Acrowinners!

Well, this has been more than interesting. I'm sitting here reading the entries about disastrous dinner parties, many of which include dodgy food and vomiticious behavior - after I've just been quite sick myself. Yes, your judge is tainted, but hopefully the awards will not be.

Again, as I just said before, this week's topic was "The Dinner Party was Disastrous." Our letters were T E V O E. The entries:

*Those eggs? Vile. Onerously edible.
*Tom ejected vomitus -- offended everyone.
*That excessive vodka? Orgy ensued.
*Their Excellencies vomited on everyone.
*Trudy evilly voiced overt envy.
*Topless Elvira voided on escargot.
*Titanic: Egad! Veal Overboard! Escape!
*Twelve English vegans offered eggplant.
*Tasmanian extravaganza: Vegemite on eggs.
*TiVo: everyone viewed old episodes.
*Ted, eating, vulgarly offered enemas.
*Tina, ever vain, orated endlessly.
*The Edwards vowed: on-call EMTs!!!
*Testy vegetarians! Vivian ordered Ethiopian!
*“Ticks eat vegetables,” Oliver explained.
*Thought everyone voted on eels.
*Tainted Elizabeth's veal of ecstasy.
*The entrée vaulted over everybody.

Bleeeeecccch.

OK, now that I've retched again, first I'd just like to say, I want to go to a party where the entree vaults over the guests. That'd be neato!

Now, first, les Mentiones Honorables.

Lily's party was a disaster with her "Tom ejected vomitus - offended everyone." Yep, that'd ruin it for me.

Another mention goes to Venice with possibly the most disastrous dinner party of all time, "Titanic: Egad! Veal Overboard! Escape!"
Molly Brown survived; the veal did not.

This week's honorable mention goes to the DeepFatFriar with something that I keep getting a picture of in my head. And wish I wouldn't. "Topless Elvira voided on escargot." That Elvira's a card, isn't she.

And the winner this week, a disastrous dinner party if there ever was one, is Jellybean with her "Ted, eating, vulgarly offered enemas." I can only hope no one took him up on it.

Congrats to all who played! Come back next week for another round.

Acrochallenge!

Happy Monday boys and girls, men and women, and pets of all kinds. Welcome to another brain-busting round of Acromania!

I shall be judging things this week. I came up with a topic completely off the cuff, and I've no idea why. It just poked in there and sat. This week's topic is "It Was A Disastrous Dinner Party."

Everyone gets three entries to come up with the best acronym they can that will match the letters below, which are randomly drawn from the acrobasket. Tomorrow night around 9ish pm est, I shall carefully look over all the entries and decide who lives and who dies. No, really, if you lose this week, you will die. I'm sending people round to your houses. So acro well.

Remember, this week's topic is "It Was A Disastrous Dinner Party." And the letters are:

T E V O E

There you go - now, acro for your lives!

Picture Sunday

Ah, yes, my friends. Sunday evening is upon us once again, and time for a little visual storytime before you all turn in to get a bit of rest before facing the grueling week ahead.

First of all, a bit of news here. It's swimming news, actually - I realized I've not written the first thing about my summer swimming. Well, I've been swimming for a few weeks now, and I finally got a new swimsuit, too. I couldn't wear either of mine from last year because they were getting bigger and bigger, and because bits of me kept falling out of them. The upper bits, to be precise.

But I got to keep my goggles from last year, which reliably gave me a good "pbbbbt" of suction the first time I donned them and are still doing well. I did spring for some new earplugs this weekend and wore them tonight, and they're quite fine indeed.

But the news has to come with a major break in tradition. As I'm sure you'll all remember, I'm quite anal when it comes to swimming. Groupings of three, a breaststroke, freestyle, and backstroke. Generally 30 laps, sometimes more or sometimes less, but always in a multiple of three.

Well, tonight I came to an epiphany. It was that I mainly do the breastroke just because it's a fun stroke to do, and that I do the backstroke because it's a very easy stroke to do. Ergo, the real workhouse of the grouping must be the freestyle. So after four laps I did only freestyle. Yes, I know you're gasping, but check this out. After deciding to do that, I just went whole hog and swam 40 laps. 40! If you'll check it out, 40 is not a multiple of three. It's probably the first time in 3 or so years I've done that.

I'm freeing myself from the anal bonds of conformity!

Now, what else happened this weekend? Well, my little Sherman was framed!

No, not for a crime he didn't commit. Several months ago (hell, more than several months ago), I bought a studio drawing from an actual episode of S & P. It was the episode where they go back to the first Kentucky Derby. Mr M said he'd mat and frame it for me, so I left it in his kind care, where's it's stayed for, well, for a long time. This weekend he decided we were going to get it in order. And we did. Here's the whole schmeer, frame, mat, and all:



If you're itching to see a close-up of the actual drawing, take a quick look here:



And now. This is where it gets good. I decided to go back to that episode on DVD and look at the finished product. This was taken right off my very own tee-vee:



Well, it excited me, anyway.

Now for the recipe picture of the week. And it's, for lack of a better word, bland. The dish as well as the picture, I fear. It's the dreaded carrot soufflé.



OK, my only thoughts on this one. First, the damn soufflé is lopsided in the bowl. Someone must have stomped around while it was in the oven. The other thought is, "If it says on the back of the bowl that the serving suggestion is with tomato aspic and pineapple upside down cake, why is the damn soufflé sitting there with some beef stroganoff? Cause I'd go for that, and the tomato aspic could go straight to hell, as far as I'm concerned."

And finally, one more picture. I knew I said I wasn't going to say anything in this blog about this but, well, I am. So there.



Yep, a half-dollar to signify to the world that I've now passed the 50 pound mark in weight loss. I'm at 51. I'm kinda proud about that. Now I'll go back to not talking about it.

Have a good week everyone!

You Gotta Have Faith

When I was in group therapy, lo those 15 or so years ago, we had a wide variety of folks. There were some core members, including myself, and then there were people who came and went, be it through losing interest, being "cured," or feeling like they were "cured" and thus leaving us just as crazy and fucked-up as they were when they came in, but probably happier, at least for a time, because they were so sure they were "cured." And happy is about all that matters, so that's OK, only we know there's no such thing as "cured," so their happiness probably didn't last till the water got hot.

I never thought about it at the time, but we were kind of like a bigger version of Bob Newhart's group from the old TV show. We had our own Mr Carlin, though ours was nowhere near as harmless as the TV version. Nor did he wear a toupee. But he was as bitter, and as crazy, and I think in the deepest darkest recesses of our minds everyone in group had a fear that one day he'd snap and mow us all down right where we sat. In fact, one day he brought a hammer to our session - later on, some little something made him absolutely irate at the Dr, and at all of us, and he stormed out, swinging his hammer along with him. After he slammed the door, there was about 45 seconds of total silence, after which someone finally said, "I cannot believe he didn't take that hammer to one of our heads." And then there were giggles all around, because every one of us was thinking the same thing. He came back though; that kind always does. They have nowhere else to go.

