tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1301461642030973262024-03-05T10:42:51.956-08:00Live on TapeMusing of a local TV has-been.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-1228474388320065322009-02-25T10:33:00.000-08:002009-02-25T10:51:35.609-08:00Alternate Uses for the Samsung Ultra Touch S8300<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Damn. This video kills with cuteness.<br /><br />When you get to 1:04 in, you'll see just how evil a Hedgehog can be...</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dys0Be7dg2vQG-vdShbuBYXiE4p2QS9wBdN0kipeullfgoBn8HEEExfZjXL-aAZutd_y-8kEHU0G_-ABWSefA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-4521037192334571712009-02-18T16:43:00.000-08:002009-02-18T16:50:32.915-08:00A True Icon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIE6ekRThHwVY9aajwcUMC6JR5O9NsqRRYeOfPSYerMYLhyXvsIlJmnP4EeQnjW8ov_-nxU0D6YZDJgZSNPBjkR8k7K0_P1zWqM4LZIqjUzZ94fvx2gH_M4axs11ex9QkN-zYV_AuW1kY/s1600-h/vw_icon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIE6ekRThHwVY9aajwcUMC6JR5O9NsqRRYeOfPSYerMYLhyXvsIlJmnP4EeQnjW8ov_-nxU0D6YZDJgZSNPBjkR8k7K0_P1zWqM4LZIqjUzZ94fvx2gH_M4axs11ex9QkN-zYV_AuW1kY/s400/vw_icon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304303813706119442" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-2745751978675852312009-02-09T23:14:00.000-08:002009-02-10T16:33:10.361-08:00Crap from the PAST!!!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Man, it's amazing the stuff you can find surfing around the internet. Recently I found this; a promo from the late 80's for KLJB TV in Davenport Iowa - the station where I used to work when I was just out of college.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> I had nothing to do with this promo, other than getting called into the studio to appear on camera for a few moments. Moments that have since scarred me.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJujcBwNDARrAvH_rE8Otqkoi6JdlyDQaLcGfIBBg4_5ax36Bil8Rm7rbqMN2PcPXpDWkRn7qw_IRCLLFdc7G-Vf60FVWX9K9D99uxcVwtTW9zGHpnQ21KRDmN2da_4hAma8QpVJTXL4/s1600-h/KL&JB001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJujcBwNDARrAvH_rE8Otqkoi6JdlyDQaLcGfIBBg4_5ax36Bil8Rm7rbqMN2PcPXpDWkRn7qw_IRCLLFdc7G-Vf60FVWX9K9D99uxcVwtTW9zGHpnQ21KRDmN2da_4hAma8QpVJTXL4/s400/KL&JB001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301067367128066450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">KL & JB attempt to tell local viewers how great KLJB is!</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">And have out-of-body experiences while doing so.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Don't get me wrong, I love local television with its cheesy commercials, promos, newscasts, and poorly produced programs. </span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB0tq10IlT8tH4yzw4djZgmuKDkS4a7cotUkNJqIW-C8WwUR-xkbWmrVfF1QJFBOzVcmfI6s6rtk_RIXkxKDeeAMsCi5Nf1qxW8ppfHlvoJK2F4-fYYm6SlbBBos_iIRGEMrHLHYtH68/s1600-h/martha001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB0tq10IlT8tH4yzw4djZgmuKDkS4a7cotUkNJqIW-C8WwUR-xkbWmrVfF1QJFBOzVcmfI6s6rtk_RIXkxKDeeAMsCi5Nf1qxW8ppfHlvoJK2F4-fYYm6SlbBBos_iIRGEMrHLHYtH68/s400/martha001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301067369254779922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">KL sings her heart out, it was either that...</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > or scream in horror at what she was doing.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Cheesy local television is mostly a thing of a past now, but the crappy, stupid content that local television stations used to churn out is somehow charming in its naive dumbness.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMmt6fYdtu2sg5Zxhae3r8XawtarVSqL2x2yikw6RPxOJIX5OlPs75bx4vUhQoPSQ4m21NYGGEAU_jcYBQIus3EcW-V9KQYYXxm4zHkxADPvbc58j_5D0Tx8OIFhmckLwV2S8wP6GkFQ/s1600-h/group003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMmt6fYdtu2sg5Zxhae3r8XawtarVSqL2x2yikw6RPxOJIX5OlPs75bx4vUhQoPSQ4m21NYGGEAU_jcYBQIus3EcW-V9KQYYXxm4zHkxADPvbc58j_5D0Tx8OIFhmckLwV2S8wP6GkFQ/s400/group003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301067374222796210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The reality sinks in...</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">(Yes, that's me on the left.)</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I'm proud of the years I worked at KLJB producing crappy local television... made with lots of hard earnest work and love</span>. Man, do I miss it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHTqXKoIkngklC82jXfcISIeANQKbb95VykTb9L_EPQ-w3NQ4kiHqRAcSNeWcfMdcNcycBDuCpu-c0yTfr7E6wRqZWLzwg4DwA9rQgl23w69lgseHvBJbOvMau_6iI85CyyZ0-v3JhFJU/s1600-h/group005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHTqXKoIkngklC82jXfcISIeANQKbb95VykTb9L_EPQ-w3NQ4kiHqRAcSNeWcfMdcNcycBDuCpu-c0yTfr7E6wRqZWLzwg4DwA9rQgl23w69lgseHvBJbOvMau_6iI85CyyZ0-v3JhFJU/s400/group005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301067373473467042" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Drunk Midwesterners having a good ol' fashioned yodel-off!</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />At some point I'll post some of the terrible local TV ads I wrote and produced way back then. But for now, I wanted to share this station promo that I found.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWql8nwOrCT4qvsufvGIG8cnSid07CPUswfWzWwOeJUKAlCGOKXVpGHYH9GWOJNcmDmFFPS3LJmC3phDb1K3E2kMyqmcySeb3AuWq6B10M38TaU3Nhi8VcrkoXsoZP8ycO6Tw3OKe5Y9U/s1600-h/group007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWql8nwOrCT4qvsufvGIG8cnSid07CPUswfWzWwOeJUKAlCGOKXVpGHYH9GWOJNcmDmFFPS3LJmC3phDb1K3E2kMyqmcySeb3AuWq6B10M38TaU3Nhi8VcrkoXsoZP8ycO6Tw3OKe5Y9U/s400/group007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301067012720237762" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Oh we thought so back then... but you know what...<br />at the time, KLJB was a place for great TV.<br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The video below speaks for itself...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwywPoYFPAWVzPB9Bp4zaxWZXT0BHWDEQDsxwr_fzq-xk63LDPaApHG1E_r-7y6lMJwcduIiv_RiFuxqDzsFQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-27545230158307664682009-02-03T01:03:00.000-08:002009-02-03T01:11:44.072-08:00MIKA - Lollipop<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Damn! I love everything about this. Props to Brian for turning me onto it.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sDLKmoOjrA8&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="400" height="325" ></embed><br /><a href="http://www.kovideo.net/music/video/Mika---Lollipop/2452.html" title="Lollipop video by Mika" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:10px; font-weight:normal;">Lollipop Video</a> <br /></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-40002216840748026712009-01-23T10:37:00.000-08:002009-02-10T10:39:39.795-08:00FOX News Fear Imbalance<div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Generally a president gets 100 days before they get their first report card on how they're doing, apparently FOX News thinks that 1 day is long enough.<br /></div><br /><style type="text/css">.cc_box a:hover .cc_home{background:url('http://www.comedycentral.com/comedycentral/video/assets/syndicated-logo-over.png') !important;}.cc_links a{color:#b9b9b9;text-decoration:none;}.cc_show a{color:#707070;text-decoration:none;}.cc_title a{color:#868686;text-decoration:none;}.cc_links a:hover{color:#67bee2;text-decoration:underline;}</style><div class="cc_box" style="position: relative;"><a href="http://www.comedycentral.com/" target="_blank" style="display: inline; float: left; width: 60px; height: 31px;"><div class="cc_home" style="border-style: solid; border-color: rgb(207, 207, 207); border-width: 1px 0px 0px 1px; background: transparent url(http://www.comedycentral.com/comedycentral/video/assets/syndicated-logo-out.png) repeat scroll 0% 0%; float: left; width: 60px; height: 31px; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"></div></a><div style="border-style: solid; border-color: rgb(207, 207, 207); border-width: 1px 1px 0px 0px; overflow: hidden; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,Verdana,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; font-size: 10px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; float: left; width: 299px; height: 31px; color: rgb(112, 112, 112);"><div class="cc_show" style="overflow: hidden; position: relative; background-color: rgb(229, 229, 229); padding-left: 3px; height: 14px; padding-top: 2px;"><a href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/" target="_blank">The Daily Show With Jon Stewart</a><span style="position: absolute; top: 2px; right: 3px;">M - Th 11p / 10c</span></div><div class="cc_title" style="padding: 1px 3px 3px; overflow: hidden; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(134, 134, 134); background-color: rgb(245, 245, 245); line-height: 14px; height: 21px;"><a href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=216561&title=fox-news-fear-imbalance" target="_blank">Fox News Fear Imbalance</a></div></div><embed style="float: left; clear: left;" src="http://media.mtvnservices.com/mgid:cms:item:comedycentral.com:216561" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="window" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" allownetworking="all" flashvars="autoPlay=false" bgcolor="#000000" height="301" width="360"></embed><div class="cc_links" style="border-style: none solid solid; border-color: -moz-use-text-color rgb(207, 207, 207) rgb(207, 207, 207); border-width: 0px 1px 1px; float: left; clear: left; width: 358px; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,Verdana,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 10px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; color: rgb(185, 185, 185); background-color: rgb(245, 245, 245);"><div style="width: 177px; float: left; padding-left: 3px;"><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=166515&title=Barack-Obama-Pt.-1">Barack Obama Interview</a><br /><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=167938&title=John-McCain-Pt.-1">John McCain Interview</a></div><div style="width: 177px; float: left;"><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?searchterm=Sarah+Palin&searchtype=site&x=0&y=0">Sarah Palin Video</a><br /><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?searchterm=indecision+2008&searchtype=site&x=0&y=0">Funny Election Video</a></div><div style="clear: both;"></div></div></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-38281668813720823182009-01-20T09:46:00.001-08:002009-01-20T18:27:09.066-08:00A Day of Hope<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRO4qdbZmxWuMQgp8Au2ka7Ch76vs7cW_mNXSsNsDIHz0Tf11w6N66rIpyUbJHT_rGwN9cvIT15nkLJAmmpVVpOwARF1LZU-2kVfCR9hfe18XSXEqPM6-rjL8ikQztAwmPubIsAZVy2w/s1600-h/Obama_speech.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRO4qdbZmxWuMQgp8Au2ka7Ch76vs7cW_mNXSsNsDIHz0Tf11w6N66rIpyUbJHT_rGwN9cvIT15nkLJAmmpVVpOwARF1LZU-2kVfCR9hfe18XSXEqPM6-rjL8ikQztAwmPubIsAZVy2w/s400/Obama_speech.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293433820886888098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">My fellow citizens, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.</span></div><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often, the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because We the People have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebearers, and true to our founding documents.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land -- a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.</p><div face="arial" style="text-align: justify;">Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America: They will be met.</div><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the fainthearted -- for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated, but more often men and women obscure in their labor -- who have carried us up the long, rugged path toward prosperity and freedom.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> Time and again, these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions -- that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act -- not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them -- that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works -- whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account -- to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day -- because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control -- and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart -- not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: Know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort -- even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West: Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment -- a moment that will define a generation -- it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> This is the price and the promise of citizenship.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> This is the source of our confidence -- the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed -- why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:</p><p style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> "Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive... that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."</p><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"> America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back, nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdgE_DrCc-3gwPMWe7DZrepw980rpbdDD3yBXPXWB8TMMjEYBMdGRjfwAAC9Q31NKSg-w4IPra0DTrYSyp-2jDMrGOHDYTOUpW6qVvWweERybtAbZBy8Rnl-zT7qc7_ViGUTa-n3UHbQ/s1600-h/Obama_cool.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 163px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdgE_DrCc-3gwPMWe7DZrepw980rpbdDD3yBXPXWB8TMMjEYBMdGRjfwAAC9Q31NKSg-w4IPra0DTrYSyp-2jDMrGOHDYTOUpW6qVvWweERybtAbZBy8Rnl-zT7qc7_ViGUTa-n3UHbQ/s400/Obama_cool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293567730989561282" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-56344312941461665012009-01-18T02:23:00.000-08:002009-01-18T02:34:22.413-08:00Vinyl Abominations!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">In the current age of digital music and the waning days of compact discs, something that I miss with recorded music is album art. Back when you purchased a good ol' vinyl record it included a nice big cardboard sleeve for you to look over that was filled with all kinds of good stuff. Today you don't get squat with a CD and with downloads there's no love for the extras. As a kid I remember spending hours looking over the fold-out album for Star Wars while listening to the soundtrack.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQuG0FFSHTn6vVQYIHYYwZYvHpLL4G87Rjz1OOz7o9doq1ea8BCrMNtTdLGawn0exRAnq2DP1auKpIMGUAjfUO0jE4lqcb456ky6xFutyRIPZVSTG_dTQQ5wBjk_mUa1uIbfl5xWrH6U/s1600-h/Star_Wars_front.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 397px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQuG0FFSHTn6vVQYIHYYwZYvHpLL4G87Rjz1OOz7o9doq1ea8BCrMNtTdLGawn0exRAnq2DP1auKpIMGUAjfUO0jE4lqcb456ky6xFutyRIPZVSTG_dTQQ5wBjk_mUa1uIbfl5xWrH6U/s400/Star_Wars_front.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292000611069558066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This was back when "Star Wars" was still "Star Wars"... <sigh> Notice there's<br />no "A New Hope" tacked onto this puppy, this is pure first generation!<br /></sigh></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />And on the inside the album had a buncha' awesome movie stills! Bonus!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbK9s0NFpTg58S5BNDUjkCXE1EbgWebK_HN8V-KASvRAk2qLMJBK1y3kg7A9-43bphYt8IlPVqKeQ4SIuEb-KIZeaZPaMA7zUv7jfrfNrLN6OfZrSftKp1THlUiHz7etc6ktR51nyBTTs/s1600-h/Star_Wars_inside.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbK9s0NFpTg58S5BNDUjkCXE1EbgWebK_HN8V-KASvRAk2qLMJBK1y3kg7A9-43bphYt8IlPVqKeQ4SIuEb-KIZeaZPaMA7zUv7jfrfNrLN6OfZrSftKp1THlUiHz7etc6ktR51nyBTTs/s400/Star_Wars_inside.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292000610648860194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Oooo, admit it, these images still get you worked up.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />There was even a Star Wars poster that came with the album! How cool was that?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxa1IkkqeklTjoJFfk4vYCh4TLd0gDWyTfUlP__fw9Nok2D6yspPBDvX82WjxDDnb7oL8ihLLA2rAFrqt4PkMiUuGaGtZpCgzKnIZMDCgYdden-8p8ELqmCH1w5lkv2nBrpou2whfgAFE/s1600-h/Star_Wars_poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxa1IkkqeklTjoJFfk4vYCh4TLd0gDWyTfUlP__fw9Nok2D6yspPBDvX82WjxDDnb7oL8ihLLA2rAFrqt4PkMiUuGaGtZpCgzKnIZMDCgYdden-8p8ELqmCH1w5lkv2nBrpou2whfgAFE/s400/Star_Wars_poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292000605516487794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Insert your own space battle SFX here.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />And the back cover had a great iconic image of the inimitable Mr. Vader... this was before we discovered what a whiny little bitch Anakin really is. Thank you George Lucas so much for ruining one of the all-time great cinema villains... but I digress.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSHEZJ1nfMgpVeSQkMO_Vu9BJWywgewS2sixzIBmc03EsV7JKNk4KcfsAQSsAwGHxTf0gJWUt-kMHEqLtqv_zl0P20fpZ7r6pZELXk2kEDWpRYKZvnJw6FIati7V_DBtH9m6i6ryCWH8/s1600-h/Star_Wars_back.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSHEZJ1nfMgpVeSQkMO_Vu9BJWywgewS2sixzIBmc03EsV7JKNk4KcfsAQSsAwGHxTf0gJWUt-kMHEqLtqv_zl0P20fpZ7r6pZELXk2kEDWpRYKZvnJw6FIati7V_DBtH9m6i6ryCWH8/s400/Star_Wars_back.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292000605025046770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Yipeeeee! I'm in space!</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Today you never get anything close to this experience with a CD or a music download. But as great as a lot of old record covers where--- there are millions more that are awful. Really retched ones. Cover concepts that are so bad they're hilarious, and the more unintentional their badness the better.<br /><br />Below are several album covers of distinction that I found at various secondhand stores, as well as on the Internet (a few that you've probably already seen). Either way, enjoy...<br /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHe8Heg__GGzlQjJBPgSRvairQMtcc7IXL0t7KixKEzQTyR2pQm_TZXSTfq7n8qZSZRjgNpt7Dl58i1zp0HJK2fiad9NIsSNJW3yARqIIekC6QsLVvTCy91X_oBdREAAmX1lQfO7UcqOc/s1600-h/YogiBear_Stooges.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHe8Heg__GGzlQjJBPgSRvairQMtcc7IXL0t7KixKEzQTyR2pQm_TZXSTfq7n8qZSZRjgNpt7Dl58i1zp0HJK2fiad9NIsSNJW3yARqIIekC6QsLVvTCy91X_oBdREAAmX1lQfO7UcqOc/s400/YogiBear_Stooges.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994643275965026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dick Chaney's post VP gig. He's clearly mad. It says so.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrUdhriYyNZwOO-gC4iK9kmPnINbJy8YFVjtv8lVD3xae6ITaBjv3nCcScOAay4WWMyfEuGYa0FpxP-B-u5A4bO5nBUxZoHFCdGPFqssLySYg68Gv59cTOwHTLd2H0JVWQqIlJTORhXA/s1600-h/Travesuras.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrUdhriYyNZwOO-gC4iK9kmPnINbJy8YFVjtv8lVD3xae6ITaBjv3nCcScOAay4WWMyfEuGYa0FpxP-B-u5A4bO5nBUxZoHFCdGPFqssLySYg68Gv59cTOwHTLd2H0JVWQqIlJTORhXA/s400/Travesuras.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994646520498978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I'm betting everyone makes this face when they hear this album.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I dunno what to make of the album below, I think the turban and feather says it all.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNaGfUD_TT_eQv6XRyC6DO3iThG1fwgzMg3mEuwjtfqj1gFKWmix_cBO6gF5Neeu6kVhyphenhyphen1ZVYSK08jUfH6r3l6bdlE15hhwq82s6yCk5MQr2UxTvF8gjLL0T4I_gAThJBh_OrW54GIsTw/s1600-h/Tony_Smith_Maharajah.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 395px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNaGfUD_TT_eQv6XRyC6DO3iThG1fwgzMg3mEuwjtfqj1gFKWmix_cBO6gF5Neeu6kVhyphenhyphen1ZVYSK08jUfH6r3l6bdlE15hhwq82s6yCk5MQr2UxTvF8gjLL0T4I_gAThJBh_OrW54GIsTw/s400/Tony_Smith_Maharajah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994424871461026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">The album below is great on so many levels.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvXXjaV378rOKC0Cu5_ERg7dnzP_QxnOTa54WI4Y4BHO1002ERWoWQSM1X63RtnoqpVfLglh_bVSMka7OKMP0FnUMCId6igD4YZMcGo9zmqux71ccHbNIjpUXCfD83wgS9mu6WQQZ3JM/s1600-h/Tijunana_Xmas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 389px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvXXjaV378rOKC0Cu5_ERg7dnzP_QxnOTa54WI4Y4BHO1002ERWoWQSM1X63RtnoqpVfLglh_bVSMka7OKMP0FnUMCId6igD4YZMcGo9zmqux71ccHbNIjpUXCfD83wgS9mu6WQQZ3JM/s400/Tijunana_Xmas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994424872946722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >¡Ay caramba! ¡Hay bolas en mi trompeta!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">If the group below was actually south of the border having a picnic and gorging themselves on chicken, they would be minutes from being robbed, raped, kidnapped and having their children stolen. Tijuana is no picnic. Just ask the Colonel, "Life Tastes Better with KFC"... just don't drink the water.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnvlU924n3fyhdcD5peqnQR-ReWs3sjDNKYLnDoPn_aX7WY649K7n6JXxNVW2oQhBuMohnBzBRirqVUoXdQb-1eQxbVuk9LBCi9h70YDVKxXzE5uqc7SltWdOe02V8xQuSxg8wLgVp1E/s1600-h/tijuana_picnic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnvlU924n3fyhdcD5peqnQR-ReWs3sjDNKYLnDoPn_aX7WY649K7n6JXxNVW2oQhBuMohnBzBRirqVUoXdQb-1eQxbVuk9LBCi9h70YDVKxXzE5uqc7SltWdOe02V8xQuSxg8wLgVp1E/s400/tijuana_picnic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994422894624882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >And when we're done, I'll save the bucket to poop in!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhMK0DYt4Cl7GbIlr1qIwQOkqow48Meq2aF2_BZA-yqQKxXi5hxY4LLVCvV3eGsF9ZWpTuL0GWOHwH9hQHl79FqZNegPZfghcEO-VUEeqsSu1YcMYB6ZtI5bZnsvDwtD9W_JGJ1Wvqvk/s1600-h/Ted_Weems.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhMK0DYt4Cl7GbIlr1qIwQOkqow48Meq2aF2_BZA-yqQKxXi5hxY4LLVCvV3eGsF9ZWpTuL0GWOHwH9hQHl79FqZNegPZfghcEO-VUEeqsSu1YcMYB6ZtI5bZnsvDwtD9W_JGJ1Wvqvk/s400/Ted_Weems.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994423740276994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Heartaches in Hi-Fi? Looks more like "Heartaches in hair loss".</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsmfmrmsxjz2H5E__2ftgnmGV4rUZF4TOeUjGXVo3Hwov5jvhyphenhyphenkI3s5NDwWlnEBZWL703DahxRzhd6fm2eAwetzy4ksT1N98m_1y5HjuB29YMKMZtNYvMgqyJOs3NKVXbgKVEBY1u8m0/s1600-h/Riot_Rumpus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsmfmrmsxjz2H5E__2ftgnmGV4rUZF4TOeUjGXVo3Hwov5jvhyphenhyphenkI3s5NDwWlnEBZWL703DahxRzhd6fm2eAwetzy4ksT1N98m_1y5HjuB29YMKMZtNYvMgqyJOs3NKVXbgKVEBY1u8m0/s400/Riot_Rumpus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994416069189122" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >What is happening here, a "who's the biggest ass contest"?<br />Is the guy in blue hitting on the guy in red?<br />And what exactly IS a rumpus room anyway?</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfCl5cUps2QhkIVTvA0G2_48396_2tQN3hSygx2yw9FfjykVUey1WpXhvxPu-8BoY02oKcfSFzfrRakJrHjR53N-UEPcn2vU8dowkNOb8jnnlQfvoV7BHO4f5Sqm7otjlU_qKx4NE6rY/s1600-h/Pinky&Perry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfCl5cUps2QhkIVTvA0G2_48396_2tQN3hSygx2yw9FfjykVUey1WpXhvxPu-8BoY02oKcfSFzfrRakJrHjR53N-UEPcn2vU8dowkNOb8jnnlQfvoV7BHO4f5Sqm7otjlU_qKx4NE6rY/s400/Pinky&Perry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994175233495586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Glad it says "outer space"...<br />I woulda' thought they were going deep-sea diving.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTHEAdRDlEfxT_3_bggb6ZwPZpAmJv87gBPizdKbpQ9m0fLVkcv9Mjqp35HpMQWDlJ-TRH5Y7o36t_ZNeckRkq0FTt5UZlgqqHtae7-B2Ad9gWsdbPrLHyAWzb_XyzZL-onBl8FETp-s/s1600-h/Palhaco.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTHEAdRDlEfxT_3_bggb6ZwPZpAmJv87gBPizdKbpQ9m0fLVkcv9Mjqp35HpMQWDlJ-TRH5Y7o36t_ZNeckRkq0FTt5UZlgqqHtae7-B2Ad9gWsdbPrLHyAWzb_XyzZL-onBl8FETp-s/s400/Palhaco.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994172051941362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >His lips are turning blue because he's suffocating... I hope.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I love the album cover below. It's got such a great kitschy Latino art style. I'm not entirely certain what "Los Ases Del Ritmo" means, but judging by where the guy has his eyes focused, I have a good idea.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihhqQGa3t81at1JEdS6MmftO2e-pl4RIKW6JFIrwY69nyyyVKmRSPXaNKYJZ4Xx53sExlgaKCBiJbIe4tPy-kUXcBBDlhZ19GLIFMgQWVkuJcM0t69W3ufpeVlQk8Lc-Npgcf1_l1iSE/s1600-h/Jalaito_Sabroson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihhqQGa3t81at1JEdS6MmftO2e-pl4RIKW6JFIrwY69nyyyVKmRSPXaNKYJZ4Xx53sExlgaKCBiJbIe4tPy-kUXcBBDlhZ19GLIFMgQWVkuJcM0t69W3ufpeVlQk8Lc-Npgcf1_l1iSE/s400/Jalaito_Sabroson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994168713105794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Es muy especial en espacio! Aye-yi-yi!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Famed actor, composer, artist, author, director, and great uncle of Drew Barrymore - Lionel Barrymore produced a Halloween record in 1947 that has some rather unsettling cover art.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzECMjXSkQPQMPwVmFY8Mkp66ISZwOLvF8CqQZ191WvGuG8ruX_ysIYHm7QgO2JF7zzUkMC9vd3KCCgGU9t-8fTAQj46AHYYwUoqOuy12fRhB2_of_LZqUVqB4ypB3Mo_RQtN-dTiAnfQ/s1600-h/Halloween_Barrymore.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzECMjXSkQPQMPwVmFY8Mkp66ISZwOLvF8CqQZ191WvGuG8ruX_ysIYHm7QgO2JF7zzUkMC9vd3KCCgGU9t-8fTAQj46AHYYwUoqOuy12fRhB2_of_LZqUVqB4ypB3Mo_RQtN-dTiAnfQ/s400/Halloween_Barrymore.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291994166755740674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Lookit me! I'm the head of the Halloween party!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And nothing can quite match the weirdness that comes from combining music, with fanatical Bible-Belt naiveté.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> Not to mention the silly hairdos--- as they say, "The higher the hair, the closer to God".</span> </div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAZf1FrZDcw0Vk9uYqtIRUsyGiET6jEunhOYXhLy7GKhq1p1fcvSlFaM79KO2Uw3ME3q5oXQYiy9votq2Wdjpmm_EUzGKIGZz6JDNoD_b5Ywh49WWv8DvN-qc6X-clRP__pWfAAebCNY/s1600-h/Guide_Me_Lord.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAZf1FrZDcw0Vk9uYqtIRUsyGiET6jEunhOYXhLy7GKhq1p1fcvSlFaM79KO2Uw3ME3q5oXQYiy9votq2Wdjpmm_EUzGKIGZz6JDNoD_b5Ywh49WWv8DvN-qc6X-clRP__pWfAAebCNY/s400/Guide_Me_Lord.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993909278580626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Guide me Lord... to a better beautician. Yeesh.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgvTmZw2RbypDYaD8Hz-TG-1vEJsDa_TJ6GCy7D0dxDdO-JeZFCyxi3NeJlFVqfrm1bnfBLRxn3VbJwL85Jcbpu61j-f2PiRAvyhs5GQkTTOMSHJwxz4fVQst-vw_ulDX0UW8MNpsjyE/s1600-h/Geraldine_Sings.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 394px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgvTmZw2RbypDYaD8Hz-TG-1vEJsDa_TJ6GCy7D0dxDdO-JeZFCyxi3NeJlFVqfrm1bnfBLRxn3VbJwL85Jcbpu61j-f2PiRAvyhs5GQkTTOMSHJwxz4fVQst-vw_ulDX0UW8MNpsjyE/s400/Geraldine_Sings.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993907887184946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I bet that no one actually requested that Geraldine sing anything.<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The cover below has been all over the Internet. I'm not entirely convinced that it's not a hoax or a spoof or something. The Faith Tones' "Jesus Use Me" has all the trappings of a really embarrassing Christian album, but these ladies seriously look like men in drag... a little too much.</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TY_97cddt1Xt1xsNKD-8HpV6rIZZ0Tvf7RMp8UIHbUjZXzs8zGv-emJcGgn838NfBGGhDN8Od8j0c5RXqJMyi3U0A582TGC4_es4EYm5q1OCgoGaOKseqAf_dXPh7jBJ4sfZbcXB77U/s1600-h/Faithtones.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TY_97cddt1Xt1xsNKD-8HpV6rIZZ0Tvf7RMp8UIHbUjZXzs8zGv-emJcGgn838NfBGGhDN8Od8j0c5RXqJMyi3U0A582TGC4_es4EYm5q1OCgoGaOKseqAf_dXPh7jBJ4sfZbcXB77U/s400/Faithtones.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993902994829618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Look at how they're dressed. They're just asking for it.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">George Otis apparently is not just a man of God, but a man of <span style="font-style: italic;">ACTION!</span> He's got a rocket ready and fueled to go straight up and visit God anytime he wants.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimOlLFcPhrCNUPgXxuLn3dCiRuH2mlbggajYlhtSDf7RE8zS3TGgF2Orar0TSybM3P252hnY56FjEM2vp4n3clTHwU6een1iy8BJJ_M22YSQZ0rcoYH2ZCw2iyaMdJhVga2GxtNKMJIQ/s1600-h/George_Otis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimOlLFcPhrCNUPgXxuLn3dCiRuH2mlbggajYlhtSDf7RE8zS3TGgF2Orar0TSybM3P252hnY56FjEM2vp4n3clTHwU6een1iy8BJJ_M22YSQZ0rcoYH2ZCw2iyaMdJhVga2GxtNKMJIQ/s400/George_Otis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993906453259874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Put on yer space-pants... next stop... Heaven!</span></div> <div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The album below just confirms everything I've ever suspected about the French.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP2vr0ir4exN2qAKqDT38ii-DcKzdlzd8hqAqPJxW3tO9IJvynlFT8YEhgtmEIt6YLTGi5egwKlylQnJHXBGI33jFksRHpgv-AKyUdLHJY4V1GD6TiTsdmF0g7FpXdN1nGZtiJKELXvI/s1600-h/Freres_Jacques.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 389px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP2vr0ir4exN2qAKqDT38ii-DcKzdlzd8hqAqPJxW3tO9IJvynlFT8YEhgtmEIt6YLTGi5egwKlylQnJHXBGI33jFksRHpgv-AKyUdLHJY4V1GD6TiTsdmF0g7FpXdN1nGZtiJKELXvI/s400/Freres_Jacques.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993903669034466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Who wants les Jiffy Pop?!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Then I came across a startlingly racist album cover... unless Mr. Bojangles' head below happens to be made of a giant Reese's Peanut Butter Cup... then in that case it's a whole lot of creamy, chocolaty deliciousness... and who could racist that? I mean, "resist".</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnmo9dTRGqz2sVd28TVhbOz30cpGLu7mDbiP__datkK7wju5TyLiLUdhej76Wf5nbxo1V141I1gwp5dOOvlyzOT2lrekSujDRPy79nbK32_5NEZqtrQSt8SzKZS2Mo88o4t2anRVsj-M/s1600-h/Debussy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 395px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnmo9dTRGqz2sVd28TVhbOz30cpGLu7mDbiP__datkK7wju5TyLiLUdhej76Wf5nbxo1V141I1gwp5dOOvlyzOT2lrekSujDRPy79nbK32_5NEZqtrQSt8SzKZS2Mo88o4t2anRVsj-M/s400/Debussy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993647784390658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Don't you be taken no bite outta' me, sucka'!</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">There's the closeted backwoods McDonald sisters with their hit album "I've Got Confidence"...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_DA48HH9_3z3dZAzucbOIgpLipbnYoTICOqrDeo8z2NqpxDn6sMEVnyZh1Df4IXiWgpy6mE8Opo1kJJANMrPIgh4Fa5XRgjunqOvFQM06kFOKGK2bJZoQI5Bm1unPufHvzdpe5PwhdY/s1600-h/Confidence.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_DA48HH9_3z3dZAzucbOIgpLipbnYoTICOqrDeo8z2NqpxDn6sMEVnyZh1Df4IXiWgpy6mE8Opo1kJJANMrPIgh4Fa5XRgjunqOvFQM06kFOKGK2bJZoQI5Bm1unPufHvzdpe5PwhdY/s400/Confidence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993645284293186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Ummmm, no you don't.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Chad Morgan below, looks like he'd be expert at pickin' that guitar with his teeth.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJT2gZsBHKRQxWp4-FPPG5l4Yva6l0X3-6f4HnkorxDvy5VbT2pBgelh9vUt4s9ygUVA9y9R5MfXEVaubv_XaE7wPAK73BwmfrUXGSMHihrdtwa4RBonCszL_cl9nbltG7_cIWpm7xsAM/s1600-h/Chad_Morgan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 396px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJT2gZsBHKRQxWp4-FPPG5l4Yva6l0X3-6f4HnkorxDvy5VbT2pBgelh9vUt4s9ygUVA9y9R5MfXEVaubv_XaE7wPAK73BwmfrUXGSMHihrdtwa4RBonCszL_cl9nbltG7_cIWpm7xsAM/s400/Chad_Morgan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993641991292274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Heck, I can gobble corn cobs faster than a tick can suck blood outta' a pig!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">"Building on the Rock" is more like biblical destruction by two of the four horseman, "come to destroy that which man hath built", who knew they'd come in the form of Miss Piggy and Cecil the sea serpent?</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWklT4ecJhGQmssKvhb0-BPsU4_9rYZSkShjfFLBs-iuZut2UtRWulgv2NDFGLdQL1bb9dgNpwfJipCzOuROVVHVd07bTn0PGkTsk_uhNn_2Z0decMSbc1RnjNe74PrxOjzZm-6xcpW98/s1600-h/Building.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWklT4ecJhGQmssKvhb0-BPsU4_9rYZSkShjfFLBs-iuZut2UtRWulgv2NDFGLdQL1bb9dgNpwfJipCzOuROVVHVd07bTn0PGkTsk_uhNn_2Z0decMSbc1RnjNe74PrxOjzZm-6xcpW98/s400/Building.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993225642688658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Repent, or we shall smite you with our puppity ways!<br /><br /></span> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And this little treasure below is one of the more minimalist, yet disturbing children's records I've seen - especially if you consider that the bear isn't wearing any pants</span>.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZsVpK99qfW6vpOJ7oMIy0Am-EIYTtzC_68MRMRYmPKyByKRtxK8o741KvIi_T9_n5gVig3DxuVtgAiMw6hBl7ivZlMURXjSeqPZEt0qAU72ziH-i3Xl98RxDY7UKy9xcsV-A1kCrcVU/s1600-h/Bonne_Nuit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 391px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZsVpK99qfW6vpOJ7oMIy0Am-EIYTtzC_68MRMRYmPKyByKRtxK8o741KvIi_T9_n5gVig3DxuVtgAiMw6hBl7ivZlMURXjSeqPZEt0qAU72ziH-i3Xl98RxDY7UKy9xcsV-A1kCrcVU/s400/Bonne_Nuit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993221261755362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Don't ever tell your parents what we do after bedtime or I'll eat your faces.</span> </div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">In case you've ever had trouble trying to BBQ meat just right, there's...</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQMmfQ1zxtDh4oH84Y3ofp-eBxBCQvVMjwp58HZGKGRm4rXbkIK996tgAEmSjbgbFkIHg3DP_A2cjlo0ha7CsY-ojjUCrVm5EAqtTLax3jHNFIg9r2ELvvqwOBHzOpaBcyNwSM00n2ug/s1600-h/BBQ_Music.