Some of My Favorite Things of 2010

2010 sucked. Not just for me, others unfortunately suffered 2010's suckiness as well, but I'm speaking for myself when I say that last year seemed to be one long train wreck starting in January. If you feel the same, thanks, misery enjoys company, as they say. Despite all the hard times, I still managed to have myself a pretty darn good time. I'm a, “the glass is half full” kinda guy. I thought I'd share some of my favorite things from the past year, if for no other reason than to remind myself that it wasn't all bad. And it wasn't, so here goes:

Favorite Movie of 2010

I believe there were 651 movies released in the U.S. in 2010, and I managed to see less than one percent. Still, I saw some pretty awesome movies this past year and Inception was my favorite. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World was a close second, but Inception edged it out. I'm not sure Christopher Nolan has made a bad movie, and if he has I haven't seen it. Yeah, it had some eye popping special effects, but the intricate and engaging plot is what sold me on it. Though a blockbuster release, it wasn't saddled with the usual blockbuster cheese that many suffer from, meaning it wasn't cheesy like Avatar. It's a smart movie that sucks you in with a great story and great characters. When the final credits roll you've had yourself one heck of a movie experience. And Leonardo DiCaprio didn't look like a kid playing a grown up this time.

Favorite Album of 2010

Do we still call them albums? Should I call it a CD?

As I went through the albums I purchased in 2010 (yes, I'm one of the few people that still buys their music and doesn't pirate it) I was aghast to find out that none of them were actually released in 2010! I have several from 2009 that I assumed were released in 2010 because that's when I purchased them. Silly me. With that, let me tell you my favorite album released in 2009, but purchased in 2010; Gov't Mule's Hanging By a Thread. Warren C. Haynes and company never fail to produce pure listening bliss. Hanging By a Thread simply jams from one tune to the next and is all I need to enter the blessed state of a musical coma. Haynes virtuosic guitar playing can be missed in a market saturated by shredders that play as many notes per measure as they humanly can, but no one seems to reveal the soul of the guitar like Haynes, and Hanging By a Thread proves the point. If you're a music fan, do yourself a favor and check The Mule out.

Favorite Book of 2010

I thought I was going to be in the same boat with books as I was with albums. I wound up reading older books this year, like To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, which, for some reason, I didn't read in junior high school like the rest of the U.S. It's a great book. Also, a friend recommended Stranger In a Strange Land, by Robert A. Heinlein, also a great book. Still, I did manage to read a few books actually released in 2010, my favorite being, Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, by Seth Grahame-Smith. It's a little jaunt through some revisionist history where we see the events that shaped the young Abe into the man that would become one of the greatest presidents of the United States. And if you thought The Civil War was fought over the evil of slavery, well I suggest you give this book a read and find out the real reason! Plus, Lincoln is an ax wielding maniac with a blood lust for vampires. What's not to like?

Favorite Concert of 2010

I had the pleasure of attending some great concerts this past year. A missed a few, too, like Gov't Mule three different times, but alas. This one was a little tough for me because I had two shows that rival to be the best concert I've ever attended, Porcupine Tree and Rush. I saw Porcupine Tree in the smallish and intimate House of Blues, where you feel like your on stage with the band. The mix and guitar tones are the best I've ever heard live, and with a two hour, plus set, I left the venue punch drunk on some progressive rock. I saw Rush in a huge amphitheater where the best view of the band was on the massive screens flanking the stage. But the show had everything, from great videos to accompany the songs to freakin' explosions! Their lighting rig loomed over the stage like a gargantuan robot, flexing with the music. They played everything off of the Moving Pictures album, plus about a million other songs. By the time the show was over, I felt like I'd been pummeled in a three hour pillow fight. With that, Rush gets my nod for favorite concert. Really, the pyrotechnics put them over the top, but hey, I'm a man who appreciates a good explosion. 

Favorite Video Game of 2010

I played some great games this past year.  Roaming the virtual wild, wild west of Red Dead Redemption was pretty neat, and there's something very satisfying about dismembering the infected with a chainsaw in Left 4 Dead 2, but my favorite goes to Super Mario Galaxy 2.  I think it's nothing less than platforming perfection!  Running around as Mario, then later as his brother Luigi, and jumping on Bowser's minions has never been so fun.  Well, Super Mario 64 for the N64 may still be my all time favorite, but Galaxy 2 is right up there in greatness.  The game goes from being super easy to so hard you wind up throwing your controller across the room!  I still have these two stars I just don't seem to have the reflexes to get, but that's one of the reasons the game is great; it keeps you coming back for more punishment...uh, I mean fun.  Nintendo's Wii console has wound up releasing a lot of crappy games since it hit the market, but when they do it right, it's the best, and Super Mario Galaxy 2 is just that, the best!

Favorite Culinary Experience of 2010

I had two finalist here, both of which I wrote about earlier in the year; Meg O'Malley's Irish Breakfast Burger and Munchie's 420 Café's Fat Daddy. The Irish Breakfast Burger is a half pound of charbroiled beef adorned with rashers (bacon), bangers (sausage), grilled tomatoes, caramelized onions, Dubliner cheese, and topped off with a fried egg. My taste buds were hopping with each delicious morsel. The Fat Daddy is this over stuffed monstrosity boasting a cheese burger, a philly cheese steak, chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, fried potato wedges and a complement of condiments. It was ridiculous, and very tasty. After much consideration, The Fat Daddy edged out the Irish Breakfast Burger simply because of the amount of food present. Amazingly, every element in the sandwich was distinguishable and complemented the whole, which I didn't think was possible. Plus, I had the worst stomach ache after The Fat Daddy, as I also finished off a side order of spuds and half of Mrs. Muller's cheese steak sandwich. I'm a glutton.

Alright, so I found myself sucking the hind tit most of last year, but 2010 had it's bright moments as well. I'm hoping 2011 will be better, and should be, all thing considered. Thankfully, I had a few pleasant excursions and came away with some good memories in 2010.

So, here's to new adventures and hopes of a wonderful new year! And if you don't have one, it's your fault. Just sayin'.

All the Present I Needed

Behold, The Incredible Hulk Coaster!

My daughter put me up to this post. For some reason she wants the blogosphere to know that she's overcome her fear of roller coasters and has ridden The Incredible Hulk Coaster at Universal Studios' Islands Of Adventure theme park. I have to admit I was a little miffed at first because she did it without me being there, but I got over that and am very proud of her. Congratulations Lili!

Actually, at the age of 14, she's one of the most awesome people I know, her triumph over The Hulk only adding to her awesomeness. She exhibits the kind of character and fortitude most parents dream of in their children. Personally, she's my calm in the storm of life and the one person I know I can go to when I need a bit of sanity. That's a lot to expect from a 14 year old, but she seems to shoulder the responsibility without a complaint. And she could complain, with what she's gone through.