We had a Mrs Bakerman, a little old lady who droned on and on and on about nothing anyone cared about, in general, and, in particular, about her son, who she'd spoiled absolutely rotten and now had all kinds of problems. (that sentence just won the comma award) You know, some people you just want to slap in the face and say, "Buy a clue!" We didn't have a Mr Petersen, but we had a Mrs Petersen, a woman who was run over by most of the people - and situations - in her life.

And I guess I was Michelle Nardo, loveable loser of no fixed attraction.

But that's neither here nor there.

There was a man who floated into our group for several weeks, then floated back out forever. But while he was there, a lot of his "problem" dominated our little group. He was a well-spoken, well-dressed businessman. He was about 48 years old. His problem was, well, that he was about 48 years old. He'd started thinking about the fact that one dark day he was going to leave this mortal coil and be no more. And frankly, it was freaking him out. And you know, I guess if I thought about it as much as he did, it might freak me out as well. Cause he thought about it a lot.

One of his setbacks was that he had sketchy religious beliefs. Now, before yall jump all over me for that statement (and I would jump on me too if I heard it), let me elaborate. Whether or not someone has any religious beliefs doesn't mean a hill of beans to me. But in this dude's case, I'd call it a setback in terms of, he was agonizing over the fact that he was going to die and be forgotten and no more, and that there may be no kind of afterlife or anything he was going to. You know, let's be honest here. After forty-(ahem,cough) years of living, I honestly don't know what I believe. I don't know if there's a God out there, and if there is, if He's looking after me with a kind hand or counting up all my sins in His heavenly notebook for later retribution. I hope there is, and I hope he's nice. It's a comforting thought that my departed loved ones might be in a nicer place now. So those who Really Believe have a sort of comfort zone built in where death's concerned, be they deluding themselves or not.

And so Mr Businessman, every week, would come in and wring his hands and talk about the utter miserableness of his life here on earth worrying about what would happen when it ended.

However. However. Considering where I live, and the people of our group, their ages and socioeconomic backgrounds and everything else, the other members of group thought Mr Businessman's sketchy religious beliefs were more than what I'd consider a "setback." They thought that was his whole problem in a nutshell. If he believed in God and Jesus and the Whole Nine Yards, he wouldn't have a problem, because he wouldn't be able to wait to die. And I call that missing the mark by just the teensiest bit.

Anyway, where all this is heading is that one week Mr Businessman was in our fair company, and was in his own personal tug-of-war struggle again, and all the other folks were telling him to trust in The Lord and all would be OK, and I remember letting off with some diatribe about faith. It was unlike me, especially to talk so long at one time, but it went something like this. If you don't have a concrete belief of God, you're certainly not the only one - even the only one in this room. But you can't force yourself to believe in something, or someone, all you can do is have the picture in your head of what you think it will be, or even what you want it all to be, and hope that when the end of your days come, you weren't wrong. And that's pretty much my half-assed definition of faith.

And I think that was the last time Mr Businessman ever came to group. Hmm.

I was going to say I don't know why that thought kept slipping into my mind lately, but I'd be lying. I know exactly why it did.

Trust and faith are dodgy things at best. They make us risk something. They make us put ourselves out there on a limb. We trust in people, or things, or ideas, and lay ourselves open. And sometimes it backfires on us. And we get let down. Or hurt. Or we lose money. Or worse. It makes us never want to have faith in anything or anyone again.

But then again, sometimes we put our faith in people and things and ideas and it works. We're not disappointed. We're satisfied. We're happy, and fulfilled, and content.

I guess it's just the putting yourself out there that's so hard. To not be afraid. To trust. To have faith.

Acrowinners!

Wow, I loved this week's acro. I loved all the entries, and I love all of you! I'm just filled with love for this round!

OK, as we all know by now, the topic this week was "Band Names on the Bill at a Sleazy Bar." The letters were LTV. The entries:

*Lockjaw Trailerskank Voodoo
*Latvian Tambourine Virtuosi
*Lipsyncing Tasmanian Vecturists
*Lily's Tempting Vixens
*Live Tranvestite Vocalists!
*Lascivious Tenor Vibrati
*LIVE: Tracy's Vagina!
*Little Tiny Violinists
*Lenny, Tyrone & Velma
*Los Teenage Virgenes
*Long Time Vacancies
*Lulu's Two Victims
*Love’s Tender Vittles
*Lick The Viper
*Lastly The Vanquished
*Love Triangle Vendetta
*Luscious Torso Vinyl
*Lap Tango Vikings
*Leisuresuits, Tambourines & Velour
*Live Tonguing Vocals
*Larry's Tantilizing Vamps
*Lustful Trauma Victims
*Lily The Vegetable (sorry Lily)
*Leave The Volkswagen
*Lolita The Vagina
*Lick The Velveeta
*"L-l-lu-us-sty T-t-h-he V-v-vib-brat-tor-r!"

Wow. There's one entry that I'm crazy about, but technically have to disqualify because it cheats a bit. But we'll get to that later.

First of all, we have an Honorable Mention in the name of one Venice, with "Los Teenage Virgenes." Surf rock at it's finest, I'm guessing.

Next, an Honorable Mention goes to Krizzer (she of the new office) with "Lap Tango Vikings." I see them as roots rock.

Runner up this week goes to Flipsycab, the big winner in Vegas last week, and almost the big winner here this week, with a band I really wanna see, "Lastly The Vanquished." Moody techno, has to be.

But there can only be one winner. And the winner this week is - me! With all my below entries.

No, no, no. The winner this week is the entry that made me laugh, actually sounded like it not only could, but should be a band, and that we all need to head to the nearest dive to see them play. Congrats to DeepFatFriar with his band, "Lockjaw Trailerskank Voodoo." We're gonna see them on a double bill with Southern Culture on the Skids one day, I'm sure.

Now, to that other matter. I legally (well, I guess I could legally, since I make the rules) couldn't give Kellie a place in the money; however, I ask - no, I urge - Lockjaw Trailerskank Voodoo to name their first album "Leisure Suits, Tambourines, and Velour."

I'd buy it in a minute.

See you next week!

My Acros

I liked Mike's topic this week so much, I decided to come up with my own list of band names.

Appearing Tonight!

Lunch Time Vacation
Lick The Vole
Little Tear Vase
Lloyd The Vamp
Limp Tom's Veenie
Ling Ting Vingies
Lazy Teenage Valets
Lean Tender Veal
Let's Tempt Vinnie
Leather Thong Valium
Lazy Tongued Vipers
Link Twang Vroom

Come see them now before they're dead of various illnesses and drug overdoses!