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 394px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQMmfQ1zxtDh4oH84Y3ofp-eBxBCQvVMjwp58HZGKGRm4rXbkIK996tgAEmSjbgbFkIHg3DP_A2cjlo0ha7CsY-ojjUCrVm5EAqtTLax3jHNFIg9r2ELvvqwOBHzOpaBcyNwSM00n2ug/s400/BBQ_Music.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993215062674882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I'd say this is a "steak out", but that'd be corny.<br />Because you see there's steaks and corn and...<br />Aaaw shut up and get your own blog.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The album below is interesting because... don't the other kids realize that the boy on the slide is obviously a vampire?! Just look at them chompers!</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTydNKUxGCJQG7bTgxr_51gHACOTkhbRQiH1mVmAbb0UxKXrOb5rQcJfaeJLiZ50WJ9BdDnisBNCZhyphenhyphenspDTJoCvYuworCjsf5oaAX6HXRPkYWBV-ZHKhbXJiNWtydgLcYKEtQh83q1Zg/s1600-h/Ardillitas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 394px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTydNKUxGCJQG7bTgxr_51gHACOTkhbRQiH1mVmAbb0UxKXrOb5rQcJfaeJLiZ50WJ9BdDnisBNCZhyphenhyphenspDTJoCvYuworCjsf5oaAX6HXRPkYWBV-ZHKhbXJiNWtydgLcYKEtQh83q1Zg/s400/Ardillitas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993217110612370" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And finally, my all-time favorite... Why is the Mad Hatter's face ON his hat... why IS his face the hat? He's horrifying... he looks like a reject from Lidsville (see video at bottom of post). Neither Alice nor the March Hare seem to have a clue... and who goes to see an UNDERWATER review?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiqvd6by0WZxdhyphenhyphenY8WCMCSqGZifK-UUm3PIZo6NyoId7n-yBtCTaaUcmm3QYHJOJhURFMb4GcV8zNMxWsQqf6hIiGYNvZJurcuZSQlPJ6hC6B7fFHKlZy31rxiV8dMQnKwohoyDOAO3E/s1600-h/Alice_Waterland.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiqvd6by0WZxdhyphenhyphenY8WCMCSqGZifK-UUm3PIZo6NyoId7n-yBtCTaaUcmm3QYHJOJhURFMb4GcV8zNMxWsQqf6hIiGYNvZJurcuZSQlPJ6hC6B7fFHKlZy31rxiV8dMQnKwohoyDOAO3E/s400/Alice_Waterland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291993211808253634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Head... filling with water... expanding... glub-glub-glub!</span><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/btpd8zg5VWA&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/btpd8zg5VWA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-28467661591685888672009-01-13T16:48:00.000-08:002009-01-14T02:34:17.719-08:00The Agony Of Da' Teeth<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I dislike going to the dentist - who doesn't? (Well, my friend Rob, but he's weird.) I dunno if I'd say I <span style="font-weight: bold;">hate</span> going to the dentist, but it's pretty close to "hate"... right up there with other things I don't care for, like: banging my shin on the coffee table, getting a bad sunburn, discovering bug parts in my Chinese food, and waking up in Tijuana with only one kidney. But like death and taxidermy, the dentist is unavoidable... and today, my number was up.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PgsjJU4dhoMl3MzO6wE8reJKHyBhR2J9PooA-Jg6Qm-CA7lzxF8QSOx_pb_74pOePj15OA4HgaZ-FyNu1NugS3Pa5ZIFXnur7xq2VXMP2u08qx_H4fA-pi5l120q65eJTxh_S09Cr68/s1600-h/getting_numb_002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PgsjJU4dhoMl3MzO6wE8reJKHyBhR2J9PooA-Jg6Qm-CA7lzxF8QSOx_pb_74pOePj15OA4HgaZ-FyNu1NugS3Pa5ZIFXnur7xq2VXMP2u08qx_H4fA-pi5l120q65eJTxh_S09Cr68/s400/getting_numb_002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290946449235824354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Waiting for the doc to arrive.<br />In the meantime they gave me these "safety" glasses to wear...<br />um... what's about to happen?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">As I'm discovering, all my previous dental work was done wrong. Well, not </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >wrong</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> for 10 to 15 years ago, but wrong for today. Current methods of dentistry are different, so all the work I had done previously is being overhauled.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BVCFqFVF2L7Bnvm0m42xhwA7Vao7lgEjtNkh6Ygw-zlqioaqMFH1Z-E74-Cgs9PxC9UD9r9Z_Ht3uKAiHH8YhLRdT8J-dAnisuLjsMq6bYBwd3aHqXcOLFPMgpzhHbvLaYgCPQXydFk/s1600-h/gnathograph.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BVCFqFVF2L7Bnvm0m42xhwA7Vao7lgEjtNkh6Ygw-zlqioaqMFH1Z-E74-Cgs9PxC9UD9r9Z_Ht3uKAiHH8YhLRdT8J-dAnisuLjsMq6bYBwd3aHqXcOLFPMgpzhHbvLaYgCPQXydFk/s400/gnathograph.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290968926530977826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The Doozers set up their tiny scaffold and got right to work on Betty!<br /></span> </div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The metal fillings I was given way back when are just "not how it's done" these days - or so I'm told. As it turns out metal fillings are the worst way to fill teeth for a variety of reasons, but back in my youth, that wasn't the case. At least that's the current "sales pitch" the dental industry has in an effort to re-do all the work I've already had done.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8ro-deu-itLt-7tyvCH3U0WlcpzoAPW-Uj-GdfdsBDy6d8OWgvjIi065MKMUoAVvxls8ofw9XDajadIygOTWvLb5wwiK9FDH-QJgFxfmbbaNRFG3IXYv8DMm016r1Bd3UdTSYU_C6ow/s1600-h/gas_and_drill.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8ro-deu-itLt-7tyvCH3U0WlcpzoAPW-Uj-GdfdsBDy6d8OWgvjIi065MKMUoAVvxls8ofw9XDajadIygOTWvLb5wwiK9FDH-QJgFxfmbbaNRFG3IXYv8DMm016r1Bd3UdTSYU_C6ow/s400/gas_and_drill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291000048888762482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >There's always something new!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, I've had all my old fillings replaced with new porcelain fillings, however there are now newer NEW epoxies and resins that have replace the old porcelain...<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFimEeMU0sZo8HN1X8pp8MMJDiAuu-WH7B541nHCS9ABqSiSqJYNDhbpES_ib7FpU9h4-JRGnV9fAayFnx6vSorTBwdoMwCPRJonl5wL-X8qcQOOl7WrRSiGpSGCUIhhBE6lQ4Nc-8V4/s1600-h/Lab.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFimEeMU0sZo8HN1X8pp8MMJDiAuu-WH7B541nHCS9ABqSiSqJYNDhbpES_ib7FpU9h4-JRGnV9fAayFnx6vSorTBwdoMwCPRJonl5wL-X8qcQOOl7WrRSiGpSGCUIhhBE6lQ4Nc-8V4/s400/Lab.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291034696864307218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">It's all new, I swear...</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />But over the years with all the drilling and the damage caused by the old metal fillings several of my teeth have needed crowns... and that's what I'm here for today. An old porcelain filling has to go, the tooth has to be ground down, and I'll be getting a crown in its place.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNx7a2MKpT6l_JJm0UXGNvq2cx10Xk3ob4q7t29xhyphenhyphentOVAo4d-2NIklCSDRHYEh3e3-85YeE_QyLlpDTMkWNhtvCv1bukosqAYM_XMdkFbNco5RK3pAEkGjm4eCTM_gMU1153kAzqq-Q/s1600-h/the_crown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNx7a2MKpT6l_JJm0UXGNvq2cx10Xk3ob4q7t29xhyphenhyphentOVAo4d-2NIklCSDRHYEh3e3-85YeE_QyLlpDTMkWNhtvCv1bukosqAYM_XMdkFbNco5RK3pAEkGjm4eCTM_gMU1153kAzqq-Q/s400/the_crown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291034698075694002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >It's good to be the king.</span> </div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Not that type of crown, this:</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v5HakrTWijIjjaWmXfD9aFxaFH2m9axliuSfqjFf5AWEEd-Q3UpMKuAIFBx5i2R2oR72nqyT0_F2ROS5FuNaxwiBax2OKjnB-BEfyREv5qUFlV4iGOlB-bYfrHthzdEezmKx-jXYVLo/s1600-h/crowns.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v5HakrTWijIjjaWmXfD9aFxaFH2m9axliuSfqjFf5AWEEd-Q3UpMKuAIFBx5i2R2oR72nqyT0_F2ROS5FuNaxwiBax2OKjnB-BEfyREv5qUFlV4iGOlB-bYfrHthzdEezmKx-jXYVLo/s400/crowns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291041299116355570" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >So it's true, the molar caps are melting!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh joy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm sure in another 5 to 10 years what the dental community today considers "the right approach" will be vilified as archaic. So the work I'm about to have done no doubt will land me right back in this chair.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> It's an on-going cycle, requiring a "treatment plan" or "program" that seems never-ending. Everyone I know seems to have the same issues with their dentist. Must be the business model they teach in dental school.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBs7PSY9ZyV0_PknaHRp0DZcgtXceMjzKbZJQN7Ljd1BFRChFbUAv7dxZ4HCQRtQnFD7CrY0pa4q5fbZXfwPPWD1rGWrQRvpxDrI4r0qmXEOMA5yrcNeQnNDggVIt4ulKhei__wEW9i4/s1600-h/dental_school.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 144px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBs7PSY9ZyV0_PknaHRp0DZcgtXceMjzKbZJQN7Ljd1BFRChFbUAv7dxZ4HCQRtQnFD7CrY0pa4q5fbZXfwPPWD1rGWrQRvpxDrI4r0qmXEOMA5yrcNeQnNDggVIt4ulKhei__wEW9i4/s400/dental_school.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291008116691161362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Thar's gold in them thar pearlies! Keep drillin'!</span> </div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Thinking all this over as I wait for the doctor, I decide I'm not going to stand for it! Just wait until that dentist gets here, I'm gonna give Dr. Drills-a-Lot a piece of my mind... enough is enough!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzhmOcnS5ukVxxgwaB7BZEmKpkK67TeHN9oQG-lDYNYcstyDrKrQEVmvwRh8V9AIhrZhBT1pvImvu0kcdCHV8VZCwXEt-XuDnD624-O_HMw4SFqGIFSDZ5CjEVC6XsPgkoS-GlWvDOMk/s1600-h/network1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzhmOcnS5ukVxxgwaB7BZEmKpkK67TeHN9oQG-lDYNYcstyDrKrQEVmvwRh8V9AIhrZhBT1pvImvu0kcdCHV8VZCwXEt-XuDnD624-O_HMw4SFqGIFSDZ5CjEVC6XsPgkoS-GlWvDOMk/s400/network1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291001487612936466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I'm as mad as hell and I'm not gonna... hold on... where'r my uppers?!</span> </div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Despite my best efforts to really "give it to" my dentist, I found him to be disarming, totally open to discuss my concerns and willing to take the time to talk me through what and why I needed the work done today... he even showed me an x-ray of the afflicted bicuspid.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK61yxsi1ZLoLtwWdEFLxxm6tAp3FN3QX4fHvx04DKE__PYyag0ZZBfigp9VWAX8Li449RaTTYjlVVWPeSmW4BGW2StW2wgPpFTwcS7Ze4NY0xVx3sqVAP9_zG1in2FSkf1L8w0Ige55o/s1600-h/x_ray.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 156px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK61yxsi1ZLoLtwWdEFLxxm6tAp3FN3QX4fHvx04DKE__PYyag0ZZBfigp9VWAX8Li449RaTTYjlVVWPeSmW4BGW2StW2wgPpFTwcS7Ze4NY0xVx3sqVAP9_zG1in2FSkf1L8w0Ige55o/s400/x_ray.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290946315049337266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Looks like NASA satellite footage of topsoil runoff in Louisiana to me.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">My lack of a DDS diploma put me at a disadvantage so I ended up nodding like a bobble head and grunting in agreement doing my best to sound intelligent... and failing.<br /><br />I was doomed from the start. But, it all seemed to make some sense... so they got me numb with a good ol' shot of Novocaine, right in the gums.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBos9ntMAHCW-0vZJUf5v2pbQsWzhK0wxK6smXLE1gGP5qjMHH5q7FmAY_lbdQqx61rOhC8xGvu5ohCie1yj6X_5Gr198PI1uIbSlP0dDnLO9GNJEceOslv_HsPHHTVWkqNflHb-wJ3w/s1600-h/getting_numb_003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 176px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBos9ntMAHCW-0vZJUf5v2pbQsWzhK0wxK6smXLE1gGP5qjMHH5q7FmAY_lbdQqx61rOhC8xGvu5ohCie1yj6X_5Gr198PI1uIbSlP0dDnLO9GNJEceOslv_HsPHHTVWkqNflHb-wJ3w/s400/getting_numb_003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290959579422461202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Getting uncomfortably numb...</span><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And so it began... there was all the prep... the suction... the spit cup.... the sprayers..</span>.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvx5oaQdusx8cydwwDoa3WGibaO73BTwm79mSsaxrbDjefVC0KepSXyT5ePhYTN2HdkLtlEDHnjSGEIfv8zyPuP8wh0NfZ3V5FaD1hj3S0okNK7l_QMxkjEJkMG4zXqYUyJejAV5TddAY/s1600-h/rinse_n_spit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvx5oaQdusx8cydwwDoa3WGibaO73BTwm79mSsaxrbDjefVC0KepSXyT5ePhYTN2HdkLtlEDHnjSGEIfv8zyPuP8wh0NfZ3V5FaD1hj3S0okNK7l_QMxkjEJkMG4zXqYUyJejAV5TddAY/s400/rinse_n_spit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290946048535608738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Looks like some sort of astronaut's bathroom.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">...the epoxy guns filled with mysterious substances... overlooked by the zombie-like stare from a nearby flier for oral cancer screening...</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZshnzqey2Hma8RC8XkGZAvjnQxCvj4daurxxfZy8-FZznuZuGEqTyFGjdkkzLzPDeoi0G3dJ6LsJ6vuYY5mO2SAssEMZ8nJjQuR3Z94gNxUkLmkpDeG4T2RM4RjcylrkHOq_E-afUDU/s1600-h/goo_guns.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 156px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZshnzqey2Hma8RC8XkGZAvjnQxCvj4daurxxfZy8-FZznuZuGEqTyFGjdkkzLzPDeoi0G3dJ6LsJ6vuYY5mO2SAssEMZ8nJjQuR3Z94gNxUkLmkpDeG4T2RM4RjcylrkHOq_E-afUDU/s400/goo_guns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290945982172423074" border="0" /></a> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">...the instruments that in moments would be tearing at my flesh...</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLlNUHt6SHMHRMHGKJnRZJT3ROSYvBxuQnfdZPjkZAOoD19gbdQhSj3-yfDiLWzg-P-Ya3ONCfa0DtXq_sqcRd-GNTTRW0O_-TQNwi2cfnaray6uwwoyI_dvTQVSC5YXsR-bjxuvlHJ2w/s1600-h/tools_001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLlNUHt6SHMHRMHGKJnRZJT3ROSYvBxuQnfdZPjkZAOoD19gbdQhSj3-yfDiLWzg-P-Ya3ONCfa0DtXq_sqcRd-GNTTRW0O_-TQNwi2cfnaray6uwwoyI_dvTQVSC5YXsR-bjxuvlHJ2w/s400/tools_001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290945831457626242" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And then... the DRILLING!</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFVk_CpN9gnj2gCEjhJmaSDPgDZYN9ePLOjzYb0R4lx3efkbtGmnPNQbCSwbDRMnKtJ9o1vUd61zMgkSZeDafAD-tP9RRu0Jli2WHUl_ip3QITPU2oFRPFFDXv-1K1NxNxJm_Di62UE0/s1600-h/drilling2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFVk_CpN9gnj2gCEjhJmaSDPgDZYN9ePLOjzYb0R4lx3efkbtGmnPNQbCSwbDRMnKtJ9o1vUd61zMgkSZeDafAD-tP9RRu0Jli2WHUl_ip3QITPU2oFRPFFDXv-1K1NxNxJm_Di62UE0/s400/drilling2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290953583189023042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >YAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The drilling didn't take too long. Once it was over, I was subjected to a series of impressions of my teeth in order to have the crown custom made.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NZX-GobzaVep_xaUSWIRIieUHOFN6iOCFdiS66eHVL9IX1ClYwXZ5v98Q1uyK5AlffD9Ub_2y-DHKGflkPeQ6on5XJgKhyULZak8g1J1b6eGbFDYWvnby8PzafDD3HPd9T76rJa1lZU/s1600-h/impressions.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NZX-GobzaVep_xaUSWIRIieUHOFN6iOCFdiS66eHVL9IX1ClYwXZ5v98Q1uyK5AlffD9Ub_2y-DHKGflkPeQ6on5XJgKhyULZak8g1J1b6eGbFDYWvnby8PzafDD3HPd9T76rJa1lZU/s400/impressions.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290946136693408578" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mthr...frkin...sn...o..btch...</span> </div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The ordeal was over fairly quickly, the bad stuff anyway. It was the taking of impressions and the shaping of the temporary crown that took the longest.<br /><br />Now I have to be careful and try to only chew on the right side of my mouth until I return in three weeks to have the real crown put into place.. and I just can't wait.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguL29gunTpM5kIW6eYQ-eSIbNlPX2IcnUAPZc3Z-bkY7uGE6iJ9kRmuE1y4oj00stjVXf73B-TWxPEb3wn2nCWeVzdIid3IY2X5Rx5B3dppgPx_n126VknmKr46eryX2hEuAFPEwsCndc/s1600-h/not_happy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguL29gunTpM5kIW6eYQ-eSIbNlPX2IcnUAPZc3Z-bkY7uGE6iJ9kRmuE1y4oj00stjVXf73B-TWxPEb3wn2nCWeVzdIid3IY2X5Rx5B3dppgPx_n126VknmKr46eryX2hEuAFPEwsCndc/s400/not_happy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290945608888917122" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-21592011753723130642009-01-12T22:27:00.000-08:002009-01-12T23:03:54.384-08:001938 Sexist Disney Rejection Letter<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">This has been all over the internet the past few days - so given my long history working for Disney and that my wife is a development executive at Disney it seemed almost an obligation that I should post it here. </span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0TcGjeRj9z0D3tF38Swt0zTpZbm8kR-RYXnixXdLN48zXJnjM9gSmXBuoYtFDxG_yfi1bmtQJ5_V1Mv5Hcmc9gbLE-xJGmhhecsZO9St_naIAl9dko3tU-ETnXkp41I5wzZyi2aeB28/s1600-h/Disney+Rejection+Letter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0TcGjeRj9z0D3tF38Swt0zTpZbm8kR-RYXnixXdLN48zXJnjM9gSmXBuoYtFDxG_yfi1bmtQJ5_V1Mv5Hcmc9gbLE-xJGmhhecsZO9St_naIAl9dko3tU-ETnXkp41I5wzZyi2aeB28/s400/Disney+Rejection+Letter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290661600866067890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm fairly certain that this letter is authentic--- however, even if it's not, the substance of it is. Back in Disney's Golden Era of animation Disney had only men as animators, the women were relegated to inking and painting the animation cels. And look at this stationary! Man, it's frickin' gorgeous!<br /><br /></span> <a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj11g2qo0O161GCD2fKN0jqn9VnAPgWkz4oi4RYl663EUakYNa2vPzmcmF4o8azVFL1alf6ZbepzTSDf-HSbk3tIW3WVUcln6tdSu9ZEcQ24JWbOx1tl__KwIiPIiwjh_CRtvLTnNEdIw/s1600-h/Witch.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj11g2qo0O161GCD2fKN0jqn9VnAPgWkz4oi4RYl663EUakYNa2vPzmcmF4o8azVFL1alf6ZbepzTSDf-HSbk3tIW3WVUcln6tdSu9ZEcQ24JWbOx1tl__KwIiPIiwjh_CRtvLTnNEdIw/s400/Witch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290661753811604674" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I did a little online research attempting to track down the source for the letter and whether or not it was genuine. <a href="http://snopes.com/" target="_blank">Snopes.com</a> (<span style="font-style: italic;">The Internet reference source for urban legends, folklore, myths, rumors, and misinformation</span>) has no entry for it, however there is a <a href="http://message.snopes.com/showthread.php?t=11348" target="_blank">discussion page</a> for it and a link to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/polaroid/632255233/?edited=1" target="_blank">flickr</a><a> where the letter is posted with the following explanation:</a></span><a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></a></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><a><br /></a></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a><span style="font-family: times new roman;">"This letter originally belonged to my grandmother. After she passed away we discovered it and were surprised at how well it was preserved for being nearly 70 years old. The letter speaks for itself and it's remarkable to note how times have changed since then."</span><br /></a></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-31704321666938847592009-01-09T00:50:00.000-08:002009-01-12T00:36:04.708-08:00Ho Ho Ho Ho My God!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJX9ou67-cQjXA7L3HxaMFPXeKhWDktls706XiTwcQk_hrbZCrKtxhmcxgMG2ZtKzayDUFflhsw404vRtXUhLkpIqyguUe5vqQjrKwzTwEZ4cJg655DrX63NO-USb2UMLq6nuVX5k7MXA/s1600-h/SantaJesus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 383px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJX9ou67-cQjXA7L3HxaMFPXeKhWDktls706XiTwcQk_hrbZCrKtxhmcxgMG2ZtKzayDUFflhsw404vRtXUhLkpIqyguUe5vqQjrKwzTwEZ4cJg655DrX63NO-USb2UMLq6nuVX5k7MXA/s400/SantaJesus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473970044429826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >It's Santa Christ!</span> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Okay, I know it's a little late for all these Christmas posts, but this is the last one. I was just too busy in December to get to them.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">After Christmas comes all the Christmas sales and there's a lot of crap that retailers attempt to unload on consumers during the post-holiday shopping frenzy, particularly holiday items.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> I'm not certain how to reconcile the figurine below, it's sort of like Microsoft and Apple teaming up or two rival quarterbacks meeting... and what's the deal with Santa's glasses? Why are they such a prominent part of this figurine? Was Santa suddenly struck blind by the sheer awe of seeing of baby Jesus? Or maybe Santa's taking them off because he's about to give baby J a good backhand smack.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6zcPAd9l3EDJ53f89Spo6CFeCzOWB-EB57Q6PlhwKuA6d-RtvzufBfk7i2A-vdWFLDOXa6Uyn65Tom16_4FSHnj33yYQKgdzWhlsyrMw8FBP_uZBQUohjLUCtCstuxoUXYfqBtxCQGY/s1600-h/father-christmas-st-nick12.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6zcPAd9l3EDJ53f89Spo6CFeCzOWB-EB57Q6PlhwKuA6d-RtvzufBfk7i2A-vdWFLDOXa6Uyn65Tom16_4FSHnj33yYQKgdzWhlsyrMw8FBP_uZBQUohjLUCtCstuxoUXYfqBtxCQGY/s400/father-christmas-st-nick12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473915961022706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >So... any chance of us working together in the future?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Even now, a little over <span style="font-weight: bold;">two weeks </span>past Christmas, people in my neighborhood still have their Christmas lights up. Not that I care all that much, but c'mon...</span><br /></div> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbu_IUy8QaMzm3IXy1sAGNwnIV8OF0TczGE-5SRNI3AFDMo5yRwNlDb_3m2KOspiDTars054IXu44Qtab0HQMpOZzi8vL_eIgv-CyVxZ74uwbU07ggJxPTqqCYzcLPGLIuAiXlaLms64/s1600-h/Tacky-Lights-19.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbu_IUy8QaMzm3IXy1sAGNwnIV8OF0TczGE-5SRNI3AFDMo5yRwNlDb_3m2KOspiDTars054IXu44Qtab0HQMpOZzi8vL_eIgv-CyVxZ74uwbU07ggJxPTqqCYzcLPGLIuAiXlaLms64/s400/Tacky-Lights-19.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472522535313938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >It's all part of my home security system-- intruders get electrocuted!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I did run across this unique lighted Pacman-themed "Christmas Tree" in Madrid which is really cool.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQJTZeDfkHbqlCpQtDx4cV2M3gDuLtaQNUpl8aeeRr8ZdF6VM2-ME_EjGFjxhouZBIA4Lv4YRTTze9XBSygfeMtotuXLgitgOyYE6_i1l8eId8WAbcLYdYPasazlh79cMgb4trrCI8FU/s1600-h/PacMan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQJTZeDfkHbqlCpQtDx4cV2M3gDuLtaQNUpl8aeeRr8ZdF6VM2-ME_EjGFjxhouZBIA4Lv4YRTTze9XBSygfeMtotuXLgitgOyYE6_i1l8eId8WAbcLYdYPasazlh79cMgb4trrCI8FU/s400/PacMan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472949631711602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9j22cnSfE4U&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9j22cnSfE4U&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">As I said, there's a lotta Christmas crap that's left on the shelves after the holiday... a lot of it is utterly inexplicable, like the ornament below. It's some sort of fish... fireman... thing. A fire-fish merman? I discovered a number of these "merman" themed ornaments, I think they have some sort of gay-pride relevance, but I have no idea how mer-folk figure into it all. I may not want to know.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBqUpQZNqsnp2DohH-5_zNcBb0ByUyV-Qaq7Dij2gtr1VxB0hfsAB2-JqFKbmlWZ-rDfvv15YvfHOLY7B-pBVDISVUnJuJvhnyblHGhh29-cpgFRIZEmLXxz_c_qUPNAvNWMtzdVoqY4/s1600-h/blaze-merman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBqUpQZNqsnp2DohH-5_zNcBb0ByUyV-Qaq7Dij2gtr1VxB0hfsAB2-JqFKbmlWZ-rDfvv15YvfHOLY7B-pBVDISVUnJuJvhnyblHGhh29-cpgFRIZEmLXxz_c_qUPNAvNWMtzdVoqY4/s400/blaze-merman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473831921007922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >(Insert your own "hose comment" here.)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Clowns creep me out, but I'm not surprised to see that there are clown ornaments out there, however this one looks not only sad, but dead. At least the clown hearse can fit a lot of dead clowns into it.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nW_exZM2uuRkTje5Wz01EBenotq3aEV3vR7lf_eJMS1aSYvyCt_WOBsrORXp23OJwLUS_VSpg6q3yjIBEMSIpT3bai3VPSEUw9_R0C0TDqXuPRTiWvf1LGeHAQ4RTviEAMs2KzcbBZM/s1600-h/clown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nW_exZM2uuRkTje5Wz01EBenotq3aEV3vR7lf_eJMS1aSYvyCt_WOBsrORXp23OJwLUS_VSpg6q3yjIBEMSIpT3bai3VPSEUw9_R0C0TDqXuPRTiWvf1LGeHAQ4RTviEAMs2KzcbBZM/s400/clown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473772044785714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mr. Snickers just snickered his last.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The ornament below I found online and if I thought Emily would let me buy one and hang it on our Christmas tree I would... it's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cthulhu" target="_blank">Cthulhu</a> Claus!</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3EQB5Uefm_lNV3aV_4cMltKBFt7Jrm_eq2I56f8-IEX70Z6Qnh8itcodCuGjbg46iH1amL_4Lv07OVluQMinwPNkTN95S5MN869MT1XMWgxXt3nZpmANvAJXn_wNwwDieiVXYO9u1BI/s1600-h/Cthulhu_Claus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3EQB5Uefm_lNV3aV_4cMltKBFt7Jrm_eq2I56f8-IEX70Z6Qnh8itcodCuGjbg46iH1amL_4Lv07OVluQMinwPNkTN95S5MN869MT1XMWgxXt3nZpmANvAJXn_wNwwDieiVXYO9u1BI/s400/Cthulhu_Claus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473694386769154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I may be a shambling horror trapped in eternal slumber<br />waiting to awake and devour your souls, but that doesn't<br />mean I don't want some eggnog and cookies too!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't know which is worse - Darth Vader building a Death Star out of snow, or that it looks like he's humping it.</span><br /></div><br /></div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKTTZ1i6UHxfOIsIOUMvBcpk32Sd3tY2uG5lJMJX-8F-NbXdquLhuo0_9RyPmirOFd5_QZ5e7aX4y6fwnqXaZFFZu6XDxpR5Mk9v5MdHah_2G0PsmyS6r0j1Gy59NP2W6yYkHWUd3Qko/s1600-h/darth-snow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 388px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKTTZ1i6UHxfOIsIOUMvBcpk32Sd3tY2uG5lJMJX-8F-NbXdquLhuo0_9RyPmirOFd5_QZ5e7aX4y6fwnqXaZFFZu6XDxpR5Mk9v5MdHah_2G0PsmyS6r0j1Gy59NP2W6yYkHWUd3Qko/s400/darth-snow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473605132647842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Who's your Father... That's right--- I... am your father.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9Zb9bI5HFsmP88bxu0Ylfeyc-OnFgWWFR-zbq-JPljJsHJzKVW43sThqEBLxTz-f3_3L4Xall5LdL2FZeM1uQPVgRgW7L7BUG6rrKVPVxPP2euC7j1OLGGiwgL_ymYTPIos_YL958Oc/s1600-h/devil_ornament.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9Zb9bI5HFsmP88bxu0Ylfeyc-OnFgWWFR-zbq-JPljJsHJzKVW43sThqEBLxTz-f3_3L4Xall5LdL2FZeM1uQPVgRgW7L7BUG6rrKVPVxPP2euC7j1OLGGiwgL_ymYTPIos_YL958Oc/s400/devil_ornament.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473550219747762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Satan... Santa... easy to get confused.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">And what Christmas Tree isn't complete without Dracula?<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2jpC56wRehyphenhyphenfg6AKvdAmZZvZmJ5p-aU6cPnkCHwS5BKdDFlbmU9h3OqrD2YyCZbLaeRd7u0WMh1l4xFNAl4Fdt8CjImsWMLPQKBJf3eWxB-dRSHAEOtDoZF6aY5jpvZgzvTkWqcbOEQ/s1600-h/Dracula_e039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2jpC56wRehyphenhyphenfg6AKvdAmZZvZmJ5p-aU6cPnkCHwS5BKdDFlbmU9h3OqrD2YyCZbLaeRd7u0WMh1l4xFNAl4Fdt8CjImsWMLPQKBJf3eWxB-dRSHAEOtDoZF6aY5jpvZgzvTkWqcbOEQ/s400/Dracula_e039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473484897415074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I love to hang out 'neath the mistletoe.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't know what the hell this little troll/elf ornament is holding. Either he's part of Santa's ground crew helping with sleigh landings at the North Pole, or he's holding some sort of sex toys the elves stockpile during the long winter months.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj027GRLUcbIEimCUOfjHN-Hu1FzAlfi5f3lFPMs-CXmT7bVLv6ZItpPWTyjry30LA3nm2Bi2yy6zSssfQ5ljZ6xNXxMqsq5afZdayJtrRntyxADMiyhfWx85z7w39u0bMYVYSen_2o1NE/s1600-h/Evil-elf-close-up.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj027GRLUcbIEimCUOfjHN-Hu1FzAlfi5f3lFPMs-CXmT7bVLv6ZItpPWTyjry30LA3nm2Bi2yy6zSssfQ5ljZ6xNXxMqsq5afZdayJtrRntyxADMiyhfWx85z7w39u0bMYVYSen_2o1NE/s400/Evil-elf-close-up.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473410844033682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I'm here to tickle yer sugarplums.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Here's probably my favorite Christmas Ornament for this year. Not fancy, but gets the point across.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJhFUGFpZquAUYQSVU5ZwNDMUhcXZjQ7V2oq7ghgq98OwZjOiRl9N1_Rw6urgCvOePNDuVJuOwe-jbd9txPpPWE-THt6rAaKDEeBw0VECRMw0IkMd4EgORxhdhxukRfFFk6756hLlov2w/s1600-h/george_w_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJhFUGFpZquAUYQSVU5ZwNDMUhcXZjQ7V2oq7ghgq98OwZjOiRl9N1_Rw6urgCvOePNDuVJuOwe-jbd9txPpPWE-THt6rAaKDEeBw0VECRMw0IkMd4EgORxhdhxukRfFFk6756hLlov2w/s400/george_w_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473329214275010" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">And then there's the inevitable show-biz marketing ornaments. Does the world really need to add Hannah Montana and The Hulk to the Christmas tradition? Um, I gonna say "no".<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZHDtxpWL6K1q1KuRBpc3qUHVl6JHhfiC0TD99BwSJyLjjk9hFjnjZDrtsCyl22a07JuE7uupWtkVvWilkOoJyEsGfrd4S9lVnn2s1pyLhToOwoMUmiNfoaqFcPqZ3MArt0gvobYKhNvk/s1600-h/Hannah_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZHDtxpWL6K1q1KuRBpc3qUHVl6JHhfiC0TD99BwSJyLjjk9hFjnjZDrtsCyl22a07JuE7uupWtkVvWilkOoJyEsGfrd4S9lVnn2s1pyLhToOwoMUmiNfoaqFcPqZ3MArt0gvobYKhNvk/s400/Hannah_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473268219483810" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7YKbDrruDBSUIPQ__D4UjAJC3qgJQ9ScppY3x3KtaEJRCEYHiflBw6QdUIWvRDtps65c_9HKmudHiaPnPVInnDX1I3_ockx10JVdKon79Ugtbj2cRUlQBJsR-6kq13Qhff1SnBsza-A/s1600-h/Hulk_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7YKbDrruDBSUIPQ__D4UjAJC3qgJQ9ScppY3x3KtaEJRCEYHiflBw6QdUIWvRDtps65c_9HKmudHiaPnPVInnDX1I3_ockx10JVdKon79Ugtbj2cRUlQBJsR-6kq13Qhff1SnBsza-A/s400/Hulk_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473139145688626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hulk smash, Christmas!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I came across the ornament below. At first I couldn't figure out what it was... a robot?... no... an octopus?... no... After closer inspection, and noticing the words "Hollywood" and "Los Angeles" did I realize that it was supposed to be a camera with movie film flowing around it. Ugh.</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLTGxtLQP4gHwsl5kaR9caoo2itzZOVSIcPqrnqzGnIFzYrJm0WmK4rbDILT8oMVa3JxlsDjQ51OfxSy5GsZlZ1gEdiaIqDkUXIkmiWkSek0GKqSYxiHDqZuPQBiByx5qnROGhu1dXCuY/s1600-h/Hollywood.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 389px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLTGxtLQP4gHwsl5kaR9caoo2itzZOVSIcPqrnqzGnIFzYrJm0WmK4rbDILT8oMVa3JxlsDjQ51OfxSy5GsZlZ1gEdiaIqDkUXIkmiWkSek0GKqSYxiHDqZuPQBiByx5qnROGhu1dXCuY/s400/Hollywood.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473199640649186" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvz8Kt2ZzOoENSOQ8RWmTBF5rjd43_QhL4eYSe2LuuhhSHgHKRkhK_LnrqMNXMi3DJhXSFdZgSjHQEks66S7_iXxb2J0DNSoVhJI214SuhR6maBax-C3HcLztNAtJGwONXWelD7-PMUc/s1600-h/xmas_chicken.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvz8Kt2ZzOoENSOQ8RWmTBF5rjd43_QhL4eYSe2LuuhhSHgHKRkhK_LnrqMNXMi3DJhXSFdZgSjHQEks66S7_iXxb2J0DNSoVhJI214SuhR6maBax-C3HcLztNAtJGwONXWelD7-PMUc/s400/xmas_chicken.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472277400025506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Nothing says Christmas like a lynched chicken.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">There are also plenty of oddly created "treats" that are sold around the holidays.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZfwGKxCEIWpgvfff5_sTATjiE9bI-UWXZy9IY6A5LvbKzKQJAP1ju5acg0aXEOXGUTCusZtOj6SnNA_0VFWXB898T8kZvP0G4wFsAi9oXNe8UyQevRzixPMNeXq5zexQH4XLRhhWYgc/s1600-h/peeps.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZfwGKxCEIWpgvfff5_sTATjiE9bI-UWXZy9IY6A5LvbKzKQJAP1ju5acg0aXEOXGUTCusZtOj6SnNA_0VFWXB898T8kZvP0G4wFsAi9oXNe8UyQevRzixPMNeXq5zexQH4XLRhhWYgc/s400/peeps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472884953309906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Peeps - Peppermint - Marshmallow - Stars... Mmm, sounds barfalicious.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtx30bZkkoLA3HexWJjYJkzfSj8hswCa-pF4L69kJ9ljCNdYYFzQWV4exE3LNFVBzIawUpF5rD5HqaP1ravb5xY5hBa7tq8nzCIVgsGBQOqR79u4q1sSt1AY-1fWEljLfi62-uJKyiP98/s1600-h/Santa_Sleigh_Kit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtx30bZkkoLA3HexWJjYJkzfSj8hswCa-pF4L69kJ9ljCNdYYFzQWV4exE3LNFVBzIawUpF5rD5HqaP1ravb5xY5hBa7tq8nzCIVgsGBQOqR79u4q1sSt1AY-1fWEljLfi62-uJKyiP98/s400/Santa_Sleigh_Kit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472741897695634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >A gingerbread sleigh and reindeer?! Oh no, Santa, it's a trap<br />set by that old witch who tried to eat Hansel & Gretel! RUN!<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1MOdSdZSP3E0SVwgvmi_rggtaVraFDECu8S1gi1yBBWRpKNWRwK-TNsyuFt9TcwaYLxbxiDuTjjjKTrE5hcaoQ5bOEMPr5XCXX7g2VCP6DX3ywXd8sWp4rw_5kUI46mPs5b1lZ4NVss/s1600-h/Penguin_Cookie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1MOdSdZSP3E0SVwgvmi_rggtaVraFDECu8S1gi1yBBWRpKNWRwK-TNsyuFt9TcwaYLxbxiDuTjjjKTrE5hcaoQ5bOEMPr5XCXX7g2VCP6DX3ywXd8sWp4rw_5kUI46mPs5b1lZ4NVss/s400/Penguin_Cookie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472824326651874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Munch of the Penguins.