tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-284736222024-03-23T14:08:24.732-04:00Hyperion vs. the UniverseThere can only be OneHyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.comBlogger394125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-15857373651473899292017-04-11T15:00:00.000-04:002017-04-11T15:00:44.215-04:00Back Online<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span data-offset-key="etlet-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">My computer is fixed, for now. Meant wiping Windows, resetting completely, and losing almost 500 GB of stuff. Hopefully, I managed to save most of the important stuff, but time will tell.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5qioq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I tried to prepare: have a folder full of documents on passwords, files, etc, but there is always a thousand and one things you're not prepared for. Settings that don't seem quite right and I'm not sure how to fix. Like staying at a stranger's house for a week when you're ten.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5qioq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I used Windows 10 for two years with no problem, and as much time as I spent on the machine, customized it a ton. It will take weeks to figure out little things like how big the type is IN the Windows, and how to get the chime back when I turn on CAPS LOCK. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5qioq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Some of it can be looked up. Other things I won't even remember, exactly. I will just have this vague sense of unease, that it doesn't look right. That's the way it goes, I suppose. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5qioq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">At least now I can try to get back on track and post a couple more Easter columns. At this date, maybe just re-post. I'm very proud of the Judas Ischariot and Golgotha stories. I don't want to "sully" that actual story pages with explanations; maybe I will write a short post here explaining myself when I do. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5qioq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Back to work......</span></div>
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-2752462978175235292017-03-11T21:14:00.001-05:002017-03-11T21:16:15.794-05:00Curtain Pull-back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #4b4f56; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">How my mind works:
If I come across some awesome thing (song, movie, book, Jedi-mind trick, secret menu item combining, pliable lass, etc), I immediately want people I care about, who would be interested, to know about said awesome thing.
Conversely, it also makes me wonder if people who worshi...I mean, care about me, knew about said awesome thing, why had they not made sure I knew?
Then, I remind myself that plotting a bloody reprisal is not a productive step in this, my early Empire-building stage.
And I try to move past it, while a small part inside my heart hides in a pillow fort and cries. </span></span>
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-6106315968453308072017-02-22T20:47:00.001-05:002017-02-22T20:47:49.381-05:00Voicemail<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4b4f56; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Considering making this my new voicemail greeting</span><br />
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-44170188402732203952016-08-16T16:22:00.004-04:002016-08-16T16:22:50.526-04:00Hyperion Day Gifts!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPThRba5V9UiBMgkXNGCyaaZ8aMM5UQgp95AZWZKHe3Xl0vEQYqH2ZARYKb6IrEPl-ofSY6gMZ7ToU2bcF18HRu818eqDZSVbgGmUhW0PXPEfOT-frt-HZtbRC5MgyDiSymoiQQ/s1600/gifts.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPThRba5V9UiBMgkXNGCyaaZ8aMM5UQgp95AZWZKHe3Xl0vEQYqH2ZARYKb6IrEPl-ofSY6gMZ7ToU2bcF18HRu818eqDZSVbgGmUhW0PXPEfOT-frt-HZtbRC5MgyDiSymoiQQ/s640/gifts.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-79388703303607431122016-03-24T01:06:00.002-04:002016-03-24T01:06:26.578-04:00Frog Warning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My sister came over to see if I was still alive. I had her check the mail (as I could barely move), which she grumbled about, as it was late, and very cold, and the mail was outside, but she finally did it.<br />
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"You're not going to like that you made me check the mail," she said, walking back in, holding a packet the size of a Shetland pony. "It's from the Government."<br />
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"dontwannagoback" I mumbled, trying to burrow in my pillow fort. She found me and handed me the packet. I opened it and saw many words. No light on but the TV. Strike one. Because of pain and general dyingness, my eyes were barely slits. Strike two. And it was from the Government.<br />
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I handed it back. "You read it." I tried to find the invisibility button in my pillow fort. I knew there was one somewhere.<br />
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"It's a big Questionnaire you have to fill out." she said, using the TV's reflected light. (She's used to my penchant for darkness, and my further penchant for throwing things at anyone who causes unnecessary - which means most - light.<br />
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"You fill it out," I grumbled, trying to will the ceiling to fall on my head." I'll never remember to.<br />
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"I can't!" she said in a shocked voice. I could hear her flipping through the pages. How long was the thing? "There's a giant frog warning on page 2!"<br />
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My ears perked up. That was the first interesting thing I'd heard. What the hell was a Frog Warning? I half-sat up. "What's a frog warning?" I asked, trying to focus my eyes on where - via the lack of light coming from where I thought the TV might be - I assumed she was.<br />
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"Not a frog warning, you idiot: a FRAUD warning. I can help you fill it out if your hand hurts too much to write, but you have to do it."<br />
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I collapsed back to the mattress, no longer excited. "Be a whole lot cooler if it was a frog warning." I mumbled, groping around in the dark to see if my pillow fort might have any uneaten snacks.<br />
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-66515219529323916552016-03-12T03:31:00.001-05:002016-07-31T13:52:30.551-04:00Black Money quotes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbImPKUriWCr-fnL4XZXlESEMkLYNfwht5Gu8N30cJQ7BDt1dF9qQ4SPGy__U-jeEKgVoGjk9rctUbMjiNwKyXC1ymXZ59CxAIiINfS3LCdj6-VTko8xUvqEHhTniNExDlCtxfTw/s1600/black+money.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbImPKUriWCr-fnL4XZXlESEMkLYNfwht5Gu8N30cJQ7BDt1dF9qQ4SPGy__U-jeEKgVoGjk9rctUbMjiNwKyXC1ymXZ59CxAIiINfS3LCdj6-VTko8xUvqEHhTniNExDlCtxfTw/s640/black+money.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Both sides of the tracks are the wrong side, if you live close enough to them." </blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"She pouted, and frowned a little with her thin painted-on eyebrows. She didn't frown very hard because that gave girls wrinkles and besides I might kill her and she didn't want to die with a frown on her lovely face."</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Bess came out of her room. She had changed into a dress which had to be hooked up the back, and I was elected to be the one to hook it up. She had a strokeable-looking back, but my hands were careful not to wander. The easy ones were nearly always trouble. Frigid or nympho, schizy or commercial or alcoholic; sometimes all five at once. Their nicely-wrapped gifts of themselves turn out to be homemade bombs, or fudge with arsenic in it." </blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"They shook hands like brother and sister, but I saw his eyes take possession of her injured beauty." </blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Bess was trouble, and a wise man once in Chicago had said once and for all: <b>never sleep with anyone whose troubles are worse than your own."</b></blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Kitty: what are you, a do-gooder or something?<br />Archer: I wouldn't say so. I'm working at not being a do-badder.</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I woke up in the middle of the night. A spatter of rain was rustling like cellophane at the window. The whisky was wearing off and I saw myself in a flicker of panic: a middle-aging man lying alone in darkness while life fled by like traffic on the freeway."</blockquote>
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-from Black Money by Ross Macdonald</div>
Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-21933913956645320572014-08-20T23:58:00.000-04:002014-08-20T23:58:08.389-04:00It's almost here! It's almost here!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The Simpsons Marathon starts tomorrow (10 a.m.) - on FXX - all 552 episodes plus the movie in there somewhere.<br />