Acrochallenge!

Damn. No one liked my pictures. Oh well, no matter. You're all here for acro, anyway. So let's get to it - yet another round of Acromania!

This week I shall be the judge, but we're still gonna have Mike the Magnificent's aura around us. Because he left a topic for me, and it's so good, I wish I had the lack of scruples to say I made it up myself. Alas, I must tell the truth.

The topic this week is Band Names on the Bill at a Sleazy Club. Just think of all your acros as having an imaginary A T in front of them ("Appearing Tonight!")

The other rules, well, you all know them, but I'll keep saying them. Everyone gets three tries to come up with the best acronym they can that matches the topic, and the letters, drawn from the precious acrobasket. Then tomorrow night around 9pm est, I'll look over the entries and thoughtfully, cruelly, but fairly, judge them and hand out the big prizes of the week.

So, your topic is "Band Names on the Bill at a Sleazy Club." The letters are:

L T V

There you go. And-a one, two, onetwothreefour!

Picture Sunday

Well! What a day, and I don't have the pictures to prove it.

I was driving back home from B'burg today, thinking about how I'd brought my camera along and still taken no pictures for Picture Sunday. So I thought, OK, I know, I can take a picture of the West Virginia rest area/tourist information center in P'ton. It's funny and interesting because for some reason they've built it to look like The Pyramids. In fact, my witty buddy Seth calls this building The Great Pyramid of Geezer:



So, our line of traffic slowed to a crawl at a red light, and I snapped the pic, and continued on. I looked down a second - nay, a millisecond - to put the camera down, looked back up, and the back of a pickup truck was staring me in the face. I mean, I've never seen traffic come to a complete halt that fast. I slammed on my brakes, and the podmobile came to a screeching halt. I mean, screeching. Good thing Mr Peanut was wearing his safety belt,



or else he'd have ended up in the front seat, top hat through the steering wheel, I'd have been wearing his monacle, and I shudder to think where I might be sporting his cane.

Well, no more did I get my bearings about me again, still wondering how traffic halted like it did, when I happened to glance over to my right - I was in the left lane cause I'd soon be making a turn. In between my car and the car in the right lane came trotting along - a big ol' black cow. Running hither and yon, changing lanes, darting in and out. As traffic started forward again, I started looking and there was no vehicle anywhere that looked like it would house a cow. So where the little dear came from I've no idea. All I know is that if I'd have held on to that camera a second or two longer, I'd really have something for you on Picture Sunday. Opportunities lost; I guess I'll never be a photojournalist.

I then hit the Poderosa, wrapped my dad's present, and headed over that way for a swim, dinner, and evening out. (Well, out at their house.) Lots of laughing and fun.

So since it's Father's Day, at least for a few more hours, let's share the Dad Love out there. In one way...



...and another.



Funny, huh. There are three pictures of myself I don't hate. One of them, I'm two years old.

And finally, tonight's recipe du jour. Or recipe du nuit. It's a real Dad-based dish. Stuffed pork chops. Stuffed with what, I cannot tell, just looks like so much meat to me. They seem to be laying on some corn, rice, and something stringy in the middle of the circle I hope isn't coconut. That would suck. Let's look and see.... And see what we're supposed to eat with this delightful dish.



A-HA! I should have known - sauerkraut in the middle. Oops, and underneath, no rice, and no corn either. Real stuffing. Sauerkraut - will my bandmates ever forgive me. In fact, we're supposed to eat this with sauerkraut, buttered lima beans (you don't want butter? tough!), a lettuce and tomato salad, and cinnamon baked apples.

Well, I'll tell you what. You can have the rest, and give me the apples. I haven't had me some of those in ages.

Happy week!

And Speaking of Radio...

...I had a coincidence of the most fortuitous kind today.

I found myself coming home today from a TheCompanyIWorkFor meeting that was so boring, so useless, so infuriating, well, it's hard to explain. I'd gone to bed last night still wondering how I could get out of it (oversleeping was the only valid excuse I could come up with), but decided to go, only because of the first session of the day, as it was an explanation of a major change in office procedure coming up. The second part of the meeting, a sales borextravaganza, I planned to duck out of when the meeting took a break.

So I got there bright and early and on time. Only to find that those TheCompanyIWorkFor fuckers changed the order! The office procedure meeting, they stuck at the fucking end of the day, forcing me to stay the entire rotten day. Geez, I hate it when someone heads me off at the pass.

And I got in my car and headed home. And I got to thinking. "Hey, it's Thursday, it's 3pm. Could I possibly be so lucky?" And I turned on my old favorite radio station WMMT, and yes, there they were, just a-waitin' for me. Catfish John and Catfish Jean.

Now, if you don't know about The Catfishes, may I refer you back to my blog of July 18, 2002. I have to say this may be my favorite blog I've ever written, and I can't believe it's actually been two years since I wrote it. It was about the first time I heard The Catfishes, and the afternoon of utter bliss I had listening to them.

On that day, Catfishes John and Jean were playing gospel music, reading out commercials, doing dedications, and basically loving people. Loving lots of people. They especially loved Aunt Sally, whose son (they couldn't remember his name) had been to visit her but he left and now Aunt Sally was home alone. And they loved her.

Today, it was heavy on music - well, of a fashion - and love. They played a song for a man (whose name I don't remember) who was about to lose his house to a state highway. I was half-expecting that country classic "There's An Interstate Running Through My Outhouse," but then I realized that's not a Catfishes kind of song (and I was right).

They also played a song called "Drinking and Driving," which was something else, let me tell you. Something about drinking and driving and you'll be remembered by a wooden cross. It was a cautionary tale, all right. Made me put my bottle right back in the glove compartment. (No, I wasn't drinking. Geez.)

After that Catfish John asked us to pray for someone for them. A little child who'd been in a car accident. "It" was in the hospital, and "it" wasn't doing too good and had an injury to "its" head and "it" really needed us to pray for "it." He couldn't remember "its" name, though (or sex, apparently). But he said The Lord remembered "its" name, and so if we prayed, the prayers would go to the right place. And you know, I tend to believe him on that one.

They also played a true tear-jerker called "Mama, Don't Cry." It was about a boy whose daddy died when he was just little, and Mama cried, so the boy and his brother would tell her, "Mama, don't cry, things'll be better in the by and by." Then the brother got real sick, but he kept right on working, telling Mama not to cry, cause things would be better in the by and by. And then Brother went and died on them too, and the singer tells Mama once more not to cry, things would be better in the by and by. I have a feeling by this time Mama was thinking, "You friggin' liar!" Or maybe not.