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAbIeMeo2C42af-VABt05O6HHT7IF1lb9oaHJnmzZSKPoagxnqV-m39o0xbnEWCystmkjeT5Mo08fzBEK4iKPMnC_R1xyMgHyloH5LpDWQBz7-uxxqktFEMXYIjqIh2AH0IgGDKs3xpU/s1600-h/marshmallow_lollies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAbIeMeo2C42af-VABt05O6HHT7IF1lb9oaHJnmzZSKPoagxnqV-m39o0xbnEWCystmkjeT5Mo08fzBEK4iKPMnC_R1xyMgHyloH5LpDWQBz7-uxxqktFEMXYIjqIh2AH0IgGDKs3xpU/s400/marshmallow_lollies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473076314084530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >These two died while in captivity.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVM1DvS6WLBODfcJtJwe7MbUgj6VueSwuetBlc6HK_g1JTqUCEd01gYLNHTfmy3jUONXgYE9ud2jI3mKFD1jdOhyphenhyphen30_Pkb5Fo6zZlvq3KluEuKCM94fiDdAZzNlzATRtO_b3PxyRZMf8/s1600-h/Snowman_Hell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVM1DvS6WLBODfcJtJwe7MbUgj6VueSwuetBlc6HK_g1JTqUCEd01gYLNHTfmy3jUONXgYE9ud2jI3mKFD1jdOhyphenhyphen30_Pkb5Fo6zZlvq3KluEuKCM94fiDdAZzNlzATRtO_b3PxyRZMf8/s400/Snowman_Hell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472655812382546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This is how a snowman views the world--- when he's on ACID!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And a few more decoration oddities--</span><br /></div> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJqHH5VoZGqTrvapf4vfFduaFiE8OXZ2OjIKNOphkT5nv78niigW9TFzij5SpHUh3G7weZfAmdcXpBeE90gGDrL5b4gk_ZmdxJ2QOSLsEgl8F4BRzGy4uxSYVZB5WLp9Pcn3ZTdpPbsI/s1600-h/Nutcrakers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJqHH5VoZGqTrvapf4vfFduaFiE8OXZ2OjIKNOphkT5nv78niigW9TFzij5SpHUh3G7weZfAmdcXpBeE90gGDrL5b4gk_ZmdxJ2QOSLsEgl8F4BRzGy4uxSYVZB5WLp9Pcn3ZTdpPbsI/s400/Nutcrakers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288473011972933986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >A pair of lesbian nutcrackers. Wait, I think that's redundant.<br /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdEireGsFj_pZv1X0gBkp2fKMVvsxFS3dSUEgb6BZxeC8_E5x7EZkhCZJuZj-KPAfy_ky4NfzhlUl40g4IwneWMNIjcqPrbsFxYHh9_dJSf9jZBS4TrN-wVO3DYFUeiYYaG_HRSj0kioQ/s1600-h/wtf_santa_ball.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 335px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdEireGsFj_pZv1X0gBkp2fKMVvsxFS3dSUEgb6BZxeC8_E5x7EZkhCZJuZj-KPAfy_ky4NfzhlUl40g4IwneWMNIjcqPrbsFxYHh9_dJSf9jZBS4TrN-wVO3DYFUeiYYaG_HRSj0kioQ/s400/wtf_santa_ball.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472464815169442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Yippee! I'm the crappiest Christmas ornament ever!</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVG1h9TjFeXVPTMWJgLPAmNpgdx5Lx7KzzUe1cqoU7mKdG2KbTEOsce1astIkvwVF2nSM_DysTTEkN9ZTn4gqYq-1IcnfRLv1K5zjSiC28pvtLj7ceOEdXnAgmkSeR4vTy5_mtWYxPPE/s1600-h/wtf_santa_ball2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVG1h9TjFeXVPTMWJgLPAmNpgdx5Lx7KzzUe1cqoU7mKdG2KbTEOsce1astIkvwVF2nSM_DysTTEkN9ZTn4gqYq-1IcnfRLv1K5zjSiC28pvtLj7ceOEdXnAgmkSeR4vTy5_mtWYxPPE/s400/wtf_santa_ball2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288472402446624594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >In the end the Teamsters took care of Santa just like they did Jimmy Hoffa.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And that's it for Christmas 2008... I promise.</span><br /></div> </div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-50604509544415222402009-01-07T09:15:00.000-08:002009-01-12T00:35:20.536-08:00Ho Ho Ho the Humanity!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">For all the joy and wonder that children experience at Christmas, there is one event that's pretty frightening when you're a tyke - coming face-to-face with the fat man himself. No only does this guy sneak into your house in the middle of the night, he watches you when you're asleep and when you're awake and knows if you've been bad or good. Pretty scary stuff. But he also flies through the sky - wears a bright red suit - and has a huge white beard the likes of which nobody outside of a soup kitchen has.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuVF_lAMi9rrluwpIC0F1GjTIxr6F0KNnQBe5P8r_cZAWBeXR6Qg7X5YM7KcQnGPyETe72813Vz7TDLz2acvJeGvVckhuYftSQV7vVRx_lMyp8DWBXaHGEQ_pIaAClhEWcOSrrgcMEA8/s1600-h/santa_coaster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 395px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuVF_lAMi9rrluwpIC0F1GjTIxr6F0KNnQBe5P8r_cZAWBeXR6Qg7X5YM7KcQnGPyETe72813Vz7TDLz2acvJeGvVckhuYftSQV7vVRx_lMyp8DWBXaHGEQ_pIaAClhEWcOSrrgcMEA8/s400/santa_coaster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361979908021010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >"Hey... what happened to all the reindeer?!</span>"<br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The lack of reindeer was claus for alarm.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">One of the most traumatic moments in a child's life is being dragged out to the mall to sit on Santa's lap. As bad as it is for the kids, just look at the expressions on some of these Santas' faces as they deal with terrified children -- <span style="font-style: italic;">"I'm not getting paid enough for this"</span> as got to be going through their heads.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgepM5iktF-KKGY8zEgoQXNjNuWlE5SzQLZzs0fXHv9GMzH4Pxn9q_6aI5shOBE5QlQ-IrYoLGpviHqXy-F3Emxi3NSqLb59QKEsSKe1_mn5EOiDfNEPVPllwLGL0DtGmQuiebyCbIGpRY/s1600-h/afraid_santa_001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgepM5iktF-KKGY8zEgoQXNjNuWlE5SzQLZzs0fXHv9GMzH4Pxn9q_6aI5shOBE5QlQ-IrYoLGpviHqXy-F3Emxi3NSqLb59QKEsSKe1_mn5EOiDfNEPVPllwLGL0DtGmQuiebyCbIGpRY/s400/afraid_santa_001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361888574102242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >In stereo</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSCT3-iRng547G9X8NHzEenyPtsLvT_Yk-kUo9EfS0pSadnJ7NNRg-w_aEo1J2ob-NoCoBajI3hWlbHb387lbK6fa3I-iLlGd0ZVgdzcRX1suQefUsuLwY3_zzblCBE4XjfRctffig2Y/s1600-h/afraid_santa_002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSCT3-iRng547G9X8NHzEenyPtsLvT_Yk-kUo9EfS0pSadnJ7NNRg-w_aEo1J2ob-NoCoBajI3hWlbHb387lbK6fa3I-iLlGd0ZVgdzcRX1suQefUsuLwY3_zzblCBE4XjfRctffig2Y/s400/afraid_santa_002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361816475247234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Adjusting the right and left balance...</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRtt3DAK7WNUajovjv2w-fi8jyAUuOWIRnErO_Rtp15myOiMzUJobzuRatpwffygsMIkLblsFruTYkkQ6omuqUwUIQMZ5bz8UPLXP59Pq28hFZTsm-u4ar7m8StvN4EHfjG6Wa38hIAY/s1600-h/afraid_santa_003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRtt3DAK7WNUajovjv2w-fi8jyAUuOWIRnErO_Rtp15myOiMzUJobzuRatpwffygsMIkLblsFruTYkkQ6omuqUwUIQMZ5bz8UPLXP59Pq28hFZTsm-u4ar7m8StvN4EHfjG6Wa38hIAY/s400/afraid_santa_003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361747838414306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Perfect! Surround sound!</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QuWie8tcnfMak9f6B98KqVReC8kN1Xv8V_4Ue8DP9ClTd6lsz5jJxspAi4ln0m0Kh_xbiNMP0q8JlgG9gJX_zakySuMAlYUL9uOL8cdOk6vlI7A1HAovjREcRjxnmsRKfRoXkN4j_uE/s1600-h/afraid_santa_004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QuWie8tcnfMak9f6B98KqVReC8kN1Xv8V_4Ue8DP9ClTd6lsz5jJxspAi4ln0m0Kh_xbiNMP0q8JlgG9gJX_zakySuMAlYUL9uOL8cdOk6vlI7A1HAovjREcRjxnmsRKfRoXkN4j_uE/s400/afraid_santa_004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361658022530146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Whoa, Santa! Watch the hands!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOCbWg6t_-vw7RgiSjx-w8SBYBRPamaaP_n7zgmYVWbfU-aJ9Pj1mW7ciQHwboiJwlIQ4q1XjOetUqhKNBILqHVY6uaFs8jCIzXIAEHs90O_SmNgMiV8WA9GiXCfJxQdkSsAZjk1b1Xs/s1600-h/afraid_santa_005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOCbWg6t_-vw7RgiSjx-w8SBYBRPamaaP_n7zgmYVWbfU-aJ9Pj1mW7ciQHwboiJwlIQ4q1XjOetUqhKNBILqHVY6uaFs8jCIzXIAEHs90O_SmNgMiV8WA9GiXCfJxQdkSsAZjk1b1Xs/s400/afraid_santa_005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361573712701234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Pleading for mercy!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJc6GcJBaKulGgtflmk5fjfQVfpxSylXJg1TckmDCGGHFmHg2eApi-Suv0m6iCEyjdTJK6A4hkywbP4StSlIsMK5rfq8IjOwvxbxYGpX-eoGa9j3e1QGlB09j2_4qNPrwf7j1dteTOnM/s1600-h/afraid_santa_006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJc6GcJBaKulGgtflmk5fjfQVfpxSylXJg1TckmDCGGHFmHg2eApi-Suv0m6iCEyjdTJK6A4hkywbP4StSlIsMK5rfq8IjOwvxbxYGpX-eoGa9j3e1QGlB09j2_4qNPrwf7j1dteTOnM/s400/afraid_santa_006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361491658556434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I'd scream too if Santa was CRUSHING ME!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRGCRmwlUOex_O7YHx4qVBPtUtVnZ0lvC7l0tPi60x2ASbSyGbDaRAfUGJh2ePNYEL4_X67WUZA4ZDxh_KSfNcixT14Ts2gQ-MnvB6umhiy4o_kl9yeG2WOqrYSw6PKQ832BYSXemr0k/s1600-h/afraid_santa_007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRGCRmwlUOex_O7YHx4qVBPtUtVnZ0lvC7l0tPi60x2ASbSyGbDaRAfUGJh2ePNYEL4_X67WUZA4ZDxh_KSfNcixT14Ts2gQ-MnvB6umhiy4o_kl9yeG2WOqrYSw6PKQ832BYSXemr0k/s400/afraid_santa_007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361413774677458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Santa, ready to jettison another screamer.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSM_ic_mg1qr8Cm82z8LJgFw21eQS9qOy4wvj8ISpxrLVRCeMhXKkA7wLsKOiVOMolNvSRqfL0PoxfqC5eg1bwq0qCEVnDtAcTK2XG8qRWDLFgrO9AYq_toHwdzoGUGVSNGoYACUcPsg/s1600-h/afraid_santa_008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSM_ic_mg1qr8Cm82z8LJgFw21eQS9qOy4wvj8ISpxrLVRCeMhXKkA7wLsKOiVOMolNvSRqfL0PoxfqC5eg1bwq0qCEVnDtAcTK2XG8qRWDLFgrO9AYq_toHwdzoGUGVSNGoYACUcPsg/s400/afraid_santa_008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361322643927394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This looks like an F5 screamer.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-luFXd7c_GqY6_HlddQQvkbdvR-wg1LH_AotNLAQ6JzEK0-EqK7ixJ-j_nXBKMnNKvix662D_FPeY2igGo_t1juMNxSzUfwFDBU3BxPa9MiXjRMKSx_MjSJgFkNH0XbDlrqUfl8t2kM/s1600-h/afraid_santa_009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-luFXd7c_GqY6_HlddQQvkbdvR-wg1LH_AotNLAQ6JzEK0-EqK7ixJ-j_nXBKMnNKvix662D_FPeY2igGo_t1juMNxSzUfwFDBU3BxPa9MiXjRMKSx_MjSJgFkNH0XbDlrqUfl8t2kM/s400/afraid_santa_009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361262512697826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Oh, you made Santa cry -- you're gonna pay for that come Christmas morning.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuO0HcddqiAsyOpDbeuDOm4rxwi-SWCESGRbPY1pgDc5WLs3pvsDLCLCBbe4FE5bcaCUt28asCe_76tEemIM23tt09RkvLP8KhAWZ3UMknCICRtJ8G7zPkT8CtAPdg1wtZL6tSZKloUw/s1600-h/afraid_santa_010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuO0HcddqiAsyOpDbeuDOm4rxwi-SWCESGRbPY1pgDc5WLs3pvsDLCLCBbe4FE5bcaCUt28asCe_76tEemIM23tt09RkvLP8KhAWZ3UMknCICRtJ8G7zPkT8CtAPdg1wtZL6tSZKloUw/s400/afraid_santa_010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361192071963602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Operating the kids as if they were an accordion doesn't seem to be helping.</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAPLwiOAkjZoix_u8sEFx9QHnYssvLeBqLX4PBK-5ub6kaazYKRCWST0_Ts1qgFkUmalcYSkVkgtdbMaqmBhMx6CR4z6eSryXo6vKgZuk47BVdYtWrJ8XR8uCb7KmHD7U7hZUMvFHC2o/s1600-h/afraid_santa_011.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAPLwiOAkjZoix_u8sEFx9QHnYssvLeBqLX4PBK-5ub6kaazYKRCWST0_Ts1qgFkUmalcYSkVkgtdbMaqmBhMx6CR4z6eSryXo6vKgZuk47BVdYtWrJ8XR8uCb7KmHD7U7hZUMvFHC2o/s400/afraid_santa_011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361120390077890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Going limp. Santa avoidance technique 101.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgWepV1Rb24LASEUz1tIz4Wciqpa5Nd_fr40Q020xwy4p552oqTf6SFs7SF-HgZaBQzlHylGUQItOb_U0uktkz7uptCkQDCoqvP6tv2J3_mJxyHgx7oYMusQ39Tkhhn3q2XvJJMQAp5s/s1600-h/afraid_santa_012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgWepV1Rb24LASEUz1tIz4Wciqpa5Nd_fr40Q020xwy4p552oqTf6SFs7SF-HgZaBQzlHylGUQItOb_U0uktkz7uptCkQDCoqvP6tv2J3_mJxyHgx7oYMusQ39Tkhhn3q2XvJJMQAp5s/s400/afraid_santa_012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361058712183026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Looks like someone's getting deported.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiLcSi9z7JoKjZUAIvvA4YQ1eaJk1EyNZWXNkp5T1XRiUGjNWZaY96dDcuXxqvEATSxBvEdrrJyVx-eim8659VfjtkvnNgotGEvZnTKs_shNCA1vKDBEuq5IoSrNqD5ahatG361XlpxM/s1600-h/afraid_santa_013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiLcSi9z7JoKjZUAIvvA4YQ1eaJk1EyNZWXNkp5T1XRiUGjNWZaY96dDcuXxqvEATSxBvEdrrJyVx-eim8659VfjtkvnNgotGEvZnTKs_shNCA1vKDBEuq5IoSrNqD5ahatG361XlpxM/s400/afraid_santa_013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288361000346017666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Santa at the end of a long, weary day.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCYn_Rz7QdyHeN7czR8nRf1YdLpuD1YH_kaaPQl17g7eBki58rVwYNdMvq0TyCkkGfZUBgbROofSiStWKH84Qw3idg4IUKRG6QwyqfSh_M2P0ZbEIAIzIBxZXNgwkxIh6aMm16D299O8/s1600-h/afraid_santa_014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCYn_Rz7QdyHeN7czR8nRf1YdLpuD1YH_kaaPQl17g7eBki58rVwYNdMvq0TyCkkGfZUBgbROofSiStWKH84Qw3idg4IUKRG6QwyqfSh_M2P0ZbEIAIzIBxZXNgwkxIh6aMm16D299O8/s400/afraid_santa_014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360915877784674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The full range of emotion from happy to sad.</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRvAWoks9ExhJfpqfa9Ah7Yz1TYhKWadBpgGfYILhObUco0uboXcqsorMKOmgG7sLDbcrhplqO3rGgvnXzTT_uUSDujOvKzcudiCYqnRxsb7aLchpndbkVmH1E67W05_nGcmlIOU9PZo/s1600-h/afraid_santa_015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRvAWoks9ExhJfpqfa9Ah7Yz1TYhKWadBpgGfYILhObUco0uboXcqsorMKOmgG7sLDbcrhplqO3rGgvnXzTT_uUSDujOvKzcudiCYqnRxsb7aLchpndbkVmH1E67W05_nGcmlIOU9PZo/s400/afraid_santa_015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360845036864098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >If I can't be happy... then I must... strangle... Rudolph!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCTnrRbk3J4uJ867nON9Yd_cMdS-fuHbv0zoGkLRfZ8DIkm-B69qo1iUsXhsVwzf8V_ZYRMfxVrENyrJqS4OPBswk6vwoQikt1H7-fnryhlZGmDok7pmyvcQeiFbbd3UqQjzGJHPe-vI/s1600-h/afraid_santa_016.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCTnrRbk3J4uJ867nON9Yd_cMdS-fuHbv0zoGkLRfZ8DIkm-B69qo1iUsXhsVwzf8V_ZYRMfxVrENyrJqS4OPBswk6vwoQikt1H7-fnryhlZGmDok7pmyvcQeiFbbd3UqQjzGJHPe-vI/s400/afraid_santa_016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360770588451554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Okay kid... I'm gonna split you like a wishbone!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGrYMQKy9zMg8nBciAOGtQmMTchR__AmBN44N9JDnuCOxKBWzKo_y1DAFkHm2MZJGN2AKeXsniC_FzMnbVeB8TvozBQTsmwY06JFJLkOQugRZz06iR9waLdSuVMSkvK4nPfXPdqgBBaiY/s1600-h/afraid_santa_017.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGrYMQKy9zMg8nBciAOGtQmMTchR__AmBN44N9JDnuCOxKBWzKo_y1DAFkHm2MZJGN2AKeXsniC_FzMnbVeB8TvozBQTsmwY06JFJLkOQugRZz06iR9waLdSuVMSkvK4nPfXPdqgBBaiY/s400/afraid_santa_017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360690803989650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The aftermath... the kid's all cried out and Santa looks like<br />he's been bitch-slapped with a snow shovel</span>.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRfaCkroBOmh515L4z7EPhTULQ7sGjCi5N1I8fNWXTgVVnsGXgywzzKhQNlp0dxtmuK-xozEdPd-H36_reuHQXKncBUisnafHc2jDlmZXOefeaeso-2KwkXIhYXFLG5qZ2xKRdmTPmb8/s1600-h/afraid_santa_018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRfaCkroBOmh515L4z7EPhTULQ7sGjCi5N1I8fNWXTgVVnsGXgywzzKhQNlp0dxtmuK-xozEdPd-H36_reuHQXKncBUisnafHc2jDlmZXOefeaeso-2KwkXIhYXFLG5qZ2xKRdmTPmb8/s400/afraid_santa_018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360589672226130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mmmm, yeah... this one's too creepy for words.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_saddbPIofyLQ5BraqLyqI7ts8b9NRdthJwjHexbjYqVSMTQ3cDFcQo7LH-suhfpeTWSA6uxQT1rKWEKZLI2OxUPCc5hs2r0gP5k6n-QsEh0Pgq8iTcFI88iQFfH22uAJxPdijI00VQ/s1600-h/afraid_santa_019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_saddbPIofyLQ5BraqLyqI7ts8b9NRdthJwjHexbjYqVSMTQ3cDFcQo7LH-suhfpeTWSA6uxQT1rKWEKZLI2OxUPCc5hs2r0gP5k6n-QsEh0Pgq8iTcFI88iQFfH22uAJxPdijI00VQ/s400/afraid_santa_019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360465385635330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Must be twins.</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBLBNbOsgInzLCHV7Kkt6c8pobhNaFrucclrAh3iJS6xSy_kLu822lbcrq7u9PSB0Iv6X5jO2PR0VMFgAC5FVC1hNiLwM0cPl5cumP5kQvXcb8YHy0UmGw9mRk8eqyXb1H43hm7dA4NU/s1600-h/afraid_santa_020.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBLBNbOsgInzLCHV7Kkt6c8pobhNaFrucclrAh3iJS6xSy_kLu822lbcrq7u9PSB0Iv6X5jO2PR0VMFgAC5FVC1hNiLwM0cPl5cumP5kQvXcb8YHy0UmGw9mRk8eqyXb1H43hm7dA4NU/s400/afraid_santa_020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360403156713746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I think he just learned to poop and scream at the same time. Santa too!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Na89nrpJt-uRbJyjX4ndDuSkWWT-kwmcDX3VbApsYaM2uq30hVVmHbvJ-oPEzkIv-cXBqvzasc1eQXRu_omukeXU1GdRRkRYLL1PciJUADVFyIw9FO_6JWK8jDmNJcDyzMpEVYd3hHA/s1600-h/afraid_santa_021.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Na89nrpJt-uRbJyjX4ndDuSkWWT-kwmcDX3VbApsYaM2uq30hVVmHbvJ-oPEzkIv-cXBqvzasc1eQXRu_omukeXU1GdRRkRYLL1PciJUADVFyIw9FO_6JWK8jDmNJcDyzMpEVYd3hHA/s400/afraid_santa_021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360321507749442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Steady... steady...</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >it's like dealing with a case of C4 on a bumpy road.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnyp7YvzcAk6jjmRBMV-EwI-iNdRYru-F8vDGhUOGS9xYUF9tEarUA_bbbcyGZEFRul6iH4FIRSlPnN9Qjb8PFAuBCQt3ezeu6vQjbNBNfYyrrbe8_jJZXY6hrxYUk-SnPlsST2KGMTw/s1600-h/afraid_santa_022.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnyp7YvzcAk6jjmRBMV-EwI-iNdRYru-F8vDGhUOGS9xYUF9tEarUA_bbbcyGZEFRul6iH4FIRSlPnN9Qjb8PFAuBCQt3ezeu6vQjbNBNfYyrrbe8_jJZXY6hrxYUk-SnPlsST2KGMTw/s400/afraid_santa_022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360244497867538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Jeez, you'd think these kids were being murdered.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvbjddMIRGEuEpVk9vXLlSPHe4VB-OjaE50CxHCedN6gaPZwaWCJ5TrZhSCcM3LUFdffLcxqn98JW3u4U1-c30QXsb6f1nnmj1KJ4b0_S3n5_zML0aP9qUcQwgFtiqZWDCGfsgaFPdn4/s1600-h/afraid_santa_025.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 281px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvbjddMIRGEuEpVk9vXLlSPHe4VB-OjaE50CxHCedN6gaPZwaWCJ5TrZhSCcM3LUFdffLcxqn98JW3u4U1-c30QXsb6f1nnmj1KJ4b0_S3n5_zML0aP9qUcQwgFtiqZWDCGfsgaFPdn4/s400/afraid_santa_025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360021037957810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mother and daughter comparison.</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5cEygd2Ro6jvRK8ZUhA9KxUg3dqdd6ugc_h_nw2_Y_7sX1YtLA93JC7x6U5OUWCgXSeVoVy12Y-1TEY6DROmArSHmeFt0onVYfbhuu2-1noMWxhoNCGNCjGaaHDNtyqVC5Ixy-W2kpg/s1600-h/afraid_santa_023.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5cEygd2Ro6jvRK8ZUhA9KxUg3dqdd6ugc_h_nw2_Y_7sX1YtLA93JC7x6U5OUWCgXSeVoVy12Y-1TEY6DROmArSHmeFt0onVYfbhuu2-1noMWxhoNCGNCjGaaHDNtyqVC5Ixy-W2kpg/s400/afraid_santa_023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360176861758546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Don't be scared, it's just good ol' Cadaver Claus!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6I1tNR65uztLySKNo0B42jVKwwehexSLV2Rrm-6crF_NtRWikTYCfTe5-2R_F8EzFzc1eQKq3LKSH6JB5gDbvBuEFD2sCTSQB5nfXwPn4HWQkM065-u1AgxblWEXtHeqpnz0UuKPmdTE/s1600-h/afraid_santa_024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 391px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6I1tNR65uztLySKNo0B42jVKwwehexSLV2Rrm-6crF_NtRWikTYCfTe5-2R_F8EzFzc1eQKq3LKSH6JB5gDbvBuEFD2sCTSQB5nfXwPn4HWQkM065-u1AgxblWEXtHeqpnz0UuKPmdTE/s400/afraid_santa_024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288360099852219122" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This kid just realized his parents sold him into elf-slavery.<br /></span></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-28768900777644556832009-01-05T00:15:00.000-08:002009-01-06T08:57:04.176-08:00HO HO HUMBUG!<span style="font-family:arial;">Yeah-yeah. Been a long while since I've posted. This is a big one with lotsa' pictures (and a video!), so hold onto your pants and apples.</span><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><br />The holidays are over and people are back to work again, returning like weary soldiers from the front line ready to fall back into their day-to-day's. Everyone will be fondly remembering their holidays and sharing anecdotes. Each year Christmas is a big honkin' deal. It's candy-colored wonderment, packages, treats, surprises, and warm happy feelings...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHCJtFDIqbDemecdgQvoQObW-JqVws3_AGv9m48Tr36rsuaPDFSK_w-SK7aiAC159DPOUzsUrLaGqRalOONj71pQ9BlXV5K2iMFcuUS8tevPpldOGw_kWVrJbcyD6djIKCM1YU0N1Guo/s1600-h/VictorianSanta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHCJtFDIqbDemecdgQvoQObW-JqVws3_AGv9m48Tr36rsuaPDFSK_w-SK7aiAC159DPOUzsUrLaGqRalOONj71pQ9BlXV5K2iMFcuUS8tevPpldOGw_kWVrJbcyD6djIKCM1YU0N1Guo/s400/VictorianSanta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286960341864344018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ha! And Schindler thought HE had a big list!</span> </div><br />...and it's a a big honkin pain-in-the-ass. Christmas is my least favorite holiday for a combination of reasons. Retailers make most of their profits for the year at Christmastime so they start promoting it mid-October in order to start the buying frenzy. (Didn't work too well this year given the blight on the economy)... but people still got the "Christmas crazies", they rushed around, drove like idiots, and got pushy and rude like they do every year...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pPmod1coNa67oUziSlQYk79jE0Y-XmJ4kvNg4Ibwn-VTpKf6s-aaZl4pFiV4yFYHoRp4AW7Wpn0Fiml1bLqYVScVZVmd5eSPqNNlk1tRKa1IfjbOeDsJhauLlbFOjBUxKYP2eSyTMLA/s1600-h/santa_shoppers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pPmod1coNa67oUziSlQYk79jE0Y-XmJ4kvNg4Ibwn-VTpKf6s-aaZl4pFiV4yFYHoRp4AW7Wpn0Fiml1bLqYVScVZVmd5eSPqNNlk1tRKa1IfjbOeDsJhauLlbFOjBUxKYP2eSyTMLA/s400/santa_shoppers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286971814913192802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">It's beginning to look a lot like Crapmas!</span><br /></div><br />And then there's all the <span style="font-style: italic;">expectations</span>. Not the expectations for a wondrous holiday, - no - the expectations and anxiety regarding, travel, presents and-- <span style="font-style: italic;">did the cards all get sent? Did the right people get "Happy Holidays" vs. "Merry Christmas" or "Joyous Season"</span> lest someone be offended...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh064hPoJ2dMVFv4sHZq4gQ-dcRHEGXzBW-bmeOdnUIdsW4xHNtXbuAj_gfXQTk5ToJrNrjAJtjKwMhC7DGOhiQKF4CWpnGUZlbCP0tuYxRtSbkIC1A3qYUH1FMGGa6kql2_18ZFRQ6p9E/s1600-h/shocked-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh064hPoJ2dMVFv4sHZq4gQ-dcRHEGXzBW-bmeOdnUIdsW4xHNtXbuAj_gfXQTk5ToJrNrjAJtjKwMhC7DGOhiQKF4CWpnGUZlbCP0tuYxRtSbkIC1A3qYUH1FMGGa6kql2_18ZFRQ6p9E/s400/shocked-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286974360202437010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">What?... No Happy Birthday Jesus?! Why the NERVE!</span> </div><br />And if you are one who is offended by Happy Holidays vs. Merry Christmas or vice-versa, get over yourself, consider yourself lucky that you even GOT a card and be gracious for the goodwill you selfish bastard. And please, PLEASE if you're going to send out pictures with your Christmas/Holiday/Kwanzaa/Festivus card, don't only send pictures of your kids.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUfaIJXs0ZW9r4hmaUwfLk_HOs7vxB8ik7p2Ul8jTqREsDmJsRxbgOIqs2rH9eEYfSZovD4CVFOENfwxn9t_EBshwgCZRMO0BhH-cmGmK4bHfk0ogKH41A-zZxFHNMtEt4YmR75yyTWY/s1600-h/UglyKids.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUfaIJXs0ZW9r4hmaUwfLk_HOs7vxB8ik7p2Ul8jTqREsDmJsRxbgOIqs2rH9eEYfSZovD4CVFOENfwxn9t_EBshwgCZRMO0BhH-cmGmK4bHfk0ogKH41A-zZxFHNMtEt4YmR75yyTWY/s400/UglyKids.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287317731415648050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Mmm, Chris is growing up to be quite the young wo</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">man</span><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span><br /></div><br />No offense, but I probably don't know your kids, never met them, and in some cases I never will meet them. I'm sure they're nice, brilliant, amazing little people and future felons, but I don't care. I wanna see pictures of you first and foremost. Send a picture of YOU <span style="font-style: italic;">with</span> your kids. I don't care how fat or bald you are. Once a year YOU take the time to communicate with ME - and I do the same with you so let's see your flabby old self with your kids. A family picture is perfect. Which brings me to... the Christmas letter. <span style="font-weight: bold;">DON'T!</span> Just, don't. Unless it's brief, clever, and really witty, and for the love of crap don't make it ALL about your kids if you do decide to write one. (see previous paragraph).<br /><br />I wasn't always down on Christmas. Not when I was a kid. Back then, Christmas was like winning the lottery every December 25th. What's not to like about Christmas at that age?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">My first Christmas. Denver Colorado.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJxnOtCoJkzNFs-70wx-yRSw57kdoywpouc3VC5-lTGnY6LvpYSlYsGVvBxxfZAItLGfuToZpfzOfIC5_3HTFg8tzy5uFsz39J_D_0SQ7azdjtASGVYq1QVU5zCklUW_M7h0Bsxk25r0/s1600-h/tom_1stXmas_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 176px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJxnOtCoJkzNFs-70wx-yRSw57kdoywpouc3VC5-lTGnY6LvpYSlYsGVvBxxfZAItLGfuToZpfzOfIC5_3HTFg8tzy5uFsz39J_D_0SQ7azdjtASGVYq1QVU5zCklUW_M7h0Bsxk25r0/s400/tom_1stXmas_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286934098721013522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Maaaaahm! Stop lookin' at Dad and hand over the package!</span> </div><br />As a wee one I LOVED Christmas. I was a first generation kid growing up on Rudolph, Frosty, the Grinch, and Charlie Brown, etc. Ah, happy times.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7JiXUNwYvH9nsWa9YtqO9r9MWc1UYJnMbDuISYhlZ9En-9M83bjJkgSdHc6PcGSpGdiMCaxIhE_iVnYQ3rftiJPh_bzGCuCcY6cN6lO2C61RlxaZCETJLBLZxhKsW6HMMj1_8FhRad8/s1600-h/HolidayClassics.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 78px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7JiXUNwYvH9nsWa9YtqO9r9MWc1UYJnMbDuISYhlZ9En-9M83bjJkgSdHc6PcGSpGdiMCaxIhE_iVnYQ3rftiJPh_bzGCuCcY6cN6lO2C61RlxaZCETJLBLZxhKsW6HMMj1_8FhRad8/s400/HolidayClassics.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287331163332927586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My absolute favorite toys as a little kid were these two items:<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhNl5GI_nw5WAojztBTp88NUf72ssvQYZ6Pj7T1-V5yFQeguYEwqZjJEXHCoBeaNr7Ic1tfpuLjA8UTmOWCcUa2m7GjNbG4E4sRQUslaygkUl3AfLQ7hyG2JvDnROfyxJUA98nNjIJTU/s1600-h/batman_belt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhNl5GI_nw5WAojztBTp88NUf72ssvQYZ6Pj7T1-V5yFQeguYEwqZjJEXHCoBeaNr7Ic1tfpuLjA8UTmOWCcUa2m7GjNbG4E4sRQUslaygkUl3AfLQ7hyG2JvDnROfyxJUA98nNjIJTU/s400/batman_belt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286959921930595906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Wish I still had mine, these babies are worth a MINT nowadays.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1qOpiIoe9cbj71kpeppxll6JuNvdroDs0amAmmhhalvBU_kbEvmLdGliBw6_QNE0LHhw1FMewctdeUbJC4iaVi7xPuxfYKAO8BJi-tAMcVoBmsO001dyBXeJ36Lek1fJcFMMMwqQJVY/s1600-h/thingmaker_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1qOpiIoe9cbj71kpeppxll6JuNvdroDs0amAmmhhalvBU_kbEvmLdGliBw6_QNE0LHhw1FMewctdeUbJC4iaVi7xPuxfYKAO8BJi-tAMcVoBmsO001dyBXeJ36Lek1fJcFMMMwqQJVY/s400/thingmaker_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286960245008735714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Nothing spells fun like high-heat and molten plastic!</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Back when toys were toys and they helped weed out the weak kids.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Since my family lived in northern Illinois we generally would have a good heavy snowfall around Christmas, so my memories of that time look like this:<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjdaBXwCbPRTkawAUvXJ3JRFg7-M4eaqvZuJR2IMD-7bib3ZGNPjqlmJVzYHOScULfaP8kUdwPhpM1wKeH0FkAd5BuRYmhEQKBSkZ9x6D3kUlryQ7fF4bLmazkj3uRicWvH3x1sTGa5s/s1600-h/geneseo_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjdaBXwCbPRTkawAUvXJ3JRFg7-M4eaqvZuJR2IMD-7bib3ZGNPjqlmJVzYHOScULfaP8kUdwPhpM1wKeH0FkAd5BuRYmhEQKBSkZ9x6D3kUlryQ7fF4bLmazkj3uRicWvH3x1sTGa5s/s400/geneseo_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286933974683318002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The house in Geneseo where I grew up.</span></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2D2iodxhM9aA3LghIFnYd1yzQrsjswYyNUuzVEvKgzPfRdFFIviAS9NLNJYGlk-jk5Sgbj4ZQxGeqfKtVc46umaXRuMkuEJR3tLB3oqx1z4Y57gGjt2anjccwI54iDqr0yUUJuApN7w/s1600-h/geneseo_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2D2iodxhM9aA3LghIFnYd1yzQrsjswYyNUuzVEvKgzPfRdFFIviAS9NLNJYGlk-jk5Sgbj4ZQxGeqfKtVc46umaXRuMkuEJR3tLB3oqx1z4Y57gGjt2anjccwI54iDqr0yUUJuApN7w/s400/geneseo_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286933867697611586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">My street back when I was a yoot.</span></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />But as I grew up, my love of Christmas began to fade...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UtW2LsVteoiSCQF04crFR0qDNp2R6Yal703iu7dN4NTDp8CYGBNzng9q8ThZy-m9KATRBQRFpQC2oZg1pm1wMuab0mkf-vTr32-qdIPDQIqvGIqSRDBYQO2NZKtGM1vr8FIYsL30yYQ/s1600-h/RudolphSantaPuppets.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UtW2LsVteoiSCQF04crFR0qDNp2R6Yal703iu7dN4NTDp8CYGBNzng9q8ThZy-m9KATRBQRFpQC2oZg1pm1wMuab0mkf-vTr32-qdIPDQIqvGIqSRDBYQO2NZKtGM1vr8FIYsL30yYQ/s400/RudolphSantaPuppets.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286960116597892914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >So long childhood! See ya' again--- never!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Don't look back...because--- <span style="font-size:85%;">I'm gonna eat Rudolph.</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span><span style="font-family:arial;">As an adult I grew less n' less thrilled with Christmas. </span></span><span><span style="font-family:arial;">Typically around Christmas became the time of year when I had break-ups with girlfriends, had gotten dumped or in a fight, had been sick, or had family members fall ill (my father frequently in later years). The stress is high, you're rushing around,</span></span><span><span style="font-family:arial;"> dealing with travel, relatives, and overloaded with tasks for the holidays it's just all one big headache. I've learned to despise this time of year and just endure it.</span></span><br /><br />Hands down my favorite holiday of all is Halloween. I love horror and autumn and candy. It's a simple holiday devoid of any overt religious overtones and just plain fun.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMfUsYemYavpwoW21q4B_bWL_I2aQGQnMNfKDe4IWAOWGXipOyvwAcTwdj-qlpvgsNHCRlEEmUedPurJeRd6bGSg915aSaWEz_kDg5qBWXCqwh2cBBRc2EDJ-BLBH37oIRTDicF4yYos/s1600-h/halloween2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMfUsYemYavpwoW21q4B_bWL_I2aQGQnMNfKDe4IWAOWGXipOyvwAcTwdj-qlpvgsNHCRlEEmUedPurJeRd6bGSg915aSaWEz_kDg5qBWXCqwh2cBBRc2EDJ-BLBH37oIRTDicF4yYos/s400/halloween2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287712616251190242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Be honest, do I have seeds in my teeth?</span><br /></div><br />Thanksgiving is my next favorite because it's a time to get together with friends and loved ones with no pressure other than just having a wonderful meal and being together.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2IJpIt9y66n6kP9XZLAC5yRUJ9pthMjdG3VR_S0dywsHdHRGMaGAXHnAlcwvyOK3JVe-5tZE7riU6B-Kw9tcMj3fAm7HnYi7VgPED7LGNmfyMSWmJufgutyywi1hZXW_KP57s49yc9U/s1600-h/thanksgiving.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2IJpIt9y66n6kP9XZLAC5yRUJ9pthMjdG3VR_S0dywsHdHRGMaGAXHnAlcwvyOK3JVe-5tZE7riU6B-Kw9tcMj3fAm7HnYi7VgPED7LGNmfyMSWmJufgutyywi1hZXW_KP57s49yc9U/s400/thanksgiving.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287712552197011346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Okay Redcloud. You can have a taste, but then we're going<br />to have to insist that you and your friends leave.</span> </div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Neither Halloween nor Thanksgiving are the maelstrom of emotion, stress, and pressure that is Christmas. And I like that.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Don't get me wrong, I'm not a total Grinch, however I find so much of Christmas annoying, but I'm getting better with it and learning to enjoy it more-- partly because so much of my family has passed on over the recent years, there's just myself, my mom, my brother and sister left. However, since getting married my new family has grown with Emily, her sister and her husband and well as Emily's parents. The holiday has taken on a new, more positive dynamic.</div></div></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcYEAOnjZRkDXBYUndOALQ9OXvzYCWnIH3HAWxhqRWzIsV3Lk8SBHQVEWAW8ecwFFLO-dThs6o868WiO7-ENzdeutr44BlLe5Ry-qEyrajsseorwgPqUaEfZ78Jfw7WcNtIZJXuxpQFlA/s1600-h/Its_a_wonderful_life.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcYEAOnjZRkDXBYUndOALQ9OXvzYCWnIH3HAWxhqRWzIsV3Lk8SBHQVEWAW8ecwFFLO-dThs6o868WiO7-ENzdeutr44BlLe5Ry-qEyrajsseorwgPqUaEfZ78Jfw7WcNtIZJXuxpQFlA/s400/Its_a_wonderful_life.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286960031294055026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Zuzu... stop! <gasp>... choking... <cough> can't... breath... life... flashing before my eyes...<br /><br /></cough></gasp></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">This year we got to spend time with good friends, going out for a holiday dinner...</span><br /></div> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXUvGjGRdf3QHZSD-ISWs_8MsQNQLCqdPjCKj0uE1zau6nneqYPmsPSimtkKzPacnWcNcGjhCOU_3oXWXXpENPXAk7eZ7o84sQO1JEpKdlYYPUKT1jF3C9XUMg91L91GKlyR1VFtuydk/s1600-h/PizzaDinner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXUvGjGRdf3QHZSD-ISWs_8MsQNQLCqdPjCKj0uE1zau6nneqYPmsPSimtkKzPacnWcNcGjhCOU_3oXWXXpENPXAk7eZ7o84sQO1JEpKdlYYPUKT1jF3C9XUMg91L91GKlyR1VFtuydk/s400/PizzaDinner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286933350996096498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Nothing says "Christmas" quite like a diaper right at nose level.