me and my misguided delinquent of a child. I'll keep you posted. Back to Easter.

So I picked Mike up after his show Sat. night, had to hover around NBA City waiting for him to finish up; I couldn't even sit anywhere since every table in there was reserved. I got the boot not once but twice, and I finally ended up hiding behind a pillar like some deranged stalker/groupie, sipping awkwardly on my gin-free gin and tonic. I did get the eye from a fellow who was a dead ringer for Lumburgh from Office Space, and that made me happy. I like knowing I have options, keep Mike on his toes. I'm kidding, Lumburgh totally ignored me.

After he was done, we went to a rather hilarious place that shall remain namelesss, lots of middle aged horndogs looking to hook up, you know who you are, and got some grub. Halfway through our wings we realized we'd totally chintzed on the Easter baskets and hit Lunds in a bit of a panic. Candy shopping at 11:30 on a Saturday night. Fake Lumburgh doesn't know what he's missing, YEEE HAW!

Earlier, before I'd left for the evening, I'd warned the youngsters not to go into my bedroom and Molly said to me,

"Mommy, did you buy a green, a pink, and a blue Easter basket?"

"Uh, why Mol?"

"Do you swear you didn't?"

"Why?"

"Do you swear, mommy?"

"No, I don't swear, why do you ask?"

"I don't know, I wasn't even in your room today."

And from Kenny:

A conversation at my house today regarding a large Spongebob balloon:

Fran: "Who scribbled on Spongebob's hands?"

Edmund (10): "Lucy."

<Pause>
Lucy (6): "I wanted him to look like Jesus."

April 6 '07

Criminy, that last post was darn near unreadable. Ha! I was obviously suffering from severe oxygen debt. Or I was as high as a kite, I don't remember. And for your information, I only get high on life, so there. Do OTD's count? They don't count. Neither does alcohol, everyone knows that. Anyway I think I fixed all the typos and weirdness, so now you can re-read it in all its corrected glory, you lucky duck! And here it is Good Friday and everything.

We're home. I just finished unpacking the bags and dumping all of our wet, almost moldy, dirty dirty crud into the washing machine. Now I have to make dinner...I mean it's way too early for dinner, but like I said, it's Good Friday and I'm starving. Sorry, I know it's wrong to say that, I know I'm supposed to offer it up and I'm a weak, weak, weak little wussy, so I'd like to apologize to all the souls in Purgatory who were counting on my suffering to get 'em out early. Sorry, ya'll, all I can say is if I'm the getaway plan, get used to it in there. And save my space.

You: Ha, she thinks she's going to Purgatory...that's a good one...where she's going a nice asbestos suit would come in handy...

Well that's a fine how-do-you-do, I may have complained about being hungry and I may have cheated and rationalized my way all through Lent but I never imagined eternal hellfire on anyone. Thanks.

April 4 '07

What is it, the fourth already? Wow. Time flies when you're having fun, and I'm having a ball, mis amigos. Packed up the fam and headed west, west I tell you, and since last Thursday we've been hangin' with the sisty and her four hooligans in Denver.

Miguel came with and stayed for a couple of days, but he had to get back to the Minny on Sunday morning to do "Wolves Live!" (there's no exclamation point, but I feel it ads a little something, not that anyone asked me, 'cuz they didn't.) Sunday night.

He was soooo looking forward to a day or two of sunshine and possibly a bike ride in the mountains, so of course it snowed about 6 inches the first day we were here and he came down with a terrible cold. After he left the sun came out, melted all the snow and the kidlets and I have been having a great ol' time. Mostly we've just been hanging out, running, going to the park, making lots of yummy food and just good old fashioned visiting, you know? Their house is hugantic and beautiful, plenty of room for all 11 of us and some to spare. There was a scary moment a few days ago when the distinct smell of rotten fish permeated the house, and I thought maybe it was us (we'd been here for 4 days by then) but no, it turned out it really was dead fish; the sewer had backed up.

We did go see Rog and the Peacemakers at the Gothic Friday night, funny how they just happened to be playing here when we were here, idn't it? NO, we did not plan our spring break trip around Rog's touring schedule, smarty pants, it was a coincidence and in my mind, proof that God exists. Great show, as usual; the crowd extra amp'd up since Mr. C released a new CD last week. BUY IT.

The next night Margy took me to a flamenco guitar concert...she's a member of the Denver Association of Classical Guitarist Appreciators or something; the name isn't that long and clumsy but I forget exactly what it is. Anyway, her son is a totally sweet guitar player (dare I say prodigy? Except that every time I hear a word like prodigy I want to punch someone) and his teacher got her involved in it.

I enjoyed it, but not because I love listening to someone play flamenco guitar for two hours. Not that the guy wasn't great, he was; I'm just saying, on my list of things to do that are fun, that comes right after chemo. OK, obviously that was an exaggeration. Please don't send me notes telling me how insensitive I am and how under no circumstances is chemo ever to be used as a punch line, I already know both of those things and to make up for it I intend to wear a hair shirt all day long on Good Friday.

It was fun because of the crowd. The kind of people who are more than happy to sacrifice Saturday night watching some dude play flamenco guitar are awesome to watch; you can practically see the smugness coming off of them in waves. Every time the guy was done with a piece, it was like a race for the crowd to hoot and huzzah, a contest to show which one of them really got it, really appreciated the hell out of it the most, you know? And every time Flamencoguitarguy opened his mouth to say anything, you'd have thought he was coming down the mountain with a new set of tablets.