And then, after many missed cues and wrong tracks lined up, and first lines of them played before being yanked back off the air and other songs started, it happened. Catfish John and Catfish Jean played a song - and dedicated it to Aunt Sally! They didn't say anything about her son, so he apparently hadn't been in to visit her and left, but she got a song dedicated right to her.

Now, I don't know. They may dedicate a song to her every single week. But it blew my mind that one month shy of two years after first hearing about poor Aunt Sally, whose son came to visit her but then he went back home, I should hear her sweet name again.

The Catfishes didn't say today that they loved her, either. But I'm sure they do. I know I do.

Yes, I'm Old, What Of It?

For all the complaining I did when the CD player in the podmobile went on the fritz, I haven't done much rejoicing now that it's all better and reinstalled. I seem to just be listening to NPR news and Ray Charles cassettes, leaving it pretty much unoccupied. Maybe when I get the $400 bill paid off I'll rejoice.

However, I had to make a drive last night, and I got out some of my CDs for a listen (this was after NPR's "Fresh Air," which featured an interview with David Sedaris, who has a new book out). I found myself putting in all the discs that had older music on them. And by older, I mean the 70s, my golden heyday of youth - I listened last night to all kinds of songs I loved in high school or the year after. And I got nostalgic.

Not necessarily nostalgic for the times, although I'm sure it was certainly nice to not have to worry about a mortgage or an onslaught of bills in '78, and I know it was easier back then, trying to decide between the basketball game or the movies, rather than now, between practicing the clarinet or, oh, I don't know, killing myself.

But I digress.

What I got nostalgic for was the music of my youth, and especially the radio of my youth. I hate the radio now. Hate it. I can listen to public radio, the occasional oldies stations for a short while (even though I have an axe to grind with them, which I'll state later), and sometimes college radio because it can just be really goofy. But that's it.

But radio is so segmented now. Pop stations, soul stations, rap stations, country stations, alternative stations. When we were kids, every town had one or two radio stations, and they played everything! You'd hear Motown along with acid rock along with country music along with soul, and disco, bubblegum, and southern rock and pop stuff, novelty tunes. Anything went. It was great. You knew if you didn't like the song that was playing, all you needed to do was stick around; the next one would surely be better.

Another cool thing about radio of the 70s (and early 80s): album cuts. Stations seemed to not care what went on at night, so as soon as the sun set you never knew what was going to be coming out of those speakers. I discovered some of the best songs that way.

Of course, I guess that kind of stuff ended when huge corporations took over radio. There are no small stations anymore, like the family-owned station we used to listen to as kids, good ol' WHIS. God forbid a station now can vary from a format or playlist. And that brings me to why I can only listen to oldies stations for a while. Why is it, if a station's format is songs of the 50s, 60s, and 70s, well, think about it! Three decades of music to choose from! Why do they play the same 25 songs over and over and over again till you want to puke? I need to own and operate an oldies station. I'll bet I could go a year and never repeat a record.

Anyway, listening to all those songs last night really brought back memories; in fact, I could kind of imagine myself being right back there in '77, '78.... I mean, hell, I was even in a green station wagon! Of course, it was the '99 Subaru, not the '74 Pinto Industrial Green Station Wagon, and I was wearing my seatbelt last night, and I'm sure I was driving a lot slower last night, even though I was on I-81.

I think another thing that makes radio suck might not necessarily be radio's fault. Music sucks nowadays. OK, OK, I know I've come here before and made that sweeping statement, and there is some good stuff out there, a little, if you really nose around. Maybe that's it; I'm just too old to care about nosing anymore.

But it seems to me it used to be that musical acts themselves were so different. They'd release an album of 12 or so songs, and every one of them would sound completely different. And when you took all the people who were popular at that time, all releasing albums of varied songs, then threw in the one-hit wonders as well, you just had a smorgasboard of stuff. Now it seems like every band releases one song over and over with a different title each time. It's bland, it's boring, and it's sad.

I still blame disco. I don't know why, but I guess I always will. Disco: Scapegoat of the Masses.

(Anyway, some of the songs that had me singing last night: "Excitable Boy," by Warren Zevon, "Spaceman" & "Jump Into The Fire," by Nilsson, "The Boys Are Back In Town," by Thin Lizzy, "It's Over," by Boz Scaggs, "Ariel," by Dean Friedman, "Baker Street," by Gerry Raffery along with "Stuck In The Middle With You," by Stealer's Wheel, "Give Me Love," by George Harrison, "Blockbuster," by the Sweet, "Cindy Incidentally," by the Faces, "The Man Who Sold The World," by David Bowie...well, the list goes on. It was a 90 minute drive each way.)

Acrowinners!

Okay, so we had technical difficulties and a goodly portion of our contingent are all off getting blitzed in Las Vegas this week. But acro must go on!

As you know, this week's acro topic was "Taglines to Really Bad Disaster Movies." This week's letters were E O L R T C. This week's entries:

*Evil Osama: "Lets radiate the cave"
*Eight Orgasms!: "Lover really took charge!"
*Earthquake!: "Our Livingroom rumbled to collapse"
*Earthquake Overload! "Let's Rock This City!"
*Ewok Obliterators: "Little Rodents Take Canada!"
*Earth Overrun!: "Roswell Takes Control!"
*Even ogres leave retching their chowder.
*Exactly one lives, recounts the cannibalism.
*Electrical overload leaves Ronnie totally charged

And now, for announcements and pronouncements, and possibly procurements, may I now introduce the one and only, Mike!

"In a world of Scrabble tiles, one woman had a vision. And a basket. And so a new game was born..."

First off, kudos to the friar for using all of the letters for his taglines. Including the movie titles wasn't necessary, I just wanted to see how you were gonna promote 'em.

Honorable mention goes to MSAGRO with "Eight Orgasms!: 'Lover really took charge!'" It would have placed higher, but using documentaries about yourselves gets you knocked down a peg.

In second place is the mistress of disaster herself, LilyG, with
"Ewok Obliterators: 'Little Rodents Take Canada!'" And those damn muppets could take on Canada, too.

And the winner is the Friar himself, with "Electrical overload leaves Ronnie totally charged." Oh great, and we just buried him!

Congrats to those of you in the winner's circle, and to everybody else who
played this week! Stay tuned for another killer round of Acro next Monday!

Thanks Mike, and I couldn't have said it better myself. See you all next week!

Acrochallenge!

Hello, hello, hello. It wasn't my fault, I promise.

Remember those "technical difficulties" I was talking about a few weeks ago that made acro sometimes be a pain in, well, you know, not the wonderful experience it sometimes could be? Well, tonight the fuckers at Comcast decided to go into full action. Little did they know they were screwing with the Acrogods. The Acrogods will not be pleased.