RSD Awareness

Lili (my nickname for her) has a chronic condition called Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD), a neurological syndrome in which she experiences continuous pain even though there is no physical trauma. It's like the neurological wiring of the reflex sympathetic nervous system is short circuited. She describes the feeling in her left leg as being on fire. Like it's burning! It took a lot of physical therapy to get her to walk without crutches and then allow anything to touch her leg; pants, sheets, water from a bath, anything.

On top of physical therapy, she's had spinal blocks, which helped her into partial remission, and hyperbolic oxygen therapy, where she was subjected to a pressurized chamber that allowed her blood to be saturated with oxygen, in hopes of curing her. As she lay in that chamber, holding back tears, being strong for her mom and me, we both knew we'd made a mistake. All it accomplished were her tears and the drainage of my wallet.

Oh, and there was the nutritional supplement that supposedly cured everything. Well, it didn't cure anything, and further drained my wallet.

Our biggest fear is an injury to any part of her body, because the RSD could potentially spread to the injured area. Mrs. Muller and I actually fear roller coasters because of the whipping around and banging that goes on, all potential injuries. She recently had to miss her best friend's birthday party because it was a skate party and I couldn't chance an injury. I think she still holds that against me.

But she never complains.

The Muller and Lili

This year, when she was asked what she wanted for Christmas, she said the latest Taylor Swift CD. She knew money was very tight this year and didn't want to burden Mrs. Muller and I with the disappointment of not getting her what she really wanted, which was the the latest generation iPod Touch. Well, we did what many people do these days, we scrimped here and saved there, held that bill over 'til later, and got her the iPod Touch. I have to tell you, the look on her face when she opened it was all the present I needed on Christmas morning.

Hey, she's that awesome. Awesome enough to ride The Hulk, and awesome enough to get what she wanted for Christmas. She's let me play with it a little, too, so maybe she's over that birthday party thing after all.

Yeah, she might have put me up to this post, but I'm glad I did it. And did I mention she's awesome?

Please Make It Stop! A Short List of Annoying Christmas Songs

Nothing says, “Happy Birthday, Jesus,” quite like the incessant drone of Christmas music. One of the local radio stations in my neck of the woods starts the musical barrage Thanksgiving day and doesn't let up until December 26^th. Being that my family and I have succumbed to the avarice and hedonism that define the holiday season, I find myself confronted (or more aptly put, affronted) with all the musical Christmas joy one can stand. It's a wonder I don't go insane with all that joy.

With that, I thought I'd compile a short list of the songs I find most vexing. These tunes start out innocuous enough at the beginning, but by Christmas day are on my last olfactory nerve. The songs range from egregious to “please make it stop!”, but that order can change depending on my mood. I've also included a link to the song, because I can be sadistic like that. Enjoy!

Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey

Why is there an Italian Christmas donkey? Was there a donkey at the manger (that's where Jesus was born, for all you heathens)? Was it as obnoxious sounding as the one in the song? If it was, I'm sure Joseph would have run that thing out!  Kids love the silly songs, and I bet the first time I heard this one, like thirty years ago, I probably thought it was cute, too. But now, I just want it to shut up.

Christmas Shoes

Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful song and the story is very touching, but after getting all jacked up on Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer and The 12 Days of Christmas, this song is a killjoy! I thought Christmas was all about presents, parties, and other over indulgences. I know that to admit this I might have to turn in my man card, but this song has made me cry, and there's no crying at Christmas!

 Wonderful Christmas Time

Paul McCartney is a great song writer and performer, so it pains me to have to throw this one into the mix. My daughter loves this song and didn’t want me to include it, but that staccato synthesizer noise running throughout the song assaults my head like a jackhammer. And lyrically it's simply banal. Now, I like a humdrum Christmas song as much as the next guy, but this one gets irritating as it repeats, “simply having a wonderful Christmas time,” somewhere near 3000 times. I really want to, but not with this song playing.

Alvin and the Chipmunks:The Christmas Song

Do I really need to say anything here? Six year old’s love it, but it's "fingers to the chalkboard" for me. Ross Bagdasarian Sr., the creator and voice for the original Chipmunks, won a couple of Grammy awards for engineering that crazy chipmunk sound. I didn't know they handed out Grammys for sadism. My daughter likes this one too, and being a loving father I endure it for her sake. Barely.

Last Christmas

From the band, Wham! I could just pass this one off as some 80's pop pap if I heard it once or twice a holiday season, but they play it unmercifully all the time! George Michael whining about heartbreak simply does not encourage Christmas cheer!  And George creeping around public bathrooms looking for an “incidental hook-up” is bad, but it pales in comparison to the evil wrought by this supposed Christmas song. If I never hear this one again, it'll be too soon.

I'd like to make a few honorable mentions here; like Stevie Nick's scary rendition of Silent Night, Jars of Clay's odd sounding Little Drummer Boy and the tiresome Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. I'm sure you have your picks for most annoying Christmas songs, so let me know what they are. At this point in the holiday season there's a good chance I’ll agree with you.

And with that, I'd like to say to all of you that celebrate Christmas, have a good 'un. If you don't, well have a good 'un anyway.

A Gift For My Favorite Guitarist

I love music. Music is my drug of choice, the place I go when I need an escape, the poignancy in a sometimes pointless life. There's music for every moment, be it in the pit of despair or in the highest of euphoria, and all places in between. Music compliments and gives definition, it takes the mundane and makes it beautiful. I love music.

I exclude rap from my praise, as I have a tough time calling it music. That's just me.

I find that my favorite instrument to emote the grandeur of music is the guitar. Though not possessing the octave range of a piano, the guitar is the most versatile instrument for musical expression that I can think of. Every style of music can be more than adequately represented through it's strings and no other instrument can sing the soul of the musician like a guitar. It's also one of the most accessible instruments, in that it's easy to learn and inexpensive. I've heard some amazing music come from self taught musicians on cheap equipment.

My son, losing at Scrabble.

There is quite an impressive pantheon of great guitar players in the world with an equally impressive amount of work to keep an enthusiast like myself engrossed. And I have my favorites; Julian Bream, Phil Keaggy, Stevie Ray Vaughn, John Petrucci, just to name a few. I'm sure other guitar enthusiast are familiar with those names. Still, my favorite player is one you haven't heard about, maybe never will, but someone I have the distinct pleasure to listen to on a regular basis; my son.

I bet you didn't see that one coming, did you?

He's become an exceptional player. I think he got interested in the guitar from watching me play, though he might not admit that. I'm not very good, so after a year of lessons and practicing until his fingers were sore, he surpassed my meager abilities. My wife and I thought to get him some quality equipment one year for Christmas, an acoustic Washburn in our price range, and with that guitar he continued to excel. It was joyful to behold.