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Now maybe, if you're like me, you plan to stay awake the next two weeks watching the episodes <span style="font-size: x-small;">back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back.</span><br />
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However, if you don't have that kind of time, I have taken a few moments to scan over the contents of Thursday and Friday's episodes and have a few recommendations for you. If you have a DVR make sure you tape these. If not, make sure you watch them! (Prizes will be given for those who do.)<br />
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I'm not sure how the times work in other zones, so all times given are Eastern. Make your adjustments accordingly.<br />
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Thursday<br />
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<b>10:00am</b> - Season 1 Episode 1 (S01E01) - The one that started it all.<br />
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<b>11:50(ish)am</b> - S01E04 - The end of this episode features the Simpsons in Family Therapy, and electrically shocking each other to the point of nearly causing a city-wide blackout.<br />
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<b>2:00pm</b> - S01E09 - Marge gets a bowling ball for her birthday, and marriage trouble ensues. ("Those trophies aren't for bowling; they're for lovemaking.")<br />
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<b>3:00pm</b> - S01E11 - Bart goes to France as an exchange student, and Homer accidentally commits espionage<br />
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<b>5:00pm</b> - S02E02 - Homer regrows his hair. NOT to be missed. Absolute classic.<br />
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<b>10:00pm</b> - S02E12 - How Homer and Marge met and fell in love.<br />
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<b>Friday</b><br />
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<b>11:30am</b> - S03E17 - Mr. Burns hires ringers for the company softball team. One of the most quotable episodes ever.<br />
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<b>1:00pm</b> - S03E20 - Homer becomes the manager of a country singer. Love this episode so much.<br />
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<b>3:30pm</b> - S04E01 - Bart and Lisa go to summer camp. Non-stop hilarious, top-thee most quotable episode, and a rockin' song!<br />
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<b>4:00pm</b> - S04E02 - The Musical version of Streetcar Named Desire. You haven't lived until you've seen Ned Flanders as Stanley Kowalski.<br />
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<b>4:30pm</b> - S04E03 - Homer skips church, meets God, finds a penny. (may I point out that my last three recommendations were all in a row - possibly the best three-episode run in the show's history)<br />
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<b>7:30pm</b> - S04E09 - Homer becomes Mr. Plow. (Barney duets with Linda Ronstadt!)<br />
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<b>9:00pm</b> - S04E12 - Springfield gets a Monorail!<br />
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<b>10:30pm</b> - S04E15 - Ralph falls in love with Lisa!<br />
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These are the episodes from Thursday and Friday I recommend you watch or DVR. I will be back tomorrow with recommendations for the weekend.<br />
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-12347287489436130232014-07-31T19:53:00.001-04:002014-07-31T19:54:02.765-04:00New Lay's Flavors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In ascending order of my excitement level.......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2) <b>Cappuccino</b> - Not my thing, but go nuts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3) <b>Wasabi Ginger (Kettle) </b>- Should be good. Bet it makes a good crushed topping for casseroles. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">4) <b>Mango Salsa (Wavy) </b>- Dude, If they can make this work, a star is born</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1) <b>Cheddar Bacon Mac & Cheese</b> - [Hyperion starts humping display case in the grocery store]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-75243352305322658282014-06-13T11:21:00.001-04:002014-06-13T11:21:55.304-04:00Muffin Law MCCCLXXXVII<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEmS6tUrsWUW_JBE0M9VZFK99B_YSDkwq_Ep2gWVnIsAKJ_jm8S7IPQXB6r0zp0pB1Efqk6Cj_FVK_g8LRCl4-QEd2DdAIZzDof0amr5aVkJ0qqHVyCaGvzSI5OG3L6HbvQSYog/s1600/MuffinLawMCCCLXXXVII.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEmS6tUrsWUW_JBE0M9VZFK99B_YSDkwq_Ep2gWVnIsAKJ_jm8S7IPQXB6r0zp0pB1Efqk6Cj_FVK_g8LRCl4-QEd2DdAIZzDof0amr5aVkJ0qqHVyCaGvzSI5OG3L6HbvQSYog/s1600/MuffinLawMCCCLXXXVII.jpg" height="467" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, my mother came by and she was making wonderful blueberry muffins, which basically smelled like what I imagine showering with the LORD would smell like. (Don't make it weird; I just need an analogy of awesomeness. Besides, the Weird is about to happen.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So I was trying to compliment how amazing it smelled in the house, and I told her that her fresh out-of-the-oven muffins smelled "better than a fifteen-year old Vietnamese virgin." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She laughed, but then a second later the full impact of my comparison hit her and she exclaimed: "Not funny!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But it was too late. She had laughed, and by the <i>Ancient Code of the Muffin Society</i> (specifically the 13th volume, 80th chapter and 7th verse) once my mother laughed, my outlandish and borderline illegal analogy was rendered accepted and most importantly: no Muffin Censure would come to my name. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rules is rules, yo. </span><br />
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Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-9661310754416567512014-04-09T13:50:00.002-04:002014-04-09T13:50:57.052-04:00Ultimate Warrior<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGwOsqA_Rz9OS6nRNAoL4Lw2TdvEy4L8CwvYc2QwHX-tRytJg7nfyj3LJ1R2piQRK2QtASG3qFHh-B7zcxbNyuczqSKqP45E3-qO1U1WJQ9MoE127EF1v2aCUaj1-D1bqZ8qpYw/s1600/ultimatewarrior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGwOsqA_Rz9OS6nRNAoL4Lw2TdvEy4L8CwvYc2QwHX-tRytJg7nfyj3LJ1R2piQRK2QtASG3qFHh-B7zcxbNyuczqSKqP45E3-qO1U1WJQ9MoE127EF1v2aCUaj1-D1bqZ8qpYw/s1600/ultimatewarrior.jpg" /></a></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Every man’s heart one day beats its final beat. His lungs breathe a final breath. And if what that man did in his life makes the blood pulse through the body of others, and makes them bleed deeper and something larger than life, then his essence, his spirit, will be immortalized. By the storytellers, by the loyalty, by the memory of those who honor him and make the running the man did live forever. You, you, you, you, you, you are the legend-makers of Ultimate Warrior.” </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- James Hellwig, aka The Ultimate Warrior, on Monday Night RAW, one day before suddenly collapsing and dying while walking with his wife at the age of 54. I will never forget the Wrestlemania he beat Hulk Hogan. R.I.P.</span></div>
Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-28345935600129736052012-08-10T22:40:00.000-04:002012-08-10T22:40:29.314-04:00I aspire to be as confident as this locust<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghB04MCbPaSHeMJ9cNgXE4urVxrQiGZRuAYNpthV5lmAZvLI0W1RTYAV2r8XUh9J6tEv_-Klgc6F6Z6ECiflfW12yRog_nuQXQU_kUKSI1LIRdRgOx8mI6JhFPM9NgK79cMv14Fg/s1600/08.07.12_Garfield.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghB04MCbPaSHeMJ9cNgXE4urVxrQiGZRuAYNpthV5lmAZvLI0W1RTYAV2r8XUh9J6tEv_-Klgc6F6Z6ECiflfW12yRog_nuQXQU_kUKSI1LIRdRgOx8mI6JhFPM9NgK79cMv14Fg/s1600/08.07.12_Garfield.gif" /></a></div>
<br />Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-71815776078111427872012-03-03T04:05:00.000-05:002012-03-03T04:05:34.422-05:00You Know How?.....I Hate That<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_t57LNXnCrBDi5wlfXgtUra-zuJXEaU1BhFE05YbrFDFdlfRAJHNMArQym0dy84-AWJr9rBQP_O1FEEuFqATGToOj5TzoZrfqDXPHsI5q8GEdAY9DuBd3QX_1Mtpkjv96PzbEgw/s1600/rocksalt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_t57LNXnCrBDi5wlfXgtUra-zuJXEaU1BhFE05YbrFDFdlfRAJHNMArQym0dy84-AWJr9rBQP_O1FEEuFqATGToOj5TzoZrfqDXPHsI5q8GEdAY9DuBd3QX_1Mtpkjv96PzbEgw/s1600/rocksalt.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
