OK smarties, let's put those brains to the test.

A little mystery to help kill some time today, in honor of the influx of my former high school Scholar's Bowl colleagues to the Cafe.

(Don't worry. Everyone's welcome to compete.)

The only rule: E-mail me the solution — don't write it in the comments section. The first person to get it right will get some sort of prize (better than the last one, I promise). In the comments section, I will post how the solvers did. Anyone who solves it will get props.

On to the riddle...

I'm thinking of a war.
It was in Europe.
It involved Britain, but only briefly.
One of the two combatants still honors the other today, probably daily.
It involves the worship of false idols.
And a colorful noble.
And a few sieges.
And had a cheesy ending.

OK folks, what is it?

Drop an e-mail to griner (at) gmail (dot) com. For bonus points, explain as many of my clues as possible.

Creeping slowly toward a living space of our own.

Well, we're in negotiations on yet another house, this time in Hoover. It sounds like we're making headway on the offer and might have a number settled by the end of today.

Big thanks to everyone who's given us support and good cheer through this bizarre, often-stressful house hunt. I'll let you know how it goes.

He rallies the Midwest. He kills sickly dogs.

A great line from a Slate piece on Garrison Keillor...

When he speaks, blood pressures drop across the country, wild horses accept the saddle, family dogs that have been hanging on at the end of chronic illnesses close their eyes and drift away.

The article walks a strange line between praise and punishment for Keillor, host of A Prairie Home Companion. It's the journalistic equivalent of the Southern expression, "Well bless your heart." The piece actually captures my contradictory thoughts on Keillor, too. Is he brilliant or tranquilizing?

My one quick side note. There's an obscure Ken Burns documentary about the history of radio and TV, and Keillor makes some fascinating observations. That was the turning point for me, when I actually saw him talking about something other than Wisconsin harvest seasons or whatever. I also gained respect for him when I heard him give a random soliloquy about the word "eighth," and how a strange bit of inflection (almost like a mini-hiccup) keeps it from sounding like "aeeth." Props to a guy who can still ponder the unpondered.

Three reasons to love the world on this hazy Friday

1. I got briefed on a new ad campaign today, and the writeup I was given said customers will like these snacks because they are "sophisticated flavor products to satisfy their sweat cravings." Mmmmmm.....

2. Folgers has what might be the best ad in rotation right now (that doesn't involve scantily clad soccer players). I mean, there's no way I'll ever drink Folgers, as long as God leaves my free will intact. But it's a great ad. There's another nice non-coffee spot here, but it's more just pretty than fun.

3. There's a documentary out about the reunion of the best band of all time. And if you're in New Zealand sometime soon, you might get to see it. Otherwise, it'll probably just sit on hold in your Netflix queue for a while.

Catching you up on the house hunt, Snoop Dogg

A few people have asked, so I should probably point out that we did not get the house I recently mentioned was a possibility. Someone else had put a "verbal offer" on the place, which isn't really kosher with most Realtors.

We continue plugging away at the house hunt, but it has been pretty trying for Karen. The places in our price range always have some crazy quirks ("What, who doesn't want to do laundry in the kitchen?!") but we're still optimistic. When Karen inevitably lands a job, that will help us be able to consider some more expensive places, although we'd still like to stay on the lower end.

On an unrelated note (except in the sense of disappointment), this year's massive City Stages festival in Birmingham just doesn't quite have the kind of lineup that would pull me into a crowd of drunken hilljacks:

Snoop Dogg
Hank Williams, Jr.
The Allman Brothers Band
The Beach Boys
Yellowcard
Shinedown
Trapt
Puddle of Mudd
Los Lonely Boys
Marty Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives
John Hiatt with The North Mississippi Allstars
The Derek Trucks Band
Oteil and the Peacemakers
Brandi Carlile
The subdudes
Radney Foster
James McMurtry
The Plimsouls
Eliot Morris
Tommy Emmanuel
Alexi Murdoch
Joshua Radin
Little Memphis Blues Orchestra

I haven't been to a City Stages since 1996, but that was when I discovered Squirrel Nut Zippers. They were buried in the lineup, and we just went because their style sounded cool. So there might be some gems hiding in there. Thoughts?

How I narrowly escaped being gouged

Let me offer everyone one piece of advice: Live with someone who works for Blue Cross.

Oh sure, I realize it's not practical for everyone, but....

So the other day, I got my knee sliced open by a trained professional. I was knocked out at the time by another trained professional at the low cost of $496. Before that, I had to get about $200 worth of doc visits and $50 worth of x-rays.

But the real kicker (hah! a pun!) was the MRI. At $1,274, it was likely the most expensive 20 minutes of my life. (But you never know, I might visit Thailand some day...)