"Ghettocaster and "Good Acoustic" on an animal comforter.

Maybe three years ago now, I won an electric guitar at a raffle during The Winter Garden Music Festival here in my home town. It was a low end Fender Stratocaster, black with a white faceplate and poor electronics, but he took to it like he was in love. He dubbed it “The Ghettocaster” and it's known as such by all his friends to this day. Soon he was tearing through Stevie Ray Vaughn's work like I wish I could. David Gilmour was another favorite of his to learn, and I used to marvel to hear him play the lead to Comfortably Numb, arguably considered the greatest guitar lead of all time.

This year, Christmas spending has been limited, because my income is extremely limited. Still, I was able to find a gift I believe my son will enjoy and appreciate. It's a Lace Sensor Red Red Dually pickup for The Ghettocaster. He loves to modify The Ghettocaster and has turned it into something of a quality piece of equipment. Even though he practices to play like John Petrucci and Michael Romeo, he really wants to sound like Johnny Greenwood, and the Red Red Dually gets him closer to it.

I got the idea to buy him equipment after we visited a used music store that just opened by the Irish pub in town. We walked in and played guitars, some very nice one's, too, looked at amplifiers and drum kits. The owner escorted us about and told us to play anything we wanted. As we stood by a drum kit my son asked me, “So, do you still suck?” He was referring to the fact that I haven't played drums in a while. He picked up a Fender Telecaster and I drum sticks, and we jammed. The owner was also a drummer and joined in. We made a beautiful noise! My son picked this little number that alternated time signatures between 4/4 and 3/4, throwing off the owner, and me most of the time. After that he wanted to do “this thing I think is in 7/4”, giving use a chance to show off our drum licks and him his riffing ability. It was a blast! After the jam and leaving the store, he told me, “I really liked your fills. They were good.” I took that as quite a compliment coming from a musician of his talent.

I was able to find the Red Red Dually at a half off discount and knew it was the right gift. It was right for him, and it was right for my wallet. So, The Ghettocaster will get some further modifications and I'll get to hear more wonderful music. I'm pretty fortunate; I was able to find a great gift for my favorite guitar player, and I reap the benefit. Yeah, I'm fortunate, indeed.

Grocery Shopping (For Real)

Please don't tell Mrs. Muller, but I like to go grocery shopping with my daughter. For real.   If she finds out she'll insist I go all time.  I believe I'd have to turn in my man card then.  Sometimes it's difficult being a man.

When my daughter and I go shopping we always have a great time.  We break out our list (and like a real man, I never deviate from the list), wander up and down the isles shopping for bargains, comparing prices, trying to figure if we should go with the super sized item or if we can stay with the regular size, look at the lobster tank, and other shopping related things like that.  Sometimes we have minor disagreements, like when she cost me an extra $1.20 for yogurt because, "Yoplait is creamier!"  Whatever.  Still, we had a great time.

Bruce Campbell in Evil Dead 2.  Great movie!

On this last trip to the grocery store, I noticed a Universal Studios advertisement for Halloween Horror Nights on the door.  If you're not familiar with Halloween Horror Nights it's a late night Halloween party in the park where the main attractions are haunted houses and people dressed up in costumes trying to scare you.  Also, you hear Oingo Boingo's It's a Dead Man's Party just about everywhere.  I've been once and it was a hoot.  This guy with a chainsaw kept running after Mrs. Muller, making her scream like a lunatic.  That alone was worth the price of admission.

Anyway, the event is usually themed, sometimes after iconic horror movie miscreants,  and I wanted to see what this year's theme might be.  I walked up to the door, triggered the door's magical eye, and the door opened, hiding the ad behind another ad that was on a stationary wall of glass.  I stepped back, allowing the door to close, and tried to see this year's theme without triggering the automatic doors.  Naturally, I couldn't see it, so I stepped up to it again, tripping the door's magic eye, hiding the poster from view again.  I wasn't sure if I was on Candid Camera or not, but my daughter sure got the giggles.

The Dude!

As I stood there trying to riddle out a way to see the poster, a customer and her groceries were helped out the same door by a grocery store employee, hiding the ad once more, and leaving me bent over and my daughter giggling.  Now, I don't care much if people think I'm a dork, but my son does...and he works at the grocery store where this episode was taking place.  To give you an example, my son told me that I should not use the word "dude".  It's uncool.   I told him, "Dude, I don't really care what your friends might think of my use of the word 'dude.'"

"Dude."

Since he worked at that particular store I did think it better to stop trying and save him from the humiliation of my dorkiness.  It killed me, though.  I can't understand why they would put that ad on a door where no one would be able to read it.  Of course my daughter pointed out that each register had the same ad on it.  The theme is, "Fear Itself".  Indeed.

Save for a bit of dorkiness, we had a wonderful time grocery shopping once again.  I guess I'll do some more shopping in the future for Mrs. Muller, as long as Lili (that's my daughter's nickname) comes along.  I am going to talk to her about the yogurt thing, though.  I'm not sure creamier yogurt should cost a buck twenty more.  But, then again, she's worth it, so maybe I'll just over look it...one more time.

The Freakin' Four-way Stop

The concept is reasonable and quite simple.  At all four entry points of an intersection there is a stop sign with another sign below it indicating it's a four-way stop.  The first person to the intersection, after coming to a complete stop, goes through the intersection first.  There's not a lot required of the driver other than knowing who arrived at the intersection before you, waiting for those drivers to go, and then driving through the intersection once it's your turn.  Sweet and easy, right?  I wish.

I've actually categorized and named the different nabobs that confound and befuddle the four-way stop process.  This is either an indication that I have way too much time on my hands, or that I have a potential problem with road rage.  Maybe both.  Hopefully neither, but I'll let you, the dear reader, be the judge.

The Searcher


This just happened to me today and is the reason I'm in the tizzy that I'm in.  You pull up to the four-way stop after another car.  It continues to sit there as you wait for it to proceed.  However, you notice the driver is digging in their purse, or some such, perhaps rooting around the car, in search of something. In the incident I endured today a lady was tearing the front seat of her car out in search of something.  Right as I had figured I should just go, she popped up with her cell phone and darted into the intersection, causing me to slam on my breaks.  I"m guessing she talked on it the rest of the way to her destination, reeking havoc along the way.  I don't know her, but I don't think I like that woman.

The Uncommitted

This individual causes just about as much trouble as the searcher.  It's usually some little old lady that can barely see over the steering wheel.  It's her turn to go, but hesitates, causing the other drivers to wonder if she will ever go.  She gases it about the same time another driver does, causing both drivers to slam on their breaks.  She'll then slowly, and I mean slowly, creep out into the intersection, kind of testing the other drivers to see if they might try to go as well, before she steps on the gas and rolls through the intersection.  God love our grandmas, but dang if that ain't irritating!