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Emily LOVES Christmas, and I have to admit that her enthusiasm for the holiday is infectious. For the first time since I've lived in my house it was decorated beyond just an obligatory string of lights on the porch to appease the neighbors.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y2CI3kPEt_mxLyJlOm3b8lLjwyfcjzSazWH2F2kz-FTxqffxWSKJfOKhe5TR12NUnLDx8dLrIcvEtooirefGAxz2wwinrJVE0tGrpVHcYY2eWLHnaFHpy0kTGKYsi39_pmdw1g526q0/s1600-h/xmas_lights.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y2CI3kPEt_mxLyJlOm3b8lLjwyfcjzSazWH2F2kz-FTxqffxWSKJfOKhe5TR12NUnLDx8dLrIcvEtooirefGAxz2wwinrJVE0tGrpVHcYY2eWLHnaFHpy0kTGKYsi39_pmdw1g526q0/s400/xmas_lights.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286931937406230386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, my light bill's high!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We even had a little Christmas village set up inside...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-o5LO_hiawPd2E27VFznLmmvFuOSYiaX8vxvhPyUE4CVrB9oJuMVGZH3ZM1qjEjSwavkKYc8hawnKwOE69iprmxjw4mhmB7e72IrXUYgWYEFs75QsvJ5Jn181lmTItNTBEstUqeu5FE/s1600-h/snowvillage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-o5LO_hiawPd2E27VFznLmmvFuOSYiaX8vxvhPyUE4CVrB9oJuMVGZH3ZM1qjEjSwavkKYc8hawnKwOE69iprmxjw4mhmB7e72IrXUYgWYEFs75QsvJ5Jn181lmTItNTBEstUqeu5FE/s400/snowvillage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286933537727694434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Yo! HEY! I'm freezin' my chestnuts here!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We had not one, but TWO Christmas trees - one in the living room...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-REP_ETR5JWrPis1pY0mwX9wMl92-9ckmTWKQaNvvfiKmRGSMYqxLiaP4jj3jiJ6laQzYQtv-yK9z_1M77LKgJ6Gblc7n3SI_phOauT8ZFTBlvjzi0Zct5dOYioWd3n2NJ7f3H7e0F_c/s1600-h/xmas_tree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-REP_ETR5JWrPis1pY0mwX9wMl92-9ckmTWKQaNvvfiKmRGSMYqxLiaP4jj3jiJ6laQzYQtv-yK9z_1M77LKgJ6Gblc7n3SI_phOauT8ZFTBlvjzi0Zct5dOYioWd3n2NJ7f3H7e0F_c/s400/xmas_tree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932814846908594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >It's not our main tree, it's just one of our branches.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />...and one in our Tiki Room.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm_jCg8fiZThd221cSlWEpxbplvn6Pwv09uOdhunbX69YTV-7auw3qm7NMAqCVMpClhuUWx44qhEp0LUOgRG2zdIpbKGN1hdvxh_ay1XkfAen1jY4Ap5VKVQ8pQ0c08V6zlj3BBdjrv-M/s1600-h/tiki_xmas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm_jCg8fiZThd221cSlWEpxbplvn6Pwv09uOdhunbX69YTV-7auw3qm7NMAqCVMpClhuUWx44qhEp0LUOgRG2zdIpbKGN1hdvxh_ay1XkfAen1jY4Ap5VKVQ8pQ0c08V6zlj3BBdjrv-M/s400/tiki_xmas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932896718153890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Happy Hula Days!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With all this, I couldn't help but grudgingly start to enjoy Christmas this year.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEy_5jgcGmZNRZuYsS_5IJXKP8qnbjtt7N0Czbg8Y5eb1-jNIYExitB2PdDQIqdDiOw-qEsMUE2REeHRGioapkJFuFEzZLkd6Ca4s78eHbWwPvBY4b_nx-NEi4qPY7ZlhGp4h1-s_scY/s1600-h/ho_ho_harts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEy_5jgcGmZNRZuYsS_5IJXKP8qnbjtt7N0Czbg8Y5eb1-jNIYExitB2PdDQIqdDiOw-qEsMUE2REeHRGioapkJFuFEzZLkd6Ca4s78eHbWwPvBY4b_nx-NEi4qPY7ZlhGp4h1-s_scY/s400/ho_ho_harts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286933172724551874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Me and Emily, beaming with that yummy holiday glow.<br />It's the hat what makes it all so special.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My sister and Mom visited for the week over Christmas. While normally this would have been one of those stressful things I dread about the Holidays, it turned out to be great. </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt3rIIFBYLeO_yIAIzaITFx5u541cYeqaNRsGvWnEzwWNb7lBiZJEb5_IA9ex6BsyuPgYV8JOGsgfbbLyF9_j3FwLYUowX1XluYe5Gn3NNAY2REXgWMjh7Zn2JoS56FYLVfFfZRH0L28/s1600-h/family.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt3rIIFBYLeO_yIAIzaITFx5u541cYeqaNRsGvWnEzwWNb7lBiZJEb5_IA9ex6BsyuPgYV8JOGsgfbbLyF9_j3FwLYUowX1XluYe5Gn3NNAY2REXgWMjh7Zn2JoS56FYLVfFfZRH0L28/s400/family.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932124845056898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Jenny, Mom (LeJean), Emily and me.<br />Totally candid picture, not posed at all. We stand around like this for hours.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We had a chance to have fun and do some touristy stuff like go to Disneyland, do some sightseeing, and shoot up to Santa Barbara for some wine tasting.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK4CIWfRFKiDLth-UwtXPY0pzSDHfhYdiI-oJxPx1ET778jRSATwkVHqSgezulWeRwE01UzP_5qlX69NvMKUJRwM1ov6w-XO5ftUgG0Pw_TSuDhMlH7tA-aBTHRTUQczfFsv-37c91Z4/s1600-h/wine_tasting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK4CIWfRFKiDLth-UwtXPY0pzSDHfhYdiI-oJxPx1ET778jRSATwkVHqSgezulWeRwE01UzP_5qlX69NvMKUJRwM1ov6w-XO5ftUgG0Pw_TSuDhMlH7tA-aBTHRTUQczfFsv-37c91Z4/s400/wine_tasting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932298579722066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >My teeth are purple, but I'm not drunk... are you drunk?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY54maGhBY3Jtlvy2FgibTXCacY5ptC0VQNN92vQzvNZJ02g4IWAhXHDdD18bP-8BBurYAi01b0ABsfCaZzEYlSS6jq2ilJVIN7ex0IT5asjDcxlaC7agofA4rZds03qURs8_Jjj7OZAQ/s1600-h/wine_tasting2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY54maGhBY3Jtlvy2FgibTXCacY5ptC0VQNN92vQzvNZJ02g4IWAhXHDdD18bP-8BBurYAi01b0ABsfCaZzEYlSS6jq2ilJVIN7ex0IT5asjDcxlaC7agofA4rZds03qURs8_Jjj7OZAQ/s400/wine_tasting2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932230598421394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Okay, now we're drunk.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There were plenty of other fun activities to fill the time, like Wii bowling with Mom...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNA9s2NQlwUcYnwefpbU5F7PIF-R-CiCZdB6OWXgE0E2DKspRMjMriYJOdjAlAU_lMs34OW1Z1yPPDFsnzMgYS8fzOqiuYW6kvcx_m7C-ENWo1Qy32k5Fi97YZMCRc7nmD9q9_HTtQHw/s1600-h/Wii_with_Mom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNA9s2NQlwUcYnwefpbU5F7PIF-R-CiCZdB6OWXgE0E2DKspRMjMriYJOdjAlAU_lMs34OW1Z1yPPDFsnzMgYS8fzOqiuYW6kvcx_m7C-ENWo1Qy32k5Fi97YZMCRc7nmD9q9_HTtQHw/s400/Wii_with_Mom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932546515394482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Yes mom, every frame can be a "beer frame" if you want.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And cookie decorating...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7tUwSMREv_ObolnbqLuZ4kwBRjxRCoVv7qvYy5G15MR2AsRcgcoZkTy33g7QTzaTccZBpQAnJnb1X2OSptTdkNVWVUifk92XuOo-Ni7_aaBcsg7ywTipn65OYRHK8c1ZpN_nWOX5lTb4/s1600-h/cookies_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 332px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7tUwSMREv_ObolnbqLuZ4kwBRjxRCoVv7qvYy5G15MR2AsRcgcoZkTy33g7QTzaTccZBpQAnJnb1X2OSptTdkNVWVUifk92XuOo-Ni7_aaBcsg7ywTipn65OYRHK8c1ZpN_nWOX5lTb4/s400/cookies_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932450640199842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Later we'll have nap time and a snack, now shut up and sprinkle!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Finally the big day arrived. You can't help but be a little giddy with excitement, wondering what treasures you'll find under the tree.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRhOVdYVaADXYrTtMWjPX9N_SO4j-fVC4PkNPhyphenhyphen1swLqbahUaG9-fs6pC-xNAgYBCbfe_o6TwlTRGsxH6ZG8n-JyvxuezfTkjnVZbvt76Y_VIRa8ZAQhS8ASFZ0QZi7lHqEtLP8RxWZg/s1600-h/scotch!.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRhOVdYVaADXYrTtMWjPX9N_SO4j-fVC4PkNPhyphenhyphen1swLqbahUaG9-fs6pC-xNAgYBCbfe_o6TwlTRGsxH6ZG8n-JyvxuezfTkjnVZbvt76Y_VIRa8ZAQhS8ASFZ0QZi7lHqEtLP8RxWZg/s400/scotch!.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932980363180386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">HO-YEAH! Christmas ain't a total loss, I got me some SCOTCH!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIehBchmPSMatTXejTVU8ueGcsltFstKdOk6_lewfURUxKXhBvbQHk-GLeB9OW5wUl2k-bQsdCgm0n5jiNqIe3FtARWA9EYknYl1gDcyy3PARr3lBikxHDP5miYgen-yg2bS0VF48zDY/s1600-h/dog_purse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIehBchmPSMatTXejTVU8ueGcsltFstKdOk6_lewfURUxKXhBvbQHk-GLeB9OW5wUl2k-bQsdCgm0n5jiNqIe3FtARWA9EYknYl1gDcyy3PARr3lBikxHDP5miYgen-yg2bS0VF48zDY/s400/dog_purse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932729650074914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >My sister Jenny and her new coin pooch.<br />I'm sure it's something she really wanted.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">There were also the calls to the rest of our family members who couldn't be present. My brother Scott called from Boston just as Emily was setting up an iChat with her family in Florida, so we had two coast-to-coast visits happening at once as you can see in the short video below:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxc5oqLlpftPGQjUhRLoC5XSQuHWcN5FNR5ODaqoisMH6Zkr5KkyxfaCpIQKNjtv4p-3HaXZ0SRjpzItj9t0w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Yes, so I ended up feeling a little left out... but things were about to get better. A day or so later a package arrived from Emily's parents -- more Christmas presents! The box was late in arriving, so we had 2nd Christmas!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuU8vI4YOjZWivzsxu35lQgbK2h4ZxUMz9qpS9G6oBgFj0QYRFd1OOBQIvicYxf5Toi9c5QAgvtoXDYpAaHbuc1K7pRxjnnSOuCIv79r-x0ETReHF0lYwx18a_7i5SVQT5kOc5RMJkcoc/s1600-h/2nd_xmas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuU8vI4YOjZWivzsxu35lQgbK2h4ZxUMz9qpS9G6oBgFj0QYRFd1OOBQIvicYxf5Toi9c5QAgvtoXDYpAaHbuc1K7pRxjnnSOuCIv79r-x0ETReHF0lYwx18a_7i5SVQT5kOc5RMJkcoc/s400/2nd_xmas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286932653442811218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Oh yeah, the tree's all loaded up for a second time!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Among the great gifts sent, I received a cool hovering pen, clock, and note set!</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-m8z2ZAyNYECubTfZVtxvyaXVujkXO0IZ1gw0t4blJI-AxhiWw4jpR0LCUeusSDpmtsKTpShw1icA2LlAhY2ZKxuDZczwpZd5zimI0Fik7SuS0nxRFVCfo9ozpz2B0zBGGCqSEdetpmI/s1600-h/magic_pen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-m8z2ZAyNYECubTfZVtxvyaXVujkXO0IZ1gw0t4blJI-AxhiWw4jpR0LCUeusSDpmtsKTpShw1icA2LlAhY2ZKxuDZczwpZd5zimI0Fik7SuS0nxRFVCfo9ozpz2B0zBGGCqSEdetpmI/s400/magic_pen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286936465179874322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >(GASP of amazement!)<br /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Looking back it was a great Christmas. Despite all the headaches that come with the season, and despite all my bitching about disliking Christmas, if I reach deep down I can still find that little spark of excitement that I had when I was a little one, surrounded by those who loved me.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-e6-iZxte8QJ-fl_OnfV4cANPH42C1aMR9sJNrLSBtVdufnfrZ9MHyufIWc2AsY74uJBP6k8w3ZUY5mvAPpmAEWCKzZGcYkZiu-15oJEDxh0dqwtWuP2HAa6KCXSNabU88rxzpTxrI_8/s1600-h/tom_1stXmas_02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-e6-iZxte8QJ-fl_OnfV4cANPH42C1aMR9sJNrLSBtVdufnfrZ9MHyufIWc2AsY74uJBP6k8w3ZUY5mvAPpmAEWCKzZGcYkZiu-15oJEDxh0dqwtWuP2HAa6KCXSNabU88rxzpTxrI_8/s400/tom_1stXmas_02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286931698056290706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Lyle & LeJean (my parents), me, Gladys & Powers (my mom's parents)</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's no so much a memory as it is a feeling. It's that feeling that all children get at Christmas and one that as an adult I'm happy I've found again.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ41zyvqLMc8vNOGE8Nh6tSCW_-tEQpquZRNZ33suL1xuQqhS-OpoUKDCVzDykJdBIZct5_AomONtRLSX8EBSIhiG6VujGdcb1H9_k6YZVW3Qq6Q5aruQcRGnWvozp0TQPyfke3IUkT4/s1600-h/tom_1stXmas_04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ41zyvqLMc8vNOGE8Nh6tSCW_-tEQpquZRNZ33suL1xuQqhS-OpoUKDCVzDykJdBIZct5_AomONtRLSX8EBSIhiG6VujGdcb1H9_k6YZVW3Qq6Q5aruQcRGnWvozp0TQPyfke3IUkT4/s400/tom_1stXmas_04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286934175964742914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Li'l Tommy Hart - 10 months old and ready for his first Christmas.</span><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-70756224859600106422008-11-05T00:43:00.000-08:002008-11-05T00:53:20.688-08:00Barack the Casbah!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After eight horrid years and two gut-wrenching elections, I'm happy to see this country finally pull its collective head out of its ass and make the brave choice.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The coming 4 years have yet to be written, but tonight there's something this country hasn't had in a long time, hope.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Barack is the man!</span><br /></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaTOIbE2sfG3aUnNjRGGsF1On2SEMfth-aXYU24hWWJ-AB1gDQSfmU7R4TQGs1cVJOpWsCWRePJL1qU6DIsUtnz6b_FvDRVvGh4-sePEZQYga225SVFx819SJNdxztQgwObl6EUxzzHYc/s1600-h/barackobama.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaTOIbE2sfG3aUnNjRGGsF1On2SEMfth-aXYU24hWWJ-AB1gDQSfmU7R4TQGs1cVJOpWsCWRePJL1qU6DIsUtnz6b_FvDRVvGh4-sePEZQYga225SVFx819SJNdxztQgwObl6EUxzzHYc/s400/barackobama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265091617866927426" border="0" /></a>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-87012494334209715732008-10-29T10:48:00.000-07:002008-10-29T20:27:55.002-07:00Over Time<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Recently got to thinking about how much I love (and miss the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Muppets</span>). Sadly the classic Muppet characters are now owned by Disney and, except for being seen sparingly in some of the Disney preschool productions, Kermit, Miss Piggy, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">et</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">al</span> are likely to be doomed to history, vaulted away and replaced by lesser, but I suppose more "relevant" characters to drive the Mouse's bottom-line. To me, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Muppets</span> will remain timeless.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Several years ago a French student film made the rounds. It was a tribute to Jim Henson and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Muppets</span>, directed by: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Oury</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Atlan</span>, Thibaut <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Berland</span>, and Damien <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Ferri</span>. The film won numerous festival awards. The plot</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> follows a group of puppet creatures reminiscent of Kermit</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> who reverse <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">their</span> roles of puppet and puppeteer, manipulating their deceased creator. While this sounds morbid, the film is quite touching, a little creepy, and yet moving, amusing, and haunting. (Note: the video below starts in black with music, takes a few seconds to get rolling so be patient.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy08dtUNd4KbLGe8QnN2hoZRff_bYLf-Icc8phc88cz6hOQqcqc7J7tRYkO9zH0LLjL-nSue-9sUiTDMc1SXw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-15957832922192659472008-10-07T23:35:00.001-07:002008-10-08T00:12:29.592-07:00Meat Face!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Generally, I don't like to eat things with faces.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I've eaten my share of fish with the head still on, the clouded eyes looking up at me, while not an aspect I enjoy, the deliciousness of the fishy wins over any sympathy I may have for my aquatic dinner companion.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">But when processed food comes with a face, is creeps me out in a different way.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMcXzrl85ZH4W9HpwpBG_j7kN5ySAUzDqLjqW4Y-eacoFLMuBmsg0w8eKHJVb1wzip6GQET-Y0Cyx5-5rFXdKmuFQmJjcjcIeV1xI2DNytMqKFtr2KrkdlUpe0PUrWjiIqa6UnI6qlAU/s1600-h/meat_face_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMcXzrl85ZH4W9HpwpBG_j7kN5ySAUzDqLjqW4Y-eacoFLMuBmsg0w8eKHJVb1wzip6GQET-Y0Cyx5-5rFXdKmuFQmJjcjcIeV1xI2DNytMqKFtr2KrkdlUpe0PUrWjiIqa6UnI6qlAU/s400/meat_face_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669912996661634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >What do they have to be so damn happy about?</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieTD4OtBIFLXSPks1TCtxdcYpjCHzsSek812muFCmGzzegAYN_5zKkbC4NzpirKnk49PfOcJWMNi8ccu7z2LtEudjhOCSvjfK_76rkgE2HVTIenS7oLn_9XX6l5ISxrZ5mUSuGd564T0g/s1600-h/food_face_09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieTD4OtBIFLXSPks1TCtxdcYpjCHzsSek812muFCmGzzegAYN_5zKkbC4NzpirKnk49PfOcJWMNi8ccu7z2LtEudjhOCSvjfK_76rkgE2HVTIenS7oLn_9XX6l5ISxrZ5mUSuGd564T0g/s400/food_face_09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669856218631266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This must be "mild" cheddar.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4dheKBptQFbYVWOJnwvzQHjBm6V_9r8kDtAFnfYG6WKOILi7Suozo0hEXBW-A8QQM_Qrmuf5VuQnPsVr7-_ImwtNmkyzESScOXqF0etnAe0MJNCR2SYjs8T8dVJhTFNFuUgndWhIiJ8/s1600-h/meat_face_02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4dheKBptQFbYVWOJnwvzQHjBm6V_9r8kDtAFnfYG6WKOILi7Suozo0hEXBW-A8QQM_Qrmuf5VuQnPsVr7-_ImwtNmkyzESScOXqF0etnAe0MJNCR2SYjs8T8dVJhTFNFuUgndWhIiJ8/s400/meat_face_02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669773155029506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I'm assuming that the smiling mug on the meat<br /> is what ate the top part of this sandwich.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBx0Dzk0-rTYrDq-XcNflNkRIjBm5sfzcW3ttdNij07yKao-D5Qc6i-bHNwGxucAL4ppeIoV4_39EqCgzpsuUOO1llW-LR1y-c9TC7g6_gvgRzEBpyHsKUrtMIaf7cqJ9kSaOGSt1iwM/s1600-h/meat_face_05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBx0Dzk0-rTYrDq-XcNflNkRIjBm5sfzcW3ttdNij07yKao-D5Qc6i-bHNwGxucAL4ppeIoV4_39EqCgzpsuUOO1llW-LR1y-c9TC7g6_gvgRzEBpyHsKUrtMIaf7cqJ9kSaOGSt1iwM/s400/meat_face_05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669685765806162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Cute, if it didn't remind me of a litter box.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpghOquCs3H5zKDkEIaMPQJ45Jf3SQL8tVwqc96WgKcCko45wY0WpZ_YjkKe1hv0IesU92L_p4qIzjWds6_o8Fc5q5hNzdba-VhHePVLdVikCrFjlXAzGP-Ld_c4COBgqCgi4CRfaf9E/s1600-h/meat_face_03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpghOquCs3H5zKDkEIaMPQJ45Jf3SQL8tVwqc96WgKcCko45wY0WpZ_YjkKe1hv0IesU92L_p4qIzjWds6_o8Fc5q5hNzdba-VhHePVLdVikCrFjlXAzGP-Ld_c4COBgqCgi4CRfaf9E/s400/meat_face_03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669632561153458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mmmm, nothin' like some fried Mickey!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJR0ZDUv9g6fAyOobEZ12RB5_YTMgqNUuNqNigr_qj0shgit4ZttcJfCBm7jDLcrJp4fvTJHxDEjBXu6K0vxtKqbKRqkHlQup7K4Px8blojMBcQLE-mFeg6_0KgYhG9jatREL-DTgkwU0/s1600-h/meat_face_04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJR0ZDUv9g6fAyOobEZ12RB5_YTMgqNUuNqNigr_qj0shgit4ZttcJfCBm7jDLcrJp4fvTJHxDEjBXu6K0vxtKqbKRqkHlQup7K4Px8blojMBcQLE-mFeg6_0KgYhG9jatREL-DTgkwU0/s400/meat_face_04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669519318181058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Not only is it unsettling to see the image of the animals that<br />were ground up and used to make the meat,<br />but it's insulting--- and I hate being insulted by food.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAGtWTltNxr3ZBsTAOLLRmyuYkz9LF7BAPM6xRPJAniqO0cMBjq_nX8xlhDwzCTwv8dzFynSqXQ2kfZjlcL4pMDxi8buD2A_V8z_aoFBF87ZKtEjnFEbUuiEwv4TAssS71oBOJvLwPTQ/s1600-h/food_face_04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAGtWTltNxr3ZBsTAOLLRmyuYkz9LF7BAPM6xRPJAniqO0cMBjq_nX8xlhDwzCTwv8dzFynSqXQ2kfZjlcL4pMDxi8buD2A_V8z_aoFBF87ZKtEjnFEbUuiEwv4TAssS71oBOJvLwPTQ/s400/food_face_04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669332330459746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">I could make some comment about a tongue sandwich but...</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaiYI4-A8bjnTq67YhTYFbr6O66_OChNjcKuafsV1NCiFdH64z8AtN7ytKBYYTJwD7ORUwQiKftFYNm6sF71F-XjdHKHZQqX1uGmUVThp0KIgDmzw8uYm2PmeLaBD8mdj_tuCOkPc4Lo/s1600-h/food_face_05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaiYI4-A8bjnTq67YhTYFbr6O66_OChNjcKuafsV1NCiFdH64z8AtN7ytKBYYTJwD7ORUwQiKftFYNm6sF71F-XjdHKHZQqX1uGmUVThp0KIgDmzw8uYm2PmeLaBD8mdj_tuCOkPc4Lo/s400/food_face_05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669264422765538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">I dated a girl like this once.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6fEAiZnkvEQwKImSAKVR3GOSq8K1jQ63GSWaio_59utwc2bvBrTr1Qq9QWzAFJTI4reWFpZXw6erkShlIHUoyD9k5fNsThoQbG7Xyf0l2Uz9Fk6dNIOh2YObf7bgDeafn2eysnpKgjo/s1600-h/food_face_10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6fEAiZnkvEQwKImSAKVR3GOSq8K1jQ63GSWaio_59utwc2bvBrTr1Qq9QWzAFJTI4reWFpZXw6erkShlIHUoyD9k5fNsThoQbG7Xyf0l2Uz9Fk6dNIOh2YObf7bgDeafn2eysnpKgjo/s400/food_face_10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669170442857794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This patty seems to be straining...<br />I hope it's not doing what I think it's doing in my salad.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-YanjozPvZ0kI72ldEqMQLKll3iorMivHFf0qG3q_uLQELL2iAhdHgYjHdxOZOHYRxoPftmHJ4U_b2YAUoHiVlKF3EIQAtsA6RtMjxodP-aJU0-e3WIX-k_6kc13zIqB7aEOcVvP_BM/s1600-h/food_face_07.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-YanjozPvZ0kI72ldEqMQLKll3iorMivHFf0qG3q_uLQELL2iAhdHgYjHdxOZOHYRxoPftmHJ4U_b2YAUoHiVlKF3EIQAtsA6RtMjxodP-aJU0-e3WIX-k_6kc13zIqB7aEOcVvP_BM/s400/food_face_07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254669054442636338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Visitation hours are from 11am to 8pm.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjq5t5OJ9uYeHVA0eVEds87FMVZg50JJeR35TvVCadeFBV75g4vLpnRL77CDMq_Gfybv84TuQccu4VXMfcFp_asCsA3tRqXZ3b61glOqAoQNCi5cV2OEahHQqf5xeGnt-aDxFEK6WVE0/s1600-h/food_face_11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjq5t5OJ9uYeHVA0eVEds87FMVZg50JJeR35TvVCadeFBV75g4vLpnRL77CDMq_Gfybv84TuQccu4VXMfcFp_asCsA3tRqXZ3b61glOqAoQNCi5cV2OEahHQqf5xeGnt-aDxFEK6WVE0/s400/food_face_11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254668980390906210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >A chick's face on a hard boiled egg. Think about that.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U96maxmnC00Jc3ZzKXiYH5KIsmdpzvKrnGe1_44XLgB1QWf7lRuSEqTurZyquxTG8PXqcU2BT6SP3kHugcVV6p9zSMH62KxXjgKl8tvfYr_nXFnAAEaCzxfCAgGKvyDr3J1h_q5xN8s/s1600-h/food_face_06.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U96maxmnC00Jc3ZzKXiYH5KIsmdpzvKrnGe1_44XLgB1QWf7lRuSEqTurZyquxTG8PXqcU2BT6SP3kHugcVV6p9zSMH62KxXjgKl8tvfYr_nXFnAAEaCzxfCAgGKvyDr3J1h_q5xN8s/s400/food_face_06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254668848996569714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hey it's Mario! Who unknowingly is about to be devoured.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQOqMdhZhNPBqZQ65-2nLg0PKCEiasLJEr_4WtdajiWnwSkJ1RH50NMafV3EtlJnk_QbWeJqJB3M5nogTYCtlDVJ8KfHS7TRESD2egF6VsvlEtm_ctzaiWjUJbrsuhyphenhyphenP7HCctqqM72no/s1600-h/food_face_03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQOqMdhZhNPBqZQ65-2nLg0PKCEiasLJEr_4WtdajiWnwSkJ1RH50NMafV3EtlJnk_QbWeJqJB3M5nogTYCtlDVJ8KfHS7TRESD2egF6VsvlEtm_ctzaiWjUJbrsuhyphenhyphenP7HCctqqM72no/s400/food_face_03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254668750361389522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >It's okay. They're already dead.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaG7UQsuj3SaKuAPWO3YuO2PGHb9-yiX_LXZsV_ubP4wc_2zTYQUeH0a-ae3ZwSz5tGQEJv2QgH9wPnZFzuUXrLhLfBRXteRiKRdR0rLqlhM3iz5_FORzA53YB5IfFv67O3HLddNnSWVc/s1600-h/food_face_02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaG7UQsuj3SaKuAPWO3YuO2PGHb9-yiX_LXZsV_ubP4wc_2zTYQUeH0a-ae3ZwSz5tGQEJv2QgH9wPnZFzuUXrLhLfBRXteRiKRdR0rLqlhM3iz5_FORzA53YB5IfFv67O3HLddNnSWVc/s400/food_face_02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254668609328876610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This one is wrong on so many levels.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrfr8iuriErEHWraB3MS-w01H1GFcSaMuQUSnR9_i3RdxNs-NAAebm5EZ64Y5_E0BO5vazCGedv6mvidu1U3_uDWhIezpczskjjhWI6puuo24ylYd69RNJHCeHokSJUxK9_iDXdaF42w/s1600-h/food_face_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrfr8iuriErEHWraB3MS-w01H1GFcSaMuQUSnR9_i3RdxNs-NAAebm5EZ64Y5_E0BO5vazCGedv6mvidu1U3_uDWhIezpczskjjhWI6puuo24ylYd69RNJHCeHokSJUxK9_iDXdaF42w/s400/food_face_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254668486827776098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I've had nightmares like this.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUE5DmW1B7CExN6JPa8BU9EfmN5lIkd2efWXCSFQcoUVZkiwO_HCWt3oEvMIZSS6T4y3CHajhXnX-JTxSppDqTRwDD5YgmrTRiPsc4_MV-xjCO-m_ZEhoY0TVvWBrNYgsMaOGBZvDvZqs/s1600-h/food_face_08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUE5DmW1B7CExN6JPa8BU9EfmN5lIkd2efWXCSFQcoUVZkiwO_HCWt3oEvMIZSS6T4y3CHajhXnX-JTxSppDqTRwDD5YgmrTRiPsc4_MV-xjCO-m_ZEhoY0TVvWBrNYgsMaOGBZvDvZqs/s400/food_face_08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254668356423766178" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Words cannot describe the horror...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sometimes you just can't help but get a fresh one...</span><br /><br /></div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2Shq3zrVItY8KVkdyfZcwtWELsuJCOSDdanjMIZHwpV5PtUtyGEyyTHjXo-Pq2-i9DnCyp1B-OX8RWh0-kLOyRmC1FE0vjbgYcQfdL_xI1cixwWTkxakvSR4C3brDjfuovAJQ17rumI/s1600-h/babysandwich.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2Shq3zrVItY8KVkdyfZcwtWELsuJCOSDdanjMIZHwpV5PtUtyGEyyTHjXo-Pq2-i9DnCyp1B-OX8RWh0-kLOyRmC1FE0vjbgYcQfdL_xI1cixwWTkxakvSR4C3brDjfuovAJQ17rumI/s400/babysandwich.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254668167317155314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mmmmm, now that's good baby!</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:85%;" >(Yeah, yeah... I know. Disturbing, no babies were actually consumed so relax.)</span><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-45676126369831359262008-09-30T22:12:00.000-07:002009-11-11T20:22:54.793-08:00My Dad<span style="font-family:arial;">Okay, a </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >giant</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> post, sorry... but there's a fun video at the end! Ho boy!</span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">First let's start with <span style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span>! Because that's when I met my dad, when I was first me. That's me below, li'l melon-head Tommy only a month or two after I was born. I've got a serious diaper problem happening.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKoR0blkfINpgVtrmnI26ybl_eWF3bQAeI7E8K2HNzrwqeItoFJRCzq3JiFBnXrXuCbRxS1c689y52BQ8EdaIPYv3iSaANYGpi9lGOzMwArU15uSdPDQxLuMl52lZmHznwB_Y508bNvo/s1600-h/tom_baby.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKoR0blkfINpgVtrmnI26ybl_eWF3bQAeI7E8K2HNzrwqeItoFJRCzq3JiFBnXrXuCbRxS1c689y52BQ8EdaIPYv3iSaANYGpi9lGOzMwArU15uSdPDQxLuMl52lZmHznwB_Y508bNvo/s400/tom_baby.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250483418994648754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Yo! Can I get some powda' here?! I'M CHAFING!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Okay, enough about me. Back to my Dad, and let's get through the depressing stuff first, Dad's no longer around, I'd say that we <span style="font-style: italic;">lost </span>him back in 2004, but that sounds like he went missing under the sofa cushions and he's bound to turn up next time we clean. No, he passed away four years ago this past September 28th, after many years of struggling with a failing heart. But Dad was a fighter and hung on for<span style="font-style: italic;"> years</span> and managed to get around pretty much on his own up until his final year - during which time my Mother shouldered the huge responsibility of caring for him. Then in 2004 Dad disappeared into the sofa cushions with all the pocket change that I'll never see again.<br /><br />Recently I got to thinking about him and missing him. I don't have any drama to write about with my father, no lurking unresolved issues, nothing like that. In fact I even got to say good-bye to him just a few of days before he died. I loved my father and felt like we got along great, other than my normal teen-angst years when everyone has issues with their parents. Otherwise there was nothing bad or damaging about my relationship with him. And as I grew into an adult, our relationship only got better... although that time shared with him was far too brief.<br /><br />My Dad, Lyle Hart, was born on August 2nd, 1932 in Alliance Nebraska. His father was a farmer and had a fair bit of land where they grew corn and beans. My Dad's first house when he was a child was a sod house. Yep, a house constructed out of blocks of grass and earth out on the prairie. That's it in the picture below. Dad's about 3 yrs. old there, and showing his early propensity for wearing silly hats.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfXlQYMf9SBEpZf_A7-3LQrWltBoMiB6kDMtJqbZfKsTzsdJVhHD2K_W_6-jjQSTf3zHgfllIOJlP1-0dcQY0zOxbo5G8W8Ti56iBSa-e8NYR3T8o6Pa1r7v3snO-8D2cDHUc2jv_Hrs/s1600-h/dad_3yrs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfXlQYMf9SBEpZf_A7-3LQrWltBoMiB6kDMtJqbZfKsTzsdJVhHD2K_W_6-jjQSTf3zHgfllIOJlP1-0dcQY0zOxbo5G8W8Ti56iBSa-e8NYR3T8o6Pa1r7v3snO-8D2cDHUc2jv_Hrs/s400/dad_3yrs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250483349824177538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >When I get older, I'm gonna getta' mow the house!</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />As cliched as it is to say, Dad came from humble beginnings growing up in the heartland.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6XfzgDYLatt78-pd-0U6pauw0Klud1DdMkF1eNFLUVB_rGp_4eWSyH2so7LBRJy6mXSvv6MyjUezOmRjJAR_-XGFBXBHmscBcgPpOSk9KJt2TIwPvVC9N_rpS1WMuwlMyrbeBvmp6pA/s1600-h/dad_17yrs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6XfzgDYLatt78-pd-0U6pauw0Klud1DdMkF1eNFLUVB_rGp_4eWSyH2so7LBRJy6mXSvv6MyjUezOmRjJAR_-XGFBXBHmscBcgPpOSk9KJt2TIwPvVC9N_rpS1WMuwlMyrbeBvmp6pA/s400/dad_17yrs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250483267825816002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Lyle at 17, jacking cars in rural Nebraska.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't know what Dad was like when he was growing up, but from what I can tell he was well-liked. I'm betting he was a regular guy from farm country. Dad was very bright and creative and did not want to get stuck working a farm for his entire life - a source of friction between he and his father from what I understand. So consequently, he left the farm to make his way in the world.<br /><br />Dad served in the U.S. Air Force during the Korean War. He worked as a cryptographer, encoding and typing military messages. He was stationed in Germany during his years in the military, and from his stories seemed to love his time overseas.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCNM3yG5deSX4i5lQdnxEZKxTDwivgprqIuDGHm4TuUZf5mkSGqLeLxpNG1u22wNnqb5QBx0yngPNG_CGLIlF3Z3s5nThFaj8dAyg9Z3i9jPp8Kg260Axv3Sbmw0Yuar8L0zsjnQpah0/s1600-h/dad_airforce.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCNM3yG5deSX4i5lQdnxEZKxTDwivgprqIuDGHm4TuUZf5mkSGqLeLxpNG1u22wNnqb5QBx0yngPNG_CGLIlF3Z3s5nThFaj8dAyg9Z3i9jPp8Kg260Axv3Sbmw0Yuar8L0zsjnQpah0/s400/dad_airforce.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250483175590805634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dad at 19, in the Air Force during the Korean War.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">In the above picture, that he'd sent home to his parents, Dad is copying his father's military photo from WWI (below). He'd written on the back, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Okay, so it isn't as sharp as Papa's"</span> And no, it certainly wasn't.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRwigSq6qp-i2mmTMNJ_dzpRO8Pvgyser4Y9fOfgtZ67jhqeh-7CcVYoyI3JKsKygHpIw78sgP8ZQhr32_Hi9zMM3Eq9-NB92fEtdjwhBetrnFQQOCIyXbvarEekOgE639tjYJxH-YiE/s1600-h/grandad_hart.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRwigSq6qp-i2mmTMNJ_dzpRO8Pvgyser4Y9fOfgtZ67jhqeh-7CcVYoyI3JKsKygHpIw78sgP8ZQhr32_Hi9zMM3Eq9-NB92fEtdjwhBetrnFQQOCIyXbvarEekOgE639tjYJxH-YiE/s400/grandad_hart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250483087278177602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >My grandfather (Clarence Hart) circa 1917</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >WWI</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dig them crazy pants!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Yeah... I'm trying to figure out the math too on how my Grandfather served in the First World War since that would seem more like something my GREAT Grandfather would have done. Grandpa Hart died when I was around 7. He may have married late and had Dad when he was a little older, I'm not sure. Both sides of my family have longevity in their genes. The most plausible explanation is that Clarence constructed a time-machine out of a tractor and went back to fight the Kaiser.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEs5Oz28FGOi0XFrex-EeXQo_WNUtDxMWG-F54uq6Bj29lj0XwNf14lakeFPiqtgDZ6YYkLakLgsF6mZUvtvKCB8pSiUZSgGmR5xs8Hhc-DX4p_QcBVRMuxto-Ubxwjt5XJAlSUyDoZk/s1600-h/time_tractor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEs5Oz28FGOi0XFrex-EeXQo_WNUtDxMWG-F54uq6Bj29lj0XwNf14lakeFPiqtgDZ6YYkLakLgsF6mZUvtvKCB8pSiUZSgGmR5xs8Hhc-DX4p_QcBVRMuxto-Ubxwjt5XJAlSUyDoZk/s400/time_tractor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251581253114459490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Yankee-doodle this! I'll see you bastards in Versailles!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Dad went to college but he never completed his degree and was only a few hours short of getting his BA. Something that I think annoyed him the rest of his life, but did not seem to hinder his success.