You know when you're watching a show, and then it goes to commercial, so you flip to another channel, but that show is on commercial, and you don't really pay attention, and lose track, and you're sitting there waiting and waiting for the commercials to end, and then it goes back to the show, but it's that OTHER show that you were only "break watching" (watching on commercial breaks), and NOT the show you were actually watching, and you flip back over to the show you were ACTUALLY watching, except you're so flustered that you mis-hit the buttons, and then trying to fix it you screw it up again, and you finally get back to your show, and of course it's clearly been on awhile and you have no way of knowing, and it goes BACK to commercials in like only four minutes, which means you missed a ton?<br />
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I hate that.Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-89177662062662479022012-02-05T14:12:00.000-05:002012-02-05T14:13:17.800-05:00The Joy of American Cooking<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZO3xdCoosA7A26UVjCxAQ2C9jt-fml1AYvRyw9Zo6Dz3IsK2LlpKUEVPlkn5uIyxRFJJ81RSkedR5MTWo7inUm9x6bPO2HObcphGKk0cUAqtbCy7bS1Ai9RQWCn1fsvDFSwQ7A/s1600/pie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZO3xdCoosA7A26UVjCxAQ2C9jt-fml1AYvRyw9Zo6Dz3IsK2LlpKUEVPlkn5uIyxRFJJ81RSkedR5MTWo7inUm9x6bPO2HObcphGKk0cUAqtbCy7bS1Ai9RQWCn1fsvDFSwQ7A/s400/pie.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
I was IMing my sister when the food tray arrived, and space requirements necessitated putting the computer aside for a time, so that I might tuck in to the culinary wonders brought to me.<br />
<br />
Breakfast's usual disappointing suspects (flubbery gristle trying out for a part as a sausage patty) and a waffle (somehow both burnt and under-cooked soggy <i>simultaneously</i>) were long forgotten. For did I not spy with my little eye a chicken-fried steak patty? (A troubling omission was the non-appearance of sawmill gravy, or gravy of any kind, but I rationalized this as explainable because I'm sure gravy is verboten in a place like this.) The chicken-fried steak guess was later down-graded to a fried pork chop, which was not as exciting, but this was semantics, as all that really changed was my perspective, not the fact that there was every chance that I had meat before me, and breaded and fried at that.<br />
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And if that wasn't enough, no amount of squinting in the world could make the other item not be a baked potato. Yeah! Impossible to screw that up, right? Again, the warning omens: besides a nondescript tub of sour cream that I handed back wordlessly there was no cheese or bacon or any toppings. I comforted myself with the thought that I could use the small dab of spread that clung to its plastic and paper-lidded aperture on top of the individually wrapped white bread slice - and while that may not have been slathering my potato in butter, beggars can't be choosers, and it was still a potentially rare treat.<br />
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AND THERE WAS PIE!<br />
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I told my sister I would IM her after I ate to tell her about the meal. Having finished my description, I discovered it was considerably longer than an IM-message length restriction, although I couldn't understand why, as it was only a few sentences. Nonetheless, I decided to reprint it here, on the off-chance you might get a kick out of it too. I present: Lunch.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5MBMHKk5zaeVwJCuh2TSa7bPdKYeBZxUJOKdAnvyUBfN0qoTnnf5q43tHCt9NEvIgrIDLIq5drj4IPU_ucXKeuMKJrKnJRyNlwMaM3s9AJ5g42hi6MX1i8191QL_wfCN0ocLHg/s1600/Snapshot_20120205_15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5MBMHKk5zaeVwJCuh2TSa7bPdKYeBZxUJOKdAnvyUBfN0qoTnnf5q43tHCt9NEvIgrIDLIq5drj4IPU_ucXKeuMKJrKnJRyNlwMaM3s9AJ5g42hi6MX1i8191QL_wfCN0ocLHg/s640/Snapshot_20120205_15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The fried porkchop was so overcooked that I LITERALLY broke my fork trying to cut it. The baked potato was so dry I was tempted to hook it up an I.V. The less said about the vegetable mush the better. The fruit punch was (I suspect) concocted with water, massive amounts of red food coloring, and one fruit-punch Lifesaver per gallon of water. I'm guessing whoever made it had half a pack of Lifesavers stuck in his pocket and just threw it in, in order to take home the giant fruit-punch flavor crystal packet he was supposed to use. (Perhaps it's his turn to bring snacks tonight to his twin 8-year olds' basketball game. Score for him!)</i><i><br /></i><i>Even the pie, while inoffensively sugary, was a no-effort-whatsoever amalgam of bone-dry crust, whipped "cream" that made utterly no pretense to attempt the least evocation of dairy or frothed air, and industrial-grade pudding-pie filling that (and this is just a guess) was supposed to replicate (in some universe) the flavor of coconut (I make this guess only because the filling was vaguely brown-yellowish, and could not possibly have been trying to imitate banana or vanilla or lemon, three pie flavors I'm sure they could easily equally screw up but are so simple to fake the smallest approximation that it boggles the mind they wouldn't have done that), and also because there were these light brown smudges on top of the cream that were intended to be (snickering) toasted coconut. They looked more like the vestiges of that cookie decoration kit you got six years ago that came with "candy" sprinkles but you never ended up using them because the decorations were so tasteless and now the kit sits half-opened in your spice cupboard, stuck up back behind the three-year old bouillon cube jar (which you never use because stock on a box is so much simpler) and the potpourri cooking herbs that came with that one gift basket from your aunt that you never knew how to use in cooking, and also that one packet of something that you're not even sure what it is because there is no label on it, and God only knows why you didn't just throw the kit away but in the back of your mind you had this idea that you might one day be pulled into emergency cupcake duty for a band of rowdy kids, so the sprinkles and the licorice dots and the factory-toasted coconut all sit up there in their boxes and it is this last item that looks like it was shaken over the pie pieces, right before they were all individually smushed with plastic wrap, waiting to be hazily gummed and sucked in toothless ennui by some poor guy running out the clock on a ventilator who won't remember ten minutes from now that he even had "pie," (and I finger quote), let alone what "flavor it was and...where was I going with all this? </i><i><br /></i><i>Oh yeah: lunch sucked. I'm not complaining mind you, just describing. In fact, I took a certain pleasure in discovering just how gaw-dawful it was, and at the end of the day, if our food can distract us, even for a few minutes, from the other other unspeakable realities, it may not be sustenance or nutrient infusion the dietitians envisioned when they sat down 18 months ago to craft the strategy for today's well-balanced monstrosity, but at least it's something.</i> </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Note</b>: The pie at the top is just some random piece I found on Google. I didn't think to take a picture of it. It didn't actually look bad at all. As for the tray, that's the actual scene of the crime, so to speak. All I have is my laptop webcam, so the picture quality is pedestrian, and it seems almost innocent just sitting there, no different from any of ten thousand done meals across the land. True enough: it's very hard to convey it in pictures. But at least take a second look at that fork!</span><br />
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<br />Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-31857548811122982422011-12-10T09:25:00.001-05:002011-12-20T09:54:20.788-05:00Wishlist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XkxL35uM00wmZ1y3FdXIsusGB3VhCSuI8z0dI1Jx4sr-flDarasW-0u1G_xKmfns16uflC2CFdrtpSSP12J1vrDuRA8r1AfsafP1FE2uKDhtwUm5Pu4_hwdHEMA7XXyKi4UARQ/s1600/wishlist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XkxL35uM00wmZ1y3FdXIsusGB3VhCSuI8z0dI1Jx4sr-flDarasW-0u1G_xKmfns16uflC2CFdrtpSSP12J1vrDuRA8r1AfsafP1FE2uKDhtwUm5Pu4_hwdHEMA7XXyKi4UARQ/s1600/wishlist.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Not that I need presents, but many people want to give them to me, both because of my Future Emperorship (excellent idea, sucking up), and my overall kickassian ways. <br />
<br />
I have an <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/34MP6YUGLL2LH?reveal=unpurchased&filter=all&sort=priority&layout=standard&x=12&y=6">Amazon Wishlist</a></b> - which you can use for ideas.<br />
<br />
OR,<br />
<br />
if you pick something off the wishlist - it will actually send it to me, and I have it set up so that it won't tell me, either, it will be a surprise.<br />
<br />
OR,<br />
<br />
You can always bake me cookies and send them (and other presents) to the address listed on the Amazon Wish List. I ain't scrrd of you - but if you stalk me, best be aware, I have a Legion, and they're armed.<br />
<br />
Here is my <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/34MP6YUGLL2LH?reveal=unpurchased&filter=all&sort=priority&layout=standard&x=12&y=6" target="_blank">AMAZON WISHLIST</a></b>.<br />
<br />
PLUS,<br />
<br />