The Stop-N-Go

It's a busy four-way intersection with lots of drivers just wanting to get home.  There are like five cars ahead of you.  You slowly make it up to the intersection and it's your turn to go when one of the other drivers rushes up to the intersection, does a Tennessee rolling stop (that's what we call it in our parts, I'm sure you have your own name for it) and blasts through the intersection, causing you to slam on your breaks.  I think the stop-n-go does it because they know the natural reflex of the other driver is to hit the breaks.  They drive off and could care less that it was your turn.  They're worst than the person who gets in the "10 Items or Less" lane at a grocery store with 15 items.  Actually, I think I dislike them both equally, now that I think about it.

The Director

You and three other drivers pull up to the four-way stop nearly simultaneously.  Someone will have to take the initiative and just go.  But it's not that simple because a crotchety old dude in a pickup truck decides he will direct the traffic flow.  I'm assuming it's arbitrary, but he'll point at the person he thinks should go first, then second, and so on.  It's not a bad thing he does it, it's better than the chaos of all four people going at the same time, I just wonder if I'll do that when I'm 80 years old.  I hope not.

The Short Stop

You and another car are pulling up to the four-way stop and it's obvious you'll be there before they will.  To compensate for this, the other driver will short stop the intersection, that is, stop way back of the intersection, in order to go before you. When I say short stop, I mean as much as ten feet before the intersection.  That dude has got to be in a real hurry to do that.  A stop-n-go will usually follow a short stop, making that person doubly infuriating.

The Abdicator

This person is just trying to be nice.  He pulls up, it's their turn to go, but they figure they'll be courteous and let the next person go.  By abdicating his turn, however, they have thrown the whole orderly process into chaos.  As has happened to me, I don't see the nice chap waving me through, so I sit there while other drivers get irritated that neither of us are going.  By the time I see the generosity being bestowed upon me, other drivers have taken the initiative and gone into the intersection, causing a gridlock that takes a few minutes to sort out.  If the abdicator would have simply gone when it was their turn everything would have been peachy.  Alas...

I know I should simply roll up to the four-way stop, take my turn and not let these folks get under my skin.  But I'm weak!  It just sticks in my craw!  I'm really not given to road rage, but dang if the four-way stop don't chap my hide!

Well, that's my rant and I feel better, my dear reader.  Thanks for indulging my harangue on the four-way stop.  Did I leave out anyone?  If so, let me know. Otherwise, happy and safe driving!

Urinal Cakes

Times are bad.  The Dow Jones Index closed under ten thousand again yesterday.  The stimulus package that was to create American jobs has done nothing more than cause traffic jams wherever the government has contracted road improvements.  Those jobs were called "shovel ready".  Too bad they'll take into the next century to finish.  American unemployment numbers are so bad that people are starting to think the Carter Presidency wasn't as terrible as they thought (That wasn't nice.  My dad really liked Carter.)  In the news I hear the phrase "double dip recession" about as much as I hear Obama blaming Bush...for everything.  Yeah, times are bad.

The Muller household is feeling the brunt of it as well.  I've taken a significant hit in my annual income.  Mrs. Muller has made adjustments, but sometimes it's not enough.  Just today she bought groceries.  Her receipt shows she spent $68.45 while saving $72.83.  Nice one, babe!  But at one point she considered having me killed in order to collect the life insurance payola.  Not nice, babe!  Fortunately, she came to her senses and realized I'm a keeper.  And I am.  Still, financial ruin and the threat of murder can cause a lot of stress.  I'm stressed.

That's why I was happy to see that my employer took an interest in my and my fellow cohorts mental well being.  It's the little things that make a difference.  It's the effort that shows they care.  I noticed it when I went to the bathroom.  While standing at the urinal I looked down and noticed something there that wasn't there before, a urinal cake.  A urinal cake is that block of disinfectant found in a urinal.  Guys pee on it and it causes urine to splash everywhere.  This particular urinal cake turned the little puddle of water in the urinal blue.  As I peed the water turned green.  That made me smile.  I told my friend, Juice Man Gary, about the urinal cake and he said that he'd also noticed it.  It made him think of the beach.  Now, isn't that something.  This little block of disinfectant had brought a smile to at least two stressed out employees.

They also put aerosol cans of air freshener in the bathroom stalls...you know, for a courtesy spray.  This made me think of a joke I heard.  It went something like this; a man and a woman were on an elevator.  Much to the woman's embarrassment, she farted.  The man told her it was OK, he had a can of pine scented air freshener.  She thanked the man.  At the next floor the doors opened and a man got in and exclaimed, "Wow!  It smells like someone crapped on a Christmas tree in here!"  In the men's room of my office it smells like someone crapped on a cinnamon stick.  Still, it makes the whole trip to the bathroom more enjoyable, so I'm not complaining.

So, things are hard, but we need to focus on the big picture.  I'm not sure exactly what that means, or what the big picture is, but it sounds good.  I'm just glad they put urinal cakes in the urinals and air freshener in the stalls.  It's a small thing that has, at the very least, inspired a mulling.  And I like to think when I find something funny that it helps alleviate stress.  In fact, I'm sure of it.  Still, I would take more money...just sayin'.

A post script here:  I made up the part about Mrs. Muller killing me for the life insurance.  She actually was going to have me maimed in order to collect on a disability policy she recently took out on me.  I knew that policy was a bad idea.

A post script-script here:  OK, I made that part up, too.  I still think she'd like to kill me sometimes, though.

A Momentary Lapse of Reason

I lost my mind just for the briefest of  seconds; a momentary lapse of reason.  It could only be a moment because I was driving.  Psychotic breaks while driving can lead to all sorts of calamity; even death.  My survival instincts are as developed as any other homo sapien's (if you discount my twenties), so I was able to fight through the incredulity that befuddled all my cognitive ability.  It was this church's marquee that put me in a tizzy.  It said, The last time things got this bad I sent a flood - God.  Indeed.

Take a drive through the Bible Belt and you'll probably conclude, as I have, that churches seem to be vying for the dubious honor of having the most annoying  marquee.  I'm going to assume that marquee sayings are used to attract attention to the church in hopes of gaining more Sunday morning attendees, but I can't imagine a marquee alluding to a wrathful God destroying the Earth by full immersion as being enticing.  Something about a violent death by drowning seems to me to be unappealing.  Yet, there it was.

My incredulity lies in the gulf that separates the gospel message of Christianity of an all loving God and his redemptive plan, and the wrathful God that destroyed Noah's world by flood waters.  There seems to be a disconnect between these two opposing ideas of God.  Now understand, I'm not addressing this from a theological perspective, but more as a visceral reaction to the sign itself.  I can't help but wonder how that saying could persuade someone to attend that church, and further, I wonder what kind of person gets jazzed over God wiping out every living thing on Earth by a most heinous death like drowning.  Pretty crazy.