Well, this week we have a guest judge, and he's the one and only, the man of few words, the magnificent bastard himself, Mr Mike! Mr Mike, who not only came up with a great topic for this week, but two great topics (you'll see the other one later). He just had the unforgetable experience (take that as you wish) of seeing "The Day After." And so here's his topic for you all. Taglines For Really Bad Disaster Movies. You know what we mean. Every movie has one. Blacula II: "He's back and badder than ever!" That sort of thing.

Owing to the lateness of my getting posted, and the fact that Mike's on the West Coast anyway, let's make the cutoff time for acroing 11:00pm est tomorrow night. Then Man of Mystery will mull over the entries and mete out the medals to the meritorious and malodorous.

So, the topic is "Taglines For Really Bad Disaster Movies. The letters:

E O L R T C

Now, get your popcorn and start acroing!

Picture Sunday

Well, I survived a sober Wine Tasting. Actually the whole thing went really well. We sounded good, and the crowd seemed to enjoy us; then again, they weren't necessarily as sober as I was.

By the way, a little pre-Sunday night chatter here. I came home Friday night to find that once again (2d time in a month) my airconditioning/heat pump is not working. Well, it's working - the fan's just going like crazy. There's just no cool air coming in here. The Poderosa is currently a regular heatbox.

Then Saturday morning I got two bills in the mail. Both medical bills. One for $1157 and one for $162. Remember I have $369 in my medical bank account at the moment. I went to throw away the envelopes only to see - ants! Ants in my trash can, and starting up my kitchen wall. What do I have that ants would want?? I don't even have anything I'd want! Anyway, I got them dealt with (ie, killed) in pretty short order.

OK, first of all, I wanted to show yall a picture from today. I had one of the main building at Mountain Lake, but instead, decided to go with one of the giant chess board. (They also have a giant checker board, but it's not that exciting.)



Now, yes, my boy S was with me at the tasting, but I'm not printing his picture here. However, there is a very special picture of him in the Gallery. Go here and see it; I promise you, it's worth the extra mouse click.

However, lest The Boy be forgotten this week, here's a particularly fetching photo, done with a little help from Mr M (well, actually, a lot of help; he did it). May I introduce you to....Shermula!



Now, before we get to tonight's recipe, I have a little something extra. Something that should get you in the mood for a little kitschy food. It's an actual picture of the actual wall in Mr M's actual kitchen. Now, before I show you this picture I am obligated - nay, threatened - to tell you that Mr M rents, he had nothing to do with the picking out of this wallpaper, and in fact, he hates it with every fiber of his being. That said, let's all prepare to snicker.



And now, finally, to tonight's Dish of Distinction. It's funny, because as horrible as this looks, when I first opened this envelope of pictures, this was the only one I could imagine myself eating. Yes, it's heavy, and it's certainly large, and meaty, and possibly greasy, but I don't know, something about it appealed to me. The more I look at it, especially with it's foody neighbors, I'm not so sure. I give you the Neapolitan Turnover.



Now, let's read the back here, and look what they're suggesting you have with this huge meat-filled pocket of delight. Of course you have your turnover, the side of Beans and Corn Vinaigrette, Spinach with Lemon Butter (who apparently asked not to be shown in this pic), Spumoni, and what could possibly top all this off but - Cranberry Juice. It actually says that. It suggests you drink Cranberry Juice with all this. Now if that's not instant vomit, I don't know what is.

Drink up, and enjoy the week.

At The Poker Game

I played poker last night with my mom and dad, and my mom's brother (Uncle Carl) and his wife, who are visiting. Playing poker with that foursome is a blast.

It was getting late, and so we decided to play around to Mom. She dealt the last game of the evening, called the game as one of her specialties ("Baseball," 3s and 9s wild, if you get a 4 showing you get a free card, and if you get a 3 showing you have to pay a dime to keep it - keep track of that when you're drunk). In the end it came down to her and I for last pot of the night. She had four tens. I beat her with four aces.

As she gathered the cards up, she said something that no person should ever have to hear their mother say:

"Well, shit. I couldn't catch the clap."

I guess the only thing worse than hearing your mother say that would be hearing her say she'd actually caught the clap.

I laughed so hard I drooled.

Da Doo Ron Ron

I've been pretty devoid of energy the past two days, and unfortunately, pretty devoid of thoughts as well. But I'll carry on, brave little soldier that I am.

There have been a couple of things on my mind this week, and I don't guess it's any big surprise that one of them is Ronald Reagan. Now, let me say this. I was no fan of Ronald Reagan. I never voted for the man, I thought he was a shitty president, and it galls me every time I hear some hoo-hah on TV talking about how he was the greatest president we ever had. Repeat after me: Bullshit.

I've also been thinking about one of his supposed "great moments," when he decided to do a JFK and stand in front of the Berlin Wall, demanding that Gorbachev tear it down. You know, according to Eddie Izzard, JFK didn't so much say "I am a Berliner" as he did "I am a donut" (the "ein" turning a resident into a sugary pastry). Oddly enough, I can so see Reagan, standing there at The Wall, actually saying "I am a donut." "Mr Gorbachev, I am a donut!"

I've also been thinking about how, since the man's demise, we've not heard a single thing about, oh, say, his total ignorance while AIDS was running rampant through the country, or his wonderful visit to Bitburg. Everyone's remembering the lighthearted, quip-spouting Grandpa of Our Nation, who "won the Cold War" (even though he didn't), made all those monumentally great speeches (which he didn't write, I mean, hell, he was an actor, if he couldn't read a speech, what was he good for?), and smiled upon the land like a proud papa as greed took over the country and leg warmers and mullets sprang up everywhere. Not that I'm going on record here as personally blaming Mr R for the mullet. But I've never seen it proved otherwise, either.

But then, Reagan was an affable sort. In the same kind of way your grandfather, who still called black people "colored" and believed that women shouldn't have jobs or get educations, was an affable sort.

And maybe that's why I didn't hate him so much. I mean actively hate him. Not the way I actively hated his successor, and certainly not the way I hate his successor's evil spawn. Which is odd, because Reagan himself sowed the seeds for both of them. And you know, I can remember in the 80s, when America was the scourge of the world (kinda like now - odd thing, huh?), being embarrassed to live here under his rule and wanting to say, "Hey World, not everyone supports this dumbass!" (kinda like now - odd thing, huh?) So maybe it's just that since he left office and lived a life of solitude, and people like Drinky McDumbass (our current prez) have taken over, my hatred for him has waned.

And yet - no matter how much it's waned or how much I may have hated him at one time, I don't want people to get a horrible disease like Alzheimer's. I don't want people to die, well, most people, there are a few the world could do without but it's not rightly up to me to rid us all of them. And 93 years, it was a big, long, Hollywood life, even if the last years of it were shitty.