For those who are on hard times, I have a <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/1NZ629V7J09KQ/ref=cm_wl_sb_o?reveal=unpurchased&filter=all&sort=priority&layout=standard&x=17&y=8" target="_blank">separate Wishlist made of items all under $15</a></b>. Feel free to use that one, too.<br />
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I update these wishlists every time I run into something new, so feel free to check back and send presents often!<br />
<br />
And if you're just not into the Christmas thing, remember - my birthday is December 31st. I KNOW you want to get me something for that, right?<br />
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As for the picture above, you may wonder what it is I wanted there. Did you see the awesome table???Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-35817110762791039262011-11-16T02:14:00.012-05:002011-11-22T05:58:51.216-05:00Daffy Duck, Troubadour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIcjTFLl8oCwVZv9tFLum_STMsVN-Z9fbLCTddseKZwwrb64iEYl1ISX05Pc0o6mXmcVnK0QGNJ4wypKmU-9S_iTkZ18zodNGfViRBimq72ur9H2xgS659SwEiXWz0CJSubHz4g/s1600/DaffyGlare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIcjTFLl8oCwVZv9tFLum_STMsVN-Z9fbLCTddseKZwwrb64iEYl1ISX05Pc0o6mXmcVnK0QGNJ4wypKmU-9S_iTkZ18zodNGfViRBimq72ur9H2xgS659SwEiXWz0CJSubHz4g/s400/DaffyGlare.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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It hasn't been the best Fall TV season; in fact, it's been one of the worst in recent memory. But one of the bright spots is The Looney Turnes Show, a crazy attempt to take the Looney Tunes characters and put them in a Sitcom. <br />
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I'll let you think about that for a minute.<br />
<br />
[eating carrot in nonchalant way while waiting, not unlike a certain cool-as-hell Bunny....]<br />
<br />
Sounds crazy, right?<br />
<br />
Somehow it works - and if you had any love for Buggs and crew I recommend it whole-heartily. (new episodes are on Cartoon Network Tuesdays at 8, but they rerun the episodes all the time, so just check for it).<br />
<br />
One of the biggest revelations has been Daffy Duck. I never realized with a sociopath he is. All the Looney Tunes characters have mental health issues (I'm working on a list of them for a column), but Daffy takes the cake. his pathological narcissism is so all-encompassing it's almost inspiring.<br />
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Which makes what happened on tonight's episode all the more fascinating.<br />
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<br />
One of the really cool things the Looney Tunes Show does is 1 minute music videos as they are going to commercial. The songs are sung by various Looney Tunes characters but are not necessarily related to the plot of that week's episode. <br />
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<br />
So, last night the video section had Porky Pig asking how you know you're in love. Daffy Duck supplies the answer, singing a ballad while playing the piano. <br />
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I can't tell you how strange this is. After all the episodes of Daffy totally focused inward - to hear him tenderly explain Love was....well, it was something. <br />
<br />
The song starts off slowly and then gets brisker as the lyrics get ever more...bizarre. I would much rather show you the video, but I have been unable to find it anywhere. (Even finding the lyrics was impossible. I had to write them down myself while listening to the song - which took endless rewinding and pausing - and then like 9 kinds of idiot I didn't save the notepad document and my computer crashed shortly thereafter. It took me forever to track them down again, as by then I had deleted the episode.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, I don't have the video, so you'll have to bear with me. The Song is funny enough that you should get the jist of it. <br />
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The crazy part - as bugnutz insane as this song is - Daffy essentially gets it right. This IS what being in love is like. [Some of my spelling is off because I have tried to re-create how Daffy draws out the words.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_jJI0Zdy4syOtctohKw7d3AjPw5atN5A5S0t3j0kVIIe5FpnouhsyFs_DCl11E483by2iRGtAm2ATW1DunFaAoweiZBPrpiGL79cgIhUVkRp0VoMrMEZoxV-pbvGBoEPirbdPQ/s1600/Daffy.noir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_jJI0Zdy4syOtctohKw7d3AjPw5atN5A5S0t3j0kVIIe5FpnouhsyFs_DCl11E483by2iRGtAm2ATW1DunFaAoweiZBPrpiGL79cgIhUVkRp0VoMrMEZoxV-pbvGBoEPirbdPQ/s400/Daffy.noir.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"That's How You Know You're In Love"</span></b><br />
(Written and performed by Daffy Duck and uknown background singer(s))<br />
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<i>[slowly, Daffy at the piano, half singing, half talking, the way lounge singers sometimes do - and Porky standing right next to him]</i><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How do you know when you're in love?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, you came to the right frie-end. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love is like an ice cream sundae - </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That you think is never gonna eh--ennd. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love make you feel all ting---gell-ly, light-headed and pretty, </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just like a.....700-foot robot that's invading a city....</span></b><br />
<br />
<i>[aside - spoken]</i><br />
Porky: uh, uh...Robot?<br />
Daffy: Exactly<br />
<br />
<i>[uptempo]</i><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>But you're not an evil robot -</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>You're a robot looking for love. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>But there's not a lot of giant 700 foot robots around....to love. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>So you glue a bunch of smaller robots together </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>And make one big super robot, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>And you and your robot go out to brunch, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>And by the end of brunch you're in love. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Trust me, that's exactly what it's like to be in love.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Then you and your robot lover destroy the entire Schenectady Turnpike, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>'Cause you're doing a robot love-dance and you don't care what it looks like. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>And when the armies of the world come to fight you, you get into your spaceship, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>And you tenderly embrace while you fly into space, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>'cause Earth's not ready for your giant robot love. </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's how you know you're love.</span></b><br />
<i>[unknown voice]</i> <b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Find yourself a robot to love)</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's how you feel when you're in love.</span></b><br />
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<i>[at this point Porky and Daffy have some back-and-forth that I didn't get copied down. Basically Porky can't understand what Daffy is trying to say, so Daffy offers a completely different helpful analogy.]</i><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's just like you're merman, that's 700 feet tall, </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And you're looking for a lady merman, to love.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<br />
<i>[aside - spoken]</i><br />
Porky: Don't you mean Mermaid?<br />
Daffy: Don't interrupt<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the ocean is a massive place, </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And there's not a lot of lady mermen, </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So in order to increase your chances </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You travel to the Undersea Merman Mall</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's where fish and mollusks go to find love. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And you find a female merman who is working at a kiosk</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Selling cellphone covers and personalized key chains. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your hand brushes one of her tentacles and she just melts inside.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The manager gets insanely jealous </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And stabs you with his trident and you're dead. </span></b><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">[unknown voice]</span></i><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> (S</b><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">tabs you with his trident and you're dead.)</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's how you know you're in loooooooove!</span></b><br />