I remember Sunday School as a kid; the cookies and candy, singing songs, gold stars by my name for saying a Bible verse, and having the Hell literally scared out of me with Bible stories like the one of the Flood and Noah's Ark.  Of course, scaring the Hell out of the kids was the intention, and led to many a young child trembling on their knees and asking Jesus in their heart in order to stave off a the flames of Hell.  Felt boards and cute pictures of animals were used to relate the story to us, and I believe also to soften the reality of the fact that God drowns everything that breaths air.  Adorable pictures of koala bears and giraffes seem to have a calming effect on the young and impressionable.  The child is sent home with a newly colored page of the animals going aboard the ark two by two and images of humanity dog paddling for forty days and forty nights before their ultimate demise.  Really scary stuff.

Here' the thing, Genesis 6:13 (that's a Bible verse for all you heathens out there) says, "I am going to put an end to all people, for the earth is filled with violence because of them. I am surely going to destroy both them and the earth."   Later Genesis 7:21 says, Every living thing that moved on the earth perished--birds, livestock, wild animals, all the creatures that swarm over the earth, and all mankind. (Both verses NIV.)    So, God did it.  Life was wiped out by water asphyxiation.  A violent response to a violent humanity. When this church's marquee implies he'll do it again, I couldn't help but to be a little flummoxed.  This is a good thing?  

It was the juxtaposition of the two concepts of God that sent me loony for a bit.  As I drove by I was hit with the reality that a church that teaches of Jesus' sacrifice for all mankind also thinks to draw in the unwashed masses with a story of God wiping out humanity, along with all the koala bears and giraffes.  People with theological training have a hard time reconciling the wrathful God of the Old Testament with the God of love in the New Testament, so why does this church think the nonbeliever won't?  I certainly have a hard time with it, and did that day on the road.  Fortunately, I recovered quickly, but I keep having these recurring dreams of cute and cuddly koalas drowning.  I just might need psychiatric help yet.

The Prelude to a Mull

I was trying to daydream, but my mind kept wandering.   -Steven Wright

 On a recent walk with my son I admitted that I daydream...a lot.  Not that I get lost in reverie from time to time, but that I actively revert to a daydream whenever I can detach my mind from the monotony of the day and drift off to the fantasies floating around in my cranium.  He said that he does, too.  A chip off the old block.  Wikipedia, the repository of all knowledge on the web, says that; a daydream is a visionary fantasy, especially one of happy, pleasant thoughts, hopes or ambitions, imagined as coming to pass, and experienced while awake.  Yep, I believe that to be accurate, at least in my case.

Of course, one has to ask if daydreams are a healthy and normal activity to participate in, or should they be considered counterproductive and the mental bastion of the lazy. Historically, daydreaming was considered the latter by those who studied such things long ago, but more recently it's seen as the former.  My son and I figured that creative types like authors and movie directors must be avid daydreamers.  I think Christopher Nolan's Inception could indirectly speak to that.  Author Neil Gaiman says, "You get ideas from daydreaming.  You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time.  The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it."  I'd love to ask Stephen King if his Gunslinger Series was the product of some glorious daydreaming.  I'd bet it was.

Interestingly, a study by Eric Klinger, cited by Wikipedia, found that 75% of people in boring jobs use daydreaming to deal with the mundane.  True that, I say.  In fact, I have a couple or three I like to drift into when the time presence itself.  I tried to share my daydreams with my son on our walk, but he explained that if I were to share them and he were to criticize them that I would no longer enjoy them as before, so it was best I not to share.  I think he just didn't want to here them.  His loss.

Another interesting statistic in Eric Klinger's study is that only 5% of daydreams are of a sexual or violent nature.  When I did a Google search for daydreaming one of the top website choices was Google images and right there on the search engine page was a nude gal representing daydreaming.  5% indeed!  Actually, that was the only one I found, but I didn't go looking, either.

So, in one of my favorite daydreams I'm a vampire slayer that can slow down time to the point that I can avoid danger and dispatch the evil bloodsuckers.  I thought of that special ability before Heroes came out, so don't think I plagiarized the show.  In another daydream I'm a guy who has fused with an intergalactic parasite that lives off  the energy my body metabolizes, causing the body to waste away, while the parasite sustains body functions and renders me practically indestructible.  My only weakness is extreme heat.  I can take on any appearance by some sort of cloaking thing the parasite provides, so others don't see the emaciated me.  Also, I have no sense of smell or feeling, which sucks.  Then I go around and do good deeds.  I think that one could be a good graphic novel.  I daydream about Ten Years Gone a lot now, a fiction blog I write with my compatriot, SJ Smith.  It's a post apocalyptic love story that is peppered with mutant monsters and evil gunslingers.   Hours of good daydreaming there.  And don't worry, my son never reads this stuff, so he still won't know about my daydreams.  Again, his loss.

With that, I'll bid the dear reader farewell as I drift off to some night dreams.  Remember, it's OK to daydream, just don't do it when you wife is talking to you.  And I'd like to leave you with a quote I found that I liked and I'm sure you will too;

Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind. -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

 Good times.

One Guy's Trash is Another Guy's Treasure...Or Some Such

There are three things I can count on to foul up a perfectly good Saturday; Bike Nazis, Jehovah's Witnesses and garage sales.  And I really dislike a garage sale.  I think that in the current economic climate many people are trying their luck at making a few bucks by shoving some of their house clutter out onto the driveway and selling it off at 25 cents a pop.  Try to drive or walk through the neighborhood on a bright, clear Saturday morning and you find the streets lined with the cars of bargain hunters trying to haggle some poor person out of their precious memories.  Of course, there will come the calls from the garage of the prospective proprietor to come and browse through the stuff they deemed unworthy to continue gracing their storage containers in hopes you will drop a few bucks on items you will then place in your own storage containers. Yeah, I really do dislike a garage sale.

So, Mrs. Muller had a garage sale today.  We spent last night dusting and cleaning nick-nacks, arguing over the value of items and slapping  price tags on them, and organizing the stuff on display tables.  My son and I moved the picnic table from the back yard to the front, which proved to be quite heavy.  It was water logged from a good rain we had received and, though we are both pretty strong, had to set it down a half dozen times before we were successful (I actually tried to move it by myself.  I managed to pick it up, but couldn't walk with it.  Sometimes I do silly things).  We organized and dusted the books we planned to sell, and with four avid readers in the house that proved to be a bunch of books (and before you criticize me for selling off books, you have to realize that a person simply isn't going to re-read James Patterson and John Sanford novels.  Once is enough).  We stacked and prepped and we were finally ready. Yay.