At one point he told some story about how the next number was Cuban and had been cited by the American writer Washington Irving, and the excited murmur that went through the crowd

"blare blar, why of course, I know exactly the piece he's referencing, for I too am well versed in the collective works of Washington Irving, in fact I know almost as much about him as I do about Flamenco guitar, blar blar"

was a beautiful thing to behold.

I just suspect certain people do certain things just to brag about them afterward. And I love watching them do it.

We went to dinner afterward with the guitar teacher. Nice guy, off-beat but the good kind of off-beat, the "Hey that guy is pretty nice, a pleasant sort, I mean I'm not going to pretend it isn't weird that he has a pet wolf, that's not something you see every day and whenever you hear about someone getting mauled by his pet (whatever wild animal) usually you think, well, what kind of idiot has a pet (whatever wild animal) anyway? But he laughs at my jokes and paid for dinner so he's OK by me," kind of off-beat, not the "Huh. I bet he has a bunch of heads in his freezer" kind of off-beat.

Hit the new Denver Art Museum, cool-ish building full of off-beat (the heads-in-the-freezer kind, sad to say) artwork, went to red rocks park today, went to Golden, played and played and played and we leave tomorrow. Good trip.

April 1 '07

As I write this, it's Sunday night and the following newswire just crossed on my computer at work:
Still wearing his expensive suit, Donald Trump just jumped Vince McMahon during Wrestlemania.
The wire continues on to inform me that over 80,000 people are in attendance at Wrestlemania in Detroit and who knows how many more have paid way too much to watch it at home. If you're wondering, this is the 23rd installment of "Wrestlemania". I'd venture to guess that if you're working Donald Trump into your wrestling script, you are running short on ideas. All I know is that there are thousands of dudes out there across the country tonight watching this in their trailer homes with some of their buddies, tossing back Natty Lights and eating Domino's pizza and wings. And they have been looking forward to this night for a long time, probably since the day after whenever Wrestlemania 22 was.
"Dude, I've watched every single Wrestlemania from right here in this exact chair!"
High fives and burps are exchanged.
"I can't believe I missed 19 because my old lady got arrested that afternoon. Dude, pass me the beer bong... and that bag of Doritos."
"Yeah, but dude, you missed 12 too, remember?"
"Oh, that's right...... well, it was my wedding day."
"Dude, third wedding, not that big of a deal. I can see maybe missing Wrestlemania for your first wedding, but third? No way!"
"You're probably right dude, but I didn't know how much of a biiiiiiaaaatch she was when I married her."
"Make her pay for that transmagression later tonight!"
"Oh hells yeah brotha!"
High fives are traded and more Natty Light is slurped down.
At the end of the evening, Vince McMahon will get a GIGANTIC check that he doesn't need, liquor store owners across the land will notice an abnormal amount of low-end beer sales for the weekend and police officers working near trailer parks will be busy all night.
"So miss, you say you were sleeping when you were startled awake by your boyfriend here, putting the "atramotron" on you?..... Holy, hell, what is that smell????"
"Dude, it's ULTRA-motron.... I had to try it out, I was so FREAKING PUMPED!.... ahh, that smell might be me-- 21 Natty Lights, bro, new Wrestlemania record!"
Just another Sunday night in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
One of the best weeks of the year in sports coming up: National Championship game and MLB Opening Day on Monday, followed by the Masters beginning on Thursday. It was great having Georgetown back in the Final Four-- it made me remember the second greatest college basketball Sports Illustrated cover ever, the Hoyas Michael Graham in mid-thunder-two-handed-monster jam over a couple of Slamma Jammas. (Only topped by '78's cover with Sidney Moncrief in mid-flight on the way to his own monster-two handed jam.) Michael Graham's stay in the basketball spotlight was one the shortest, most breathtaking ever. Dude burst out of nowhere in the spring of '84 and just took that tournament over. He was a scary, violent looking bald dude who played for two weeks like he was on crystal meth and had to go back to prison as soon as Georgetown's season ended. It wouldn't have surprised anybody who watched that tournament if Graham would have killed someone during a game. He came along way too early, if someone played like that in this day and age, he would immediately get a reality show on VH-1 after the tournament. Love 'em or hate 'em, back then Georgetown hoops was a powerful entity-- it always seemed more legit when they were involved.

You might have heard from the people at CBS that The Masters is a tradition unlike any other. (Maybe one of the 24,000 times they played that commercial?) One of the lesser known traditions at Augusta is that the defending champion picks out the menu for the "Champions Dinner" on Tuesday night (he also picks up the tab).
So you might think that a guy like Phil Mickelson, who always seems to be battling the bulge, might pick something maybe a tiny bit health conscious? Um, you'd be wrong. Hefty, Fat Phil, Pudding tits.... didn't disappoint with his menu choice:
AUGUSTA, Ga. (AP) - Phil Mickelson will be presiding over a
Southern feast at the Masters champions dinner this year.
The defending champion gets to select the menu for the annual
Tuesday night dinner of past champions, and Lefty is making sure
they won't leave the room on an empty stomach.
The menu features southern fried chicken, baby back ribs, beef
brisket and smoked sausage. If that's not enough, vanilla ice cream
will be served for dessert.
How great is that? Phil is like a really fat 10-year old who can't decide what he wants for his birthday dinner. Maybe he's trying to put Tiger into a food coma for the rest of the week. I just hope Fat-Phil didn't try out the old "Ultramotron" on his poor wife Sunday night.
Five Songs To Download This Week:
1. Grace Kelly-- Mika
2. To Go Home-- M. Ward
3. Smoke Rings In The Dark-- Gary Allan
4. Better Than-- John Butler Trio
5. Contraband-- Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers