Hitch-Hiker Smackdown 2: Greenday.

The Nineties were apparently as hard on Greenday and the Seventies were on Boston, as they also apparently didn't have a car.

Hitch-Hiker Smackdown, Part I: Boston

Sunday's post got me thinking about hitch-hiking songs. Now, I know I owe Chase and John a Smack-down, but I have to give y'all a rain-check. For the moment, it's hitching. I'm at a Seminar right now, and going to be back until Wednesday (got my babymamma taking care of the Lads). I pre-posted this one, and I've only got a couple of songs so far. I could use some help for the last slot or so, even though I probably won't be able to reply until Wednesday night. Anyway, let's get the party started with Boston:

Hitchin' a Ride.

Last time I picked up a hitch-hiker was about twenty years ago. I'd just started working for a small, but successful, personal injury and criminal defense firm in Beaufort. I lived in Ridgeland, which is about a 45 minute drive from Beaufort. On my commute back home one day, I saw a fairly neatly dressed dude hitch-hiking, and decided to give him a lift. A couple of minutes into the trip, I notice the guy is looking at me. I said, "Hey, you look familiar to me". He said, "I oughta, you represented me". This made me a little nervous; the last place I'd worked was the Beaufort County Public Defender's Office, which meant, if I'd represented you, you were 1) poor, and 2) charged with committing a fairly serious crime. I tenatively offered, "So, how ya been?". "Not too good" he said, "I just got out of prison". Did any of you ever see the movie Cape Fear? Well, I had seen it not too much earlier than when I picked this ex-con up. I've embedded the trailer, case you wanna figure what was running through my mind. I'm thinking of saying, "Gosh, I've forgotten something, I'll be needing to drop you off pretty much immediately". Ah, what the hell, if he's gonna kill me, he's gonna kill me. "So, you ever get off of that crack?", I asked. "Mr. Mathews" he answers, "Getting off of crack is like leaving a bad woman; you know you got to do it, but it's hard". Dude obviously didn't kill me... but that is the last time I picked up a hitch-hiker.

Well?

Well? What'd you think?

Update:

I asked my neighbor, John, his opinion. This was his response.

There Ain't No Tens. All in All, I'd Say Urinate.

It's official: we're now employees of the 14th Circuit Public Defender's Office. Though our branch is, for the moment, still in the Boro, our new H.R. office is in Beaufort. We had to be reoriented. Insurance plans, retirement funds, blah, blah, blah. I'm afraid I barely pay attention. I've now been oriented in three of the five counties in the 14th Circuit: I've gotten employee handbooks for Beaufort, Colleton and Jasper County (I actually helped re-write that one when I was County Attorney there). There are certainly differences, but the spiel sounds pretty much the same. To spice theings up a bit, when the nice lady asked if I had any questions, I asked if Beaufort County offered updawg. Poor gal walked right into it, "What's UPdawg?". "Nothing", I said, "What's up with you?". I did have one first, though. I finally got to pee in a cup. When I asked the lady if she'd let me take her picture, she asked me if I was SURE that I hadn't smoked any marijuana earlier in the day. I assured her that I acted that way a lot, and I was pretty sure I'd have a negative test. Still bugs me that I had to be tested.

Wednesday Night Lights.

I love football. Well, I love watching my kids play it, anyway. Mathews boys must play football. I was allowed to quit baseball (which is just as well. I wasn't very good at baseball), but there was no question that I would not be allowed to quit football. Dear Old Dad told my brother, the Amazing Ultra-Marathoner, AndyMan, and I (er, that's just two of us there. I know it sounds like three, but it's two) that he'd been honorable mention All-State at offensive guard back at Natrona County H.S. Okay, I'll grant you, the State was Wyoming, but it's still a State. Andy was a guard. I was a guard. I was bigger, faster, and stronger than my brother, but he was better. Andy was better than I was, because he tried his best every play. A few years ago, I asked him why he did every stupid thing that our coaches asked him to do over our years of football, and he told me, "It never occurred to me not to". That dogged determination has helped AndyMan to become an amazing athlete even now. He runs 100-mile events now. Boggles my mind, it does.

My oldest son was like his Uncle Andy in that way. Also like his dad and his uncle, Davis was a guard. He played defensive end, too. He never got heavier than 155 pounds, but he was good. Got the "Coach's Award" from Thomas Heyward Academy. Made a few of the prettiest plays on both offense and defense that I've ever seen. He studies poetry and classical languages in his senior year at Sewanee (The University of the South).

The Lads are like their Uncle Andy, too. They played their first game for the Forest Circle Middle School "Falcons" last night, which the Falcons won, six to nothing. They started at defensive end and offensive tackle as bookends. Taylor played all but three plays in the game; Tyler was only off the field for the one kick-off the Falcons received. Their blocking was stellar. Taylor had probably twelve tackles, including the first three tackles of the game and four "sacks"; Tyler had probably seven tackles, including three sacks. On one play they combined for a tackle of the running back behind the line of scrimmage- something they call a TnT slamwich. They were also prominent in a "goal-line stand". The other team, the Ruffin "Patriots"- who were supposed to be the best team in the league and who practiced two weeks longer than our squad- had the ball first and goal in a 6-0 ballgame with two minutes left in the game, and the Falcons kept them out of the end-zone. During the game the Principal came up and sat with me. One of the Lads had, unfortunately, already met with the Principal on some, uh... other matters, so it was a nice gesture. One of the players on the other team told my boys that they were the best on the field. It's probably wrong for fathers to try to bask in the reflected light of their sons' athletic glory. It's probably wrong.

Smooth Criminals.

I walked into work on Friday of last week with a large Walterboro Police Department police officer blocking the entrance to the building which the Public Defender's Office shares with the South Carolina Department of Probation, Parole and Pardon Services. "Excuse, me, Officer. I've got to get to work", I offered. Dude told me it was a crime scene. Apparently, some enterprising criminal had broken into the building, then into the Probation Department Offices and stole a bullet-proof vest and a couple of police-frequency radios. There are, or course, no shortage of suspects: just about everyone who enters the building has been accused of a crime, and all of the patrons of the Probation Department have been convicted of a crime. No one bothered to come upstairs to mess with our stuff. Guess they figured they'd need a lawyer if they got caught. Pretty bad candidates for probation, though.

Doll, Baby.

I've mentioned before that I clip coupons. What I didn't mention is that it is sometimes a hazardous practice. No, I'm not talking about paper cuts; I'm talking about exposure to contemptible collectibles. I've gotten used to civil war chess sets and fungus of the month commemorative platters, but the item at left was just creepy. Let's see... MnM advertises as "Melts in your Mouth, not in your Hand". This doll advertises, "Melts in your heart". I get this image of Chucky chewing on my internal organs.

The "cute" little MnM dolls reminded me of another creepy doll. I'm not talkin' 'bout Chucky. When I was ten or eleven, I used to watch a show called Night Gallery, which was hosted by Rod Serling, who'd previously done "The Twilight Zone". One of the creepiest episodes of Night Gallery was The Doll. Sucker gave me nightmares for years. That MnM doll is not helping.

What's Jerry Falwell All Upset About?

The Rev. Jerry Falwell impugned those poor little Teletubbies a few years ago. He'd said there were subtle and subversive messages in the beloved children's show. I decided I wasn't gonna take his word for it. Let's have a look:


Looks okay to me.

Roadtrip: Charleston

My shoes have been looking a bit sole-weary of late. Might be time for more. Sometime running partner Cathy said she was hunting shoes, too. Shoes can be procured in the Boro, but where's the fun in that? Besides, I had a hankering for Indian food, and that can't be purchased in the Boro. So, off we went.

This might do the trick. The buffet looked good. I have no idea what I was eating, but it had curry. Suits me.

Downtown Charleston is a cool place to just wander around and look at the people. It was a Saturday, so not so many of the professionals that are omnipresent on weekdays, but still a good mix of tourists and College of Charleston kids. Didn't see a lot of Citadel cadets; I think they had a football game.

There's a ton of neat stuff to see in Charleston: The Aquarium, the Citadel, Fort Moultrie, Market Street, The Battery, Carriage Tours, big old historic Churches, Restaurants galore (and Kaminski's for dessert), lots of stores (sadly, Millenium Music closed down a few months ago, but there are still lots of shops), but we were on a mission for shoes. And shoes we got. The proprietor was helpful; though she in no way wanted to touch our old shoes.

We wanted to score some eclairs on the way back. This place had some good-looking stuff, but no eclairs. Oh, well. We got shoes and Indian food. Two out of three ain't bad.

I'm not much of a shopper; generally, when I find something I like, I just get a new one of whatever I'd had before. Before my first and only marathon (Jacksonville, 2002), I'd gotten a pair of Mizuno Waverunners. Those are the only kind of running shoes I've owned since then up until now. I let the lady get me back to the Asics of life. I may even try them out. Monday.

Radio.

The movie "Radio" with Cuba Gooding, Jr. and Ed Harris was filmed in the Boro. Here's a trailer (set to Nickelback's "Savin' Me":



Public Defender's Office investigator, C.T., helped out with security for the film, and he gave me some tid-bits about the show. Cuba Gooding is "cool", and Ed Harris rolled his own cigarettes. The movie was shot almost entirely at night, even the day-time scenes. Floodlights were used to make it look like daytime. During a classroom scene in which it was supposed to have been raining, the Colleton County Fire Department turned on the firehoses to simulate rain. The classroom scenes were mostly filmed at Walterboro's branch of the University of South Carolina: USC-Salkehatchee. Okay, nothing shocking. Anyway, C.T. showed me where some of the stuff was filmed.

A lot of the scenes were filmed in downtown Walterboro. This section on the left is where Radio is pushing his shopping cart in the opening credits (though the angle isn't the same.
This was Radio and his mamma's house in the movie. You see it a couple of times in the movie. It's now somebody else's house.

All the football scenes were shot at Cougar Stadium, current home of Colleton County High School football (they're getting a new stadium in the next year or so).

Here's the send-off site for the football team when Radio gets left behind. It's the entrance to the old Salkehatchie gym (where I think C.T. said is where they filmed the basketball scenes).

The current location of the Blarney Stone tavern is the former site of the barbershop scenes in Radio. The Blarney Stone is also scene of a nosh by the Amazing Ultra-Marathon Runner AndyMan, as seen on this old post.

Talk Like a Pirate.

Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Arrrgh!

A Rose, by Any Other Name...

Saw this flower in my yard. Anybody got any idea what kind of flower it is?

Zombie Rats Invade the Boro!

I try to keep the Manor reasonably clean. Really, I do. I'm not what you'd call fanatical about it, but I do the dishes every couple of days and try to sweep the floors once a week or so. Still, sometimes I don't throw stuff away as quickly as I ought, which brings around the pests. You know the ones I'm talking about: Zombie Rats. When I think Zombie Rats, I can't help but think about Michael Jackson. I couldn't find any Michael Jackson songs devoted to Zombie Rats. Guess we'll have to settle for Michael Jackson songs about Zombies. And rats.

Okay, here's your Thriller, you dirty rat!



One of Michael Jackson's early hits was Ben, a love song to a rat. And you thought Michael Jackson was weird.

I Read the News Today, Oh, Boy.

Cup a joe and a gander at the Newspaper after I drop the Lads off at school and before work. Let's see... Economic crisis; hmmm. That doesn't look like much fun. Gas prices up drastically. No, that's no good either. Fall-out from Hurricane Ike. Nah, no joy there. Ah, here's one: S.C. leads nation in violent crime. Job security. Awesome!

Ages ago, the Beatles recorded "A Day in the Life", which, in addition to starting with the lyrics for the title to this post, contains a pretty neat cataclysmic crescendo. Apropos of nothing, I guess.

Beautiful Beaufort By the Sea.

My Babymamma lives in Beaufort. Beaufort is the "big city" in five counties which make up the Fourteenth Circuit, and now homebase for the new "Circuit Public Defender". Instead of coming from the Boro, my paychecks will begin coming from Beaufort. Instead of walking two buildings over to discuss Human Resources issues, I've got to drive almost an hour now. Still, I like Beaufort, and it's an excuse to visit with my daughter. And the last bit of the drive really is pretty.

Cheap Trick.

I clip coupons. There. I said it. Sure, it costs me a half hour or so every Sunday, but I consider it entertainment. It's really like a game to me, to see how much I can save. This particular venture, as a percentage, was definitely a win. Total was 36.69. Total of coupons and store discount card savings was 11.88, bringing my net to 24.81. That's almost a third off, and most of it- except the fruit and Tyler's candy- is stuff I generally buy. Come on. You know that's good. Quit fighting. Surrender (okay, I know that's lame, but I needed a segue. And I got this one on a Midnight Special).

Apocryphal Account.

Okay, following the Yoshida Brothers (which I think is pretty cool), I'm going off on one of my tangents. Feel free to watch the Yoshida Brothers, then skip the rest.



I've mentioned my Denomination (Episcopalian) and my Parish (St. Jude's) before. I've published a picture of the church building and commented on the Church bulletin before. Sometimes the choice or timing of a particular hymn strikes me as funny. There was a stretch at my previous parish, Holy Trinity in Grahamville (Ridgeland), where the choice of a communion hymn for several services was "Stand Up for Jesus". The communion hymn is played at the one time where most of the congregation is sitting. Ironic, no? The music preceding the processing in today's service included three instrumentals, and one hymn by the choir. The hymn? "Let all mortal flesh keep silence". The only way this could not be ironic would be if the choir was comprised of immortals, I suppose. It's not; so it was.

I really do love the Episcopal Church. The readings each week are from a lectionary in three-year cycles, so you always know what you're getting. The lessons this week are among my favorites: Ecclesiasticus 27:30-28:7 for the Old Testament lesson; < Romans 14:5-12 for the Epistle; and Matthew 18:21-35 for the Gospel. All about forgiveness. Cool stuff. Equally cool? The inclusion of Ecclesiastus. No, not Ecclesiastes; Ecclesiasticus. Go ahead. Look it up. What? Didn't find it? That's because it is from the Apocrypha, and your Bible is obviously not Catholic, Anglican or Orthodox.

The Apocryphaconsists of writings penned after most of the TANAHK or Old Testament was written and before the first of Pauls letters was written, and are included in the Old Testament of Catholic, Anglican and Orthodox Bibles. Some of the books included in the Apocrypha are considered Canonical or "Bible" in some Denominations, but not others. The Anglican Church considers none of them Canonical, but all of them helpful for instruction, or Deutero-Canonical. It may seem odd that "The Bible" does not necessarily mean the same thing to all of the Faithful, but it doesn't. Even books now well-established in all denominations weren't always shoe-ins to make the cut. Right around the time of the Council of Nicea when Constantine was looking for a standard list of the books that should comprise the New Testament early-Church historian Eusabius listed the books. Among the borderline books that got in was Revelation. It made it because the writing was attributed to John the Evangelist. You can't keep his stuff out. Hebrews was attributed to Paul. Nobody really thought Paul wrote Hebrews, but it was good stuff, and the was the only sure way to get it in was to say Paul wrote it.

According to my Harper-Collins Study Bible, Eccesiasticus was written by a fellow named Jesus ben Sirach about 180 years before the death of the more familiar Jesus. The more familiar Jesus, being a student of Scripture and of the times, may well have been familiar with it. Certainly the following from Eccesiasticus sounds mighty familiar:

"Anger and wrath, these also are abominations, and the sinful man will possess them. He that takes veneance will suffer veneance from the Lord, and he will firmly establish his sins. Forgive your neighbor the wrong he has done, and then your sins will be pardoned when you pray. Does a man harbor anger against another, and yet seek for healing from the Lord? Does he have no mercy toward a man like himself, and yet pray for his own sins? If he himself, being flesh, maintains wrath, who will make expiation for his sins? Remember the end of your life, and cease from enmity, remember destruction and death, and be true to the commandments. Remember the commandments, and do not be angry with your neighbor; remember the covenant of the Most high, and overlook ignorance".

Ah, religion could do so much good. Could. The problem, as stated by "the Master" in Anthony de Mello's More One Minute Nonsense, is that "...people mostly pick up enough religion to hate, but not enough to love". True, dat.

One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer

The Jacksonville Jaguars, referenced in my last post, were not the first professional football team in North Florida: before there were Jaguars, there were the Jacksonville Bulls of the old United States Football League. What? You don't remember the U.S.F.L.? Well, for a couple of years a few rich dudes, armed with Herschel Walker and the New Jersey Generals, tried to create a league to compete with the N.F.L. (Before Steve Spurrier brought the Gators their first of many SEC championships and its first national college championship, he coached the Tampa Bay Bandits in that league). The league didn't make it, but Jacksonville's fans turned out for the games, and apparently impressed the money men enough that Jacksonville ended up with Florida's third N.F.L. franchise. Anyhow, when I was a law student at Stetson in St. Pete, and mine and AndyMan's buddy, Steve Davis was a law student at the University of Florida, Steve scored a couple of Bulls tickets and invited me on up to catch the game.

So, I travelled the hour and a half or so from Tampa to Gainesville. I'm pretty sure it's not even legal to go to football games completely sober, so Steve and a had a few cocktails at his apartment in Hogtown. We'd've probably been okay, except Steve had recently gotten a new George Thoroughgood C.D. (or album), which contained the following song:



The problem with mixing drinking and catchy songs is that really bad ideas start to sound like really good ideas. Our rally cry for the evening became: One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer! We took the hour or so trip from Gainsville to Jackson, and watched the game in the rain. It's not a lot of fun watching a football team you don't really care about in the rain. A popular franchise nightclub in Tampa at the time was Confetti's, and we'd heard that Jacksonville'd had a Confetti's, so soaked and besotted, we invaded.

We made numerous trips to the bar. Each time, we demanded, "One bourbon, one scotch, and one beer". The bartender would sometimes ask stupid questions like, "What kind of bourbon?" or "how would you like your scotch?" or "bottle or draft?". We were having none of it! If George Thoroughgood had meant us to be specific, he'd have been specific. "I SAID One Bourbon, One Scotch and One Beer. I WANT One Bourbon, One Scotch and One Beer! You got our order, now get us a bourbon, a scotch and a beer!" This did little for either the bartender's disposition or ours, but ultimately, we got what we ordered. A few times. Each.

If you get "One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer" a couple of times, you've done some drinking. We were now bullet-proof, and it was time to find some companionship. On our best days during these years, neither Steve nor I were what you'd call "smooth". This was not one of our best days. Steve and I must have asked every woman in the place to dance. We got no play. Could our lack of success have anything to do with our ridiculous comments, our bedraggled appearance and extreme intoxication? Of course not! We arrived at the conclusion that we had walked into a lesbian bar by mistake, and we'd just go somewhere else. We went to another bar with dishearteningly similar results. Apparently, Jacksonville was a hotbed of Sappho inspired man-haters.

So, we did what anybody would have done in our condition, we went to Daytona Beach. Well, I say we went to Daytona Beach. We only made it as far as Ormond Beach, just North of Daytona. We couldn't go another mile, so we pulled into the parking lot of a private resort community on the beach. We walked by the pool, and I grabbed a deck chair and set it up on the beach. Steve just passed out in the sand. You know how, when you sleep outside, you generally get up when the sun first comes up? Well, that wasn't the case. We woke up at ten. People were walking by and staring at us. We were... ill. Nevertheless, we soldiered on. I grabbed my deck chair. Steve brushed some of the omnipresent sand from himself, and we waved to the security guards as I put the chair back whence I gotten it.

Off now to Daytona Beach. After a couple of hours of arcade games on the boardwalk, we decided to visit my grandmother in Orlando. She was not as pleased to see me as she generally was. Hey, guess we all have bad days. Maybe she was having one. Anyway, after a tunafish sandwich and some fairly stilted conversation, we went back to Gainesville, then I went back to Tampa. And I slept. A lot. And I learned something from my experience: Jacksonville is not a good place to pick up girls. Either that, or never take advice from George Thoroughgood. One of those.

Comedy that Brings Tears to Your Eyes.

Comedy involving football with a philosophical bent is generally a winner in my book. You gotta love the Onion.


Pre-Game Coin Toss Makes Jacksonville Jaguars Realize Randomness Of Life

Been Busy.

We're in the middle of another term of criminal court. There are only two attorneys at the office, and we each got appointed to the co-defendants in this case for the purposes of bond (which was denied for each defendant). Ultimately, a decent defense to each defendant requires that we can't represent both within the office, so we'll only keep one. Harris will decide which one we'll keep, and which one we'll pass along to the "second tier" appointed counsel. Lot of publicity, which I hope won't prejudice a prospective jury panel; however, there are stories throughout the State, so it'd be tough to find a venue to which to transfer this case, in the event it looked like that might be something appropriate to do. Main thing I get out of the videos is that I really have to lose some weight.

When You're Hot, You're Hot.

I'm not really tribute sort of fellow, but when I discovered that my brother, the Amazing Ultra-Runner, Andyman, was unaware that pop icon Jerry Reed went the way of all pop icons last week, well, I knew it was time for a tribute. So here.

In the 1970's, there weren't many hotter'n Jerry.



You may remember Jerry acted in this one, too.