6:30 this morning we started lining the drive with our display tables and book shelves.  I plugged up a treadmill I was hoping to get rid of.  Like most exercise equipment it was used three times and then placed in the garage.  I was really hoping to get that thing out of there.  I placed signs at neighborhood intersections to entice prospective suckers our way.  Unfortunately for the ladies, my son and I had to work and couldn't stick around for all the sun and fun.  My poor ladies sat out there all morning, suffering the effects of all those green house gases and cow farts as the temperature and humidity soared (They're like dainty little flowers.  Poor things).

I got a call late morning informing me that things weren't going as we hoped.  There was traffic coming by, but obviously our stuff wasn't attracting any interest from the road.  The old adage that one guy's trash in another guy's treasure didn't seem to apply to our trash.  That was a bummer.  When all was said and done Mrs. Muller informed me she didn't even make enough money to cover the costs of the garage sale signs.  And that was a bummer, too.

Yeah, I really dislike garage sales.

Bach'en It

What Mrs. Muller thinks of The Muller

Mrs Muller and Princess Muller jetted off to New York Tuesday, so my son and I have been female-less since.  The idea of bach-en it (being a faux bachelor) offered unique opportunities for the son and me, and we've since availed ourselves.  Man food has been consumed, I kicked that heavy comforter off the bed, and guy flicks have played on the TV when Dr. Phil would have been on otherwise.  It's been something.  They get back tomorrow and I can't wait.

Tuesday night was by myself as my son worked.  I heated up a casserole Mrs. Muller froze for us and drank coffee.  I thought to play some Metroid Prime since Mrs. Muller wouldn't be there to tell me to turn down the TV,  but my heart wasn't in it.  I picked up a guitar and strummed along to the tunes playing in my head.  I broke into some improvisation with a pentatonic scale in the key of E minor.  Mrs. Muller usually tells me to go to another room, or turn it down.  Still, I soon lost the zeal to jam.

Wednesday my son was home and we decided on man food; cheese omelets, sausage and buttered toast.  We sat down with our fried goodness in front of the TV for a guy flick, 2012.  My son made it through the first 20 minutes and somehow I sat through all two and a half hours of it.  That movie is pretty bad.  We both discovered that sometimes guy flicks suck.

This morning at breakfast I noticed that the milk was almost gone.  I splashed a little on some cereal and hoped what I left was enough for my son.  Mrs. Muller called several times today to regale me of the beauty of upstate New York and Vermont.  I listened intently and inquired about Princess Muller.  All were fine and enjoying their little sojourn.  "Splendid," I said.

I met my brother-in-law for dinner tonight while my son went to a friend's house for some epic guitar jamming.  After a shower I noticed the skivvy pile was not it's usual piled high self.  I figured I needed to do some laundry.  At the restaurant I noticed I'd dressed myself in a green plaid shirt, brown shorts, black ankle socks and blue and orange cross trainers, but my hair was gelled just so.  My brother-in-law told our server that my wife was out of town.  He later told me that he thought she liked me as evidenced by the fact that she gave me more fried okra than she did him.  He's a trouble maker.  We sat and ate smoked chicken and beef brisket.  He talked about his new girlfriend and I talked about my old wife (as opposed to a new wife, not that she's old).  When we left the restaurant I told my brother-in-law that I'd have to tell Mrs.Muller about it because she would like it.

So, tonight I'll watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail because Mrs. Muller dislikes British comedies and doesn't care for me to watch them when she's around.  I miss the fact that she won't be here to tell me to turn the TV down.  Mrs Muller is a bit of a bed hog, so having the bed to myself has been nice, but it's beginning to lose it's appeal.  But, she'll be back in it tomorrow night, poking me in the back with her knees or slapping me with an errant back hand.  I think I'll make the bed in the morning; she'd like that.  Oh, and I'll go buy some milk.

The Sasquash

Behold the sasquash as it waited for me at the office

My friend, Indie, is the type of person who would give you the shirt off her back, modesty considering.  I think of her as Indie the Generous.  She recently asked me if I'd like a squash from her garden.  I like squash and I've learned over the years that it is good to accept things from people when they offer them, so I said yes.  The next day her husband came in the office with my squash.  I measured it and weighed it after getting home and found that it was three feet long and weighed a whopping eight pounds. 

The sasquash next to a knife, for reference

I had to keep it at the office until I was ready to go home, so it was quite the conversation piece.  I asked Indie the Generous what kind of squash it was.  She said it was a "Chinese something."  My friend, Dan the 80's Hair Metal Enthusiast, called it "the big-ass squash."  Indeed.  Another friend, Juice Man Gary, called it the sasquash.  Ron John (because he's cool like the beach) concurred.  I figured that was a good name and until otherwise corrected it would be known henceforth as the sasquash.

Despite it's gargantuan. tubular qualities, double entendres and innuendos were kept at a minimum.  In fact, the only thing I can recall was a comment made by Juice Man Gary when he shared that he had squash envy.

Deep fried sasquash spears

When I brought the sasquash into the house my family marveled at it's hugeness.  Then I set to preparing what I hoped would be sasquash delicacies.  After peeling it and cutting away the seeds the sasquash probably lost half it's weight.  Still, four or five pounds of sasquash is a significant amount. I decided to prepare it as any good Southerner would do, I fried part and boiled part with onion, garlic and way too much butter.  Squash is one of those veggies that does not have a significant taste, so the ingredients used to spice it are pretty important.  Floured and spiced, deep fried to a golden brown, I dipped sasquash spears into ranch dressing and found them pretty darn tasty.  The boiled sasquash was actually the star attraction as the flavors of garlic, onion and sasqaush, all drowned in butter, was quite delicious.  The girls really liked the latter prepared sasquash and didn't want to share.  

The ladies choice

I had plans to go to dinner at my friend Mike's house, as his family was out of town for the weekend and he was "bach'en" it (as in being a faux bachelor; and Mike doesn't get a nickname, but sometimes I call him Miguel).  I brought sweet tea and fried sasquash spears.  He'd prepared pulled pork on kaiser rolls with this insane hot sauce, and a vat of black beans and rice.  Man food.  The fried sasquash spears were a nice complement.  We ate until we were sick, and it was fortunate that no ladies were present for the resultant gastric "issues".  I'm proud to say that  sasqaush was a pleasant contributing factor.

All in all, the sasquash was a success.  Perhaps one day I'll find out it's real name.  But, if I do I believe it will always be the sasquash to me.  Indie, thanks for an interesting and delightful culinary experience.

Sunday Morning Mulling, July 18, 2010: Benny Hinn Knows He's a Charlatan

daThe thing is, Benny Hinn knows he's a charlatan; the charlatan always does.  His chicanery has come up in many conversations I've had this week, as the topic of religion and faith has been some of this week's hot topics for me.  His claims of healings can't be substantiated, he makes ridiculous claims that even people of his ilk shy away from, and he lives a lifestyle on par with the wealthiest elites, and that because of the immense wealth he's bilked from followers while ostensibly working to spread the good news of the gospel. I'm telling you he knows he's a fraud.