<div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Daffy - who knew! Every once in awhile, he just gets it. As crazy as this song sounds - that's exactly what it's like!!!</div><div><br />
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</div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">UPDATE!</span></div><div><br />
November 19<br />
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</div><div>I finally found the video so you can watch it for yourself! I did a good job of describing, if I do't say so myself. </div><div><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/gOo8aBv2tEI?rel=0" width="480"></iframe><br />
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</div>Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-46553840664202354652011-11-02T07:39:00.000-04:002011-11-02T07:39:21.848-04:00If it's a bluff<blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><i>If it's a bluff it's a damn good bluff, and should be awarded credit. But what if it's not? There's no way to bring it up without showing weakness myself, if I'm wrong. I'll figure out a way. And if not, well, that's when you take out the big stick and head back into the jungle. </i></span></blockquote>Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-13853268553992017272011-10-17T17:17:00.011-04:002011-10-17T20:46:24.500-04:00Imagine Herman Cain<span style="color: #274e13; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>[The following has nothing to do with politics in a traditional sense, either mine, yours or Mr. Cain's. It's more about how people make major decisions in their lives.]</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWPpVIhdD1rV7mE5rLaxr0ZEdnLdgWc6l7c5-T66bViNb0T41aEWgVCpwU1bvv5Y_onjks2oJZuumm0liUMxqPVS9THZ46hcRHQVuomsRWALNWUMr3eTNUFFyfU3TBQKmI_OAyg/s1600/Cain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWPpVIhdD1rV7mE5rLaxr0ZEdnLdgWc6l7c5-T66bViNb0T41aEWgVCpwU1bvv5Y_onjks2oJZuumm0liUMxqPVS9THZ46hcRHQVuomsRWALNWUMr3eTNUFFyfU3TBQKmI_OAyg/s1600/Cain.jpg" /></a> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Herman Cain is a great story, but we all know he will not get the nomination, let alone the presidency. He will never fit the mold of expected conventionality the way Perry, Romney, or even Obama does.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It's too bad for Cain's sake that he does not have someone with once-in-a-generation bravery and imagination working for him, because the video below - back when Cain worked for the pizza industry, is goofy, inoffensive, and funny, but more than that, holds the one small sliver of out-of-the-box thinking that might get Cain to "stick" in people's minds the way that is necessary to get elected in the new world. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am telling you with 100% sincerity that Herman Cain should start singing at all his campaign appearances. It would defy everything we know. It would make him a laughingstock, a source of constant late-night derision, angst and troubling echoes to a sordid racially charged past for American Entertainment and politics.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And it just might make Herman Cain the next president. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I know, you don't agree with me. I barely agree with me, and I'm a genius. It's so counter-intuitive that it's almost impossible to wrap your head around.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">People, the president is not your Mommy. He's not your Daddy, though that's what people seem to think, what they hope for. The president has never had the control over the Economy that people think. Read the Constitution: it's not even in his job description.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">If the past 20 years have taught us nothing else - and they haven't - it's that the president cannot solve your problems, no matter how much you want him to. At some point people will grasp this on an unconscious level, even if they do not agree. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So what does that leave?</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In the modern world, people need their president to give them something else, something different, not forced down their throats on the advice of marketing experts, but a part of who they are, a part that sticks out, gives people something else to think about. This is why the myriad low-grade controversies that followed Clinton actually helped him, they made him memorable and interesting. People don't want to consider the idea that they pick their president in the same way that they pick what to watch on Thursday Night TV, but they do.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Whatever politics and priorities a candidate says he has change once he becomes president, and is forced to deal with the reality, not the theory of his lofty goals. Whatever is left gets compromised - sometimes out of recognition, with his opponents, with the changing needs of the country and public zeitgeist, and that which does get put into Law never acts according to how it was drawn up.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In other words, the practical, real-world relationship a person has with their president is by far most influenced by the quality of the four-year reality show that the modern presidency is. The jokes. The family. The controversies. The scandals. The Fashion. The president's hobbies, his hopes, his tone of voice. How he ages in front of us, how he handles the big moments, how he handles disappointment, how he is able to surprise us, stir us, and simply stay on our minds.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Herman Cain could be that man. He won't do it and who could blame him? He wants what every candidate wants, to be taken seriously. No one running for president, particularly an African American, wants to be seen as a sideshow, Tonight's Entertainment.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But ironically, whether they admit it or not, that's what people are looking for. Imagine that.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/keHMLOyx_hQ?rel=0" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lyrics to Herman Cain's Pizza Beatles montage:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Imagine there's no pizza</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I couldn't if I tried</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eating only tacos</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or Kentucky Fried</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Imagine only burgers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's frightening and sad</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You're lucky you have pizza</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To feed for kids for you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Only frosting or cookies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And no dishes you must do</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Imagine eating pizza</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Each and every day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You may say that it's junk food</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But to me it's so much more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It gives my life its meaning</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And it makes a lot of dough</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Imagine mozzarella</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anchovies on the side</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And maybe, pepperoni</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rounds out your pizza pie</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Imagine getting pizza</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Delivered to your door</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You don't have to give up now</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On my skateboard I will go</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll be back in 30 minutes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just bought Dominoes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All I am saying</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is give pizza a chance</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All I am saying</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Give pizza a chance!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All I am saying</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is give pizza a chance</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All I am saying</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You've got to, got to give pizza a chance!</span><br />
<div><br />