This may constitute Smokey abuse, but Usher doing "Yeah" to the tune of Jerry's pickin' is strangely compelling.



You know you've made it when you're on an episode of Scooby-doo.



R.I.P. Jerry. Hope they got Coors and crawfish where you are (and, I hope it's not hot).

You Can't Tell Me This Was Unintentional.

I'm a few days late with this one, but, well, I had the picture...

Garfield Minus Garfield

Got to give a shout out to Garfield Minus Garfield. I'm pretty sure I caught this link on a post on QuakerJono's blog, Forgotten Beatitudes a few months ago. Anyway, it's a whole other kind of funny to watch Jon Arbuckle without his smart-ass cat's comments. It's also more than a little sad. Which, in a twisted sort of way, makes it funny again.

Puttin' the Wood to the Old System.

I passed by Wood Brothers Store in Green Pond the other day, and felt a pang of loss. The change in the air is not just the first hint of Fall. I've mentioned before that the Public Defender system is changing in the Palmetto State from a county-based system to a more centralized Circuit-based system.
The Magistrate system within Colleton County is centralizing as well. The County is divided into various geographical districts. Each district has its own magistrate. The County at large has Magistrate Campbell. Sniders has Magistrate Cobb. Green Pond's current magistrate is Magistrate McLeod. For years, if a citizen had a small claim, they'd go to their local magistrate to file a complaint. If a citizen had a criminal claim, and law-enforcement didn't want to take out a warrant, the citizen went to his or her local magistrate to swear to the facts giving rise to the beef, and, if the magistrate felt there was anything to the allegations, he or she would issue a warrant. With centralization, the magistrates still have their titles, but the outposts at the far corners of the county have been abandoned. Everything is now done in the County Seat, Walterboro. There are benefits, of course, to centralization. Walterboro is much more convenient for law enforcement, the Solictor's attorney, and the Public Defender's Office. Staff can be more efficiently used (and, sadly for the employees, probably eventually reduced). Records can be kept in one place, so that oversight from Columbia is easier. So, what's the down-side? The magistrate was part of the fabric of these little communities. The magistrate's office was a place people gathered. For years, the Green Pond Magistrate was Richard Wood, he of Wood Brothers Store. The Green Pond magistrate's office was in a corner of his store. You could pay a traffic ticket, get your fishing license, and buy a barbeque sandwich, bait and a six pack of beer all in the same place. Gone. All gone. Magistrate Cobb's office had its own charm. When you drove up, you were greeted by a pack of dogs. He musta had seven or eight of them, and they trotted up in a not unkind lope just to let you know they were there. Alas, no more dog day afternoons in Sniders, either.

Little Bitty.

Sister Mother gave me "More One Minute Nonsense" by Anthony de Mello for my birthday one year. It's kind of a hodge-podge of religion/philosophy by a priest (now deceased) who was living in India. Some of it is a little new-agey for my tastes, but some of it is pretty good. Here's an excerpt from that book:

"What depresses me is that utter ordinariness of my existence. I haven't done a single important thing in my life that the world would care to notice."

"You are wrong to think that the attention of the world is what gives importance to an action," said the Master.

A lengthy pause ensued.

"Well, I haven't done a single thing to influence anyone for good or ill."

"You are wrong to think that influencing others is what gives importance to an action," said the Master.

"Well, then, what is it that gives importance to an action?"

"Doing it for is own sake with the whole of one's being. Then it becomes a non-profit, God-like activity."

//////////

I'm not much of a Country-music fan, but I do like Alan Jackson's "Little Bitty". I think Anthony de Mello might've liked it, too.

My Kingdom for a Hors

Editing can be tedious, I suppose. I missspell words myself, from time to time. Clearly, this headline contained an improperly spelled word. But which one? I'm going with "to". The punctuation is off a bit, too. After reading the article (okay, I didn't read all of it. After reading a couple of lines from it. It was about the Georgia guy and the Russia guy being obnoxious and not getting along, right?), I'm pretty sure the headline was supposed to read: "EU Leaders: Two Asses. Relations?".

Mac Daddy.

I haven't been grocery shopping in a while, so the pantry is getting a bit spare. Still, the Lads and I need to eat. Hmmm. What's easy and filling? Boxed macaroni and cheese, anyone?
Shelf life? Half life? Uh, no. Anything older than the Athens Olympics probably needs to go. Guess it's canned green beans and grilled cheese sandwiches. Again.