But geez. Put the man in the ground already!

They're dragging him all over creation. First we had to see him lying there in California, then they drug him to DC, let him lay there awhile, had a funeral, then they're having another one, then they're taking him back to California.... Well, all I can say is at least we've moved from the cross-country train to the jetliner, cause I've seen about enough. I've seen Nancy Reagan hug the coffin while her family looks on plenty of times, thank you very much.

This morning the "Today" show weatherlady, the one who stands in for Al "Someday I'm Gonna Be Like Him" Roker, said, "Let's go to the weather in Washington today, because we know thousands of people will be coming there to visit President Reagan's remains."

Remains? Remains? The man died, he didn't get blown up. Wouldn't "remains" indicate "what's left of him?" Or, as my sister so rightly put it, "'Remains' means 'died in a plane crash.' 'Remains' means all that's in that casket is an arm and three teeth."

And who knows, after all that dragging around, that may be all that's in there now.

Oh well, one funeral down, two to go, one more cross-country jaunt for the gipper. Lots of people don't have to work tomorrow. I do. I guess it's only fitting.

(Disclaimer: this blog is boring and dumb.)

Really. I Don't.

I'm about to embark upon a first this weekend. This coming Sunday is the famous, the fabled, the Wine Tasting at Mountain Lake.

This is a pinnacle of the band year. Or has been in the past, anyway. The three biggest crowds we have as far as members showing up to play are our annual Spring Concert, the 4th of July ceremonies, and the Wine Tasting. And why not? As much free wine as you can taste all afternoon - and still get back down the mountain - not to mention a complimentary wine glass as well.

So I, and I know you, my dear readers, may be shocked, but I love this concert. Get up there a little early, get a glass, go around to all the booths, taste here, taste there, and get just enough of a buzz to start playing. Then during our break I'll generally decide which tastes I liked best, and go buy glasses of them. We all do this. In fact, there's an inside joke that the second set of the Mountain Lake concert - well, one just never knows what might happen.

One of my favorite moments was several years ago when my sister and her husband became Patrons of the Arts by buying a few bottles of the grape and passing them all around through the band. I don't know if we played the second half like a well-oiled machine, but we were certainly well-oiled.

And yet, there's still always more civility than at a Sauerkraut Band concert.

Anyway, I have said it here before. I'm at Mountain Lake twice a year, for Wine Tasting in Spring, and Oktoberfest in Fall. And I'm blitzed both occasions. The Mountain Lake people must think I'm a hopeless drunk.

But all that will change with this Wine Tasting. Because see, I'm on the wagon. Not for any noble causes of sobriety, but simply because I'm still a recovering surgery patient and I can't drink. It's an odd thing. I don't miss alcohol. In fact, I've done two small SK Band gigs without it, and it was no big deal.

And here's the part of the evening where I get to say, "I don't have a drinking problem. Really. I don't."

Alcohol's a funny thing with me. I like to drink, and when I drink, I like to get drunk. I mean, I certainly don't drink it for the taste, save for Goldschlager, which has that added feature of great taste and quicker intoxication. But even though I like to drink, I don't think about it all the time; I don't want it all the time. In fact, I want alcohol surprisingly little. I have bottles of beer in the fridge, bottles of liquor in the cabinet, bottles I bought long ago thinking how good it'd be to come home and have a good, big drink. Never happened. Because I'm just not interested most of the time.

However. In the thinking and researching process of this surgery, one of the first things I learned is that alcohol is pretty much verboten. And I guess that was all it took to make me think about it. And I did - and I do! "What is it going to be like if I never get to drink again? What will Community Band practice be like without my shots of Goldschlager beforehand? What will Oktoberfest be like??" And really, it's embarrassing to admit, but as I've said before, what are blogs for if not embarrassing admissions, you'd be surprised how often I thought of living without liquor.

Then I had the surgery. And while I haven't missed alcohol in the least, it certainly hasn't stopped me from thinking about it.

I've since talked to a couple of people, who've told me that while alcohol isn't exactly recommended, it's not completely off-limits. It's like everything else; some can handle it, some can't. One person told me to expect to not be able to imbibe much before getting really drunk, so to pace myself. And also, that I should wait at least six months, if not a year, before even trying it.

OK. So. Oktoberfest is six months. Hmmmm.

And so I'll be a sober person on Sunday. And I'll still think about being able to drink six months from now. And who knows? When the six months is over, I may not even care. And keep the full bottles sitting around the house just like they are now.

Acrowinners!

Well, well, the acrobasket was mean to yall, but it made no difference. We've got some great entries this week, Os and Qs be damned.

This week's letters were I S Q O S N. The topic was "Ronald Reagan." And before I give the entries, may I just say I was worried about making that the topic with him not cold in the ground yet - hell, not warm in the ground, they're moving him all over creation before he gets in the fuckin' ground - but judging from some of these entries, I shouldn't have worried. And the entries:

*It's so quickly over. Soon, Nancy.
*Insane, sexually quiescent oddball sleeps now.
*Its symptoms quintessential: older senior, nutty.
*"I'm sorry" quickly opines sad nation.
*"Irangate? Shred quietly!" -- Oliver S North.
*Iran: somehow, quite obvious someone's naughty.
*Is sainting queer old statesmen needed?
*In State, quietly observe sobbing Nancy.
*Interesting story: qualms over subcommittees? Never.
*Ingested serious quantities of sugary niblets.
*Inebriated statesman quips, "oh, sexy Nancy!"
*Iran scandals, queers overlooked, Scalia nominated.
*"I'm single! Quickly obtainable!" said Nancy.
*Independent subcommittee questioned Oliver shitbag North.
*If Seen. Quickly, Overtly, Scream, Neil.
*It Seems Quite Overly Sad, Nancy.
*I Saw, Quite Ordinarily, Speaking Nicely.

Wow, you should all be proud of yourselves. But I'm sure you already are, so let's dispense with the pleasantries and get to the meat of things.

First of all, the Honorable Mention this week goes to Jellybean with her "Is sainting queer old statesmen needed?" I wonder the same, my dear.

This week's runner-up could have been a winner just as easily. It's the great entry from Mike, "'I'm single! Quickly obtainable!' said Nancy."

But this week's winner, I thought, was cleverness above and beyond the call of duty. Congratulations Flipsycab, and your winning entry "Ingested serious quantities of sugary niblets."

Thanks to all for playing - you've all done very well!

Acrochallenge!

OK, OK, boys and girls. Keep your pants on. No, really, keep them on, I don't want a bunch of nekkid acroers running around here.