</div>Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-33470820082384902782011-10-12T02:52:00.014-04:002011-10-13T20:03:43.622-04:003rd String Humor<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>This is excerpted from a post on my Fantasy Football Message Board, the only place I write anythin</i></span><i style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">g anymore, it would seem. In a few places I have added end-notes to explain what would otherwise be lost out-of-context.</i></span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbTGj-1DXGuznXqQzqObdWFuffDNIW2KPDLNVSLHrxzxXN2nHNP-rJQyRNuNrNLgWrxfPnfi2CAIdDSYlVQfSq_je69TysRF6LhAsX7NfoH4a1YJ3kz918unMw_Kj6Gl6WkZKDg/s1600/Pylons2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbTGj-1DXGuznXqQzqObdWFuffDNIW2KPDLNVSLHrxzxXN2nHNP-rJQyRNuNrNLgWrxfPnfi2CAIdDSYlVQfSq_je69TysRF6LhAsX7NfoH4a1YJ3kz918unMw_Kj6Gl6WkZKDg/s400/Pylons2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Cletus [someone in the League: all names have been changed] has a friend named Ponyboy, whom I'm convinced Cletus keeps around for the sole contingency of one day needing someone to frame for Murder.<br />
<br />
A few years ago Cletus fiendishly engineered the events of my life to lead to a point where I was forced to spend a large amount of time with Ponyboy, in what I can only figure was scientific experiment to see how far someone (me) could be pushhed before snapping and going on a 12-state killing spree.<br />
<br />
But that's a story for another day. The reason Ponyboy sprang to mind vis a vis this debate(*1) is the one funny moment I ever experienced around Ponyboy (at least the one funny moment that didn't involve him getting hustled for $400 by a long-in-the-tooth stripper and then asking for a partial refund when he proved unable to achieve full tumescence, but I digress), involved his basketball career.<br />
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He told me that in Middle School he'd been on the basketball team and was a few rungs below a Cullen Brother(*2) on the Ability Ladder. (Don't try to picture this metaphorical ladder. M.C. Escher would drive himself mad trying to create it.)<br />
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Ponyboy's coach was one of those overbearing redfaced glory-of-war types (somewhere Bear is thinking, "I bet HE wouldn't care about a thousand dollars on the line in his fantasy league!"(*3)) who took the games very seriously. The coach had nothing but antipathy for his less-than-skilled players, and if you remember back to your Middle School Days (which in the case of Papa Akers might necessitate a rotogravure(*4)), you will recall that there were very few "athletes' who had developed much skill. <br />
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Consequently, the Coach loathed everyone but his starters (and even then, his feelings about his starting Center were akin to those of a man whose daughter is dating a line cook from Applebees, but "only until his band Redheaded Stepmonkey(*5) gets signed to a record deal which they totally will because they are so amazing, Daddy, you should hear them I bet you would really like them!"). Coach had little or no use for his second team, and would derisively call them "The Pylons" - a tribute to their inability to move on Defense (or Offense, or out of a huddle, for that matter); a clever name that would in no way stick to an unimpressionable hard-as-nails seventh grader.(*6)<br />
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Ponyboy, as he told me, was in the third-string, a motley bunch with the collective skil level considerably below even the second team. <br />
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One might imagine the self-esteem of a Girls Gone Wild Reunion Tour(*7), but Ponyboy confided this wasn't the case. The boys knew they were bad, and in all likelihood did not really want to play, and were only doing so to please a father, etc. And where the Coach needled the second team relentlessly, he at least had the action-plan that perhaps the second-stringers would be motivated by his mockery and become better players. But the coach saw the third string as so far beneath even the second-stringers that he wouldn't even spare them the energy of a withering glare. As far as the coach was concerned they didn't exist, which suited them just fine. <br />
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Ponyboy told me that the 3rd string had even developed a gallows humor cameraderie of sorts. The second string was so bad (according to the Coach) that they were The Pylons - what did that make the 3rd string? The name they develped for themselves was "The Pylons' Replacements." <br />
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As much as I hated that man, you gotta admit, that's pretty damn funny. <br />
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Notes<br />
*1 <span style="background-color: transparent;">I cut all that out; you couldn't possibly care about it; involved the morality of benching a player on Monday Night if you already had your week's match-up won and didn't want to risk negative points.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
</span><br />
*2 N<span style="background-color: transparent;">ot the Vampire family, although now that I've renamed them for anonymity's sake, I wish we DID call them the Cullen Brothers</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
</span><br />
*3 This refers to the cut-our morality debate<br />
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*4 I was trying to use a reference that would jokingly call him old (he's the oldest guy in our league, being the commissioner's father), but I didn't do a great job there.<br />
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*5 Redheaded Stepmonkey would make a really great band name.<br />
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*6 This is sarcasm, in case you're totally lost by my random writing stylingz, or are Australian and genetically incapable of understanding it.<br />
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*7 If you can't figure out why the girls in Girls Gone Wild videos likely have low self-esteem then you're probably stupid. Send me a picture of yourself topless and I will help you feel smart and good about yourself. (Offer does not apply to dudes, Cletus.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf1FBejwYG9zSF3-0S0l27TZ4uJ4vB5PVjhhNPzEqmK9McoqgnfrArAIOZPdFj_mxIUSm5Z9uo1OUkMhgDmgBsCjNq8pRE5ld-3NHkv8UO7CA8reRJNy5oz3WCEiFOUkc-rkD4lg/s1600/pylonshirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf1FBejwYG9zSF3-0S0l27TZ4uJ4vB5PVjhhNPzEqmK9McoqgnfrArAIOZPdFj_mxIUSm5Z9uo1OUkMhgDmgBsCjNq8pRE5ld-3NHkv8UO7CA8reRJNy5oz3WCEiFOUkc-rkD4lg/s400/pylonshirt.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-44142993879136450742011-10-05T07:30:00.002-04:002011-10-05T07:30:52.455-04:00Giant Weasel<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am NOT a weasel, but if I Was a weasel, I would be a Giant Weasel, as opposed to a tiny weasel. Why? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One should never trust the lesser of two weasels.</span>Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-53133432381982131862011-09-11T18:18:00.002-04:002011-09-11T18:18:56.795-04:00Short political rant, fomented while watching 9/11 anniversary coverage<blockquote><span style="font-size: large;"><i>There are few things more depressing than realizing I live in a world where sycophantic fuckwits like P. Begalia & B. Kristol are considered experts at anything other than reading whatever propagandistic afterbirth is placed in front of them, while I can't get so much as a reach-around on my infinitely better analysis...on everything. </i></span></blockquote>Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-90420577510625054052011-07-08T22:51:00.070-04:002011-07-10T17:13:12.461-04:00Friday Night Dinner<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I somehow got roped into making Family Dinner. This vexed me, but it was hard to blame my kin completely. I am a Master in the Kitchen, at least when it comes to creative ideas. The only reason I do not cook more often is my broken battered body which cannot hold up to the rigors of fast-paced culinary powers - or hell, even standing!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The only way I could really make it work was to prepare the food in shifts, all day long, with down-time in between each stage so that I could mini-recover. This necessity lended itself well to the idea of a salad, which has many ingredients that are prepared separately and thrown together at the end. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first thing I did was freeze a pound of <b>brown-sugar bacon</b>, to make it easier to cut. Then I chopped it up into little pieces (although they were sticking together in their line, but soon separated) and fried them up in two batches. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKmZie7nQbP_65E1RGqKUa8bLeWY5M1tF2RxzvC3Qe6P9akCtbxb9oMn8O8V339SMyQBh1rIsWOl2EeRDBAnt4kBwXMS-aDSy2yhlRHTVF_-s1XBD53qFJ9Yk74ICYGeCARX0eQ/s1600/Salad_jam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKmZie7nQbP_65E1RGqKUa8bLeWY5M1tF2RxzvC3Qe6P9akCtbxb9oMn8O8V339SMyQBh1rIsWOl2EeRDBAnt4kBwXMS-aDSy2yhlRHTVF_-s1XBD53qFJ9Yk74ICYGeCARX0eQ/s200/Salad_jam.