<br /><br />Dad was always interested in art, theatre, photography, and filmmaking. He worked his adult life making industrial and educational films. While he was working in Denver Colorado as a cameraman he met my mom (LeJean) who was working as a teacher.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YyYjr8qAaveIxlM74mYOqlh5IAYQxV9qoUc3Ns7E8Kqb9SVfCzL0eo25BJr4ngmhV6l_qQs34LJsyLEGe9rSVG4T099UPIk4g1zARiKPYzD53hfRN4Z3jFOnTuzMkjbDmaPZp0Hi_pg/s1600-h/mom&dad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YyYjr8qAaveIxlM74mYOqlh5IAYQxV9qoUc3Ns7E8Kqb9SVfCzL0eo25BJr4ngmhV6l_qQs34LJsyLEGe9rSVG4T099UPIk4g1zARiKPYzD53hfRN4Z3jFOnTuzMkjbDmaPZp0Hi_pg/s400/mom&dad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252051648009318994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">LeJean & Lyle</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Actually, Dad was given mom's number by a guy in a bar, he called the number and that's how they met. Seriously. And then a year or so later I arrived.<br /></span></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtUyOshpCDU-wsCqefZo4bWpCR8yjREka-rQuTBNv4vhAZzl8SLB9mv8NfCL3aiAZuA7qG5Pz3k60FOY-Dg_i0CQiFo-bS2_OLRhV1-TBC8P51jBlE2VutTytLUQuy3RhUDKqC3HZuwM/s1600-h/dad_lifting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtUyOshpCDU-wsCqefZo4bWpCR8yjREka-rQuTBNv4vhAZzl8SLB9mv8NfCL3aiAZuA7qG5Pz3k60FOY-Dg_i0CQiFo-bS2_OLRhV1-TBC8P51jBlE2VutTytLUQuy3RhUDKqC3HZuwM/s400/dad_lifting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250482920737519858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >You drop me old man and I'm calling child services!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Mom and Dad then moved to Lawrence Kansas, where Dad worked for Centron Films. Centron Studios was a complete film studio right in the middle of the country that made industrial and educational films, and one cult feature film: <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkTz0EvfEiY">Carnival of Souls</a>. Herk Harvey, the director was one of my dad's close friends.<br /><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCFy267hE77T_a6_7LtsxVIwl6C7mXxb9HfQy3TKOpf5X51onFRyiqZX6VLeU-fQvLOiCh94TzSQ1nrBm6QV3ccgnN_Kq4FPp6-KgRvqAVf8qomQWH9QiYQ4_WIai2plSkNY5z3QS5bk/s1600-h/house_on_moundview.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCFy267hE77T_a6_7LtsxVIwl6C7mXxb9HfQy3TKOpf5X51onFRyiqZX6VLeU-fQvLOiCh94TzSQ1nrBm6QV3ccgnN_Kq4FPp6-KgRvqAVf8qomQWH9QiYQ4_WIai2plSkNY5z3QS5bk/s400/house_on_moundview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250482850121974690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Me and Mom at our family's first house in Lawrence Kansas... this was BS (before siblings).</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UJ-6ATE0HyW6bO7fq6dnDuhotvRS28qkLifL9vQvyP_nquGwQIdwSqseRjw6mJBYPlRTQoxkGd3wd0fhdOh0eQcpi65W_cPx4TkWfHPrZ5WuSw0ZPiwv3KKu49rdvwh-C3vvSStNWek/s1600-h/tom_4b-day-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UJ-6ATE0HyW6bO7fq6dnDuhotvRS28qkLifL9vQvyP_nquGwQIdwSqseRjw6mJBYPlRTQoxkGd3wd0fhdOh0eQcpi65W_cPx4TkWfHPrZ5WuSw0ZPiwv3KKu49rdvwh-C3vvSStNWek/s400/tom_4b-day-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250482637889419554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Me getting ready for my fourth birthday!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhML5JWmtSXXcgVfIkG_gE-cNeFODlDw_jY2y8yrOEKnOE7nFecnR60qQYdXEZyjHTLSF_PZZ3fXe5Q0qWEgDzzEOlbZjd0XiIQ7HAl-7wDqvPXYEb34xHhDLIS1pwdbtuJfE01GSTQXlM/s1600-h/tom_4b-day-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhML5JWmtSXXcgVfIkG_gE-cNeFODlDw_jY2y8yrOEKnOE7nFecnR60qQYdXEZyjHTLSF_PZZ3fXe5Q0qWEgDzzEOlbZjd0XiIQ7HAl-7wDqvPXYEb34xHhDLIS1pwdbtuJfE01GSTQXlM/s400/tom_4b-day-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250482571886206546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >It's birthday time beoches!<br />Dad's not happy about the gang-signs I'm flashin'.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I have vivid memories of the time when we lived in Lawrence. As I said, Centron was a motion picture studio, complete with a large sound stage. Their industrial clients were national and international corporations and very often would include big-name (or biggish) name talent for their productions like: Rowan & Martin, George Goebel, Jessie White, Eddie Albert, Don Johnson, and so on. Dad would often bring me along on shoots. When I was very little, I remember getting to meet Ed Ames who offered me a bite of an apple he was eating.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9IottUnlleJJa3NALIlbq7gFKbSdKQcpkd83fft1CNILHN6GwbTGkleXTW4wEbP2ngDe5XzyVLRVlzN7UdBkDmZPmNUZLvAqcBay3n6yw_F4_Z8_iVZOXSkUZCERxGBakHr3_PsWPTW0/s1600-h/dad_me_set.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9IottUnlleJJa3NALIlbq7gFKbSdKQcpkd83fft1CNILHN6GwbTGkleXTW4wEbP2ngDe5XzyVLRVlzN7UdBkDmZPmNUZLvAqcBay3n6yw_F4_Z8_iVZOXSkUZCERxGBakHr3_PsWPTW0/s400/dad_me_set.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250482422383300114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Me and Dad on a blacksmith's set at Centron</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">To me this was Hollywood-- and in a way, it wasn't too far off. I even got a chance to do some acting. I was featured in several educational films, even one where it looks like I get run over by a car because I didn't observe the walk signals.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeVntbuUuClAig6ovdlKcJv4GVcUV-xodWd9FiMvVHrA6XsiHSEqaSdwznjr8hNdAiDub5KyzjKLrQ3lMh4EROgn9e_Mgqh12JMueWIv1l8TMBdn8qVpA6TvOHGUMJE-dxF9wicC13Z0/s1600-h/family_parkridge.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeVntbuUuClAig6ovdlKcJv4GVcUV-xodWd9FiMvVHrA6XsiHSEqaSdwznjr8hNdAiDub5KyzjKLrQ3lMh4EROgn9e_Mgqh12JMueWIv1l8TMBdn8qVpA6TvOHGUMJE-dxF9wicC13Z0/s400/family_parkridge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250482315614675522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >My brother Scott, Lyle, LeJean and me at my Mom's parent's house in Parkridge Ill.<br />This was right after Dad lost his father.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Dad later accepted a job with Deere & Company in the Quad Cities making industrial films, so the rest of my growing up was in a tiny town in the middle of farm country in Illinois. Dad had not wanted to be a farmer, but his profession had kept him close to farming.<br /><br />As I said, there was no drama or issues between me n' Dad. He could be strict, but never unfairly so. He had a great sense of humor. While he was conservative in his views he was socially very liberal and fair. Except for that time he tried to murder a Canadian family that homesteaded in our garage, but they were asking for it and I have to court papers to prove it.<br /></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3Jnu5vYYGv3Ryft0BTgBFgNPifjBErphQbzmaw2IGNgBokVdL7sin1UcKp7nrFaEdj5SUOA-PeB6tIRXiIZtPzTeykNErTN-hGooFkH2Gkw-g_8TsSB9jvUnv-TeUlE-VqeDkaxewLc/s1600-h/dad_pillow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3Jnu5vYYGv3Ryft0BTgBFgNPifjBErphQbzmaw2IGNgBokVdL7sin1UcKp7nrFaEdj5SUOA-PeB6tIRXiIZtPzTeykNErTN-hGooFkH2Gkw-g_8TsSB9jvUnv-TeUlE-VqeDkaxewLc/s400/dad_pillow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250481637540137762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dad with a pillow my sister made for him at Christmas.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Dad had a silly sense of humor, and didn't mind looking silly himself. Below is a picture of him wearing a wig my mother had purchased when she was going through chemo for cancer (she has since recovered).</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUodiY2hzEKpJ8o-9EP-za-_2ZSmWturhyphenhyphens3tC3gbYaxuBwe5rtAijMlSaVo609ne3TtahFJWW_D-fghVPG66srRmq09QDvgWgcYdgV1QHYLfbQmq6Yzw-TB4UzE5AwGw3IkekeqKxOlU/s1600-h/dad_wig.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUodiY2hzEKpJ8o-9EP-za-_2ZSmWturhyphenhyphens3tC3gbYaxuBwe5rtAijMlSaVo609ne3TtahFJWW_D-fghVPG66srRmq09QDvgWgcYdgV1QHYLfbQmq6Yzw-TB4UzE5AwGw3IkekeqKxOlU/s400/dad_wig.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250481482673397810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Does the price tag make me look cheap?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Oh, and the silliness didn't stop at wigs. Nope. Dad had tons of HATS. Whenever I'd see him I never knew if he'd be wearing a cowboy hat, farmer's seed cap, straw hat, pork-pie hat, you name it.<br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxzLYv0DUvsL4QgC0XrSLNpzoNEarw1hMq9j3gM-3_lPK0jEnFkycAT8BxhoqIVbWlhTtA4c1wR9dyT6Zog-VkhiXknRLySCQ7UlNi67ATSumq52DlzKSnS8xGv0bgZj6C3R9PO59x30/s1600-h/dad_dapper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxzLYv0DUvsL4QgC0XrSLNpzoNEarw1hMq9j3gM-3_lPK0jEnFkycAT8BxhoqIVbWlhTtA4c1wR9dyT6Zog-VkhiXknRLySCQ7UlNi67ATSumq52DlzKSnS8xGv0bgZj6C3R9PO59x30/s400/dad_dapper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250481302242471010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dad looking dapper in his Russian sailor's cap.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">When I became an adult, my father's taste in clothing and hats was endearing and amusing to me. Back when I was a teen though, I was horrified. One of my most embarrassing moments happened the summer of my junior year in High School. I'd gotten a job at a local car dealer painting their sale banners on their showroom windows. This was a bonus, since the daughter of the dealership was a fellow classmate and a hottie whom I was hoping to ask out. Well, my first day working, late in the afternoon, the dealer's daughter comes out to bring me a drink, and she's actually talking to me! We were just starting to hit it off when I heard the familiar sound of a small gas engine putt-putt putting off in the distance... it was Dad. He had a little Honda 90 trail bike that he'd zip around town on in good weather. He thought he'd pay me a visit at work. DAMN! Well... a visit from your parents when you're a teen trying to act cool in front of a chick is bad enough, but add to this how my dad was dressed:<br /><br />He was wearing these awful tie-died/bleached cut-offs, a bright yellow tank-top that was covered in CB phrases from the 70's with things like "Ten-four good buddy" and "Put the pedal to the metal" and "We gotta' convoy!" And to top it all off, Dad was sportin' a big ol' cowboy hat and cowboy boots (remember, he's wearing shorts). Ugh... Oh the humanity of it all!<br /><br />I wanted to choke myself on a paintbrush and die right there. Now that I think about it, his visit was probably very brief, but to me it seemed an eternity. Eventually Dad went on his way to finish his errands. As he left, the dealer's daughter looked to me, shook her head and said, "Sometimes dads are such dorks".<br /><br />Yes. Yes they are. But now, it's moments like that one that I recall fondly and wouldn't change. Well, except I would have liked to have gotten a date with the dealer's daughter, but that didn't happen.<br /></span></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMEWae90cfTs2lpM3u9fVd769hh0qbvvhdVqdWMf-n0zjQN0fCsBFB0fg0_dgJRrmGTane8xwNmGoEmFAB2RPEO_ZQti1dm1ZUUu2iY-FBEG_gCgAaGrQ9pBymTsx2SSL52EnnkEYEBA/s1600-h/dad_dinner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMEWae90cfTs2lpM3u9fVd769hh0qbvvhdVqdWMf-n0zjQN0fCsBFB0fg0_dgJRrmGTane8xwNmGoEmFAB2RPEO_ZQti1dm1ZUUu2iY-FBEG_gCgAaGrQ9pBymTsx2SSL52EnnkEYEBA/s400/dad_dinner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250481218493953906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">TRIVIA TIME: Dad had told me the reason I was named "Tom" was because his mother would always call him Tom when he was growing up. He didn't know why she did this, his name was Lyle after all. But she always called him Tom, so the name got passed on to me. However, I did find out from my Grandmother the reason, it was because growing up on a farm they had lots of cats around. And she said Dad was like a tomcat, always running around. So it was Tom for "tomcat". I was happy that I was able to share this bit of info with Dad.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aVsJNQjVNwyhgtmOek7cN6naq7iqzsaJ2h6sxy3zxcFpidKXFSAH1EPjsWp5M_I2Raalsu7Aye_NaUoJR4GZhD7LzvEwsilh8fnywNeDNM2V8IPXYJ0vOJNeDS0R4NlTJq2rtpor2U4/s1600-h/dad_alamo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aVsJNQjVNwyhgtmOek7cN6naq7iqzsaJ2h6sxy3zxcFpidKXFSAH1EPjsWp5M_I2Raalsu7Aye_NaUoJR4GZhD7LzvEwsilh8fnywNeDNM2V8IPXYJ0vOJNeDS0R4NlTJq2rtpor2U4/s400/dad_alamo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250481106701131682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dad at the Alamo... looking to rent a car.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >(Ha! No one's ever said that before I bet.)</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The last five years or so of Dad's life, when his health started failing, I made sure to visit him and Mom for the Holidays. I'm very glad that I did because we had some nice quiet Thanksgivings and Christmases together. I also got to have some good talks with Dad during this time.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesOCSsrh0sppRU3AOxC6YdnzGSWKZ0O-2axSi52DH4_v29oam1i-HXqf9EEMVYsrIy8FdQuPmBbxiJMPl0_i08yHKTSbhpo6ZKKWDFSuKa32nAhDNpwYo_TqFP_0QLUp4wm6QPPWD5jE/s1600-h/dad_xmas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesOCSsrh0sppRU3AOxC6YdnzGSWKZ0O-2axSi52DH4_v29oam1i-HXqf9EEMVYsrIy8FdQuPmBbxiJMPl0_i08yHKTSbhpo6ZKKWDFSuKa32nAhDNpwYo_TqFP_0QLUp4wm6QPPWD5jE/s400/dad_xmas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250480947175799330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dad and Jenny (my sister) at Christmas 2003</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Fighting over gifts, as usual.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Mom and Dad would split their time between Nebraska (where he was from) and Arkansas (where she was from). They would spend the winter months in Arkansas, then the summer in Nebraska. When Dad got very ill in Arkansas he really wanted to return to the little town in Nebraska where he'd grown up, Riverdale. He said he wanted to go home and sit on his porch. Which he did, and I'm glad he was able to.</span><br /></div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhla04woD8Ieq9yVbqRUBQxfwHrc_qh0t5tCqvijBGtXsHPjDjXJm9d1AoO5xx_hgOv1S5m1gbh__xhOENOwBhruKoL_AmH_vH06s9xctms1KQfcvnxMwy6V3XAU4_KjZBkm48AacQoI/s1600-h/dad_waina_waterfall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhla04woD8Ieq9yVbqRUBQxfwHrc_qh0t5tCqvijBGtXsHPjDjXJm9d1AoO5xx_hgOv1S5m1gbh__xhOENOwBhruKoL_AmH_vH06s9xctms1KQfcvnxMwy6V3XAU4_KjZBkm48AacQoI/s400/dad_waina_waterfall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250480613245259762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Below is a short video I shot in 2001 while visiting Mom and Dad in Arkansas for Christmas. I was demonstrating to Dad my new camera and how quickly video could be edited on my Mac laptop. It's a cute slice of my parents together.<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxqrk5ekF6EfNuQcZrMjC9_yG2yxPRkYBLIbHK5XcUjmy9KLH1s_YRe8X_5c--ZvRAUrbznOMe9E4D13yQZvA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I got married this past year in Hawaii and really wish Dad could have been at the wedding.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBlADGQf0qcQg5fdLWA68ale1s3uyCBzXLTPs86oeWyrPNTyshm8Fo6L9SmFRtOMNM_mXROf52aa72A9U_tPz1cnpLz0a_nhaCdZCzOjtfuyMCsIy-KsoazEEZNZVFuxhb83FG1R2xIs/s1600-h/T&E_wedding.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBlADGQf0qcQg5fdLWA68ale1s3uyCBzXLTPs86oeWyrPNTyshm8Fo6L9SmFRtOMNM_mXROf52aa72A9U_tPz1cnpLz0a_nhaCdZCzOjtfuyMCsIy-KsoazEEZNZVFuxhb83FG1R2xIs/s400/T&E_wedding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252046296820798466" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me and Emily after the ceremony.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Dad never got a chance to meet Emily I'm sure he would have loved her. </span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ojtLHengXtVphMfJI8dGs6h2NW1qYqISjzbHyiL3rqMggeNHge1aE6-C0q0MpNnpEUvLP7bthibfNtWsfnwpYXG0SilBuPhEfA1cVOz2BAP97E9lZxO-tYyP3jgnQOZq8ofu6I_Id0g/s1600-h/harts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ojtLHengXtVphMfJI8dGs6h2NW1qYqISjzbHyiL3rqMggeNHge1aE6-C0q0MpNnpEUvLP7bthibfNtWsfnwpYXG0SilBuPhEfA1cVOz2BAP97E9lZxO-tYyP3jgnQOZq8ofu6I_Id0g/s400/harts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252046143554612866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Harts in Hawaii</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />Jenny, LeJean, Scott, Tom</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />However, perhaps it's fortunate that Emily never saw him dressed in his shorts, tank-top, cowboy hat, and boots - I dunno, add a lei and he would have been dressed for Hawaii. Dad would have had a great time.</span><br /></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-89652373037936110332008-09-24T00:01:00.000-07:002008-09-27T13:27:20.440-07:00Karmann Ghia<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for sometime in my callow youth---</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQ0Ul20bNO8ZhrNAcZyAe6a7OMLSw7LaeIg0aOE29jBEGhJ6VhB4UMUEn86eng9K1YnhWKp7JhEZk1numS8Bm2EtrvwY4lagA69cWW-g2rNlMr-M5zngpWVIS1I63S8DX8TV6GJi4Xo4/s1600-h/wayback_machine.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQ0Ul20bNO8ZhrNAcZyAe6a7OMLSw7LaeIg0aOE29jBEGhJ6VhB4UMUEn86eng9K1YnhWKp7JhEZk1numS8Bm2EtrvwY4lagA69cWW-g2rNlMr-M5zngpWVIS1I63S8DX8TV6GJi4Xo4/s400/wayback_machine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250799865850963522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Go on... pull my paw and I'll show you what the middle ages smelled like.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">---back in the Midwest, in a small Illinois town of about six thousand, right in the middle of farm country. And there I was, in High School trying to figure it all out. Okay, not really. I wasn't trying to figure anything out except for maybe girls, but as I've learned nobody understands them. However, being male and a teenager in the Midwest I was also into cars.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">My first car was a gold '67 Chevy Caprice Classic (a high-end Chevy Impala), that was a hand-me-down from my Grandparents.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnlQHGv7ee3VFLTtyMvLgPF9U8HrnYLjEvxto5TF40rA3nOSivtidkYObP6p9OsnJM5QHglLfQSFunHE6v0DNbet8KHvgL2_NsTmUVRl1AdjX8bEA-PsIcOOI6bcJX5WVMlrMoEtL1UQ/s1600-h/67Chev2Dr02b.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnlQHGv7ee3VFLTtyMvLgPF9U8HrnYLjEvxto5TF40rA3nOSivtidkYObP6p9OsnJM5QHglLfQSFunHE6v0DNbet8KHvgL2_NsTmUVRl1AdjX8bEA-PsIcOOI6bcJX5WVMlrMoEtL1UQ/s400/67Chev2Dr02b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249836935007722818" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hellooooo Goldie!</span></span><br /></div></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />That Chevy was one sweet ride. It was in mint condition. Big engine, tons of power, bench seats... ah, what a road machine. Perfect date car too. But alas, the Caprice was not to be mine for long. After I'd been driving the Caprice for about a year, that was when my younger brother was starting to drive and my parents felt that since the Caprice was an automatic that it would easier and safer for <span style="font-style: italic;">him</span> to drive while I drove something else. I was not happy about this at all, but I had no choice. Of course whatever I'd be driving next would be newer, safer, and a better car than this old Chevy. Ah... no it wasn't.<br /><br />It was a rusty, '73 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia that my dad paid $200 for. Yeah, that's a FAIR trade.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupjwXc7JtxISq2e3hNnGOeNHmDG6K-zE1_NaHSYE9ZYMH1JBvC8J-A9QF-YgrnqgqMXD26dTRUiTYFlBRq9rwljyI3h9bJkpHijcQCAxYA2OR7x5cv_KcjdjPjIpK0SYzJqACcnh6F3M/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupjwXc7JtxISq2e3hNnGOeNHmDG6K-zE1_NaHSYE9ZYMH1JBvC8J-A9QF-YgrnqgqMXD26dTRUiTYFlBRq9rwljyI3h9bJkpHijcQCAxYA2OR7x5cv_KcjdjPjIpK0SYzJqACcnh6F3M/s400/Karmann_Ghia_005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480790365597250" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Dad figured the Karman Ghia would be a good "beater car" for me to learn how to drive a stick-shift. In retrospect he was right, because ever since I've only owned manual transmission cars and I like driving a stick. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Sadly I have no "before" pictures of the Karmann Ghia when I first was given it. It was green (where there wasn't rust) with a white hard-top - no heat and no air-conditioning either. It took me a few weeks to get the hang of changing gears, but once I was comfortable with driving, the Ghia was a ton of fun to zip around in.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzvTymjcMPsVykB4ijeCa81Jntl-gaD7C77pW4gGcye-K9FX_2leXIq2cji5rm7edj01zelgnRxxqW6U6NQf66KGEHyq_SBLuisZQx8wb6IC14TdYDYzEqUCyNDqPTIQKDen6UDQ-n5k/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzvTymjcMPsVykB4ijeCa81Jntl-gaD7C77pW4gGcye-K9FX_2leXIq2cji5rm7edj01zelgnRxxqW6U6NQf66KGEHyq_SBLuisZQx8wb6IC14TdYDYzEqUCyNDqPTIQKDen6UDQ-n5k/s400/Karmann_Ghia_002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480719335371282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Factoid: The plate was the title of the first<br />ill-fated attempt at doing a sequel to the movie "2001"</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Being an old Volkswagen, this car also required plenty of "special attention". I replaced at least two starter motors, several fuel pumps, one generator, etc. It was always in need of work. But I loved that little car dearly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMdBLVgkjfRcJM5CHiGs_Jq4yN9Uz1xqQjr0VH4_T7EmRntCYNGPpUQpaPkAfZm6MJ3qKffc_Jhgxh3ndQtVRkLM7xDI3YP76rXbo75DLQ58IYtmHSwW4_h39Sk-AD29AQdGruDnDm8u8/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMdBLVgkjfRcJM5CHiGs_Jq4yN9Uz1xqQjr0VH4_T7EmRntCYNGPpUQpaPkAfZm6MJ3qKffc_Jhgxh3ndQtVRkLM7xDI3YP76rXbo75DLQ58IYtmHSwW4_h39Sk-AD29AQdGruDnDm8u8/s400/Karmann_Ghia_003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480617871336386" border="0" /></a>One day I noticed a large pile of leafy tree branches stacked near the street where the city had done some trimming. This gave me an idea. I grabbed some twine, picked up the branches and tied them all over the outside of the Ghia (took me most of the afternoon to complete). Once I was done, the Ghia was unrecognizable as a car and looked like a big bush. My friend Greg had stopped by and he was amused by what I'd done, so we decided to take her out for a drive. It was difficult seeing through the window, but I was able to see enough to navigate the street, so we headed off through town. Thinking back on this now, I guess it was kinda' irresponsible, but I was a teen - in my defense I wasn't racing through the streets, I was lumbering along at the pace of a parade float. A motorcade of drunken Shriners could have easily passed us.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioivVVH6kEISKYUwUk4Py2ruvEvCeTHfcYc8q0pWprHyBCgKesA6NpDppV2Dh0YrINbDgFrTiSCRk9BseUD4Zx0JKJMY4fUFACmij29LX1X1SevvlQJ_xnMWqAZIDWpshqc1iYLxZ8f3I/s1600-h/shriners.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioivVVH6kEISKYUwUk4Py2ruvEvCeTHfcYc8q0pWprHyBCgKesA6NpDppV2Dh0YrINbDgFrTiSCRk9BseUD4Zx0JKJMY4fUFACmij29LX1X1SevvlQJ_xnMWqAZIDWpshqc1iYLxZ8f3I/s400/shriners.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249841774888494898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Nobody drives shrubbery in our town and gets away with it!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Greg and I drove around for about a half-hour before the inevitable happened, we got pulled over by a cop. He was totally cool, and amused by what we'd done, but he said we had to get it off the road or he'd give me a ticket since my plates and tail lights were not visible. Otherwise he said it really didn't pose a threat, but he didn't condone driving a vehicle covered in branches. The cop allowed me to drive the car back to my house. He followed along behind then watched us remove the branches from the car. Once he saw how rusty the old Ghia was he said he could understand why I'd want to cover it up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWc12XbvpfmVBbuclz9RZ3VsleH8nkXJ5roNiANifZK0-nVSVMPu91KEoPaHqMTAzM9yfualv7ZTKBVQ8lBnODnosSEdO-Rm9torQ3YQq3xuXw4Fvao23wvRc7cm2oVYLU9iDb_J5kXQ/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWc12XbvpfmVBbuclz9RZ3VsleH8nkXJ5roNiANifZK0-nVSVMPu91KEoPaHqMTAzM9yfualv7ZTKBVQ8lBnODnosSEdO-Rm9torQ3YQq3xuXw4Fvao23wvRc7cm2oVYLU9iDb_J5kXQ/s400/Karmann_Ghia_004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480540137651938" border="0" /></a>This whole experience gave me an idea - why not paint over the rust.?.. and if I'm going to paint the car, let's make it camouflage - inspired by the tree branches of course. And by paint, I mean just that - with a bucket and a brush. I had no cash for any fancy-ass paint job. So I ran to Farm and Fleet (local farming goods store - Walmart type of place).<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzZ2BAU0GpBbUK_PA_QYzOriTHAoaZ8jiE_UJPPYqrQ1Rek-PwZFoJOh3MYUlf2DiOU6hDlXQkO9jhcJPoOL82XUHqkXMCRwbA3vna8SsflIPNUULFDYS5mJt-WKHpOI2_270ZqQn00M/s1600-h/Farm-&-Fleet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzZ2BAU0GpBbUK_PA_QYzOriTHAoaZ8jiE_UJPPYqrQ1Rek-PwZFoJOh3MYUlf2DiOU6hDlXQkO9jhcJPoOL82XUHqkXMCRwbA3vna8SsflIPNUULFDYS5mJt-WKHpOI2_270ZqQn00M/s400/Farm-&-Fleet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249836856860383874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Everything we sell is made right ch'er in America!<br />'Cept for that which is made in China... and that's most everything.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I got some tractor paint and brushes and went to town on the Ghia.<br /><br />Painting inspired me to do more work to the car. Another trip to Farm and Fleet netted me some running lights that go on semi-trailer trucks... so I wired up the Ghia for lights, putting them along the sides. Then I added amber lights to the front, and blue lights inside the nose grills.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha7f3zfhjZlKCxpNHnHadrbxSteUNaXu3lA2JFDyZ060R7oEr5v73DIiRb3rUWAYLpDRTwOGIsrkRuTQEwBYoxl6HOJri9aW_g2EjlNpJeY52j1BOQK44UHN6_HKScdDLa4T0ya_hJbEQ/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha7f3zfhjZlKCxpNHnHadrbxSteUNaXu3lA2JFDyZ060R7oEr5v73DIiRb3rUWAYLpDRTwOGIsrkRuTQEwBYoxl6HOJri9aW_g2EjlNpJeY52j1BOQK44UHN6_HKScdDLa4T0ya_hJbEQ/s400/Karmann_Ghia_007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480249075260882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Strangely, everything in the interior could only be seen in black and white.</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Must be a German thing.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">All of these lights were on their own switches so I could control them. The Ghia had been missing a radio, so I just used the open hole in the dashboard to put the switch box for the lights. I mounted an under-dash stereo to make up for the missing radio.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLkN6RXPfg_nOVl8zyQy4e5NkOstfwiLNIcvWwDqtJ9wWpwyeeH406dT_XoiFBCQTlXuR0vKmhKBq0KhbfXrQm7WudvTXoT08paFwOquSmyhvv0bw3vhJV5YiFScFl8nw_8iI0purx31s/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLkN6RXPfg_nOVl8zyQy4e5NkOstfwiLNIcvWwDqtJ9wWpwyeeH406dT_XoiFBCQTlXuR0vKmhKBq0KhbfXrQm7WudvTXoT08paFwOquSmyhvv0bw3vhJV5YiFScFl8nw_8iI0purx31s/s400/Karmann_Ghia_008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480182406466962" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Launch control, we're ready for lift off.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />And then I got my hands on some carpet pieces and shagged out the inside of the car. In order to make sure the carpet stayed in nice n' snug, I used bolts with big washers to hold it in place on the floor. So this took some drilling, and was a lot of work, but I didn't want the pieces to come unglued while I was driving. Finally the Ghia was all tricked out and ready to go.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv-VICZ9_Ak6WMMV3Smfxh7jxCd7FfR1ojY9CJlIcaq4YySc0-PskcmBWE_cIrNHDwGZFY40MdMPvuuKhQJJIoNfSuYE77PwukC19mBG4pTWRTHhqk1svmA16f-JifUuGfLg4Av7e0QY/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv-VICZ9_Ak6WMMV3Smfxh7jxCd7FfR1ojY9CJlIcaq4YySc0-PskcmBWE_cIrNHDwGZFY40MdMPvuuKhQJJIoNfSuYE77PwukC19mBG4pTWRTHhqk1svmA16f-JifUuGfLg4Av7e0QY/s400/Karmann_Ghia_006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480346965102098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Green on the outside... fuzzy on the inside! Like my underwear.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />But after my first fill-up I could smell gas inside the car. Turns out that when I was drilling the holes for the carpet bolts, I accidentally drilled into the gas tank (it's in the front of the car). Considering that the gas tank wasn't full of fuel when I was drilling, but instead full of <span style="font-style: italic;">dangerous</span> fumes, I was extremely lucky that I didn't cause a spark while drilling, because---<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5dpiLY0qy2MI1FbUNdWWqF7M55KCkEMOjc4w-ZJCncs4-SNuKgqI6l7IMfpnUVqFTEGI46llcisS8T6djF7_nJY8yGU4jKNZfTff6B9odn-HQkzXKNnoOBf8Rwb1gS6J08Z0PquWoN4/s1600-h/Boom_baby!.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5dpiLY0qy2MI1FbUNdWWqF7M55KCkEMOjc4w-ZJCncs4-SNuKgqI6l7IMfpnUVqFTEGI46llcisS8T6djF7_nJY8yGU4jKNZfTff6B9odn-HQkzXKNnoOBf8Rwb1gS6J08Z0PquWoN4/s400/Boom_baby!.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249836740225162834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ground control to Major Tom... you're majorly screwed!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">--- that gas tank probably would have exploded. So I ended up having to pull out the gas tank and patch up the hole. Once this was done, the Ghia was at last ready to roll!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXU0Vp_NPHRrbIXIKgviSSJ9rGXSxDF0iZlG75s6T96H9Oql2n772gs9g_H_mwmlmWpebp4yS78AlkFHDSmCPZnu9DGI2EPaoGusiqXF9D8o0hyiAJaee5bLZ__MKxzhZttl1syUgkUyc/s1600-h/Karmann_Ghia_001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXU0Vp_NPHRrbIXIKgviSSJ9rGXSxDF0iZlG75s6T96H9Oql2n772gs9g_H_mwmlmWpebp4yS78AlkFHDSmCPZnu9DGI2EPaoGusiqXF9D8o0hyiAJaee5bLZ__MKxzhZttl1syUgkUyc/s400/Karmann_Ghia_001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249480068020954066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Highway to the danger zone BABY!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Man, I had a blast in that car. My friends and I would pile in and drive all over the place. Being a small town in the middle of nowhere there wasn't anything to do so we'd "shoot the loop", which is just another way of saying we'd go cruising. That was<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >BIG</span> fun back in <span style="font-size:85%;">small <span style="font-size:100%;">town</span></span> Illinois.<br /><br />Amazingly, I got a ton of use out of that little Karmann Ghia, I drove it my senior year in high school and my first three years of college. Remember, that the car had no air conditioning or heat. In the winter I'd have to bundle up. I recall leaving to head back to the University of Iowa after Christmas break. Mom made me a thermos of cocoa for the trip and in addition to all my winter wear, I was wrapped up in a sleeping bag too, all squeezed into that little drafty car. The things you do when you're a poor college student.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9N6wql46OlWN1wp_CzhDAPV_YZHe4yeHMO6CoCCDpgxLXhyphenhyphenGF-DngQ2T16CEPPoAGZMP673rYcxUe2KtiC9oMcecn8thyphenhyphentqNd9aJ_kwbgahv_6DezOwfNlNCBBmkCVyBSGOLypd1ys_w/s1600-h/space+cat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9N6wql46OlWN1wp_CzhDAPV_YZHe4yeHMO6CoCCDpgxLXhyphenhyphenGF-DngQ2T16CEPPoAGZMP673rYcxUe2KtiC9oMcecn8thyphenhyphentqNd9aJ_kwbgahv_6DezOwfNlNCBBmkCVyBSGOLypd1ys_w/s400/space+cat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249846129801655874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">I ran out of relevant pictures for this post,<br />but I found this nifty picture of a cat in a space suit! Ain't it neat?</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />The Ghia was always having problems, and despite this I still loved the car. At one point the starter motor went out for a second (or maybe third) time. I didn't have the money to get a rebuilt one to replace it, so I had to drive it without a starter motor... which you can do with a manual transmission car. What you have to do is, put the car in neutral, then push it to get it rolling. Once you've got a decent amount of speed, you jump in the car before it can stop, press down the clutch, slam the stick into 2nd gear and then let out the clutch. This will cause the engine to turn and consequently start. I drove this car for two semesters having to start it in this manner. I got good at it too. I started parking creatively, pointed down hills and such so I'd have an easy starting roll.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">See what I mean? No more pictures.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />My junior year at the University of Iowa was when I said good-bye to the Ghia. I was living in a house just off campus with five of my buddies (all of us crammed into a tiny house). Tom Grant, one of my roommates asked if I'd consider selling the Ghia. I thought about it, and said that I might. He said he didn't have much money but offered me $250 cash.<br /><br />Sold!<br /><br />And I made $50 more than my dad had paid for it. Ha take that!<br /><br />Listing all the troubles I had with this car, you'd think that this would have put me off Volkswagen's - not at all. My next vehicle was a '77 VW Bus. And THAT was a hell of lot of fun to drive.... and "no", I didn't paint it camouflage.</span></span></div><br /></span></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-32701098205027957192008-09-22T18:25:00.000-07:002008-09-23T21:21:05.358-07:00Fun Factory!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">For the past six months I've been working on a job that never gives me any down-time, or so it seems. Add into the mix that it's been a supremely frustrating experience and that I work at home, and you can see why I get a little batty week after week. Well, this past week was lighter than most and consequently allowed for some free time over the weekend. So Emily and I decided to hit the beach, just to hang out and relax. We headed down to Redondo Beach and while walking around the pier we encountered this:</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHp-lmtLojr00Slav9wbsKESgS-PDZWuYvxxESIBYOI_IIuXxjDZfRZgUlwgy7iaeGZNCmbAuFNOzNht7mu9c-SNo3fHsyZejPWSJVbZt9hYSS-hifGwVHIrqQ59NCM3AOmI_GCveTEs/s1600-h/funfactory_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHp-lmtLojr00Slav9wbsKESgS-PDZWuYvxxESIBYOI_IIuXxjDZfRZgUlwgy7iaeGZNCmbAuFNOzNht7mu9c-SNo3fHsyZejPWSJVbZt9hYSS-hifGwVHIrqQ59NCM3AOmI_GCveTEs/s400/funfactory_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023868954985938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Watch it! That clown's gotta gun!