Sorry I'm a bit late. Long day. Looooooong day. But it's over, so let's bid it fond farewell and play a round of Acromania!

I shall judge this week, because I'm late and lazy; I had a volunteer, but I was too late to confirm a judging date. So it shall be me this time. I've been trying to think up a good topic since, well, since I woke up, which was about 10 minutes ago, and I'm torn between two. I'll choose now. Be it in bad taste or not, how about Ronald Reagan.

All the other rules are the same. Everyone gets three entries to come up with the best acronym they can to the letters below, which were randomly drawn from the acrobasket, yes, the self-same acrobasket you just saw. Then tomorrow night, 9pmish est, I shall look over all the entries, and pick the winner. And I shall rule supreme! No, really I shan't, it just sounded good.

So, this week's topic is "Ronald Reagan." This week's letters are:

I S Q O S N

OK, I only pick the letters, remember?

Go, acro one for the Gipper.

Picture Sunday

Another weekend has come and gone. First of all, may I just say publicly that Mr M makes one hell of a mean chicken parmesan. He made that for dinner Saturday night and it was so good I ate a whole breast. The chicken's. Not mine.

But you know, "picture" was the operative word of the weekend, actually. If pictures can mean movies, and they can, I watched a total of five movies this weekend. I'm still way under where I was last year (good thing I didn't set a goal for myself this year or I'd be stressing), though.

Then when I got home, I diddled around with pictures awhile. I printed out some I've had stored in here for a long time, put them in frames, and put them hither and yon around the house. Then I tried to hang a framed photo I've been holding here for ages, but the drill (I have those old hard plaster walls that must have a little drilling before a nail will go in) had a totally dead battery. Well, crap. So I guess I'll be holding that a little longer.

So, let's get to tonight's Pictorial of Excitement. First, and yes, I've been threatening this for a long time, here is the one and only.....acrobasket!



Gosh. I know it's hard to follow that one, but here's a good try. This was taken a couple of weeks ago on the Not As Comfy But Still Pretty Nice Couch. It pretty much sums up Mr M anytime I'm telling him my life story:



Finally, tonight's recipe. I promise you the recipe isn't as bad as the picture, though how could it be as bad as the picture, I bring you - Crab Nibbles!



Well, OK, I lied. Maybe they are as bad. It appears you take some sandwich egg bread, whatever the hell that is, put some cheese, a cherry tomato, and some crabmeat on it, and you've got yourself a genuine Crab Nibble. Personally, I think it looks like some sort of mutant seafood colony there on a platter, preparing for an invasion of sorts, but more important than that, it's all laid out on a lovely orange tablecloth, there's some chips and dip in the background, and a plate containing some totally unidentifiable items there on the right (until I realized it was some cheese). And last but not least, one of those yellow flowers is bending down, preparing to get a Crab Nibble for himself.

Happy Week!

$1.91

Oh, I'm so damn funny....

Bleh

OK, how many "Freaks and Geeks" fans out there? How many out there who really really want the super-deluxe DVD set, that's made up like the kids' yearbook and has all kinds of special features, including fan commentary? How many out there really really want it bad, but just had to fork out over $400 to get their CD player back in their car, plus are still stuck paying medical bills for another three months?

I've been thinking a lot about "Freaks and Geeks" lately because I've finally been finishing up "Kick Me: Adventures In Adolesence," the memior/book of essays by Paul Feig, creator of the show. I read it pretty voraciously for a while, then it slowed off to where it became something of a "doctor's office" book.

The book is amazing in that I can pretty much see an episode of the show in every story he tells from his childhood. And it's made me nostalgic for the show. And so that's probably why I've been thinking about this:

Remember the episode that started out with the three Geek boys, Sam, Neil, and Bill, in Sam's kitchen mixing an inedible cocktail they'll soon be paying Bill to drink? The entire contents of Mrs Weir's kitchen are strewn out on the table, with Bill sitting at the table's head, staring a blender face to face. Only he's not staring, because if I recall correctly, he's blindfolded.

And so Sam and Neil start putting everything in the free world into this blender, everything of course save for peanuts, to which we all know Bill is deathly allergic. They blend it all together, wincing and bleching and giggling, and remove the top and give it to Bill. Who calmly drinks it down like it's a newly-mixed milk shake. As Sam and Neil wretch, Bill looks around nonchalantly like, "Hey, not bad."

Lately, well, since April 5th, I've been discovering the world of protein drinks. And a wicked world it is, let me tell you.

Protein seems to be a big post-surgery thing. It supposedly helps your incisions heal quicker, your hair to keep from falling out, and your muscles from turning into whatever it is muscles turn into when a person is just lying around yelling, "Ow, my incision." Right after I got out of the hospital I didn't think much about it. I was happy if I could choke down a little jello, a sugar-free popsicle, or some peanut butter on a spoon (three things all of which now make me wretch, btw). I had a protein drink at that time, but seeing as how I could only drink a thimbleful at a sitting, it made no impact on me whatsoever.

However, now I'm up and about and back to whatever passes for normal in my life, I realized things had to change. This was brought swiftly to my attention by TT, a client, buddy, and post surgery person herself. I was whining to her one day, and she gave me a very stern talking to (she's a funny lady, but she can get stern, believe me). She basically told me I wasn't eating enough, drinking enough, or getting enough protein. And when I tried to plead my case about how I was getting protein in every meal, she countered back with grams needed and grams getting, and well, I just couldn't fight TT. TT was right. And I started taking a long, hard look at protein drinks.

And the look wasn't particurlarly appealing. Especially since most of them are milk-based, and I hate milk. I need something water-based, like gatorade or Kool-Aid. Or some other kind of drink that ends in ade.

I had that protein drink from my recovery days. And it's supposed to be the best drink on the market, the one that tastes most like something you'd actually want to drink. It's a powder you mix with water. Its flavor is "Fuzzy Navel." And though its been weeks since I had my thimbleful, I seem to remember it not tasting too bad, but I wasn't crazy about the texture. It was, well, for want of a better word, thick. Kind of like - does anybody remember Orange Julius? It's kind of like one of those. Eww.

Now, as we speak, and as we've been speaking for nearly two weeks now, I have another one in my refrigerator. It was given to me by my beautiful and strong-handed pedicurist. She gave it to me and said, "Now, this isn't the best flavor it comes in, but you still might be able to drink it. I can't stomach it anymore, because it reminds me of being sick." It sits, unopened, in my fridge. As it probably will for some time to come. (Although I can totally relate to what she was saying, because I can barely eat things now I ate right after my surgery because they remind me of my recovery. And I used to love mashed potatoes....)