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While the bacon was crisping I opened four little tubs of <b>Sweet N' Sour sauce</b> I had leftover from Burger King. (I may be poor but I'm creatively efficient, or efficiently creative; not sure which.) To the Sweet 'N' Sour I added some <b>Teriyaki marinade</b> from the fridge (I wanted to add Soy, but there was none; not even little packets from Chinese take-out!) and a little bit of <b>corn syrup</b>. I then added some <b>Raspberry Preserves jam</b> and a few grinds of the pepper mill and started stirring. When the bacon was all cooked off I poured the <b>hot grease</b> into my little concoction and stirred like mad to make an emulsification for my dressing. (Because the bacon grease was hot, and because the temperature in the house was so blasted hot, the emulsification kept breaking, but I would just restir each time to satin it back up.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I put the bacon pieces in paper towels to soak up excess grease and to cool. After a short rest I started heating water. While that was happening I peeled <b>two mangos</b> and cut them up into little pieces. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When the water was boiling I added <b>six packages of Ramen</b>. After a couple of minutes I poured the noodles into a collander and put the pan back on the stove. I added two tablespoons of butter (which melted readily in the super hot pan). I added the noodles back into the pan, added a little more butter and tossed the noodles around. After a minute I added the six flavor packets (chicken), and tossed very thoroughly to evenly coat the spices. I spread the ramen out on my cutting plastic to cool. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(Like an idiot I put a napkin on top to protect the ramen, and when I removed it I had a bunch stuck to the napkin, which I had to pull off one noodle at a time and eat myself.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once the ramen was cooled and dried out a little I chopped it up a good bit, since long strands would not be condusive to salad. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I now had done most of my prep. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB6EUCuEdGYbqIuB1vPKLmFBYRBWap-AZdYDMzTFOsPTo13vDsLSoVdH72A1Q2o5VCZEjTqKXkcCYCIJkKHSBZmk_9hNzWZW2ljqGYOhZXoFs8c3SxQ6i5ZZR8Q6U7NG2TrCaLw/s1600/salad_cart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB6EUCuEdGYbqIuB1vPKLmFBYRBWap-AZdYDMzTFOsPTo13vDsLSoVdH72A1Q2o5VCZEjTqKXkcCYCIJkKHSBZmk_9hNzWZW2ljqGYOhZXoFs8c3SxQ6i5ZZR8Q6U7NG2TrCaLw/s320/salad_cart.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I went to the store - on a Friday night, me! - and knew that I would never make it without the cripple cart. I have never used one in the daytime, which basically means i haven't been in a grocery store during the day in years. It felt weird. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I picked up two packages of <b>Asian-style Teriyaki-Honey boneless wings</b> (about 16 oz.) in the deli. I also got 2 pints of <b>grape tomatoes</b> and a bunch of <b>organic red-leaf lettuce</b>. (I already had <b>Romaine-in-a-bag</b>, but I wasn't sure that was enough.)</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHut9oXK7BKwN5UhCD-dSnqosZS-eF0qzoLX8guzkJTJIsRqMTWsbK1Lv0VXAkc-TCHsR8rYhS28QcJG1QrcGgs3eMGAdkazcHLFYloeyqG73xNFAya3LywAqOLa8XzUOOAOfEQ/s1600/salad_almonds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHut9oXK7BKwN5UhCD-dSnqosZS-eF0qzoLX8guzkJTJIsRqMTWsbK1Lv0VXAkc-TCHsR8rYhS28QcJG1QrcGgs3eMGAdkazcHLFYloeyqG73xNFAya3LywAqOLa8XzUOOAOfEQ/s200/salad_almonds.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXpBOWhWXRQN0kUcFnksK32XrQym9eiN4OHU23TQ71OsT58pywsNBV39CCwHc7Fu8gDRGFTT4Uj2-1BF7bV2fac-bXTm8aQIvbJowOSxA2xZKPs_heRZUEdkh0MyYUZkSrqAvG9g/s1600/salad_shreddedcarrots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXpBOWhWXRQN0kUcFnksK32XrQym9eiN4OHU23TQ71OsT58pywsNBV39CCwHc7Fu8gDRGFTT4Uj2-1BF7bV2fac-bXTm8aQIvbJowOSxA2xZKPs_heRZUEdkh0MyYUZkSrqAvG9g/s200/salad_shreddedcarrots.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I couldn't get just one carrot (my plan was to shred it), but I found <b>shredded carrots</b> for only $0.99 so that was good. I wanted to buy pistachio pieces but I could only find in the shell and whole - a small tin was ten bucks! I ended up getting a Blue Diamond tin of <b>Honey Roasted almonds</b>. I ended up smashing half up into little bits and leaving half of them whole. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got to the house and dried the organic lettuce (they keep that stuff wet!) best I could. I chopped it up and added it to the romaine. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My biggest problem now was that I didn't have a bowl big enough for all this. I ened up having to take some of the lettuce out, and in the end I'm not sure I shouldn't have just skipped the lettuce and called it a pasta!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxUh6LdhVdSQxKVyd4FJ8s5GiW7wU0vsn8tDlSTLmrfaUFhwktCqo1FxwPKzku2tUPAVERYVnaaNy4TCk5EYljV7ZS6Pgbnr10J6egDct4sTItlJvJjLDjMnTN0pT-QpbO6kB3w/s1600/Salad_raisins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxUh6LdhVdSQxKVyd4FJ8s5GiW7wU0vsn8tDlSTLmrfaUFhwktCqo1FxwPKzku2tUPAVERYVnaaNy4TCk5EYljV7ZS6Pgbnr10J6egDct4sTItlJvJjLDjMnTN0pT-QpbO6kB3w/s200/Salad_raisins.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I chopped up the boneless wings into bite-sized pieces and added them to the lettuce, along with the bacon, cold ramen, almonds, mangoes, tomatoes, shredded carrots and...I'm forgetting something. Oh yeah, <b>golden raisins!</b> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQthdVj90z1QRntgvycB2JmdL5_9m2AXQzU8rT8DaZHREL7ZzvCvhurFQpLdu1fGX_YpWG3z73CB7FNV-rsQ4a9pMtG7-mPxrcZuXJZEwXBNlhljemx0GetaybhUxXTxG586eOg/s1600/Salad_bostoncreampie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQthdVj90z1QRntgvycB2JmdL5_9m2AXQzU8rT8DaZHREL7ZzvCvhurFQpLdu1fGX_YpWG3z73CB7FNV-rsQ4a9pMtG7-mPxrcZuXJZEwXBNlhljemx0GetaybhUxXTxG586eOg/s200/Salad_bostoncreampie.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Also, I bought a Boston Cream Cake for dessert. (It was half off, just like the chicken. I often get meats or bakery items that way when they are day-old. Hey, they are still good to me!) My dad told me it was actually called a <b>Boston Cream Pie</b>, even though it was a cake. I'd heard of BCP, of course, but never seen one, so I learned something there. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pn-mxtcqFQRFmRixhdSZ7U1-C5EoYklJmnSD24b2-s2Zuc94XXWfw93w5rlHASyEFpPX-Onxbd39WonvwTq8-doERwOLC9XXNK3gEf_bgTgZVzwWsgCP8OAPG6-5fCToMXoXeQ/s1600/Salad_Jonesblackcherrysoda.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pn-mxtcqFQRFmRixhdSZ7U1-C5EoYklJmnSD24b2-s2Zuc94XXWfw93w5rlHASyEFpPX-Onxbd39WonvwTq8-doERwOLC9XXNK3gEf_bgTgZVzwWsgCP8OAPG6-5fCToMXoXeQ/s200/Salad_Jonesblackcherrysoda.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To drink I got J<b>ones Sugar-Free Black Cherry soda</b>. I like Jones because they put pictures on the bottles, cans and packages that customers send in. I had to search a long time because my brother will not touch aspartame, but luckily Jones had sucalose so it was all good. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everyone seemed to love the salad, so I guess I did well. I blew my entertainment budget for the entire month. (Sorry, Optimus Prime and Hermione), and I may not be able to walk across my room for at least a week, but it made my family happy and gave them good memories and....well, that's not doing it for me right now, but I'm sure there's an upside I'm not seeing. </span><br />
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</span>Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-26487257647635257852011-06-23T18:48:00.000-04:002011-06-23T18:48:31.006-04:00not new, but refurbishedI have a new template for this site (my third re-design in 48 hours!) and a new name. It's not much, but I suck at templates, so for me it's big. <br />
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I will explain the new name later, after sleep. I'm not sure how I'm still even alive, let alone awake. <br />
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In case you're curious, I redid four of my templates in the last week - After Dark Tales, Movie Hype, Hyperion Chronicles, and this one. (I'm too tired and can't see well enough to link them in this post, but they are all at the top of the page.)<br />
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Ok, sleep, then explanation, I hopeHyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-20632465347194500542011-06-18T00:25:00.002-04:002011-06-18T00:25:58.613-04:00Story of my life...I feel ya, Charlie Brown. I feel ya.....<br />