The beauty of the whole thing is that Blue Cross paid everything without me having to file any paperwork. Wait, if they did, why do I have a $1,274 bill from the MRI place? It says: "Your insurer has either rejected or paid your claim. The remaining balance is your responsibility."

The fun part was, this was my first bill from the whole surgery adventure, so I was a little bit scared to death about how much I was apparently going to shell out.

Luckily, my sister works at Blue Cross and immediately noted that the MRI guy was very likely lying and/or wrong. And yes, she was right. The MRI folks have already been paid by Blue Cross, and I'm sure someday I'll have to pay out a portion of it.

She says this happens all the time, thus I'm writing this post. Whether through fraud, incompetence or simple error, medical practitioners apparently bill people often for what they've already received from the insurance company. Just something to keep in mind next time one of you gets a bionic implant or baboon heart.

Nothing by Rush, ok?

I want to learn some new songs on guitar. What should I learn?

The only guidelines:

1. I don't play lead, so keep it chord-heavy.
2. I should be able to play a reasonable version with just a guitar and drums. That's pretty much the extent of the band these days.
3. Give me specific songs, not just bands.
4. They Might Be Giants and REM are pretty well represented already.

Ok...go!

Which one of you is in Plano, anyway?

Thanks to my long-awaited account with Google Analytics, I can now see site stats on my blogs. In case you're curious, here's what the World of Asterian Readership looks like:



Not much of an international contingent. Just that one lonely visit from South Korea. Sigh. (And Calgary, of course...much love, friendly neighbor to the north.) Maybe if I mention the World Cup...

Being the flagship of a hillbilly news empire? Priceless.

An article today shows how much a newspaper chain is paying for the Fort Wayne (Ind.) News-Sentinel, my old competition when I was a reporter at The Journal Gazette.

The sticker price? $92.6 million.

Damn.

Let's see, at 31,000 readers or so (an optimistic estimate from Wikipedia), that means each News-Sentinel reader is worth $2,987.

They've obviously been served well, too. Check out this line from the Wiki entry:

Mary Jacobus, publisher of the News-Sentinel, left to join the Boston Globe on January 2006 as president and general manager. During her four-year tenure, newsroom employment dropped 29%.

Times will probably be tight in the future, too, since the new owner has a reputation for squeezing monetary blood from journalistic stone.

So what do you guys think, especially you news types? Does $92.6M seem a bit high to you, too?

Pay attention.

Friend Nimesh made this slightly disturbing animation out of three cel phone pics I sent him.



I just thought this might ensure everyone's paying proper attention. And if you can snatch the nerdy pebble from my hand, you'll eventually catch the reference. But feel good if you don't.

And video games make you skinnier!

More evidence that my lifestyle is a perfectly healthy lifestyle. Thanks, MSNBC.

Love child...never meant to be.

Each year, my agency does the promotions for Alabama Tourism's "Year Of" campaign. (Year of Alabama Food, Year of Alabama Outdoors, etc.) Next year is the Year of Alabama Arts. I was on one of two teams in my department competing to come up with the best campaign.

I lost.

But here are the mockups for the print pieces we developed. Each one highlights a real artist (although the pictures are stock photos....I assure you no quilter in Gee's Bend looks like ours...) Just thought I'd let you folks see some of the fun stuff I've gotten to work on, even if it never sees the light of day.


Outlasting fear and famine,
their art became a legend.

Arlonzia Pettway and the other women of isolated Gee’s Bend grew up with little money, little food and little idea that their quilts were astounding pieces of art. Now people journey from all over the world to see the women who overcame generations of racism and poverty. In Alabama, the only thing better than the art is the story behind it. That’s why we’ve devoted a year to celebrating our homegrown talent. To learn more of the Gee’s Bend story, call 800-ALABAMA or visit 800alabama.com. To feel it, come to Alabama.


A man inside a whale showed her
the surprising things inside herself.

When Annie Lucas’ husband suffered a major back injury, poverty seemed inevitable. Then she saw a vision of the biblical Jonah trapped in a whale. In that moment, her art was born. In Alabama, the only thing better than the art is the story behind it. That’s why we’ve devoted a year to celebrating our homegrown talent. To learn more of Annie’s story, call 800-ALABAMA or visit 800alabama.com. To feel it, come to Alabama.


With one string, he learned music.
With five more, he fought inequality.

Raised by his sharecropper grandparents, Willie King made his first guitar with one piece of wire. Joining the civil rights movement in the 1960s, he found his voice for justice in the blues. Now, between critically acclaimed albums, he's using music to inspire a new generation of rural youth. In Alabama, the only thing better than the art is the story behind it. That’s why we’ve devoted a year to celebrating our homegrown talent.To learn more of Willie’s story, call 800-ALABAMA or visit 800alabama.com. To feel it, come to Alabama.