I thought to pepper a post here with stats and such to give you a glimpse into the life of a phony, but NNDB.com does a better job than I ever could.  Check it out. I also found a video that I thought both  humorous and sad at the same time of Benny Hinn at his "miracle crusades".  Check it out:





The main point here is that I'm saddened that people like Benny Hinn have no compunction about preying on the faithful for their own personal aggrandizement  The idea that wealth is acquired by taking advantage of folks who honestly hope for answers or healing from their faith is beyond appalling or criminal; it's evil.  The fact that these "faith healers" jet around the world in private planes as some poor family "planted a seed" with their last dollar in hopes of being healed should gall everyone.  The fact that anyone would prey on the naivety of the faithful should be held accountable, but being that it is a matter of faith, it's nearly impossible.  It's hard to convince the hopeful that their "healer" is nothing more than a snake oil salesman.  What do you say of the person who wrings out every last penny they can get from your hope?  It's sad.

Rewind (and Romance!)

I've been tinkering a bit with the blog site, putting together a new page and ran across a post written, oh, a while ago.  After fixin' it up with pictures after the first one's disappeared I read through it and thought, "Wow, that was pretty profound.  I wonder who I plagiarized to write this one?"  Actually, I thought it could be a great discussion piece, so I'm re-posting it for your consideration.  Many of you might think me an idiot for my conclusions here, but I stand by them.  So, without further ado...

Women are from Venus, Men are from Sparta

I've seen the movie 300 four or five times. It's a movie based on a graphic novel that's based on an actual historical event from the year 480 BC, so we know the movie is factually true. If we've learned anything from watching Oliver Stone movies it's that everything that comes out of Hollywood is factually true. 300 recounts the factual events that took place during the Battle of Thermopylae, when Greece, led by the Spartan king Leonidas and 300 warriors, held up the advance of the overwhelming force of the Persian Empire for seven grueling and hard fought days. Between the information I gleaned from the movie and from Wikipedia I know this to be factually true, since we know both Hollywood and Wikipedia are reliable sources for gleaning information. I hope that I have sufficiently established the historical reliability of 300 so that I can get on with what I really want to say; this being that 300 is probably the most romantic movie I've ever seen.

Blasphemy, you say! In the pantheon of great romantic movies what drives someone to such a ridiculous conclusion, you further say! How did he ever get married, you further, further say! OK, I'll try to enlighten you as to how I've reached such an outlandish position, and hope to quell any matrimonial disharmony this blog post might cause.

I'm sure you have heard of the book, Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus and if you haven't it probably means you're not married. I find it laying around the house at different strategically placed locations. I assume because someone wants me to read it. It was good thinking to put it in the bathroom because it did get a cursory perusal several times and I think I get the gist of it. Men and women are different. Not just anatomically, but in so many other ways. The secret to a successful relationship with the opposite sex is recognizing those differences, accepting those differences and learning how to respect those differences. OK, that's my personal synopsis based on a few bathroom trips, but I think I'm pretty close.

A bit of a side bar here-- the planet Venus was named after the Greek goddess of beauty and love. Martians are considered to be green, glob-like monstrosities out to destroy the Earth. Am I wrong to be slightly offended by the imagery put forth by the book's title?

So, with all this context let me attempt to explain why I think 300 is one of the most romantic movie I've seen. I shall illustrate my point by comparing 300 to one of the most beloved romantic movies of all time, The Notebook. I say it's one of the most beloved romantic movies of all time because my wife says that it is and that's enough of an authority for me. More specifically I want to compare the couples from the two movies, King Leonidas and his queen Gorgo... and those other two from The Notebook.

The first thing I think of when I consider the relationship between Loenidas and Gorgo is here are two people that really get each other. They seem to know and respect what makes the other tick. Leonidas respects his wife and seeks her counsel more than once. Gorgo recognizes Leonidas' strengths and encourages them. In the scene where Loenidas marches off to war Gorgo removes her necklace and hands it to him. No words are exchanged. Nothing needed to be said because the viewer knew these two mutually loved, respected and admired each other. Then, as Loenidas turned to leave his wife for what would be the last time she says; "Spartan, come back with your shield, or come back on it". Wow! That's got to be one of the hottest lines ever uttered on the big screen! When Dilios, one of the 300, returns the necklace back to Gorgo, nothing is said. She understands that as Leonidas faced death he thought of her. Now, you tell me that's not romantic. (And there's the scene where they share their amorous affection for each other and get all freaky, just sayin'.)

Now, let's consider the other two. First, there is the spoiled debutante brat who can't make up her mind and likes to hit people. Second, the badly bearded, obsessive, brooding pouter that likes to deal with the loss of his love by drowning in wine and women. Sure, he refurbished that house, but go and tell your love interest that you coped with their absence by getting drunk all the time and sleeping with other women and see how far that gets you. The only sensible person in the movie was her fiancé when he said he loved her and wanted her to be happy, so he sent her back to the pouter. Something tells me he lived happily ever after. Then, when she had developed Alzheimer's in her latter years he terrorized her every day by recounting their story until she remembered, then forgot again, leading her to freak out and have to be medicated. True love or true obsession?

Ok, I get it with The Notebook. I'll even admit I teared up at the end. If there were ever two make believe characters that were perfect for each other it was those two from The Notebook. The point here is that men and women can look at these movies and get different things from them. Let me reiterate, men and women are different. Men and women will forever have different perspectives on what's romantic. Actually, they will have different perspectives on everything! You want proof, just watch these two movies. Then discuss them. Just don't resort to violence.

I think the key to understanding your better half is actually somewhere between what makes these movies different. When we understand that women are from Venus (or maybe South Carolina) and men want to be from Sparta (why Mars?), we might begin to see that person hogging the other side of the bed in a different light. It might even help us respect and admire them. It's what makes us different that makes us intriguing. I say embrace the differences.

I'm sure my wife would like me to have those Spartan six-pack abs, but that ain't happenin'.

I say for Sparta and for Glory (put that in your notebook)!

 

The Fat Daddy

For some reason you persist in reading the drivel I tap out here, and for that I’m grateful, but I’ve been delinquent in fresh mullings as of late, and for that I apologize.  It would seem that the real world precludes my entry into the blogosphere from time to time (oh sweet blogosphere, my escape!)  Yet,  I intend to rectify that with a fresh ‘un, because life is too interesting not to mull over.  So, without further ado…

As you know, we don’t eat just because we’re hungry.  Sometimes eating is an event, like a date or a family reunion.  Sometimes we eat to cope, though it’s not recommended (but a bowl of chocolate ice cream does help from time to time).  Sometimes it’s a competition, like Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, though fun to watch, is also not recommended.  And sometimes you eat just for the fun of it, and that is why I wound up at Munchies 4:20 Café!