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The Redondo Beach Fun Factory is an indoor arcade on the boardwalk, it looked like it might be good for some cheesy fun, after all the word "Fun" is in the name of the place. I mean, there's no way this place could be filled with creepy, frightening creatures that would give children nightmares. Wanna bet?</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUtsGfoFXXTWzj0n4xhGLVo7c5pFMMN2tgbl9xhyphenhyphenMuBoEkbdyzLqRZ3BatURYIc6VQQnS32LZKDaTu_Lb1e4fUYvg6wgmlKwoQbnl4StNrWhpSgAjEk284zg7fMFuu3_b24NlToD6FwM/s1600-h/scary_things.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUtsGfoFXXTWzj0n4xhGLVo7c5pFMMN2tgbl9xhyphenhyphenMuBoEkbdyzLqRZ3BatURYIc6VQQnS32LZKDaTu_Lb1e4fUYvg6wgmlKwoQbnl4StNrWhpSgAjEk284zg7fMFuu3_b24NlToD6FwM/s400/scary_things.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023602954751938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I remember these characters from the book of Revelations...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The "Fun Factory" was filled with all sorts of video games, carnival games, and lots of creepy characters who were no doubt at one time supposed to amuse and delight little children... Children of the Corn perhaps, but to any other kids?... these things had to be spontaneous diaper-fillers! The place had old arcade games, carnival games of chance there was even a Tilt-a-Whirl.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKwrSCMNoNxz3Wx6_zZm3WAsQvvgIEJXybpyqqNh0utSWHri8hBvZ0-8Gck3jnZ4-rJ6X3mk2rIhtFtA3FpXojHLMor-DBpuN8XFTbVRgwp0R9WwPkglt7K8RoNmpkIiLkq6EJgR0olA/s1600-h/tilt-a-whirl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKwrSCMNoNxz3Wx6_zZm3WAsQvvgIEJXybpyqqNh0utSWHri8hBvZ0-8Gck3jnZ4-rJ6X3mk2rIhtFtA3FpXojHLMor-DBpuN8XFTbVRgwp0R9WwPkglt7K8RoNmpkIiLkq6EJgR0olA/s400/tilt-a-whirl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023440033266738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Teddy was hung by the neck to serve as a warning to kids<br />to keep heads and arms inside the ride, or suffer his same fate.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Emily did find one of her favorite all-time arcade games - Skeeball!</span><br /><br /></div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPANBOqoc_vmJ4-DW7iP4L6zm4VMwQjzdc_65wX4FmggprlByaMoRESxFQ-lMAWO1RSmfI0QNiVtK1NZn_YqEwL-To7FGcrFAVBGGaaRe76oiydJcBgNsY0ZU08mn_HO-sCx_SairihA/s1600-h/skeeball.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPANBOqoc_vmJ4-DW7iP4L6zm4VMwQjzdc_65wX4FmggprlByaMoRESxFQ-lMAWO1RSmfI0QNiVtK1NZn_YqEwL-To7FGcrFAVBGGaaRe76oiydJcBgNsY0ZU08mn_HO-sCx_SairihA/s400/skeeball.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023370855230082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Just to keep things interesting, I'm rolling ripe avocados!</span><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Emily's a shark at Skeeball and she racked up a lot of tickets. I was playing at the machine next to her and couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to come close to her score. Then I discovered that my machine was only giving me 7 balls, not 9 as promised. Skeeball bastards screwed me out my tickets!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Then we came across this-- one of the original "Pong" games. Man, this thing was a piece of ancient history, but it still worked.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PUe2mcFVdqES3OcFQe45cS0B0m2PzMedv3Ye7XKMfTJ8N7DM_KRspSUUeFO0z7TnKF6Q0xjzDgCDkT7obviOsFbi47GYBZH7wJTWTVKaKoKjicqZGsS4cayJ_Ep3o447KgLQBn_dCr4/s1600-h/Pong.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PUe2mcFVdqES3OcFQe45cS0B0m2PzMedv3Ye7XKMfTJ8N7DM_KRspSUUeFO0z7TnKF6Q0xjzDgCDkT7obviOsFbi47GYBZH7wJTWTVKaKoKjicqZGsS4cayJ_Ep3o447KgLQBn_dCr4/s400/Pong.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023296496594722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Last time I played this, I had hair! Take THAT Wii!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">After the excitement from this mish-mash of arcade amusement started to wear off, we looked around and noticed how truly unnerving some of the rides and games were. Like this clown seesaw.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCOM-e9dH4PskMZkqhjq6hvFNNJZ81UedsGYw3-i94Vj_KAhWV2lgDgc1dMbxee8K0Ij6zMCNX6Vayp4a08bhKFfavUKS5bYTCH1fSsoZICAziXCFfJLN9nmk9pcdizVvXYy25R1IjJ0/s1600-h/clown_seesaw.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCOM-e9dH4PskMZkqhjq6hvFNNJZ81UedsGYw3-i94Vj_KAhWV2lgDgc1dMbxee8K0Ij6zMCNX6Vayp4a08bhKFfavUKS5bYTCH1fSsoZICAziXCFfJLN9nmk9pcdizVvXYy25R1IjJ0/s400/clown_seesaw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023066999793650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Don't mind me, I'll just be starring at your crotch the whole time.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">There was a really disturbing Donald Duck ride. Clearly it's meant to be Donald Duck, but it's been given a bizarre paint-job to probably off-set any legal actions from the Disney Company. But the end effect is one of a drugged out Donald just waiting to take your kids away on a magical journey.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9sZtuV-SoJL9cqoZhkUItpgBURLFJVfjI2VIqnGOEeJb0wQG079Bw7jkTqk7Nf2zgbBSbwXYT9nu-yk90e_czCOO5XwLGQuQ7rOywQLsZfN8sb5HRWgIhd7NHLG0tvc69fuTwJNIF6I/s1600-h/Donald_Drugs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9sZtuV-SoJL9cqoZhkUItpgBURLFJVfjI2VIqnGOEeJb0wQG079Bw7jkTqk7Nf2zgbBSbwXYT9nu-yk90e_czCOO5XwLGQuQ7rOywQLsZfN8sb5HRWgIhd7NHLG0tvc69fuTwJNIF6I/s400/Donald_Drugs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023013486668514" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Duuuuuude... I'm sorta' freakin' out here...</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">And then we came across one of the more unsettling items. A coin-operated puppet show filled with characters that looked like some macabre mortician's fetish cabinet.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQbD_B57pplKAYbpy_K3daTIftK0294iSk-y5OacvuA_Ow2YXSfrhYz0IYWzCQlb5rfA_vXSHr7R10OOm3aQAvcZ0UeEx36mWCnFv2FX-lWR-hT-A5FN36i8rzR1ONi5LUC4C5_6dmwHE/s1600-h/scary_puppets-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQbD_B57pplKAYbpy_K3daTIftK0294iSk-y5OacvuA_Ow2YXSfrhYz0IYWzCQlb5rfA_vXSHr7R10OOm3aQAvcZ0UeEx36mWCnFv2FX-lWR-hT-A5FN36i8rzR1ONi5LUC4C5_6dmwHE/s400/scary_puppets-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023732159135890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >For our next number... we eat the chipmunk!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Emily found a vending machine from her childhood and couldn't wait to give it a try. It was a Flintstones-themed machine that you put 25¢ in and get a plastic egg with a toy prize inside.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVabVDm9_LmCurnY5nFyaZ91-vvtjllSr8Ymh_sJaqc2gOfrB74k-xQye8HtFg2KJwJ2oWSlNJYnPX7FqXM_jithtHZiWALSy_WsFy4z79xlxqn423c3bMq4WX6OwWCA4sYc3hCcKUMs/s1600-h/Dino_eggs-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVabVDm9_LmCurnY5nFyaZ91-vvtjllSr8Ymh_sJaqc2gOfrB74k-xQye8HtFg2KJwJ2oWSlNJYnPX7FqXM_jithtHZiWALSy_WsFy4z79xlxqn423c3bMq4WX6OwWCA4sYc3hCcKUMs/s400/Dino_eggs-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249022826024490866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Fun is just a quarter away!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But a closer look at the machine's window and what it said was unsettling...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN8vI7NTd3fXLWPu5ooQqWOlvGOFYWA474GTD2OmLOsyyrDJD7_0Jx5zWFcpAcBYqajpwaiddn0a19mcLCSbYv1-HKTSgV8fDaRn8zmuFSCqC8dXpsgktjzH6MJgVIqgm-AX4IXInPS4/s1600-h/Dino_eggs-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN8vI7NTd3fXLWPu5ooQqWOlvGOFYWA474GTD2OmLOsyyrDJD7_0Jx5zWFcpAcBYqajpwaiddn0a19mcLCSbYv1-HKTSgV8fDaRn8zmuFSCqC8dXpsgktjzH6MJgVIqgm-AX4IXInPS4/s400/Dino_eggs-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249022752014006146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Translation: "Hey kids! These came outta' my butt!</span>"<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Okay... so dinosaurs laid eggs. I got no problem with that, but it was the <span style="font-style: italic;">female</span> dinosaurs, NOT the males (as far as I know). So what are these "eggs", where are they coming from, and why isn't someone stopping it?</span><br /></div></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But Emily was braver than I and ventured forth into the steaming pile of Dino "eggs" and what did she find? A purple reindeer finger puppet! Who knew the Fun Factory would deliver such delights?!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0mkeZd2y-4arHM2fmoylz6UJPXvg29hahpuajDUyjQTczcQLeimwIJBXR2OQBGGIiYQlqZp7wgfwdh2iKNQLOCxxsufrp-pBOmpVgbcJJVlpnvFURiN1lkMNoL2w4-qfKJHRHfMqhzA/s1600-h/Dino_eggs-3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0mkeZd2y-4arHM2fmoylz6UJPXvg29hahpuajDUyjQTczcQLeimwIJBXR2OQBGGIiYQlqZp7wgfwdh2iKNQLOCxxsufrp-pBOmpVgbcJJVlpnvFURiN1lkMNoL2w4-qfKJHRHfMqhzA/s400/Dino_eggs-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249022666120625810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hey guys... I... I can't feel anything below my neck!</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Guys?</span>!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Before we left the Fun Factory we had to stop</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> at the prize counter, cash in our tickets and see what treasures we had won! Could it be one of two racially insensitive Native American statues?</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRnujYDEiVB5p03LRWZPwN41vAObviyfzD0OXebAbelNP5nZ2CynTcYR2RZcJrGTrbS0De-oaUIkr_H1sV4W288C3HzdIQnlR0AlGbU2FFr7uz-_TEMgsxGnezcXwNs2LLPUqvnp7F0A/s1600-h/prizes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRnujYDEiVB5p03LRWZPwN41vAObviyfzD0OXebAbelNP5nZ2CynTcYR2RZcJrGTrbS0De-oaUIkr_H1sV4W288C3HzdIQnlR0AlGbU2FFr7uz-_TEMgsxGnezcXwNs2LLPUqvnp7F0A/s400/prizes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249022512918375394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Chief WoodenFeathers on the right is yours for 3000 tickets! Or $750 cash.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The prize counter had a confusing ticket vs. tokens exchange rate towards credits, so despite the 70 or so tickets Emily had won playing Skeeball, it only amounted to 5 credits and consequently left our choices limited. We got a lizard.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OsLBb0uRlrDH4qnMaIj0d3CjXY5pK85NzadgvvMExyVrgZQMM5fwIf5EyqTk1wlp2nsdY4zPoUvAWu3FLcrKsLjF0TPmpVP723R7SaidriLCiWnCLP8rw1nqEL4h8jbeqiJSbWPTI4k/s1600-h/lizard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OsLBb0uRlrDH4qnMaIj0d3CjXY5pK85NzadgvvMExyVrgZQMM5fwIf5EyqTk1wlp2nsdY4zPoUvAWu3FLcrKsLjF0TPmpVP723R7SaidriLCiWnCLP8rw1nqEL4h8jbeqiJSbWPTI4k/s400/lizard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249091151375115922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I could help you redo your floor, I am a repTILE after all.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">After winning a rubber lizard and a purple reindeer finger puppet, we bade farewell to the Fun Factory and dragged our chairs to the beach to catch the last of the afternoon sun.</span><br /></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgwn5OGnsvNM4LRpIdzGI180_qgCbZJI86ajQLB2PdX1GTUtxi-Uts8qC0Ar48SnqGUExl1vQnWmGwaszPKox1jXsdgxnZivJShkAvkf46dtC1DRjH-Lk-COmZALU6YRwDrmC0Yhi7lw/s1600-h/Redondo_Beach_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgwn5OGnsvNM4LRpIdzGI180_qgCbZJI86ajQLB2PdX1GTUtxi-Uts8qC0Ar48SnqGUExl1vQnWmGwaszPKox1jXsdgxnZivJShkAvkf46dtC1DRjH-Lk-COmZALU6YRwDrmC0Yhi7lw/s400/Redondo_Beach_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249022406000348178" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">It was a gorgeous day at the beach. A little too cool to get in the water, but nice for just sitting in a beach chair and dozing. Very few people around. It was quiet and relaxing... until the seagulls showed up.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOzuADaSe1B7DMR0nhi0gOyhJZxqkWekfz11iWZvzytsaFGpwplCdnnm5kirEdYpyx2mysEZ_qyW1fZ5N2TWLsQ4ObSXCBAzKNFFzg6-KxKDTJbSA2U53uXS8uhzWZEVS12hSAmIfyQA/s1600-h/Redondo_Beach_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOzuADaSe1B7DMR0nhi0gOyhJZxqkWekfz11iWZvzytsaFGpwplCdnnm5kirEdYpyx2mysEZ_qyW1fZ5N2TWLsQ4ObSXCBAzKNFFzg6-KxKDTJbSA2U53uXS8uhzWZEVS12hSAmIfyQA/s400/Redondo_Beach_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249022300354135698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Moments before we were descended upon by about 50 hungry seagulls. Seriously.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Fortunately we did not have any food with us, otherwise the air strike of oceanic birds would have pecked us to death. They quickly moved on and left us alone. Secretly I think they were after Purple Reindeer, whom we were able to safely smuggle out of Redondo and to freedom in the San Fernando Valley. I'm sure he'll be writing a book about his harrowing experience very soon.</span><br /></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-67838380011088015192008-08-27T17:51:00.001-07:002008-09-04T10:12:35.226-07:00The Dal Rae<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Every month or two, some of my buddies and I have a "guy's night out", which means booze and steak and more booze. Our culinary outings have delved into some of the older dining establishments around the LA area. I guess a lot of folks would consider these places "old man" restaurants. They're not trendy or hip, but they are kitschy locations that used be called "supper clubs" back in the 50's. There are not many of them left, but the nice thing about dinner spots like these is good service and excellent food (generally). Our most recent outing had our meager group of meat-eaters headed into the bowels of Pico Rivera to the Dal Rae.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7v3PxgBfEWYuS53HPLFeghfmOnyT6FG-n567GhGV-LxynBCMRnPGxsw5n5VcsxbDibBalk-nwsXbR-nVJiLPSKxppeFSNq5YADtdOAcsIQ73dQtE0uRr9sF4pXkcut00N_xJv7fp55s/s1600-h/dalrae_front_day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7v3PxgBfEWYuS53HPLFeghfmOnyT6FG-n567GhGV-LxynBCMRnPGxsw5n5VcsxbDibBalk-nwsXbR-nVJiLPSKxppeFSNq5YADtdOAcsIQ73dQtE0uRr9sF4pXkcut00N_xJv7fp55s/s400/dalrae_front_day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239366345552702786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >In case there's any doubt as to what goes on inside, the word "Restaurant" is plainly visible.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnTnM4LTAqXME17tXgrYS10fxCBW8TxVE3AaAcMmgaa7R0WX8jqLNh-JQXAhKAbPm4LmXd-5SBVozbwMYRMzGZx1CHK99VUhYICi9FIR10c0h1l4JhjuRpP0tJrtUwJNr0XEUP93gClQ/s1600-h/dalrae_front_night.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnTnM4LTAqXME17tXgrYS10fxCBW8TxVE3AaAcMmgaa7R0WX8jqLNh-JQXAhKAbPm4LmXd-5SBVozbwMYRMzGZx1CHK99VUhYICi9FIR10c0h1l4JhjuRpP0tJrtUwJNr0XEUP93gClQ/s400/dalrae_front_night.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239366192081787522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >You can almost smell the pipe tobacco, vodka martinis and sheer manliness.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The place didn't look like much on the outside, but it clearly had that post-war atomic-age feel. Like most things in LA it was in a crappy area... but not too crappy... but sort of a "been there for a long-time" type of crappy as opposed to "there's gangs everywhere trying to kill us and oh God I hope we don't get pulled over by the cops because they'll beat anyone in this neighborhood" type of crappy. Los Angeles has a lot of layers to its crap, you just have to know which layer you're in--- and dress appropriately.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AUI8Pn7mqYRXjBaL6ahkNJOqm183mwmvDA7PsjaNCwfgmcH7Hge6DRZJHzErvuL_zhn825S-1ubumgnrDJ-G97QkS1qN1k5D87VW7vQrdK_OII7uRqiVH4q6aRcTpMPzKEhQ486V6Lw/s1600-h/dalrae_bar.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AUI8Pn7mqYRXjBaL6ahkNJOqm183mwmvDA7PsjaNCwfgmcH7Hge6DRZJHzErvuL_zhn825S-1ubumgnrDJ-G97QkS1qN1k5D87VW7vQrdK_OII7uRqiVH4q6aRcTpMPzKEhQ486V6Lw/s400/dalrae_bar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239366038726734162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Wait a second... I feel like I'm in "Goodfellas"...<br />please don't go Joe Pesci on my ass!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">It's cliché to say that walking through the door was like stepping back in time, but suck it up, cuz that's exactly what it was like. You could smell the steak and seafood being cooked in butter</span>. <span style="font-family:arial;">The hostess, bartenders and wait staff were all adults, which was a refreshing change to see. There were NO disinterested 20-nothings slouching about, in positions of authority but unwilling to do anything, hating their jobs, not caring if they waited on us or not. For a change we were treated like customers, like a valuable part of this establishment's business and not a burden to emo-boy or attitude-girl who refuse to make eye-contact with anyone over thirty.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Aw, crap. I'm bitching like an old coot... that's better than cooting like an old bitch I guess.</span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdH1WnzUwB7l1jfOBFY79q_SHYvPDneFnGNf1TrY_aShMxQwxG2NX-nufH4wyTtSbhVcAVtdnaD_ERWSKL_vi0GWvVvnFDsAZNazyFzcQyU4bd0kce9HYIFV7IhDEZ5qa2Cp_BBrkF2Sc/s1600-h/dalrae_inside_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdH1WnzUwB7l1jfOBFY79q_SHYvPDneFnGNf1TrY_aShMxQwxG2NX-nufH4wyTtSbhVcAVtdnaD_ERWSKL_vi0GWvVvnFDsAZNazyFzcQyU4bd0kce9HYIFV7IhDEZ5qa2Cp_BBrkF2Sc/s400/dalrae_inside_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239365812484563010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">The main dining room was large </span><span style="font-family:arial;">with wood paneling and big tuck n' roll leather booths.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> The room had just the right mood lighting under which to have a cocktail and discuss Sputnik, JFK, and the prospect of flying cars -- fueled by atomic power of course.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QNn4FJ887cKED_VZQxUhpEYGy0QJpJJnrr2vtW3MTa0LoesmKQYhymHKQ5FMnv5H08mUW-IrVtVt4wId_Wejd2k9zKtEZQwXjOcug0EVXVXeKRQRLmSvJ5J1qBEWfLRTt2KiCFPuQtg/s1600-h/dalrae_relish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QNn4FJ887cKED_VZQxUhpEYGy0QJpJJnrr2vtW3MTa0LoesmKQYhymHKQ5FMnv5H08mUW-IrVtVt4wId_Wejd2k9zKtEZQwXjOcug0EVXVXeKRQRLmSvJ5J1qBEWfLRTt2KiCFPuQtg/s400/dalrae_relish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239365221019809618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hey why does THAT olive get its own pool?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />The Dal Rae is one of those places where they bring you a chilled relish tray right off the bat and then take your "cocktail order". Seems a little hokey by today's standards I suppose... a dish of ice with veggies and pickled curiosities on top... but it was nice, and a tasty compliment to my before-dinner drink.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lCoxi0nGxzmXAOqX7r-jvnN3m8RxC6XKyAJIEpfg01N9YbXR_Rg-nLuw-rJ7c55e5v2lIbrMDXe7qMkLLiT-gN39Z3sKluUSt6X99lLefCDiIwuk30Ppe2OPUw2mvKHRZaGg7x2WgTc/s1600-h/dalrae_menu_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lCoxi0nGxzmXAOqX7r-jvnN3m8RxC6XKyAJIEpfg01N9YbXR_Rg-nLuw-rJ7c55e5v2lIbrMDXe7qMkLLiT-gN39Z3sKluUSt6X99lLefCDiIwuk30Ppe2OPUw2mvKHRZaGg7x2WgTc/s400/dalrae_menu_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239365561783833506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Ummmm... I guess I'll have the meat.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzvtFnlXLKfDZp9s_iHG-Vy1mY7tA54pRpAmQODmn6Ub2ZfRs_u0eSGKDEWFOHk6xPthcTegrUdHhIuxQG6Ndl9fs92T8FBYMn2_OO_lV4CsjDn_WrNXgIUU5ObwNseBtFqls5FXQ0_w/s1600-h/dalrae_salad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzvtFnlXLKfDZp9s_iHG-Vy1mY7tA54pRpAmQODmn6Ub2ZfRs_u0eSGKDEWFOHk6xPthcTegrUdHhIuxQG6Ndl9fs92T8FBYMn2_OO_lV4CsjDn_WrNXgIUU5ObwNseBtFqls5FXQ0_w/s400/dalrae_salad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239365141482352882" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">T</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">he wedge salad wasn't really a "wedge" nor did it appear to be much of a "salad". The carrot and tomato seemed like an afterthought at best.. in fact, the whole thing looked like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000994/">Raymond Burr</a> had attempted to eat a head of lettuce in two bites while on the run, and then in a fit of bile-spewing fury horked it all back up onto a chilled plate. BUT... despite its appearance, the salad (and especially the blue cheese dressing) were EXCELLENT!</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And then the main course came...</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXq5d5mmxOojQCosRnilCOyjjogB8Myy0qdTgA8DXsoJs6d9eVtGqLTATPnlhsmVu6tq9oxdajGmmWr-i0wZDTvDnrNSMxKLj9zKOVNaButr54p874uKIRTEJ4BloYQERM4WBjjVxw3Tc/s1600-h/dalrae_surfturf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXq5d5mmxOojQCosRnilCOyjjogB8Myy0qdTgA8DXsoJs6d9eVtGqLTATPnlhsmVu6tq9oxdajGmmWr-i0wZDTvDnrNSMxKLj9zKOVNaButr54p874uKIRTEJ4BloYQERM4WBjjVxw3Tc/s400/dalrae_surfturf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239365025097278034" border="0" /></a>You're looking a little crabby this evening.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The Dal Rae is a steak joint, it's known for its pepper steak. I ordered surf n' turf. A pepper steak fillet and crab legs. Well... truth be told, the Dal Rae screwed up my order and brought me a standard fillet rather than the pepper steak... but I didn't care. The meal was perfect! The steak was outstanding and the crab legs were beautiful... they even came split so I didn't have to fight to eat them. This was one of the BEST meals I've ever had. Not a HEALTHY meal at all. This was one of those artery-clogging gastronomical orgies your doctor warns you about. Throw in a couple of glasses of wine, and BAM - it doesn't get much better than this.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But wait... there's still dessert. What?... but I didn't save room!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> We couldn't leave without trying the Bananas Flambé.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_0WtHwtVXwRiuQMbLuUDI3yeDZhe6aldGRqmYfeRhb7_9bJ96hRmJF6_pHBwIYLlWSPMNtkxIt7uvb1YiHocyFKpIAbrGZnbAEyE09B_ftE8vd1FbH14sHssF4onKAiHfRX7EBL1q9w/s1600-h/dalrae_bananas_flambe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_0WtHwtVXwRiuQMbLuUDI3yeDZhe6aldGRqmYfeRhb7_9bJ96hRmJF6_pHBwIYLlWSPMNtkxIt7uvb1YiHocyFKpIAbrGZnbAEyE09B_ftE8vd1FbH14sHssF4onKAiHfRX7EBL1q9w/s400/dalrae_bananas_flambe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239365370968658962" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hey... wait a second... Flambé is just a sissy word for fire!</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />They came right to our table. Set up a little stove, dumped sugar, butter, bananas, and rum into a pan and set it on fire. Who knew a desert without chocolate could be so good?! There might have been some peaches or something else thrown in there as well. I was finishing all this off with a great glass of port. At this point I was the Dal Rae's bitch and loving all that she could dish out.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I can't wait to go back for more abuse.<br /></span></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-35179113697613988852008-08-26T17:27:00.000-07:002008-08-26T21:34:41.802-07:00CURSE YOU CUISINART!!!<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje1BNuZIrKaDWLV9JhYRM83p5rj0D2SEMxpd4H7BGpw-LMN79txhUZYZ5pljThWE8KzwW_Xi9lNFdrYvtG-U8zUTlULGoffMalRM3Fz8mdNtE8ktpOk8bRiyThtN7pfKvbHjBKksN30D4/s1600-h/angry_mom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje1BNuZIrKaDWLV9JhYRM83p5rj0D2SEMxpd4H7BGpw-LMN79txhUZYZ5pljThWE8KzwW_Xi9lNFdrYvtG-U8zUTlULGoffMalRM3Fz8mdNtE8ktpOk8bRiyThtN7pfKvbHjBKksN30D4/s400/angry_mom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238993063676704114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">We have a little wine cellar where we keep our older, more expensive wines. You know, the ones you want to put in a safe place so that you can enjoy them as they get better with age. It's a way to protect your investment in over-priced grape juice.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8ALW00Jsa808QW7YWRWfGxw9OD08o28_AGMLn1-ABHg9D5HNN_EENqtD2B30gC54k5CdJWLV9w3OB19ZFUHVlCYDWaGf1VvV1nmIEr-wWWElpuKf_PRGQ0OVo7qPJIvQagziDSOR8Kg/s1600-h/wines_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8ALW00Jsa808QW7YWRWfGxw9OD08o28_AGMLn1-ABHg9D5HNN_EENqtD2B30gC54k5CdJWLV9w3OB19ZFUHVlCYDWaGf1VvV1nmIEr-wWWElpuKf_PRGQ0OVo7qPJIvQagziDSOR8Kg/s400/wines_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238992867536442610" border="0" /></a>We had a nice, but small collection of wines that we have been acquiring and saving to drink on future occasions: some beautiful '95 cabs, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pinots</span>, and some awesome blends... all just waiting to be popped open and enjoyed. Notice I used the word "had" at the start of this paragraph. Because this little guy that you see below...<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIGA4f9qCqxHk0HgUVtYOt9Q7w1Zx-hAXPJtazEULXm4zm2hNW8GzR9I5pPrmp7az7TaVpfR0xyN1OgVyLZ219YJJUxzQnaAxs3Oz8RAxjMb6D73gY1D2veK22HMzmjstCRnoTe4tmy4/s1600-h/Cuisinart_photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIGA4f9qCqxHk0HgUVtYOt9Q7w1Zx-hAXPJtazEULXm4zm2hNW8GzR9I5pPrmp7az7TaVpfR0xyN1OgVyLZ219YJJUxzQnaAxs3Oz8RAxjMb6D73gY1D2veK22HMzmjstCRnoTe4tmy4/s400/Cuisinart_photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238992974283935074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >You can trust me, honest!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">...betrayed us. Oh sure, it promised to preserve our wine and keep it in peak drinking condition until that right moment when we were ready to grab a bottle, chase the raccoons and possums off the porch and fill our Dixie cups; guzzling the devil's sweat like back-alley Baptists at a pot-luck hog roast. But that was not to be. Oh no. The Cuisinart had plans of its own. Evil plans.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The other night I decided it was time to partake of one of the '<span style="font-style: italic;">95 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Beauliu</span> Rutherford Cabernet <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sauvignon's</span></span> I'd been saving for close to 10 years. I was confident that it was safely stored inside our little cellar. Reaching into the cellar, I expected to feel a nice cool 55º temp that the wine was to be stored at, instead I felt this:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Sy2V8Tq7H3WUEIDGYhM-yZv3kdu9cBGkzkuG0esas0trOuQiAqL2MPLQwVsAY9bbIJBZK2tNQ3KJAvTyNxD1SWn_jZFKssolbPdc-BRoRAw2ExUvcw92pO-VJ2Tgq5rBSlFOAJ5um7A/s1600-h/oven.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Sy2V8Tq7H3WUEIDGYhM-yZv3kdu9cBGkzkuG0esas0trOuQiAqL2MPLQwVsAY9bbIJBZK2tNQ3KJAvTyNxD1SWn_jZFKssolbPdc-BRoRAw2ExUvcw92pO-VJ2Tgq5rBSlFOAJ5um7A/s400/oven.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238990830675046642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Did you want that '97 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">meritage</span> baked or broiled?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">It was like an OVEN! That's not an exaggeration. The bottles were nearly as warm as a hot cup of coffee. One bottle even had the wine bubble out through the cork. I pulled all the bottles out, each one seemed hotter than the next. Needless to say all the wine was destroyed. We would have been better off sticking them in the cupboard instead of keeping them in this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">hellmouth</span>. But we wanted the security of putting them someplace made to store wine... except, the Cuisinart did the OPPOSITE! It's like hiring a babysitter to watch your children, only when you return home after the movie you find out that she cooked and ate your kids--- and there's not even any leftovers. Damn!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5sdAioEbqO-E9HwjNL7ropdhRT87qM5s3FcmyO2z6ENZfC_2HJcURNSDInwFM8FVMPdLkGA5XgGcWUB0LuBnOR_XLShwMwqzdW5rw0xJfZYOPTqh7mGIilk9UIOrYtI1Al3jTFdFifDQ/s1600-h/wine_couple2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5sdAioEbqO-E9HwjNL7ropdhRT87qM5s3FcmyO2z6ENZfC_2HJcURNSDInwFM8FVMPdLkGA5XgGcWUB0LuBnOR_XLShwMwqzdW5rw0xJfZYOPTqh7mGIilk9UIOrYtI1Al3jTFdFifDQ/s400/wine_couple2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238992174709980002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Well, it looks like we're back to drinking ink until we can get more wine.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Conservatively I'd say that about $700 worth of wine was destroyed... possibly closer to a grand. Dunno what happened. The thermostat must have broke or something because the unit's not designed to go much over 65º. Probably an example of great Chinese craftsmanship at work.<br /><br />Oh, there is a warranty. But it only covers repairs to the wine cellar, nothing for the contents. Like we're going get this easy-bake vino-roaster repaired. It's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">goin</span>' in the trash with all the wine it ruined. <sigh><br /></sigh></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoIhVGy2NwS94B6IC6bIk8z-ZeqTtV24sGU7__QlEs6Tfgwe6M9vRR9PSMGBgcYYAsy2P7P-xpDUwhpCsL3Vx7XUT1zPg66GG8TNmmmP_uJ5-ivFB3lzEvr6LCltc-xLbNQ4rrg6R5HY/s1600-h/tomsad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoIhVGy2NwS94B6IC6bIk8z-ZeqTtV24sGU7__QlEs6Tfgwe6M9vRR9PSMGBgcYYAsy2P7P-xpDUwhpCsL3Vx7XUT1zPg66GG8TNmmmP_uJ5-ivFB3lzEvr6LCltc-xLbNQ4rrg6R5HY/s400/tomsad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238989854707586066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >So sad... so very, very sad...</span><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-1201601610642050252008-08-13T23:55:00.001-07:002008-08-27T09:53:30.205-07:00Cheetah Girls Premiere<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh man, it's been a loooooong time since I've posted to this blog. I've been busy with work (which is good), mostly battling French and Italian producers and broadcasters overseas on one (</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >very</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> frustrating) project that's taken up most of my days and nights, while at the same time writing another <span style="font-style: italic;">Care Bears</span> feature film and a <span style="font-style: italic;">Care Bears</span> DVD... but those are topics for posts yet to come. I dunno if one can actually digress before starting their topic, but I think I just did.<br /><br />Anyway...<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Emily, who works at Disney (my former employer) had tickets to the "world premiere" of </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The Cheetah Girls: One World</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> which took place last night in Hollywood. To say I was less than thrilled at the prospect of attending this event would be an understatement - but it promised to be a big "Hollywood" type blow-out. Something that the Disney company rarely springs for and something that the Disney Channel </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >never</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> hosts - and THIS was a Disney Channel event. So it was a big deal that I had to check out.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQfHgqd7U_H5i8-dDmrAIWK0C1Y-PN79p_psUWn32EgoqVjHhvgFfwjn7iuD6GPF07sbSL_sy_Zd0d7CPKLZLXvo5jBnEKGVDN9799CRXKICc7e7o5_dZudgnF7tNhSZ_OTCfi1H-Eng/s1600-h/cheetah_girls.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQfHgqd7U_H5i8-dDmrAIWK0C1Y-PN79p_psUWn32EgoqVjHhvgFfwjn7iuD6GPF07sbSL_sy_Zd0d7CPKLZLXvo5jBnEKGVDN9799CRXKICc7e7o5_dZudgnF7tNhSZ_OTCfi1H-Eng/s400/cheetah_girls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234265446982707842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The "Cheetahs", minus Raven.<br />Smirk to the camera if you just bought new boobies!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">To be honest, I was not prepared for how big an event this was. After working for years at the Disney Studios as a writer and producer and experiencing cheaper, lamer, and more disappointing holiday parties and events, I was shocked to see the Disney Channel spring for a full-on Hollywood premiere like this. I guess it makes sense though, because right now the Disney Channel is king with their pre-teen and teen live-action TV movies, like <span style="font-style: italic;">High School Musical</span>.<br /><br />Just getting to the El Capitan theatre where the premiere was held was an ordeal for us. Both sides of Hollywood Boulevard were filled with tourists and fans with cameras trying to get a glimpse or picture of those who were exiting from the line of limos. We were not arriving in a limo, we had to park and walk.<br /></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDPBzeLbA1cq_giJ4dBEoSgrtSb0PIdFFMfngUgZesIcDLtKEJbuHP0TUIkjdff318Gv7lC_sSi0GGgqLGR6_-A7j9_x3DFdWy1hrGjvlYxa-Op6l4ON3wHuT_QRD_m3zG3pdVHlA02U/s1600-h/crowd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDPBzeLbA1cq_giJ4dBEoSgrtSb0PIdFFMfngUgZesIcDLtKEJbuHP0TUIkjdff318Gv7lC_sSi0GGgqLGR6_-A7j9_x3DFdWy1hrGjvlYxa-Op6l4ON3wHuT_QRD_m3zG3pdVHlA02U/s400/crowd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234265182839572946" border="0" /></a>It's a madhouse, a MADHOUSE!!! Soylent green is PEOPLE!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Waiting in line to get into the premiere, we were directly across from the Chinese Theatre where lotsa' people were watching... including a Marilyn look-alike, complete with air-blast rising skirt. I didn't ask where the "air" was coming from.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVotFr6T5hZXP55oa8s_wzzpuhMelZUbqzSGbQKwj9LRlp0a7iEWuzTY-DJT9eUoH02MStm6CjBBRdGH4qU5Wi_0yVBxmMzT5uQsAMr70-H2dT2QGNwpfONW0jsliI5iglVZ8HxMOAQc/s1600-h/chinesetheatre.