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<img src="http://www.arcamax.com/newspics/20/2078/207896.gif"" />Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-71259653906291132682011-06-12T12:36:00.000-04:002011-06-12T12:36:42.712-04:00Instructions for When I Die<img src="http://www.arcamax.com/newspics/20/2060/206002.gif" />Hyperionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09918089288365164048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28473622.post-58523293124183090252011-06-02T10:23:00.000-04:002011-06-02T10:23:39.200-04:00Where does Shaq rank historically?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQnJnBeTliPdlnyIhPc6GnfljEoQLfcQ7Yq6Etxhf3hpBz14D0FfKeE3yK8Vkeer63hmdfWNZU_yorOUeKjyGeUmjciGorov7A-h7MdF9Nny4i26FScoV4CtRsc2qnZxVwlwBow/s1600/ShaqPainting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQnJnBeTliPdlnyIhPc6GnfljEoQLfcQ7Yq6Etxhf3hpBz14D0FfKeE3yK8Vkeer63hmdfWNZU_yorOUeKjyGeUmjciGorov7A-h7MdF9Nny4i26FScoV4CtRsc2qnZxVwlwBow/s400/ShaqPainting.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="366" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I first heard that Shaquille O'Neal was retiring my knee-jerk reaction was, "He's in the Top Ten of all time, for sure." </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The problem is that we tend to think qualitatively without fully integrating quantitative factors. I can vividly remember being in college and M*A*S*H was on every night at 11:30 and 12:00. If my friend Jason Apple missed an episode he would ask me where it ranked and I would always say "Top Five." I wasn't being flippant; when I saw the episode that was my first reaction. Of course, at some point it dawned on me, "Wait, these can't ALL be Top Five episodes!"</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJA8xsXb7BaWNXhjONmKnC5VMvAsdtsqtwho0INmUrYCTaRNqtvV_pm64wDsfD-AYl1qtiehe1uG3jhYKXIfF10QA7azRlne24QOQg8ITN56xVKbBaf0Mfw36V72-dpXOuywNWrw/s1600/Shaq1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJA8xsXb7BaWNXhjONmKnC5VMvAsdtsqtwho0INmUrYCTaRNqtvV_pm64wDsfD-AYl1qtiehe1uG3jhYKXIfF10QA7azRlne24QOQg8ITN56xVKbBaf0Mfw36V72-dpXOuywNWrw/s400/Shaq1.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="281" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And this is the problem with Shaq, one of my favorite players to watch (in his prime) ever, partly because I played the same position, partly because Shaq came of age when I played in high school and sports therefore meant the most to me, partly because of his generosity off the court and partly because of his larger-than-life personality and style. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>But can Shaq really be Top Ten all time? I want to believe, but it's a hard case to make</b>. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[The following is a quick-take analysis, not meant to be comprehensive, and drawing upon the assumption that the reader is very familiar with the people, careers and eras to which I refer. Other people have written entire articles and books ranking players with more data and scope; I'm just giving quick short-hand on the problem of ranking things by "feel".]</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If we look at the list of Greatest Players of all time, and limit ourselves to those no longer playing, just about everyone would have the following eight people in some order. (I'm using alphabetical, so as to not get bogged down on how this group should be divided, which is a separate argument we can have another time): </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><blockquote style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Bird, Chamberlain, Jordan, Kareem, Magic, Robertson, Russell, West</b></span></span></blockquote><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As great as Shaq was, it's hard to imagine a knowledgeable person putting him ahead of any of those immortals. But here's where it gets tough. There are three more names of retired players that go into the discussion: </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Olajuwon, Moses Malone, Mikan</b></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgL1U7_T-DuF2zBHox_SSdTNaNiflRlipPoITCsQRufoDbZJ-RqXNJs430PzpSRrXLBxfs7o7ZyEbT5znQ4dsbUtgMRjhAmsU_Po1Jq01Delz8noP0b4B4dkpCNUG-xpKDNMX6Q/s1600/Mikan1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgL1U7_T-DuF2zBHox_SSdTNaNiflRlipPoITCsQRufoDbZJ-RqXNJs430PzpSRrXLBxfs7o7ZyEbT5znQ4dsbUtgMRjhAmsU_Po1Jq01Delz8noP0b4B4dkpCNUG-xpKDNMX6Q/s320/Mikan1.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="254" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mikan is by far the hardest to grade. By any fair definition, the Mount Rushmore of Greatest NBA centers would have Mikan, Russell, Chamberlain and Kareem, leaving Shaq off entirely. Yet Shaq was a better player, which seems contradictory, but I don't know how to put it any better. (The short answer is that we are supposed to judge players in their era, and Mikan was as dominant in his as anyone in any sport EVER, yet his game is so untranslatable today that it's hard to imagine him playing for a Division 1 college team. You think the Refs has different rules for how they called fouls for and against Shaq? They invented the Shot Clock to stop Mikan.)</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mikan's case is so troubling I don't even know what to do with it, but that's just the beginning. We still have Olajuwon and Malone. (By the way, it irks me that I had to put Moses Malone, but I knew if I didn't some moron would think I meant Karl Malone. Sigh.)</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm willing to say Shaq is definitively better than Malone, and while I'm willing to discuss, that's pretty much settled in my head. But that means (if we're counting Mikan), Shaq woudl be #10, and that's only if you rank him ahead of Olajuwon. No one who knows the game of basketball can be comfortable just saying that one way or the other. You might have a view on it, but you'd at least want to think it over. Shaq was more dominant, Olajuwon was more skilled. Shaq won four titles to Hakeem's two (and those two came during Jordan's hiatus), but one of Olajuwon's titles came against Shaq's Magic, and even though Shaq was still very young then, it's at least a head-to-head. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But even then we have another HUGE problem. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYReojRZ3KfAtySOKhEGR__ysgBZma0pLv0zsZGzOD7he-VHCc1x7Rao51U8QSVvAKu62X9WE5gntTQLMc66tXDFE1IYSokM4Qwt9nITohJSj4_ul_up1YEJcOz6lhw2J_OaJbHw/s1600/shaqduncankobe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYReojRZ3KfAtySOKhEGR__ysgBZma0pLv0zsZGzOD7he-VHCc1x7Rao51U8QSVvAKu62X9WE5gntTQLMc66tXDFE1IYSokM4Qwt9nITohJSj4_ul_up1YEJcOz6lhw2J_OaJbHw/s400/shaqduncankobe.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are two players playing today that most likely have to go ahead of Shaq, or at least when they retire they will - <b>Duncan and Kobe</b>. Duncan played in the same era as Shaq, but much like Olajuwon it's hard to say one way or another. Both won four rings. Duncan was more consistent and (arguably) a better teammate; Shaq was more dominant and at his apex better. It's a tough call. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But that leaves Kobe, and, as much as it pains me to write these words, the last few years (not to mention the reasonable expectation that he has a couple of good to near-great years left) have moved Kobe past Shaq. I hate writing that. You can't know how much I hate writing that. At one point a few years ago I felt that the argument was absurd, but I gotta be honest, even if I don't like it. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To sum up, even if we ignore the historically vexing case of George Mikan, and even if we just declare Shaq better than Duncan and Olajuwon (which I'm not willing to do, and again - how could anyone feel comfortable being definitive about it), the highest we could possibly rank Shaq would be #10, and we wouldn't be able to sleep knowing we had cheated to do so. And even if we could somehow talk ourselves into Mikan not mattering and the Olajuwon/Duncan hit-jobs, we still couldn't rest easy, because of what's coming.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No one can know what the future holds, but if we look at the NBA today we at least get sort of an idea of what's on the horizon. Will Durant one day be an all-time great? Maybe Chris Paul? Maybe Nowitzki if he keeps up this pace for a year or two, and maybe the Chicago Deez Boyz - D Rose or D Wade....all possibilities, but not likely to pass Shaq on the All-time list. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, c'mon. We all know (or suspect, or cringe; however you feel about him) that it's only a matter of time, a couple of pieces of hardware, until another name goes right past Shaq and crashes that Hallowed Top 8, scrapping with Kobe over entrance to the Top 5 and even beyond. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All of which leaves poor Shaq out of the Top 10. He'll probably be okay with that. After all, he can rap. He can wrestle, and if there's not a badass action franchise out there for him I'll eat my hat. Shaq will find his way, and we'll soon tell him how his third act tastes.....</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I miss him already. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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