When I was getting my talking-to from TT, she gave me the name of a protein drink, already mixed, that she said was the best she'd ever tasted. She said at the end of the day she goes home and has one on ice and it's so refreshing and relaxing. She gave me the name and where to find it, and said it came in two flavors, citrus splash and mixed berry. I went out that very day and bought both flavors.

The citrus was just nasty, and there's not a thing more I can say about it. But I will. If none of you out there have consumed a protein drink, well, you're lucky, but other than that, there's just this horrid aftertaste. It's an aftertaste so horrid that you know something going into your body tasting like that has to be up to no good. And there's only thing worse than the taste. The smell. Is there such a thing as a horrid aftersmell? If so, they coined the phrase for just this smell. Let's put it this way. I drink these drinks in my thermal mug, covered with ice, with a lid on the mug, and I can still smell them through the straw in the lid. It's not pleasant.

Now, I will say that the berry, while not particularly good, or even half good, is consumable. And sure, it still smells, but it's not nearly as bad as the citrus flavor. The best way I can describe the berry is, "Kool-Aid someone poured salt in." "Or meat tenderizer." "Or Epsom Salts." "Maybe."

So anyway, I'm now out of my little four-pack of berry drink. So I need to make a decision. Buy another? Try the "will remind you of when you were sick" drink languishing in my fridge? Or go back to the protein drink I remember unfondly more for its texture than its taste?

I think I might mix up a batch of that "Fuzzy Navel" stuff tonight. And maybe try slipping a dollop or two of vodka in it for authenticity.

The Death of Blogging

Jellybean's is gone, Flipsycab's is gone (though I'm holding out hope both may return one day), and now Stennie's "taking the summer off." Mike never started, and LilyG hasn't updated since before Memorial day. Kriz hardly ever updates anymore. Mitchie and Venice started back after quasi-long absences.

What's going on here?

Well, actually, I know what's going on here, because I'm going through it a little myself. After all this time, it gets harder and harder to write.

It just kills me to go back and look at some of my older stuff. Long, flowing blogs that turned daily events into art. Whereas finding out about a snake under my bushes once became a long drawn-out yarn, I've a feeling if that happened to me today I'd come home and blog, "I came home today and found out I have a snake in my bushes. The End."

That's generally what is happening when my blog goes unupdated. I just can't think of anything other than "I went to work, and now I'm home, and next I'm washing dishes." And that sucks, because I want to blog every day. I hate for days to be skipped, the same old days-old stuff sitting there, stale as my rye bread after the twistie tie breaks on the bag.

See, I've got it easy in a way. I have Acro. Now, I'm going to be honest with you here and say something that will shock you - nay, possibly even make you cry. Sometimes Acro can be a pain in the ass. The no one wanting to judge, the technical difficulties like this past week, the setting up of all the entries and such for the Acrowinners posts. But there's two whole days that, if I don't want to, I'm under no obligation to post a blog of my thoughts.

Then I started a couple of weeks ago printing pictures on Sunday nights. Now, so far this has been fun to me. I don't know if it's been for you, but it's something different and I'm enjoying it. It's also encouraging me to drag that camera along with me places instead of letting it sit gathering dust, well...in the acrobasket, where it normally perches.

But anyway, here's what I'm getting at. I've got three of seven days already "automatically blogged up." Here is my proposal for making sure I can post to old Betland every day:

New Blog Schedule:

Sunday: Picture Night
Monday: Acrochallenge
Tuesday: Acrowinners
Wednesday: Word of the Day (This isn't a random seldom-used word, complete with pronunciation and examples used in a sentence. Wednesday's band day; I don't have that much time. W of the D will be one random word posted, whatever word happens to be on my mind at the time. "Fuck," "fucky," "fuckidity," and any other derivates may be used as often as wished.)
Thursday: Food Day - what's in my fridge, what's missing since last week, and what I need to buy at the grocery.
Friday: What's In My CD Player Right Now, Now That I've Finally Gotten My CD Player Back From The Shop Day
Saturday: Since I'm usually traveling from here to B'burg on Saturdays, I'll make this Local Gas Prices Day.

There you have it. The new and always updated Betland.

Acrowinners!

Finally, and no thanks to a certain communications company, we have us some acrowinners. Sorry for the technical delays, but sometimes things just can't be helped.

Let's get right to it. The topic was "The Moon in June." The letters were Y A S L. The entries:

*Yonder, a summertime Luna
*Youngsters admire satellite -- lovers!
*Yeats admired solstice, languishing.
*You all suck lemons!
*Young aspiring smutty lovers
*Yelping, Ashton smooched Liza
*Yon Ass Shines Lunarly
*Y'all Arise! Summer's Lovely!
*Yuri, Astronaut, Saw Lawns.
*Yippee! Apollo spaceship landed.
*Young and simply Lovely.
*Yearnings' all summers length.
*Yonder apparition seems lunaresque.
*Years ago, ‘stranauts landed.
*Yes, a silvery light.
*You actually seem lycanthropic.
*Young Adam, suffering lunacy.
*Yearning a Stewart lassoing. (Maybe Stenns will get that.)
*yon all see luna
*yellow as sun languishes
*yet, as spring lingers
*Yonder, A Sailor Looks.
*Yelling at, singing loudy.
*Yeilding A Soft Light.

And now, without further ado, may I now introduce, fresh from the land of eternal (computer) darkness....Mr M!

Bet was surprised that I chose "The Moon in June" as a subject. Seems she thought that I am made up of nothing but rusty nails and broken glass, with little appreciation for the poetic. Well, all I had to say about that is, "What the hell are you talking about? I'm just as sensitive as the next guy, goddamn it. Anyway, Who do you think YOU are, Emily Goddamn Dickenson?"

Well, anyway, let's not bicker now that I'm in my sensitive mode.

We have two winners today.

The winner in the "Not Funny" category is Flipsycab with her Yes, a silvery light. Just too poetic for words, even though they're words(or something like that).

The winner in the "Funny" category is Bet with her Yon Ass Shines Lunarly.

Runner up is Mike with his "You actually seem lycanthropic." (I can envision a Rogerian shrink "reflecting feelings" with this phrase as the client's hair, teeth, and claws start growing.)

Good job, folk.

Signing off.

Mr. M. (Not to be confused with Capt. A.)

Acrowinners Delayed, Possibly Canceled...

...due to Mr M's lack of a server. It's down again, he can't access the entries, he can't get me a winner. This is the second time in two days, and the first time it was out about 24 hours - in other words, there wasn't much reason for it to come back on anyway.

Okay everyone, repeat after me: Fuck Adelphia.

If he can get me the acro results by mid-day tomorrow, to where I can post them at lunch, we shall have winners. If you don't see winners by tomorrow afternoon, then this week's acro is canceled and we'll all declare ourselves the winners.

*sigh* - What we acromothers go through....