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVotFr6T5hZXP55oa8s_wzzpuhMelZUbqzSGbQKwj9LRlp0a7iEWuzTY-DJT9eUoH02MStm6CjBBRdGH4qU5Wi_0yVBxmMzT5uQsAMr70-H2dT2QGNwpfONW0jsliI5iglVZ8HxMOAQc/s400/chinesetheatre.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234265114155697154" border="0" /></a>Marilyn moons Hollywood.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Our wait in line wasn't very long. Soon we had our "guest" badges and were strolling down the aqua/blue carpet - Disney couldn't spring for the Red Carpet, I guess that was not in the budget. It was wild walking past all the fans, reporters and paparazzi who at first looked at us expectantly, then frowned in disappointment once they realize that we were nobody. Similar to the looks I get when I go back to my High School reunions.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdfetlRmZyV3d3lqD5Vl8NOg82pOAmg1W7mBB4JyJQakO5ODrESwtQQE2aAeIxIpXsBA0wBtdsj09aifV3Dvc-TVR1FBehiBNVuYoemKhZH_Ryo0bBL5sGwlsFyT73-4Po-zxNBaisHs/s1600-h/Emily_outside.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdfetlRmZyV3d3lqD5Vl8NOg82pOAmg1W7mBB4JyJQakO5ODrESwtQQE2aAeIxIpXsBA0wBtdsj09aifV3Dvc-TVR1FBehiBNVuYoemKhZH_Ryo0bBL5sGwlsFyT73-4Po-zxNBaisHs/s400/Emily_outside.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234265029104007618" border="0" /></a>Emily, ready for her close-up.<br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As we headed into the theatre, we passed plenty of notables who were getting their pictures taken or signing autographs for fans.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeu-lWBY7dJPJQlusJAn3wNwRnWM1fPsxgd_G14OwnIT9-dv6YczgVY4Lk6UfTh6WahnWQmVGmRQJlm3Mh-XPIkiwifCOfwbga8MnFs7LSGz54pCVESPFCPLt4rABD-Oe9lke-cJKBKg/s1600-h/Kim_Kardashian.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeu-lWBY7dJPJQlusJAn3wNwRnWM1fPsxgd_G14OwnIT9-dv6YczgVY4Lk6UfTh6WahnWQmVGmRQJlm3Mh-XPIkiwifCOfwbga8MnFs7LSGz54pCVESPFCPLt4rABD-Oe9lke-cJKBKg/s400/Kim_Kardashian.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234264890820886130" border="0" /></a>Kim Kardashian... not in Cheetah girls, but working<br />that "I'm famous without trying" look.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">In fact, ALL the Kardashian's were in attendance, even Bruce Jenner (not in the picture below) - whom I got a look at - and to say he looks creepy due to all his plastic surgery is like saying a soup sandwich is messy.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbYcX1zJI2nSZ18hPBYz0aDM1P2T4i5BFsZ9HDkrjhNfmHqNdjstffnKjh3WhV6U2xYsoq5_28ETVVGK5Rn8A2wY9et_qWk6bVYvU_ctc3C9dgDgm1HJjqhGEDrHOUsdzj0krMLxnupY/s1600-h/The_Kardashians.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbYcX1zJI2nSZ18hPBYz0aDM1P2T4i5BFsZ9HDkrjhNfmHqNdjstffnKjh3WhV6U2xYsoq5_28ETVVGK5Rn8A2wY9et_qWk6bVYvU_ctc3C9dgDgm1HJjqhGEDrHOUsdzj0krMLxnupY/s400/The_Kardashians.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234264801759823586" border="0" /></a>Quick! Take the picture while Bruce is busy reattaching his nose.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Once we got past all this craziness we pushed on into the theatre. Our tickets said we were in the balcony - Oh boy!</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhgrD-zV6u9x48kWbR2xE-0s88W1IGWyTwtajDgdqX5sVYxjSlL_ABimXO488-6EXYjhupRL4Lgomubb9fQC_SE3elHwa0THnsmQ7P_VBzQeYH5M0Q4H36rY70E2oJHR3ANa4lIu8fWY/s1600-h/Ticket.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhgrD-zV6u9x48kWbR2xE-0s88W1IGWyTwtajDgdqX5sVYxjSlL_ABimXO488-6EXYjhupRL4Lgomubb9fQC_SE3elHwa0THnsmQ7P_VBzQeYH5M0Q4H36rY70E2oJHR3ANa4lIu8fWY/s400/Ticket.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234264544603143778" border="0" /></a>Row KK, seat 2, this must be a GREAT seat!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">As it turned out, our seats were nearly all the way at the back, up near the ceiling. We were up where the pigeons roost.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdmb1rDa-15tBD0s8OLMCiUpgnhF_EMDeGkvZR7RXpyLZSjoh3Z9NhqRjdKSy7q08etnaSTovALxE6teOqfehoazCB4PSsJp6nNL43bGy2FTpRVNRmTLutUL_EL8HDf2CGvOJWSwmq-g/s1600-h/our_seats.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdmb1rDa-15tBD0s8OLMCiUpgnhF_EMDeGkvZR7RXpyLZSjoh3Z9NhqRjdKSy7q08etnaSTovALxE6teOqfehoazCB4PSsJp6nNL43bGy2FTpRVNRmTLutUL_EL8HDf2CGvOJWSwmq-g/s400/our_seats.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234264434946715378" border="0" /></a>Our view of the screen. We were in row "suck".<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The movie was supposed to start at 6pm. We were seated just a little before 6. And then we sat... and sat... and waited... for the cast and crew to be seated on the main floor. We sat there for nearly an hour. But that wasn't so bad, at least they had music playing the whole time! Oh wait. It was bad. It was the just title music to the Cheetah Girls movie, played over and over and over in an excruciating loop of torture!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsh5ol7WLUoBYL4tILSxtnOFo_-d-z1olBZsJAC6_e22QRMYIltEx5XN5rT1vpgDFsQNElNh3o-7ex0ZJ2zfYi-ur-rreSpmyCmcPLuN9epGGs_Sz8MZkuebO5-7vOrZPttxHxneGFCA/s1600-h/too_loud.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsh5ol7WLUoBYL4tILSxtnOFo_-d-z1olBZsJAC6_e22QRMYIltEx5XN5rT1vpgDFsQNElNh3o-7ex0ZJ2zfYi-ur-rreSpmyCmcPLuN9epGGs_Sz8MZkuebO5-7vOrZPttxHxneGFCA/s400/too_loud.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235744385448155682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Darn, I just had my nails done! Now they're all waxy!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />It was HELL being stuck listening to the same whiny, over-produced track repeatedly. Everyone around us was ready to kill each other just to end the misery. But at last it stopped. And then the real torture began, the movie started... and began with the same track of music we'd been tortured with for the last friggin' hour!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Z1jOX-vlbnk&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Z1jOX-vlbnk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Trailer for The Cheetah Girls: One World<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">The movie was pretty awful. Look, I know that I'm a crappy animation writer who's responsible for his share of horrible kid's stuff, so I'm not putting myself above any of this. I'm sure that the pre-teens will eat this up and love it - good for them! But the acting (of the three Cheetah girls) was horrid. All of the songs and the singers' voices were so over-produced and tonally modulated that each girl (and even the guys' who sang) sounded exactly alike. I mean <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span>. It was nearly robotic. In the previous <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Cheetah Girls</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"> films Raven Symoné was the featured actor, and now I can see why. She was carrying the other girls, big time. This film really needed her. And the story?... um, <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span> story? This had all the flash and depth of a car commercial. I know, I know... this coming from a guy who writes <span style="font-style: italic;">Care Bears</span> movies.<br /><br />The real stars of the film should have been these two:<br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOF9ts0qyCDBC75VQS6lorgWcWN7snZn1VA0tbFaunQ78PSr639NIwpPgSMHrm5bgNTVeY7cl6V2Yt-OlQO_5vTAaszDuyjVND0jHE7esA-6IVq4sM6NXZ-v_MyN5aZsqFK6y3gtRhbbg/s1600-h/Rupak_Deepti.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOF9ts0qyCDBC75VQS6lorgWcWN7snZn1VA0tbFaunQ78PSr639NIwpPgSMHrm5bgNTVeY7cl6V2Yt-OlQO_5vTAaszDuyjVND0jHE7esA-6IVq4sM6NXZ-v_MyN5aZsqFK6y3gtRhbbg/s400/Rupak_Deepti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234265374771001058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Rupak Ginn and Deepti Daryanani</span></span></div><br />They were the best performers and most engaging characters in the film. Sadly, they weren't featured enough. Anyway, this post isn't meant to be a review of Disney's latest effort at doing what they do best, selling product - but for what it is, the film is wholesome, harmless, and forgettable.<br /><br />After the film, we all walked one block to the Roosevelt Hotel for the after party. This is where things got good!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbPCXb9DtCrap8vCJza1kK8-iTuJTmt7FbOJQAKDXQ-dm8HDqoeRayh50CyFBNk5dYVAHy8914akvZPC4dcGTDWFwsbNyoOL0LVHJg2bkjyLLxcqIykhSQPD1WzoIdD8Y0zHCufS8eOg/s1600-h/party_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbPCXb9DtCrap8vCJza1kK8-iTuJTmt7FbOJQAKDXQ-dm8HDqoeRayh50CyFBNk5dYVAHy8914akvZPC4dcGTDWFwsbNyoOL0LVHJg2bkjyLLxcqIykhSQPD1WzoIdD8Y0zHCufS8eOg/s400/party_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234264297787274370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">This is just a lot of sheet, you know that don't you?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Since the movie had taken place in India, the downstairs of the Roosevelt Hotel, lobby and all, was decked out to look as if we were in the heart of Mumbai... but without all the poverty, overcrowding, beggars, and unsettling aromas.<br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPWowsDGNMlB8oSL0iPsbwjYkcC7YWygYXolgIIOGOmwuGBQ1FEZS_gPLyOAvOiJzlWkKoAeBaIZadMROqJQclfbpclf7JqkajoM7TlKDRg3py3adCbYlbCi6q_MW5wXz5XptE6PaQA4/s1600-h/party_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPWowsDGNMlB8oSL0iPsbwjYkcC7YWygYXolgIIOGOmwuGBQ1FEZS_gPLyOAvOiJzlWkKoAeBaIZadMROqJQclfbpclf7JqkajoM7TlKDRg3py3adCbYlbCi6q_MW5wXz5XptE6PaQA4/s400/party_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234264219190468466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Dancers on the tables, makin' with the Hindi moves.</span><br /></div><br />There was plenty of food and booze to be had-- and the food was actually good... and so was the booze. Since there were a lot of younger kids in attendance, the menu did not include much authentic Indian food, but there was plenty of mac n' cheese, chicken fingers, and fries. Who says Disney doesn't know their audience?<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2LqtbOgPcCT0-4e3HS3Vobi8Hhj2zMSWrrYYcJewJ_Lw2jq6KynvuiPaWbZt8QHd-nXfxYQ90SR2O9Ao78J87SxIkn0S1WMlt6uUiZrD9mKkEXuk9Kdmgvh9wGU4z7K3K3_jdiQB5lg/s1600-h/party_4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2LqtbOgPcCT0-4e3HS3Vobi8Hhj2zMSWrrYYcJewJ_Lw2jq6KynvuiPaWbZt8QHd-nXfxYQ90SR2O9Ao78J87SxIkn0S1WMlt6uUiZrD9mKkEXuk9Kdmgvh9wGU4z7K3K3_jdiQB5lg/s400/party_4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234264002699581522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">No, I said get your hand off my glass.</span><br /></div><br /><span><span style="font-family:arial;">All in all, we really had a good time. I got to reconnect with some of the Disney people I hadn't seen in awhile and I got to meet some of the folks Emily works with at the Disney Channel.<br /><br />We even got our picture taken with the cast... via green screen and Photoshop trickery.<br /></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYosGeZpjWgo5I4nrbqbVkzW-sMaZjyA2vKeAOG8LKQPUnLly6hyQbi9tenGBzT6n9DSMPpCy_Vh6ljv730AAXy6LLT4Sp91yWF1cBwPPxYAgX8TdRBPsFo6BhbVZ6M4SOhZSd3btiJFk/s1600-h/Tom_Em_Cheetahs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYosGeZpjWgo5I4nrbqbVkzW-sMaZjyA2vKeAOG8LKQPUnLly6hyQbi9tenGBzT6n9DSMPpCy_Vh6ljv730AAXy6LLT4Sp91yWF1cBwPPxYAgX8TdRBPsFo6BhbVZ6M4SOhZSd3btiJFk/s400/Tom_Em_Cheetahs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234263755261410434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Us on the left side... I'm the floating orb next to Emily.</span><br /></div></div></span></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-42439125493059494742008-05-06T00:00:00.000-07:002008-08-28T00:02:56.631-07:00NCT Phoenix & Roadside Oddities<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">This past weekend I drove to Phoenix for the grand opening of the NCT Phoenix Improv Theatre - which is a sister theatre to the NCT Theatre that I perform with in San Diego. The NCT Phoenix is run by Dorian and Krissy Lenz who used to perform in San Diego, they are both originally from Phoenix. Why would anyone leave San Diego for Phoenix you may ask? Why give up the cool ocean breezes for sweltering urban sprawl surrounded by scorpion and cactus? HERE is the reason--- this little girl. She loves scorpions and thinks that they're crunchy and delicious.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKpcHaFDWTmhN5x3WXiGVLvSd0MWgGxliqZhTKCk_Zy0JLu9sVRTDyzL-XRQd5RCAFsD9ZiH3phZILwaG47xfxw-D43HiwJZPrZBL6iRq4ugl8Mi8pGFDg-meZEMl7JbVbGrghvguaWc/s1600-h/Zoe.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKpcHaFDWTmhN5x3WXiGVLvSd0MWgGxliqZhTKCk_Zy0JLu9sVRTDyzL-XRQd5RCAFsD9ZiH3phZILwaG47xfxw-D43HiwJZPrZBL6iRq4ugl8Mi8pGFDg-meZEMl7JbVbGrghvguaWc/s400/Zoe.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158891108185362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >You gonna eat that scorpion, or can I have it?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Dorian and Krissy moved back to Phoenix because they had a little Zoe and wanted to raise her where she could be with both sets of grandparents.<br /><br />NCT and Improv have been a big part of both Dorian and Krissy's lives so when they made the move back to Phoenix they had hopes of opening up a theatre of their own. After a couple years of very hard work they were able to make it happen... so I made the trek east for their grand opening. Which meant six hours of this--</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7wqWwf0l2Hcb6w6c1m1LRn5aAM2SVrrNUSvAU2ZXDeSyKdO_FIkWd0sppFJslKkNKctQUwLa_E2-aE6hl477fSVRLA0exQZpxzzHT3locBGhkyXild4SVuWkMY7nbkl6Goc6Do_Ibnk/s1600-h/Arizona_2.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7wqWwf0l2Hcb6w6c1m1LRn5aAM2SVrrNUSvAU2ZXDeSyKdO_FIkWd0sppFJslKkNKctQUwLa_E2-aE6hl477fSVRLA0exQZpxzzHT3locBGhkyXild4SVuWkMY7nbkl6Goc6Do_Ibnk/s400/Arizona_2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197159054316942642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >What I wouldn't give for some road-rage about now.<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;">And lots and lots of this...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJ1kT8t_qdB-Act4vyHpw8v0JXjAG-K49jhF2hvAFXLeaG4Y9tQOdpo0roynRP0ja-J3Bt3GCUYpCt2-72o3EUQucNXsFh_8ZSPmYJJ01CJtzAVzaLnQNO4hhaOIDgubQy_pId1dfDBM/s1600-h/Arizona_1.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJ1kT8t_qdB-Act4vyHpw8v0JXjAG-K49jhF2hvAFXLeaG4Y9tQOdpo0roynRP0ja-J3Bt3GCUYpCt2-72o3EUQucNXsFh_8ZSPmYJJ01CJtzAVzaLnQNO4hhaOIDgubQy_pId1dfDBM/s400/Arizona_1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158989892433186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dry heat? Wet heat? It's still HEAT! So shut up!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The drive from LA to Phoenix takes about 6 hours, and once you're out of LA traffic it's really not a bad drive. Just straight on through the desert. I arrived in the late afternoon, checked into my hotel and then headed over to the NCT Theatre.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpwTgw4W9uPn1deIcG7vZ9TY1YMvHttkVx_0D7kAuL6XnpskjPuyWeWUyhP40uupnu419WtMyUulRMlQcbAKaW8-D-D3X7qlrDH3Y8k8P71DM1L6jpnlgifCcOWMNdjxJOjN-_5pGdIB8/s1600-h/NCT_sign.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpwTgw4W9uPn1deIcG7vZ9TY1YMvHttkVx_0D7kAuL6XnpskjPuyWeWUyhP40uupnu419WtMyUulRMlQcbAKaW8-D-D3X7qlrDH3Y8k8P71DM1L6jpnlgifCcOWMNdjxJOjN-_5pGdIB8/s400/NCT_sign.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158805208839426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Wow! Real neon! Actually it's a bug zapper.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Dorian and Krissy's theatre is quite nice, with plenty of room - there's even an extra space where they can run workshops and classes. The theatre space itself is great, and seats 99 comfortably, or 115 uncomfortably.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWJsDEbkXXtb4951zuodDiW7pWrfhSb8tUXd3groLjd0ukd1P4NVSNg-e3e2jLdv2XacQSs8je1SqdNISeqV5tiEpe4lwoKMrrAsylzrq70KA-NO9dVPztuHFyeIPAbSBMHVrBCFmQTY/s1600-h/PhoenixNCTtheatre.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWJsDEbkXXtb4951zuodDiW7pWrfhSb8tUXd3groLjd0ukd1P4NVSNg-e3e2jLdv2XacQSs8je1SqdNISeqV5tiEpe4lwoKMrrAsylzrq70KA-NO9dVPztuHFyeIPAbSBMHVrBCFmQTY/s400/PhoenixNCTtheatre.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158225388254386" border="0" /></a>This "Grand Opening" was the official opening of the theatre, however they had done what's called a "soft opening" a few months earlier. This gave the improv performers a chance to get some shows under their belts before the big opening. While the group is still new, many of the performers have prior experience with improv or stand-up. In a little under a year, the Phoenix improv team has started with a strong foundation of players.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuntCf_qBgDYsvxEUgmLDaFruBcl0F-qWMMK3Kr1jyJhfpZMWTDkGzKyMxPBOLfLrr6LFKDgpnBuaw0Cp_Ac4b5OGRAmgQQDVA-yPdmnRbhNMTdkVSckWIpzQr8i-WzY4cXAVsFWMVRQ/s1600-h/NCT_players.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuntCf_qBgDYsvxEUgmLDaFruBcl0F-qWMMK3Kr1jyJhfpZMWTDkGzKyMxPBOLfLrr6LFKDgpnBuaw0Cp_Ac4b5OGRAmgQQDVA-yPdmnRbhNMTdkVSckWIpzQr8i-WzY4cXAVsFWMVRQ/s400/NCT_players.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158367122175170" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Why can't you just smile pretty and not make a face?</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />On Friday night - the first night of the grand opening - Dorian was short two players (one got called into work, the other got food poisoning) so I was able to jump in and play the shows. I had a blast!<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_VKT7t6UqVBRt4BC8YNPXcfnb_MQIedTO50fqRWKyKhWMPN3u7zaz51VWQUaD_Za24JakdRFJdm0Wqm5kYEmCrzCIOopJFq9nIc396Omm-Aq6blk6s0iCLw63Xkh43sxL739M-VpZMI/s1600-h/DorainGetsReady.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_VKT7t6UqVBRt4BC8YNPXcfnb_MQIedTO50fqRWKyKhWMPN3u7zaz51VWQUaD_Za24JakdRFJdm0Wqm5kYEmCrzCIOopJFq9nIc396Omm-Aq6blk6s0iCLw63Xkh43sxL739M-VpZMI/s400/DorainGetsReady.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158693539689714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dorian in the "green room" getting ready for the show.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAYvBTdf92qPuqAzAJ3AH2lUqtfQMo4Qa4zQqLgLs0K5Ta-h9P55TKllyyL1_jztFVeokSsMogB7ruUGEz8y0u7or34-OhgIEG9a-WRPUGN97wj2z5RzbBluTFjes8rLFQFWNanBeTnxg/s1600-h/DorianLovesMoney.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAYvBTdf92qPuqAzAJ3AH2lUqtfQMo4Qa4zQqLgLs0K5Ta-h9P55TKllyyL1_jztFVeokSsMogB7ruUGEz8y0u7or34-OhgIEG9a-WRPUGN97wj2z5RzbBluTFjes8rLFQFWNanBeTnxg/s400/DorianLovesMoney.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158616230278370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Dorian's favorite part of the night... counting the ticket money!<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuVvznItvn3LBLr0gA30UwrsL-oVj-XWUfvYj9G3-_yFn1yLL2BUHsqs1FhP6UrJC7rRLljqBJodFtGfvUyyLEaCnPDnNNxPGlOJ4kxenA9Bd-3lqaCiaMl5ejzZIW61Fimw3gUwF9J0/s1600-h/NCT_hallway.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuVvznItvn3LBLr0gA30UwrsL-oVj-XWUfvYj9G3-_yFn1yLL2BUHsqs1FhP6UrJC7rRLljqBJodFtGfvUyyLEaCnPDnNNxPGlOJ4kxenA9Bd-3lqaCiaMl5ejzZIW61Fimw3gUwF9J0/s400/NCT_hallway.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197158453021521106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hallway and main entrance to the theatre, all funky and designed by Krissy.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedXsQr6GYExFlMoejD8gYKXkFRyMbTVv0vATB3Ud2jiqAfSFHoW4wVObUDUWMuFhSH1cgw1H9l8nY3tH66FFZ6ceIYFdmzSZyad7B9FU6sviqVDMgiT9AJM3IkND7CDK8vT7i1zRll0Y/s1600-h/NCT_show_1.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedXsQr6GYExFlMoejD8gYKXkFRyMbTVv0vATB3Ud2jiqAfSFHoW4wVObUDUWMuFhSH1cgw1H9l8nY3tH66FFZ6ceIYFdmzSZyad7B9FU6sviqVDMgiT9AJM3IkND7CDK8vT7i1zRll0Y/s400/NCT_show_1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197157628387800194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The show.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_4bPMjZ8Ah1q5ztUxr0xIfCdy-ITohmJW33gnYvc2XJ33F094tguY5KpylNHzl3rRaVkBByaL7bb8JlfOcLHBOCuhgwxPfBjBNnb86bfkMzL0QllpY31MPgjAa5sXmEm9lfmYRI05R4/s1600-h/NCT_show_2.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_4bPMjZ8Ah1q5ztUxr0xIfCdy-ITohmJW33gnYvc2XJ33F094tguY5KpylNHzl3rRaVkBByaL7bb8JlfOcLHBOCuhgwxPfBjBNnb86bfkMzL0QllpY31MPgjAa5sXmEm9lfmYRI05R4/s400/NCT_show_2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197157559668323442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Thank God we said "paper" when they asked us "paper or plastic".</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlh6sBPUoM0w88AZOhsEoAhYdJRZmDktvFJU9lcqCr8H3sy1CIm1y5i6RlPP3dSu9iIIngaADdiOQrjLBmrjK8JyKEPdoaAFqzxh1KvxlVQLCvDQofaopMFeSo5SJxsJAHwbc6DGUPzQ/s1600-h/Krissy_Tom_Tattoo.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlh6sBPUoM0w88AZOhsEoAhYdJRZmDktvFJU9lcqCr8H3sy1CIm1y5i6RlPP3dSu9iIIngaADdiOQrjLBmrjK8JyKEPdoaAFqzxh1KvxlVQLCvDQofaopMFeSo5SJxsJAHwbc6DGUPzQ/s400/Krissy_Tom_Tattoo.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197157340624991330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Me with Krissy. I used to think it was odd </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >that she had<br />a Nightmare Before Christmas tattoo on her shoulder,<br />but that's nothing compared to the third arm growing out of her head.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The subject line for this entry includes "...& Roadside Oddities". And there were a few that I encountered on this trip. The most bizarre was in Phoenix at an outdoor mall. There were giant (like 15' tall) bronze rabbits around a fountain. I could find no plaque or sign explaining their presence, so I'll assume that they're evil.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMH3SnqqzOV8H9NSOfFReSX9SGP8pwjkIiLmY-IZpzzzNW42egzZqMorYubRst2HhBJ0mB5cqfYW1uIJcr9sX2xNF_UoqNPMPRs3BidYYg32w9lr5CSD-OueNWzd6xNhf0-SElFiNS3Q/s1600-h/GiantBunnies_1.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMH3SnqqzOV8H9NSOfFReSX9SGP8pwjkIiLmY-IZpzzzNW42egzZqMorYubRst2HhBJ0mB5cqfYW1uIJcr9sX2xNF_UoqNPMPRs3BidYYg32w9lr5CSD-OueNWzd6xNhf0-SElFiNS3Q/s400/GiantBunnies_1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197157039977280594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Ooo, I smell carrots. Was that you?<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">While on the way back to LA I passed by a weird trailer park... I guess "weird" and "trailer park" are sort of redundant. But this was in Quarzsite Arizona. The only green plants were the orderly palm trees around all of the trailers. I guess it looks kind of nice. But considering that there really wasn't anything else around, this stuck out like a toothless Mormon trying to eat a coconut on the Mayflower.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8jyTX5QjWONzHvsiMYsQ1VjybY7nd6joyQM-UasRdaS_HAGMGSx7s7o_5pVYHL3YudM-BKSxDxUnl3D5Gtdz4wHEzg2bUGKFCEDsQXni-jond_mijT7E9IY-xbxOSFs36xJv7jXzvto/s1600-h/TrailerPark.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8jyTX5QjWONzHvsiMYsQ1VjybY7nd6joyQM-UasRdaS_HAGMGSx7s7o_5pVYHL3YudM-BKSxDxUnl3D5Gtdz4wHEzg2bUGKFCEDsQXni-jond_mijT7E9IY-xbxOSFs36xJv7jXzvto/s400/TrailerPark.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197156825228915778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Finally, we each have our own family tree!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">At one of my gas stops I had to get a shot of this... the picture does not come close to giving you the scale, the size, the sheer immenseness... but this was one big-ass flag! It wasn't just huge! It was big-ass huge!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJvNxaqCUxlJpi9qqSXZABfe27e75qB0tduIcSYat3J_gEWeh7ZFoXEvWUVp9c6opybd9SV96vYi-_qEub862carlNqDa-NNllSTopLaOGevTDXc6hK4cD1PO6jXO1MwwcIqRrGYgnZ8/s1600-h/BigAssFlag.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJvNxaqCUxlJpi9qqSXZABfe27e75qB0tduIcSYat3J_gEWeh7ZFoXEvWUVp9c6opybd9SV96vYi-_qEub862carlNqDa-NNllSTopLaOGevTDXc6hK4cD1PO6jXO1MwwcIqRrGYgnZ8/s400/BigAssFlag.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197156704969831474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I dunno what it is, everyday I climb this pole and just feel so.. damn patriotic.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span><span style="font-family:arial;">And then on both my drive out and back I passed by field after field of wind-powered generators. I'd seen pictures of them before, but it's really impressive when you drive through one of these "wind farms".</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCAuePOT7Xo9IbiKqpkMhkOWvI3_TcQDaPUu-dJHaxIbagGs6vtwQkpVHUGsaw4CyMQUy_HKxktCPI1oALMXhC7nVwxw4TxzChjwSecA0ty3aFiQNgignVPfrxQHVvLsYFPjlekZGQBo/s1600-h/WindThings.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCAuePOT7Xo9IbiKqpkMhkOWvI3_TcQDaPUu-dJHaxIbagGs6vtwQkpVHUGsaw4CyMQUy_HKxktCPI1oALMXhC7nVwxw4TxzChjwSecA0ty3aFiQNgignVPfrxQHVvLsYFPjlekZGQBo/s400/WindThings.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197156601890616354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Are we flying yet? Holy crap! Where are the wings?!</span><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-10576715513472301722008-04-08T00:32:00.000-07:002008-04-08T01:17:21.349-07:00GEEKWORLD!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I admit I'm a geek. I'm not a sports guy, although I played some basketball and ran track in High School. I've never been a jock, so I guess I fall into the "theatre geek" category. I attend comic-con most summers, primarily out of curiosity and because it's an important "meet n' greet" landscape for the line of work that I do.<br /><br />This past weekend was the first weekend of the Renaissance Faire in Erwindale, CA - just east of Pasadena. I've only been to one "Ren Faire" in my life, as had Emily, so we decided to check this out, figuring it would be a fun afternoon on a Saturday. Our friends Rob and Terri joined us... no, we did not dress up - I left my codpiece at home.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVx6vo75H6BHUvvB4oTyL1cKh_OE2pJIYj0EDnuFAYgoj1s2acxz8caAWJpHFzyd-hMTI1yhp-_oTIXk8gCDPAANM9ZN1_bFgqjaBEkJv1A8neJNNIyLUn7dPotmd0Wveozl-b344NcI/s1600-h/Emily_Rob_Terri.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVx6vo75H6BHUvvB4oTyL1cKh_OE2pJIYj0EDnuFAYgoj1s2acxz8caAWJpHFzyd-hMTI1yhp-_oTIXk8gCDPAANM9ZN1_bFgqjaBEkJv1A8neJNNIyLUn7dPotmd0Wveozl-b344NcI/s400/Emily_Rob_Terri.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186775616353332210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Emily, Rob, & Terri experiencing the wonders of the faire! </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rob was as giddy as a wee lass.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The faire ended up being a great time. At first we stuck out like lobsters at a rodeo, because most everyone at the faire was in some sort of costume, boddice, or covered in mud and straw - we weren't... well, not until the end of the day. Eventually more visitors like ourselves arrived, so we didn't feel quite so self-conscious.<br /><br />There was plenty to see, do, eat, and spend money on. There were several stages of performers, some that were very impressive. Much of it was good n' bawdy, the way comedy was meant to be.<br /></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOp4UwLzHTEUzbzmFp4qX04PGcOhhHoyTFzhi9aw425wSKP-U0q4xfexKFqPaSc8d8UYcqnVaJZldRZatzThptDF1qqVqvGQP4aV7W4ktioJQtXd490Q5f5kZY1a0UT9EMyraVxHLFUJY/s1600-h/sign.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOp4UwLzHTEUzbzmFp4qX04PGcOhhHoyTFzhi9aw425wSKP-U0q4xfexKFqPaSc8d8UYcqnVaJZldRZatzThptDF1qqVqvGQP4aV7W4ktioJQtXd490Q5f5kZY1a0UT9EMyraVxHLFUJY/s400/sign.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186775513274117090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Ye have been warned.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixlF5Phms635pU4sYVuNm5MfaWbz8NFu9RYKavkJMwia_nJakyWSHtPgBdrR2mnjDQYGturID2q7juDpXCCVH9THpnvfDGnBcEuhvvUiJqGdTpdM_-aDv76K-VEp1rm5HQqyuK1GAXvcM/s1600-h/Poxy_Boggards.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixlF5Phms635pU4sYVuNm5MfaWbz8NFu9RYKavkJMwia_nJakyWSHtPgBdrR2mnjDQYGturID2q7juDpXCCVH9THpnvfDGnBcEuhvvUiJqGdTpdM_-aDv76K-VEp1rm5HQqyuK1GAXvcM/s400/Poxy_Boggards.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186775427374771154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The Poxy Boggards sing the praises of ale, women and hey-nonny-nonny.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The costumes people were wearing - and this is the majority of the folks walking around - were amazing and quiet elaborate. While snapping pictures of some of the more stately attired, I got to meet the Queen.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_YTEgXt7NFVBmH9VmeocRiIZHf6RngG9CjVQZHfUEeFfEL7IMQRRhtu9u6Ai8u_RGMDWiDAayxchkZ2I_delMNwyO7i0T7nPdKz5hXm0nWgJgdoBsqWHLfZH6N2hnygVlb9B-cVez3w/s1600-h/queen_1.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_YTEgXt7NFVBmH9VmeocRiIZHf6RngG9CjVQZHfUEeFfEL7IMQRRhtu9u6Ai8u_RGMDWiDAayxchkZ2I_delMNwyO7i0T7nPdKz5hXm0nWgJgdoBsqWHLfZH6N2hnygVlb9B-cVez3w/s400/queen_1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186775324295556034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Off with my head! <br />Wait, no... that's not right.<br />Oh, God I'm a terrible monarch.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmGQ3knbDUV4VilF8hBx0te2unt216KaE8RVwXn6jTtG0MoGf95eOnVUVmgFUyghrkd1ML_E-zIWJfRblPEUJmR1hODxLM9euFKQShPPMDs4olKoYysmpl6cSeb-V5pubmb9eWEKKN-c/s1600-h/queen_2.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmGQ3knbDUV4VilF8hBx0te2unt216KaE8RVwXn6jTtG0MoGf95eOnVUVmgFUyghrkd1ML_E-zIWJfRblPEUJmR1hODxLM9euFKQShPPMDs4olKoYysmpl6cSeb-V5pubmb9eWEKKN-c/s400/queen_2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186775225511308210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Ack--- cough... slow down, I swallowed a bug.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikV6DKnxwwy-PXlNtmLyAa17AprRQ4gvHC0Zh__zPOI4u-DxZS5f7Sqkd_QpaO29qrLuSCSUkXj0Obax-bEomVupawAxt0EYvm3bT5YAifioU2_kddhHay9IAV592jYVHE2UxnG7IRLSo/s1600-h/spearmen.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikV6DKnxwwy-PXlNtmLyAa17AprRQ4gvHC0Zh__zPOI4u-DxZS5f7Sqkd_QpaO29qrLuSCSUkXj0Obax-bEomVupawAxt0EYvm3bT5YAifioU2_kddhHay9IAV592jYVHE2UxnG7IRLSo/s400/spearmen.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186775122432093090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Medieval pole vaulters.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix13ouI3HudrNw9jeQFG0i1QBIZn4ZrUVd9ANB7YYHdOOPfHdIJpJ_kFS5jNbKfWuGrHLf85KjQdt0PLy7C5ffbo3KvWZHlU7vHYqGrBM52YjscG3FcGzHeYakwwfYqreuix385N7oUjg/s1600-h/ren_band.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix13ouI3HudrNw9jeQFG0i1QBIZn4ZrUVd9ANB7YYHdOOPfHdIJpJ_kFS5jNbKfWuGrHLf85KjQdt0PLy7C5ffbo3KvWZHlU7vHYqGrBM52YjscG3FcGzHeYakwwfYqreuix385N7oUjg/s400/ren_band.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186775040827714450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">This army sucks!<br />There's no way I can kill someone with a trombone.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeqs2sJnjocG0Gzja0BrXnw5DhNl2ovUH9tSZx4Ab_W10uyHsUzFfxjw5eHNYCJi3axaibtbiz3xwRG3nCMZ1Wbz0g5GE1O2f5m26PwcKJddDgd2d9tezqJoqMNVyuVJ1wE9qQg54GudE/s1600-h/ladies_court.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeqs2sJnjocG0Gzja0BrXnw5DhNl2ovUH9tSZx4Ab_W10uyHsUzFfxjw5eHNYCJi3axaibtbiz3xwRG3nCMZ1Wbz0g5GE1O2f5m26PwcKJddDgd2d9tezqJoqMNVyuVJ1wE9qQg54GudE/s400/ladies_court.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186774864734055298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">The court ladies farting guild. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">Where the word "blunderbuss" was first coined.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3dTcxEDyWUmaqxGhRym8NMWXPXUOFs-ejVTS1rHxHLlX58OziWQDK8hIo0pPtZrDuowwk3-CPVxCKZmVp44WTAw2pFly7gNJBD2W91LPdqba2StKLTw7Epg6oqb-tU4EakEa79DKjYI/s1600-h/horse_costumes.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3dTcxEDyWUmaqxGhRym8NMWXPXUOFs-ejVTS1rHxHLlX58OziWQDK8hIo0pPtZrDuowwk3-CPVxCKZmVp44WTAw2pFly7gNJBD2W91LPdqba2StKLTw7Epg6oqb-tU4EakEa79DKjYI/s400/horse_costumes.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186774731590069106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Not real jousting.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9f2tLC5Wx1ZN0BlAKQoPaNoHS9KqUSVvY5eKjXarNpAf1_qV97QEnKiAvSe5mejONP5jWW_MU9cyoxTpYFQrr3x7g2YovoP9ZhccF3qq6yLXT4gInLDgmNTZTfFzVJGVnmqKYK3HYLps/s1600-h/knight.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9f2tLC5Wx1ZN0BlAKQoPaNoHS9KqUSVvY5eKjXarNpAf1_qV97QEnKiAvSe5mejONP5jWW_MU9cyoxTpYFQrr3x7g2YovoP9ZhccF3qq6yLXT4gInLDgmNTZTfFzVJGVnmqKYK3HYLps/s400/knight.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186774645690723170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Real jousting--- with Sting.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-family: arial;">It was a relatively short, but full day of wandering around and observing the lengths at which people will go to for something they enjoy. The jousting was very impressive. Say what you want about the Ren folk, but guys on horseback, in full armor, speeding at each other with lances - even if they're made to break - takes some skill and nerve.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;"></span></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-84121720932586914792008-03-24T00:28:00.000-07:002008-03-26T00:25:55.561-07:00BIG HAPPENINGS!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">So I got married... but I'm getting ahead of myself.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-l5VGlcyWgdJi-YFNg_piFTCUgFooygX-Qx0NdxJ5-g5G7qYvX2ij3dJc9dyk6zn-NBYRe6SbIT-r0xeIZgjWEf0co2LbIZyjWyWFfeDfxn9FeBTzGlplAV3y5VzqqtvlZnhBkqdhUkc/s1600-h/tom_bride.gif"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-l5VGlcyWgdJi-YFNg_piFTCUgFooygX-Qx0NdxJ5-g5G7qYvX2ij3dJc9dyk6zn-NBYRe6SbIT-r0xeIZgjWEf0co2LbIZyjWyWFfeDfxn9FeBTzGlplAV3y5VzqqtvlZnhBkqdhUkc/s400/tom_bride.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181211357372345138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Oh crap! I didn't realize I'd have to wear a dress for this!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Actually the pic above is me wearing Emily's bachelorette party veil-thingy. She thought it'd make for a "cute picture". So much for that theory.<br /><br />A lot has happened in the past couple of months since my last post... I'll give a quick over-view and try to catch things up...<br /><br />Like I said, I got married, back on February 22nd. So as the date approached there was a bachelor party that began at the Santa Anita Race track...