Munchies 4:20 Cafe

I’d heard of Munchies on the Travel Channel’s show Man V. Food, where the show’s host, Adam Richman, travels the country sampling some of America’s unique dining establishments and participating in some pretty crazy food challenges.  I happened to be in St Pete, Florida this past weekend for the Salvador Dali Museum and thought it worth the 40 minute drive to Sarasota to take a gander at their menu.  And quite the menu they have, too!

The place itself is unassuming to look at from the outside and could qualify as a hole-in-the-wall, but I don’t use that phrase derogatorily, for I love to find and sample food from mom-and-pop restaurants and greasy spoons. Some of the best food I’ve ever eaten has come from such establishments; it must be the effect Anthony Bourdain has on me.  Upon walking in you're greeted immediately by the counter to order from and to the left two booths if you choose to eat in.  Mrs. Muller and I were fortunate enough to score one of them.  One the back wall hung a tee-shirt advertising The Fire in the Hole Wings Challenge, of which Adam Richman tried and failed after one wing.  The lady behind the counter at first acted as if she’d rather do anything other than take our order until I inquired about the wing challenge.  She became very adamant that I should not try it, that it’s just that bad.  I was informed that 9 out of 10 people who try it, regardless of whether they succeed or not, will throw up.  In fact, they don’t offer the challenge after 10 pm because that’s when the drunks roll in to take a shot, and they usually don’t make it back out when they start to ralph.  That’s a smart policy.  But In truth, I wasn’t there to consume food that could potentially cause permanent damage to my anus, I was there for their fat sandwiches!

The beautiful Mrs. Muller posing below the only wall hanging not a Dave Matthews Band poster or a participant in the Fire in the Hole Wings Contest.  Quite fetching.

A side note here: Mrs. Muller made a good observation about the name of Munchies 4:20 Café.  The café’s hours are 4:20 pm to 4:20 am, and would be the obvious reason for their name.  But, upon further consideration, the date April 20th, or 4/20, is also considered by some to be “Weed Day”, or “Pot Day” , as in marijuana, and seeing as imbibing in marijuana can give you the “munchies”, it would seem a double entendre is being employed here.  I think she’s on to something!  I should have asked for some of that “special oregano” for my sandwich, know what I mean…

Now, Munchies offers a variety of foods like burgers, dogs, philly cheese steaks and salads, even desserts, but they also offer such things called fat sandwiches, as well.  Some of the names for these fat sandwiches are; Fat Josh, Fat Mamma, and Fat Hippie.  I settled on the Fat Daddy.  Here is what’s in a Fat Daddy, as listed on their menu:

Behold! The Fat Daddy!

• cheeseburger
• philly works (as in philly cheese steak sandwich!)
• chicken fingers
• mozzarella sticks
• spuds (fried potato wedges)
• lettuce
• tomato
• mayo
• ketchup

Thanks God there was some roughage in that behemoth!  And it’s all served on a 12 inch hoagie.  And mine also came doused with cheddar cheese sauce!  It has to be one of the most ridiculous concoctions of food I’ve ever seen.  And it was very, very good!  You might be surprised to know that each element of the sandwich was discernable when I bit into it.  The fact that all that cheese didn’t make the fried spuds soggy was surprising.  I finished all 12 inches, along with a side order of spuds, half of Mrs. Muller’s philly cheese steak, and washed it down with orange soda.  I fully expected to enter cardiac arrest upon standing and didn’t, but I did suffer quite the gastric eruption later that night.  I think it was the orange soda, but I could be wrong.

Yeah sometimes we eat for the fun of it, and Munchies was fun.  In fact, I’d recommend it, just not on a regular basis; unless you think diabetes and heart attacks are living on the edge.  I told my brother-in-law about it and we’re planning a road trip just to eat a fat sandwich.  We’re crazy that way.  Next time I might go with the Fat Sandy, it has mac-n-cheese on it…

Salvador's Dali

Encountering Salvador Dali's work is simply unforgettable.  You don't forget your favorite food, your first kiss, a broken heart, and you don't forget Dali.  Although a master of seemingly all painting styles his work is immediately recognizable.  To immerse yourself within his work as I did this past weekend leaves you awed, perplexed, shocked, intellectually titillated and longing for more.  Well, at least in my case, as his peculiar genius resonates with me.  And judging by the popularity of his work, I dare say there are others out there like me.

The Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida is home to a collection of Dali's work that spans his life's work and showcases his artistic genius, and is where I spent this past Saturday.  And yes, I've used the superlative "genius" twice to describe Dali, but I use it with good authority, as Dali himself uses it of himself in his 1944 autobiography, The Secret Life of Salvador Dali.  He's best known for his surrealist works, but he had his hands in many different medium and reflected many different influences and he's likened to the classic artists of the Renaissance.  In fact, he states in his aforementioned autobiography that he was destined, "for nothing less than to rescue painting from the void of modern art."  If you have the pleasure of a Dalinean immersion you might be shocked by the very modern look to his most famous works, particularly the surreal paintings, but you can see the influence of such Renaissance artists as Raphael as well.

But, that's not what stands out to the average Joe not educated in art and art history, much like myself.  Without a docent explaining the Surrealist movement's objectives, or Dali's affinity for the work of Sigmund Freud, or the megalomania and insecurities of Dali, you might think you've stepped into the mind of a madman; and I say that not intending to be disparaging, for Salvador was a little loony, but in a good way.  You might think much of his work perverse as there seems to be phallic imagery throughout, and that's because Dali used phallic imagery everywhere!  Once acquainted with Dalinean symbolism you find that his ubiquitous use of phallic imagery symbolizes his own sexual insecurities, but without that knowledge you might think him simply a pervert.  He does refer to himself as a "backward, anarchistic polymorphous perverse" in his aforementioned autobiography, but that's not to be used out of context here; he's merely explaining one of the processes of his genius (and "genius" comes up again).  To see images of solid objects painted as if having lose all rigidity and droopy you might think him weird, but once you know he used this imagery to symbolize fluidity, as in painting clocks in this manner reflecting Einstein's theory of relativity, you get a different appreciation, although you might still think him a bit odd.

As my wife and I left the museum I knew I would be back some time soon.  In fact, I find myself not wanting to merely look on his work, but to get to know the man.  I wish I could have had a conversation with him, as I'm sure it would be anything but dull, but alas...  At the very least do yourself the favor of acquainting yourself with his work (a Google search, maybe).  If you have the opportunity for a Dalinean immersion, do it; it'll be worth it.