<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpojItcrIubaMoqNli9OkVoQputh8CromhnW3la7wF9JBLSYkVvy90dUeR1Ot-tLhZ9LSPHIJgqWgfP47JZx-yG8am4KppKroBqyufDDumepMAF0DTXgfGpzU5QLlCKirytd17oC4rz40/s1600-h/bachelor_party.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpojItcrIubaMoqNli9OkVoQputh8CromhnW3la7wF9JBLSYkVvy90dUeR1Ot-tLhZ9LSPHIJgqWgfP47JZx-yG8am4KppKroBqyufDDumepMAF0DTXgfGpzU5QLlCKirytd17oC4rz40/s400/bachelor_party.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181211219933391650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >We may look like winners, but we smell like losers!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span><span style="font-family:arial;">By the end of my bachelor party I was drinking wine with these two weirdos. And I thought there'd be strippers.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGxNmX-6DT7TC_83YgD3Ftph0-1lrEBkE2aDQfUKhwvdUD4R6P8XSC7BFivq3kN4keISg4yMlokh41d-xZX3v7tADApFOSf3KesGMOeswnq2o8OJjk-lDOhyphenhyphenaboJwXkuT1g4A7pvgj4JI/s1600-h/weirdos.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGxNmX-6DT7TC_83YgD3Ftph0-1lrEBkE2aDQfUKhwvdUD4R6P8XSC7BFivq3kN4keISg4yMlokh41d-xZX3v7tADApFOSf3KesGMOeswnq2o8OJjk-lDOhyphenhyphenaboJwXkuT1g4A7pvgj4JI/s400/weirdos.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181211030954830610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Prof. Johann and Dr. Varbles welcome you to<br />das cheez festival undt onion schmelt!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Next, I bought a funky hat for the wedding trip...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaX_bkpNyk9ffbHCjagY_OvW3ia6g3E4sV6h6g4WmKd0u8rzwt9zDWNFs8CZ6fbDbdRcXnDk-zrdl8qIa_jnHTko54Ho5S6xuGxH8qodUdSZwF0OyqUdwbxnagsisE_DBZNJ79IzRMYgw/s1600-h/funky_hat.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaX_bkpNyk9ffbHCjagY_OvW3ia6g3E4sV6h6g4WmKd0u8rzwt9zDWNFs8CZ6fbDbdRcXnDk-zrdl8qIa_jnHTko54Ho5S6xuGxH8qodUdSZwF0OyqUdwbxnagsisE_DBZNJ79IzRMYgw/s400/funky_hat.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181210756076923650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Gee, nobody would ever beat me up for wearing this.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Emily and I flew to Hawaii (the Island of Kaua'i)...</span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jVjBGyibnc-d6ihrv5dlanFpKK99SgtmAQumaZAtGOnnoT4qA_4V1_tDXx-KOiffke9A5UHkmACzZhDlpe7OPI7MRsII20Zxc0OffTpGn5lLFG0emeVrsIRa4UayDPmWhcPBJ15NvxY/s1600-h/Tom&Emily_beach_hawaii.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jVjBGyibnc-d6ihrv5dlanFpKK99SgtmAQumaZAtGOnnoT4qA_4V1_tDXx-KOiffke9A5UHkmACzZhDlpe7OPI7MRsII20Zxc0OffTpGn5lLFG0emeVrsIRa4UayDPmWhcPBJ15NvxY/s400/Tom&Emily_beach_hawaii.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181210640112806642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This shore is nice!</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />We had a BBQ on the beach with family and friends the day before the wedding...</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3wQuLzzeyD2_0ueYTr08j7m8HjvlvOlKXkgHd_2cIE16DXf_z7JeVBYyrGG-GpESKoUPYc5-P33IIKucMDGvv7SaBX652B1uYdNoCAGLWv007iVwhTDa987wQLPzJChOxbq3VsbmmGY/s1600-h/bbq_kaua.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3wQuLzzeyD2_0ueYTr08j7m8HjvlvOlKXkgHd_2cIE16DXf_z7JeVBYyrGG-GpESKoUPYc5-P33IIKucMDGvv7SaBX652B1uYdNoCAGLWv007iVwhTDa987wQLPzJChOxbq3VsbmmGY/s400/bbq_kaua.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181210292220455650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >My 6th Mai Tai and counting...<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I put on a white suit and stared into the sun...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wWtIfVwjqGt2LHE3ew94-3ML7V4Oju5UHmKEtyxLWCvAe92TZS8jFdctKUREqmLBLzrJ-eTu7tTgXKoSuVsuZjEk-0WgBYTzC8FRQGppO5fHgMbqs7_O8-YWuTIBm46doZCI0E-R84E/s1600-h/groom_team.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wWtIfVwjqGt2LHE3ew94-3ML7V4Oju5UHmKEtyxLWCvAe92TZS8jFdctKUREqmLBLzrJ-eTu7tTgXKoSuVsuZjEk-0WgBYTzC8FRQGppO5fHgMbqs7_O8-YWuTIBm46doZCI0E-R84E/s400/groom_team.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181210064587188946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This suit is operating at 10,000 watts. Guess where I keep the batteries.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The ceremony began and included palm fronds, flowers, and smashing coconuts. Crazy Hawaiians</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTcaktD6kSBH_Zk7W6yFQ0xfObNQAKBXNycrTB97EbTEgeeEuMTpNRAiV32NoVka8ZmNy6f6VES5HCqohWXluqMIiiyoCItnwt5iC3jCHb0oHxE7ml3jifrUtD9vCH67aCSbxIsum_jQ/s1600-h/wedding2.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTcaktD6kSBH_Zk7W6yFQ0xfObNQAKBXNycrTB97EbTEgeeEuMTpNRAiV32NoVka8ZmNy6f6VES5HCqohWXluqMIiiyoCItnwt5iC3jCHb0oHxE7ml3jifrUtD9vCH67aCSbxIsum_jQ/s400/wedding2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181941471747894082" border="0" /></a>It looks like Tigger exploded... I'm not cleaning it up.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We exchanged vows...</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB658KpwvHEvMtbkKFvSkxspZ9jAfHKQwYpcmqH47VVJh3E6hMVZ8MGLyaMjzOKf8aIngliXgerMWM8gcYeMJiNZ9xHnG2BBLeEtE8k7sl9FTH6MM03XQ0i2uTQ0q3oaxj1juNBoSTyMQ/s1600-h/wedding.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB658KpwvHEvMtbkKFvSkxspZ9jAfHKQwYpcmqH47VVJh3E6hMVZ8MGLyaMjzOKf8aIngliXgerMWM8gcYeMJiNZ9xHnG2BBLeEtE8k7sl9FTH6MM03XQ0i2uTQ0q3oaxj1juNBoSTyMQ/s400/wedding.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181209965802941122" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >So, once I've cracked all your knuckles, that means we're married?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And that was it... before we knew it... the wedding was over.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11HAhwiQrp2wYR02Qu_KSzRMzVwHlTCBOLKWtDZAcHA59Z3Ej85n2kx5DQoGDNNdXbEvszClTj5EJkvUqV3eRlJ-_BrJrBqju6wUxXdO0KNYPTuautIZmmEGx7falMOxz-lJnqeWErPM/s1600-h/wedding3.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11HAhwiQrp2wYR02Qu_KSzRMzVwHlTCBOLKWtDZAcHA59Z3Ej85n2kx5DQoGDNNdXbEvszClTj5EJkvUqV3eRlJ-_BrJrBqju6wUxXdO0KNYPTuautIZmmEGx7falMOxz-lJnqeWErPM/s400/wedding3.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181942000028871506" border="0" /></a>There's no chance any of this could attract bees, ya' think?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The next day a bunch of us went on a short hike up the Na Pali Coast...</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggC1cUVEIzQOkFfwyEgmOSqB7mdB1zTuQ83nStd7ci2eqzOQR3ATYxDaWDi7NcB6Xz1hKxO9DwhVh46xqpbfzs0P6ZOnnmLHT3Rc24xxnC_zlHlzQDR4qi5mQLMIlUmYLPzMfclCWoA0w/s1600-h/hikers.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggC1cUVEIzQOkFfwyEgmOSqB7mdB1zTuQ83nStd7ci2eqzOQR3ATYxDaWDi7NcB6Xz1hKxO9DwhVh46xqpbfzs0P6ZOnnmLHT3Rc24xxnC_zlHlzQDR4qi5mQLMIlUmYLPzMfclCWoA0w/s400/hikers.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181209832658954930" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">We were forced to eat half the group just to stay alive.<br />The little boy was delicious!<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Emily and I flew to the Big Island for a week-long honeymoon. It wasn't quite what we expected...<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVR5fnC3ngvgPKRMzT2coV-GLdWEMJf9x-mYJQHB1oPlN6QoR0XOgzUtsHXrDqa9RWQFObcc9Zvr9pZ_1FJISfPpIrcmgY7hD47Yyz-2pqafC_aB0XiCqbOGlc59ueHTkLw9DeisugzU/s1600-h/big_island.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVR5fnC3ngvgPKRMzT2coV-GLdWEMJf9x-mYJQHB1oPlN6QoR0XOgzUtsHXrDqa9RWQFObcc9Zvr9pZ_1FJISfPpIrcmgY7hD47Yyz-2pqafC_aB0XiCqbOGlc59ueHTkLw9DeisugzU/s400/big_island.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181209639385426594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This must be what the Mars Rover felt like when it landed.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Lots of lava rock. Not the lush, tropical paradise we were expecting. It was still quite beautiful though... in a weird "driving through the desert from LA to Las Vegas" sorta' way.<br /><br />So, we went to the other side of the Big Island and found more lava rock, but also TIKIS!<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7TZk_j5nipT8lkEkNth3Pm3yAbe4nWp8uHBLiT-wjoYzmudxQzIjwJEo6DeCE8iLxV9v7a9dokL-p9_L03onsx2BjGxW74oRcsozVg01EIog7O7yfkT0205oteWpSzYO9YSDxEzIWiU/s1600-h/tiki_boo.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7TZk_j5nipT8lkEkNth3Pm3yAbe4nWp8uHBLiT-wjoYzmudxQzIjwJEo6DeCE8iLxV9v7a9dokL-p9_L03onsx2BjGxW74oRcsozVg01EIog7O7yfkT0205oteWpSzYO9YSDxEzIWiU/s400/tiki_boo.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181209480471636626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Peek-a-Boo, I put a curse on you!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We came back to the mainland. Both of us had colds for nearly 3 weeks. Stupid Tiki curse.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Once home, I got back to really important matters... like discovering how great the new Doctor Who is!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVONTxO0bcnvqn-FRRjaoKHx49qihNgtZb0NUoK-ZmzS-B5_cmTfjxvAjdaxAkeCmcm6nGbvlCr9vZ3l6_jdUk_PbtJ2pkLBZWZIPhmNyXOaIs1b-YgBRFJ-8ruAK3MFDNHYXIMGnu2w/s1600-h/doctor_who.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVONTxO0bcnvqn-FRRjaoKHx49qihNgtZb0NUoK-ZmzS-B5_cmTfjxvAjdaxAkeCmcm6nGbvlCr9vZ3l6_jdUk_PbtJ2pkLBZWZIPhmNyXOaIs1b-YgBRFJ-8ruAK3MFDNHYXIMGnu2w/s400/doctor_who.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181208909240986242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Season 4 is about to start, I can't wait! I'm a geek, so what?<cough><br /><br /></cough></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I also got back to work on the project I've been working on that's an Italian/French/American co-production, and it's been nothing but impossible deadlines and ridiculously frustrating notes from the Europeans. So we just had to leave town and headed up to Big Bear for the weekend, and it snowed!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRosXfnHf5JM7I3ohXNc4B2RDb5m2Sa2Oc3AVEH5cMkHyfNBMsePVKR1iKsA8TZ1iP0qXeNXF7uUGoxlIxf2mbUmxvM-8BtA61eszGudpL7wIkPeLjgHSO8IfXEc5l-OhefjV91ugYLQ/s1600-h/big_bear_01.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRosXfnHf5JM7I3ohXNc4B2RDb5m2Sa2Oc3AVEH5cMkHyfNBMsePVKR1iKsA8TZ1iP0qXeNXF7uUGoxlIxf2mbUmxvM-8BtA61eszGudpL7wIkPeLjgHSO8IfXEc5l-OhefjV91ugYLQ/s400/big_bear_01.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181208647247981170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Think of it as a snow-cone, without the cone,<br />delivered at deliciously high velocity.<br />It's so yummy it'll hurt.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Since Emily's from Florida she didn't grow up with snow, so this was a big fun deal for her. For me it was cold, wet, and slushy (like my last physical)... but unlike my last physical, this was a good time with a lot less fingers pokin' in places that I didn't want.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zfw34Uo-eqkLTiBORxieOPw5sYFSM-hGNjpfTNMD8ywu4FFYg85X-1FVMS1xkLVAyFlgb4w6nhvtuqIiCcIm1Gfs0ZDJeqKfA0SHzbzDDqWo0hTJURlSM44399KIxUQQ38CHKzEjO3g/s1600-h/emily_sled.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zfw34Uo-eqkLTiBORxieOPw5sYFSM-hGNjpfTNMD8ywu4FFYg85X-1FVMS1xkLVAyFlgb4w6nhvtuqIiCcIm1Gfs0ZDJeqKfA0SHzbzDDqWo0hTJURlSM44399KIxUQQ38CHKzEjO3g/s400/emily_sled.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181208561348635234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Yes! I can withstand anything nature throws at me<br />so long as I have my blue butt-shield!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span><span style="font-family:arial;">We even built a snowman...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGxMRdspWRPcjYth8JHpD4bc2V1aAr7NRLu3A3dodmI9qGRcr_ARYQOGoaeigqtuJ_cCgBY6hQlAmGwqcf6a0ohhydUQpdgpij2TuiF8jRUesO_WNzY7mW3fQcpBeZS-mF3vRvQ-dNCk/s1600-h/snowman_bb.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGxMRdspWRPcjYth8JHpD4bc2V1aAr7NRLu3A3dodmI9qGRcr_ARYQOGoaeigqtuJ_cCgBY6hQlAmGwqcf6a0ohhydUQpdgpij2TuiF8jRUesO_WNzY7mW3fQcpBeZS-mF3vRvQ-dNCk/s400/snowman_bb.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181208471154322002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >So, um... can you tell that these are plugs?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Then this past weekend we planted a lime tree--- I'm tired of having to go to the store for limes to put in my Corona's and mai tais. Once this baby takes root, it'll be limes all the time!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAS8Ef32xgFkHpLy34SJK08G2Op5k5ctjGwmtxZHh1UZ1ZOmt60gQAfGF37EVYagR8m4vgxrPEWMkz6ZwJWxMYGLt4lqQf2S19raWrHLdH72-9Eq3BhnBZZgFg7fVYWfWRYXUPgx_0yg/s1600-h/lime_tree.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAS8Ef32xgFkHpLy34SJK08G2Op5k5ctjGwmtxZHh1UZ1ZOmt60gQAfGF37EVYagR8m4vgxrPEWMkz6ZwJWxMYGLt4lqQf2S19raWrHLdH72-9Eq3BhnBZZgFg7fVYWfWRYXUPgx_0yg/s400/lime_tree.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181208312240532034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Oh c'mon little tree, why the sour face?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">And like everyone does on Easter Sunday we ended up at the Santa Anita Race Track... but this time I had my hat.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhMDj4BtxZpGj8N4aXFqYEFzyTH7WgI_dz-W_kh4FKVWqvZx9f6uQ4BRT6yzxsBigRNz7MqEh8smcukTTzWG7dOvYUtnpnuEyAU4bpxsm9pCOXqWxmFeX6sNdCH2AlDrXoHeF-Sq0s3E/s1600-h/race_track.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhMDj4BtxZpGj8N4aXFqYEFzyTH7WgI_dz-W_kh4FKVWqvZx9f6uQ4BRT6yzxsBigRNz7MqEh8smcukTTzWG7dOvYUtnpnuEyAU4bpxsm9pCOXqWxmFeX6sNdCH2AlDrXoHeF-Sq0s3E/s400/race_track.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181207182664133122" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >This ticket ain't even worth the $20 I paid for it... rotten losing horse.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So that's the hap on all that's been goin' on the past couple of months and the reason for my lack of updates. My late New Years resolution is to try to keep this post more current--- like once a week. But I make no guarantees.<br /></span>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130146164203097326.post-47697806985666880482008-01-21T23:38:00.000-08:002008-09-04T00:58:51.444-07:00Star Trek: The Tour<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Okay, so I'm a Star Trek geek. I'm a big fan of the classic '60's series. I'd heard that </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Star Trek: The Tour</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> was going to begin its journey down in Long Beach. So, looking for something to do on Sunday, I suggested to Emily that we check it out - to say that she was "underwhelmed" at the prospect of being thrust into another "Comic Con" type of environment would be a </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >gross</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> understatement. But, being the trouper that she is, Emily agreed to indulge my geekiness and go where no woman has gone before.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfM4TCSIGBRkpaXy4ksYgpv9t5ZZDs8ZeukaP2s_h09cdNkoGy1JLKfLV-jy8PqZWJlVexullPbUILuQELA7JglQW4TBX0HIhn1dcZiGZypm9qlmrtkVAK6STHBba1OiENZpVhck6k_I/s1600-h/StarTrek_tour.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfM4TCSIGBRkpaXy4ksYgpv9t5ZZDs8ZeukaP2s_h09cdNkoGy1JLKfLV-jy8PqZWJlVexullPbUILuQELA7JglQW4TBX0HIhn1dcZiGZypm9qlmrtkVAK6STHBba1OiENZpVhck6k_I/s400/StarTrek_tour.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158206712330329650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hey... this looks like some sort of marketing ploy... hmmm.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I grabbed tickets for us online, and they're not cheap, $35 per person. Wow! This must be something REALLY BIG that Star Trek fans are gonna love! After getting the tickets from Ticketmaster and paying all their "convenience fees" the total cost of two tickets was a little over 80 bucks.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH4QwbEM_NeduZipCjk7GJ5UNIFny8CTZ36ikpeEaCQRW3PT30bECo_IdiyMdJ88_JPAInRTcIPpWYTj9WNyEXpVDsCh42QBLAiyziUcTTAyJwRz0W4trH3LYKKm1KaSdagW2bBN_A14/s1600-h/Tom&Emily_startrek.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH4QwbEM_NeduZipCjk7GJ5UNIFny8CTZ36ikpeEaCQRW3PT30bECo_IdiyMdJ88_JPAInRTcIPpWYTj9WNyEXpVDsCh42QBLAiyziUcTTAyJwRz0W4trH3LYKKm1KaSdagW2bBN_A14/s400/Tom&Emily_startrek.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158206626430983714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Waiting with anticipation the wonders of Trek that we are about to behold!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We were given a designated arrival time - 10am (when the tour opens). So we were on the road early and made it down to Long Beach in plenty of time. We waited outside the door with the growing crowd. Emily noticed that her gender was well into the minority. Interestingly, we did not see anyone in costume.<br /><br />Finally the doors opened and we were let in. Everyone poured inside. There were a few Star Trek props set up, most notably, a shooting model of the USS Enterprise from <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek: The Motion Picture</span>.<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrZjmQoV4Uh7YodyKUzC9mNARJ66BnGPLQ96z57Tv3Wuele8u8bag-6RI3sARs4dIL_IR3oqQRm-TmSOHPNmiclFWrxRX9w8EPJ8YCeR5T3E-S4DpOet2-O4pR9LJJnIMcz0zN5u8O3E/s1600-h/movie_enterprise.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrZjmQoV4Uh7YodyKUzC9mNARJ66BnGPLQ96z57Tv3Wuele8u8bag-6RI3sARs4dIL_IR3oqQRm-TmSOHPNmiclFWrxRX9w8EPJ8YCeR5T3E-S4DpOet2-O4pR9LJJnIMcz0zN5u8O3E/s400/movie_enterprise.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158205608523734466" border="0" /></a>Holy ship! I just had a warp-core breach in my pants!<br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I gotta admit, this was impressive. We geeks all filed in, looking upward at the gleaming hull of this icon of space fantasy... and then I noticed that we were not actually IN the exhibit yet. Looking ahead, we saw the entryway where several "uniformed" tour employees waited. We were in a holding area. No one had yet ventured into the actual exhibit. They were all beached by the siren song of ol' NCC-1701-A rotating just above their heads. The fools. I grabbed Emily and we headed for the entry gate.<br /><br />Our tickets were scanned, and we moved into the exhibit hall. Not a soul was there. The place was wide-open and devoid of people. And then I turned to my right and saw---<br /></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq6HcOb5zZmX9kgEHqYdZFqQWNlrHOng8PjJXEQGe_VOvTSD4SDN24qoN_Uim68zFxdwaZEck5Q2FoDp0xxZ4lJZ57qGzc1xr4YpoFE1V2rtwgv8GLIsofdGFXAN6liks7pZBlB-S4BxU/s1600-h/classic_bridge.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq6HcOb5zZmX9kgEHqYdZFqQWNlrHOng8PjJXEQGe_VOvTSD4SDN24qoN_Uim68zFxdwaZEck5Q2FoDp0xxZ4lJZ57qGzc1xr4YpoFE1V2rtwgv8GLIsofdGFXAN6liks7pZBlB-S4BxU/s400/classic_bridge.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158206377322880530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The bridge of the original Enterprise! (Actual picture that I took!)<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I was dumbfounded. Before me lay a nearly exact, full-sized replica of the Enterprise's bridge. And no one was seeing this but me and Emily. It was like walking face-first into a piece of history. I fumbled for my camera, but then the red doors of the turbo lift opened, and a uniformed gentlemen waved for me to come up and sit in Captain Kirk's chair. I nearly cried... okay, I did cry. But only a little.<br /><br />By the time we'd found our way around to the turbo lift entrance and onto the bridge, people were starting to fill the exhibit hall. Once Emily and I were in our seats on the bridge, there was a long line of people </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">queued</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"> up, wanting and waiting to be next.<br /><br />The set-up was such that you (and your friends) position yourself on the bridge and the ST tour has a camera that takes a picture that you can purchase when you leave the exhibit. Since Emily and I were the first ones there, the camera and playback monitor weren't quite ready - so they had to take multiple shots. This took awhile, about 10 to 12 minutes. So I had plenty of time to sit and savor the look of the the bridge and press all the buttons I wanted. I'm sure that I depleted the ship's phaser banks and launched all the photon torpedoes in the armory. (Yes, I'm aware that you CAN'T do that from Kirk's chair, you have to use the navigation console... but it's MY fantasy so suck it up.)<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsBDhh0xCiKBPF0nrojEyBUB4NY3gt_xP_3JBQcuzNdeeBCUuHhQEWxoEqlQYb6oAx1xzp4zrA2kLXTNRpBFI92_rbCFITiHdBs_rrpIeMBPJblvbcrcQJDwtK3x73ew1tdUVDxa8U8Q/s1600-h/enterprise_phasers.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsBDhh0xCiKBPF0nrojEyBUB4NY3gt_xP_3JBQcuzNdeeBCUuHhQEWxoEqlQYb6oAx1xzp4zrA2kLXTNRpBFI92_rbCFITiHdBs_rrpIeMBPJblvbcrcQJDwtK3x73ew1tdUVDxa8U8Q/s400/enterprise_phasers.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158577753525385874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Say hello to my little friend!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />While trying to get the camera to work, the tour personnel took several pictures of me and Emily on the bridge - each time I tried a different Captain Kirk pose that had the other geeks waiting in line laughing... Emily was on her own, she just had to look pretty, damn-it! This was man stuff, I had no time to tell her how to pose! For the final picture I decided on combining Start Trek series sensibilities, given my chrome-dome similarity to Capt. Picard from <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek the Next Generation</span>, I leaned forward and made with an "Engage!" command. The Trek geeks loved it. And that ended up being the picture we kept.<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0WyqCan__HSJG9GufqSqOPUHTka2_GMSDF3HLJbB6XyfjkrdGDUl2qDfFe0_MzCDhm6WG6noow-Kr2pntsdvxmwBuCjrbyESdWRWXsYKZCmICPTxjVb9wWm0B9cEHkYaWz_JS40BQh4/s1600-h/going_baldly.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0WyqCan__HSJG9GufqSqOPUHTka2_GMSDF3HLJbB6XyfjkrdGDUl2qDfFe0_MzCDhm6WG6noow-Kr2pntsdvxmwBuCjrbyESdWRWXsYKZCmICPTxjVb9wWm0B9cEHkYaWz_JS40BQh4/s400/going_baldly.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158206265653730818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mister Sulu, I want you to keep both hands in plain sight!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Finally, our time on the bridge was over. We got to see the picture on the monitor. Mr. Spock, Lt. Sulu, and Ensign Chekov had been digitally added to fill out the posts on the bridge. I was giddy, having lived out a childhood fantasy and sat on the bridge of the Enterprise. I couldn't wait to see what was next!<br /><br />By now the exhibit was filling up with other trekkers, trekkies, and fellow sci-fi misfits. With great anticipation we headed off to see what else there was... but sadly, everything after this was a let down. Sure, there were several other classic Star Trek set ups, like the Guardian of Forever from <span style="font-style: italic;">City on the Edge of Forever.</span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix3RtYg7E2D1pVcpyQs1RrA-vWCFQVl9ynk1H3cpywjb73WaXel4l1Eoryb8hyluKT4Ma_8aw9Ll9rQ7u-0VvIwqAJq_qgnKAndEcfQzXq1qcCM6h3Sz-ulhcdahJcP2h1fYGkPMTWuBg/s1600-h/guardian_time.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix3RtYg7E2D1pVcpyQs1RrA-vWCFQVl9ynk1H3cpywjb73WaXel4l1Eoryb8hyluKT4Ma_8aw9Ll9rQ7u-0VvIwqAJq_qgnKAndEcfQzXq1qcCM6h3Sz-ulhcdahJcP2h1fYGkPMTWuBg/s400/guardian_time.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158206033725496818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Man, if I could just get a Krispy Kreme this size!... I'd need<br />a really BIG cup of coffee to go with it.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">There was a transporter room set-up, but not from the classic series, where you could watch yourself get "beamed" off the ship....<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVWtzYnrv0fvbl_ZlbxVLPSIvAseSMcvIm4e00UQ5nnUNAoYBaNmeIsGu2TVbmB0OMYUcn1xkOZw-lvckfRVCAtYc32VKydA7d87kupvG3dvzqzhwMzjpd4s_yYvaXWI-qREnLtBTpt1s/s1600-h/beam_me_up.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVWtzYnrv0fvbl_ZlbxVLPSIvAseSMcvIm4e00UQ5nnUNAoYBaNmeIsGu2TVbmB0OMYUcn1xkOZw-lvckfRVCAtYc32VKydA7d87kupvG3dvzqzhwMzjpd4s_yYvaXWI-qREnLtBTpt1s/s400/beam_me_up.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158493194209262178" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ensign!<br />Could you possibly find a baggier, </span></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">more mismatched uniform to wear?!<br />No sir, I couldn't!<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />There was also a full-scale replica of the command bridge from <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek the Next Generation</span>, but it wasn't something I could get too excited about... nor could my friend Rob who visited the Tour a few days after us.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcisHpU4GpFF6GWvyybT6YBQgMLKIb6unIczLs1r5uK6A6ve5GId7x25JXCgds2AKiui-wsgqpa98amJAOv2gkqWKBGz2sOjiMFT798J8iaUpVdOVAiwt9eE7Run4StAcqRXw0dUaFsA/s1600-h/next_gen_bridge.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcisHpU4GpFF6GWvyybT6YBQgMLKIb6unIczLs1r5uK6A6ve5GId7x25JXCgds2AKiui-wsgqpa98amJAOv2gkqWKBGz2sOjiMFT798J8iaUpVdOVAiwt9eE7Run4StAcqRXw0dUaFsA/s400/next_gen_bridge.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158569825015757426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Rob, napping, while Mike and John take command<br />of the Next Generation Bridge.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />The exhibit hall was lined with several display cases, mostly of costumes. But honestly, there was not all that much stuff to see. I expected more authentic TV show and movie props, and less built "attractions" that were meant to draw you in to spend more money. Groan....</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></span></div></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrckZVqnXEAH2QnS4tXIyhVotWpb7bjoqO7zypyFkGhmEla3XyYd08h3hmHzIaHvT_uX_NM0lKzNFEDAQJ0-dIywST8GAm6_WWx_ohh7IYMUVx4Bri0Q-Ur8sXWjXiDuVGaRYmW8Ctbg/s1600-h/uniforms_trek.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrckZVqnXEAH2QnS4tXIyhVotWpb7bjoqO7zypyFkGhmEla3XyYd08h3hmHzIaHvT_uX_NM0lKzNFEDAQJ0-dIywST8GAm6_WWx_ohh7IYMUVx4Bri0Q-Ur8sXWjXiDuVGaRYmW8Ctbg/s400/uniforms_trek.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158205844746935778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Scotty's uniform, and its date.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Some of the other "sets" they'd put together for the exhibit were this hallway.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yKIsN2AzpMedzkGyCR5ksr-vKAnO0sSfwS6uGXp8yI8GVYjs-n49xDoDA8qH8dlaL-Rql8kvMmrjbw9QJsyJAplruBv1zDWwYKY_LmjvBAPSEORSyxU4flRZb2CIaKedEdf2cMPW0ao/s1600-h/emily_hall.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yKIsN2AzpMedzkGyCR5ksr-vKAnO0sSfwS6uGXp8yI8GVYjs-n49xDoDA8qH8dlaL-Rql8kvMmrjbw9QJsyJAplruBv1zDWwYKY_LmjvBAPSEORSyxU4flRZb2CIaKedEdf2cMPW0ao/s400/emily_hall.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158205737372753362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Stop following me or I'm gonna tell the Captain!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">There were a few motion-ride type simulators too - but nothing that I felt like I HAD to get on and try. After walking around for about another 20 minutes or so we had pretty much seen everything. The initial rush that I'd had sitting on the classic Enterprise bridge was gone.... what remained was.... disappointment.<br /><br />The whole exhibit was poorly laid-out and people were just wandering around, not certain what they were supposed to be looking at or where to go next. It felt more like a badly run carnival rather than a tour through the history of Star Trek.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2Dao961KQ_zIfIKhYNsMVyNGgzO27pSrxyGRi-0ZCtjeYN2Hh8vMjr-6mtSmnMT34z1b3YWFiaX-mkDE3EZncos-ODCEjJRQN92qwSr58BsFcQWBqIikTSX_5AI5N5hrgJo8qt7qyrI/s1600-h/amusement.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2Dao961KQ_zIfIKhYNsMVyNGgzO27pSrxyGRi-0ZCtjeYN2Hh8vMjr-6mtSmnMT34z1b3YWFiaX-mkDE3EZncos-ODCEjJRQN92qwSr58BsFcQWBqIikTSX_5AI5N5hrgJo8qt7qyrI/s400/amusement.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158574188702530178" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Why?!! WHY?!! WHY CAN'T THIS BE FUN?!!!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />In the middle of the exhibit was a closed-off area with a </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">queue</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">. This looked like something big, so we got in line. But, we were told by the tour staff only to enter if we were ready to leave the event for good because, after watching whatever this was we were in line for, we wouldn't be allowed back in to the exhibit hall. This seemed awkward, especially since there were no signs telling us ANYTHING about what we were standing in line for. We gave the exhibit hall one last quick look around... there wasn't really anything else to see, so we stepped on into this "final exit event".<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sad to say, this last "event" was pretty bad.</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> Perhaps I just wasn't in the mood at this point. </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">It was a history lesson being taught by Wesley Crusher to new Star Fleet recruits (us) when (predictably) the Klingons (or someone) attacked... I really wasn't paying much attention at this point. Once it was over, we were shown the exit and spilled out into their Star Trek gift shop... a gift shop that really didn't have much to offer.... oh yeah, and there was a snack bar dressed up to look like the "Ten Forward Lounge" from <span style="font-style: italic;">Next Generation</span> next to the gift shop. It was just burgers n' fries with Star Trek sounding names. Mmmm, a warp corndog and a phaser Philly cheese steak!</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />In the end, <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek The Tour</span> was fairly lame, I'm sorry to say. I found the whole thing lacking in organization, style, and especially lacking in the number of authentic props, costumes, and items on display. I'd been to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek the Experience</span> in Las Vegas, and even to a couple of Star Trek conventions and on all those occasions I felt like I had seen a hell of a lot more.<br /><br />So we looked around for a few more minutes and picked up a copy of the picture that had been taken of us on the bridge... a 5 x 7 was $20. I figured that we'd come this far, might as well pick it up. And then, as we were leaving, I noticed someone walk right past me...<br /></span></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFiP2ju-paZEY7HZtymdEWjUkblnkwnNfaNSU-vlAmTJX1E5eEcXayC0tdZ5dPLBrkblkNKYpZirEaa1qcIMiWFbruwHJkCxEQkTk3fp91Et51OHN8-N_clMx6I1XXq8E25sEjNCRwz8/s1600-h/Armin_Shimerman.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFiP2ju-paZEY7HZtymdEWjUkblnkwnNfaNSU-vlAmTJX1E5eEcXayC0tdZ5dPLBrkblkNKYpZirEaa1qcIMiWFbruwHJkCxEQkTk3fp91Et51OHN8-N_clMx6I1XXq8E25sEjNCRwz8/s400/Armin_Shimerman.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158205380890467746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Armin Shimerman<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">He played the character of Quark, on <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</span>. Armin was there to sign autographs and they were ushering him into the exhibit that we'd just left... and could not return to.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjeXY8njx9gxbUVUum6RzKLY9gMag0sO8a-Mp5s9eqLk4ne8PkdbSGmlIN6pwou3T_p3y12xZPCeAjbz2kxB8h1W75yiNuNwg7w2Zv3V3MXiALAd94dCcrKORem9jzM1jGNJ_ys-pups/s1600-h/Quark.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjeXY8njx9gxbUVUum6RzKLY9gMag0sO8a-Mp5s9eqLk4ne8PkdbSGmlIN6pwou3T_p3y12xZPCeAjbz2kxB8h1W75yiNuNwg7w2Zv3V3MXiALAd94dCcrKORem9jzM1jGNJ_ys-pups/s400/Quark.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158205466789813682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Armin as Quark<br />Make-up does wonders for his looks.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Deep Space Nine</span> wasn't one of the incarnations of Star Trek that I'd watched - so I didn't feel like I was missing an opportunity by not getting his autograph. So as he passed by I waved and then kicked him. He's a little guy, it was easy. He screamed like a girl.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Okay-okay, just kidding. I didn't kick him or anything... but I was close enough to have done so if I'd wanted.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Emily and I left <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek: The Tour </span>feeling underwhelmed and let down. Perhaps my initial rush at experiencing some time on the classic bridge had somehow set my expectations too high. But I don't think that was really the case. We were able to look around and see everything that was there in about an hour, and if you include the $15 they charged for parking, the whole "event" cost us about $125. Ugh...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Is <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek The Tour </span>something I'd recommend that you check out? Eh... not really.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">However, despite all my grousing about <span style="font-style: italic;">Star Trek The Tour</span>, for me it was worth it just to sit on the bridge of the original Enterprise and dream about driving around the galaxy in THIS...</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGkh-91RyaX7WF1gsy4rwvWMfrp61T4-GMBfnvSXfuXhOJEJrfb-hMk0IziuKlwCMO_4sprTJ9A1WhVq7qw5nWoC2o3C1G-PwhMMDrIWD7vToaB_CwaVPa2r6NyzUYoO23RSoJeCmnBqs/s1600-h/Star_Trek.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGkh-91RyaX7WF1gsy4rwvWMfrp61T4-GMBfnvSXfuXhOJEJrfb-hMk0IziuKlwCMO_4sprTJ9A1WhVq7qw5nWoC2o3C1G-PwhMMDrIWD7vToaB_CwaVPa2r6NyzUYoO23RSoJeCmnBqs/s400/Star_Trek.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158205166142102930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mr. Sulu! WHAT did I say about your hands?!</span><br /></div></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04357136443785869502noreply@blogger.com10