Fort WAYNE!

A few observations from our weekend trip to Fort Wayne, Ind., home of my first post-college job. Karen and I met there, worked at one of the two newspapers, then moved away three years later. (Just to catch some of you up.)

• First off, loyal Asterian reader Drea looked absolutely stunning at her wedding (the whole purpose of our first visit back to the Fort since 2003). Her ceremony was beautiful, the drama was kept to a minimum, and Drea "The Treasure" seemed to have a great time. If she consents, I'll try to get a pic up sometime soon. Definitely one of the best weddings I've been to.

• On a related note, be careful what you order to drink at a wedding. At the beginning of the night, I ordered a vodka and pineapple juice. It's my standard open-bar fare, since I'm not a big hard alcohol drinker. A friend asked what I was drinking and ordered one. Then Karen ordered one. A few hours later we found out that everyone was drinking vodka and pineapple. It was catching on like some kind of fruity, potent wildfire. The caterers had to run to the store twice to restock the vodka and pineapple juice. At the after party, it continued to be a hit. Behold the power of ... um ... being the first at the bar?

• It was indeed surreal to head back to the Fort, but I was surprised to see how many people I still know there. The downtown's gotten a bit better, but overall it was the same place I used to live. I know, it's only been three years, but still...

• My former colleagues at The Journal Gazette were surprisingly cool with my new career choice. Two of the most veteran writers said I was smart to head to an industry with a future. Fort Wayne's been a first-hand witness to the weirdness of the newspaper field lately, so maybe they have a better sense of perspective than some.

• Driving from Birmingham to Northern Indiana still seems easier than driving from Northern Indiana to Chicago. Why? Five words: Corn. Corn. Corn. Soy. Corn.

I'll leave it to Tony Danza.

I got a few e-mails today that reminded me why I liked being in management in my former life. For some reason, I was commissioned for a flurry of letters of recommendation for academic programs a few months back, and the results are drifting in. One was successful, one came close, and the other sounds promising, last I heard.

I'll never regret my relatively few years in management (three in California, although I actually had management positions in the student media for seven of my eight college semesters). It's great to see the evolution of people I hired or helped hire, and I'm still blown away by what an amazing team we assembled in California. I'm proud to say that I still consider many of them friends, especially those who read my blog (shotout!).

But, for all its high points, management just doesn't have much allure for me anymore. I'm guessing that mostly has to do with the fact that I don't know what I'm doing in my new profession. I'm the least experienced and the least qualified of just about anyone in my department. It'll likely be years before that changes.

I'm enjoying my return to drone status. There's a unique pressure to being a supervisor, though I'm sure it's different for each boss. For some, it's the pressure of feeling you're responsible for the work of people you can't directly control. But for me, it was the pressure of making the right decisions for my staff on a daily basis. As an editor, you're not only messing with people's writing (a very personal and flammable skill), but you're also making decisions about what they will write, how they will write it, and how it will be presented. I never really worried about my boss' reaction (sorry, Rich). What ate at me was how my choices would go over with the staff .... and the readers, although that's a whole different relationship to analyze.

The day I announced I was leaving the book store a few months back, I found out that the cafe staff had decided to support me for the "lead" position, which is like an assistant manager. I was far less experienced than most of my coworkers, and that made it even more of a compliment. While it's not exactly an executive position in a news agency, it was a sign that people still trusted my ability to lead...or at least to keep track of shipments of mocha mix and vanilla soy milk.

I'm sure it's just a matter of time before I end up back in management, but for now it's nice to be told what to do, do it well, and still squeeze in some random blog-form navel-gazing.

ps, Today's pic via Toothpaste for Dinner, which has merchandise that cracks me up.

Cautious optimism in the Griner home

Well, I'm back at work, and I'm somewhat mobile. Still haven't gotten together with my doctor about the long-term prospects for my knees, but I'm glad to save that upbeat discussion for another day.

We do have a few reasons to be optimistic, though. Karen's got a second interview for a potentially cool job, and we found a new house possibility. It's cheaper, in better shape and less falling apart than our last choice. But we just looked at it yesterday (along with a few hellholes) and haven't heard back from the Realtor on whether the neighborhood is a safe investment. I'm guessing it probably is, especially since we could do some easy upgrades on the place to make it more valuable.

I'm going to hold off on posting photos and such until we at least get this place under contract. But if nothing else, finding this second place so quickly has shown me that there are plenty of good possibilities out there.

A few things I learned while couch-ridden for the past week:

1. The show How I Met Your Mother is as good as some of our friends seem to think. We've plowed through the first four episodes of the first season. The pilot was a bit too CBS-ed, with an amazingly bad laugh track, but it's got Doogie Howser and Willow!

2. Dynasty Warriors 5: Empires officially is the first Xbox 360 game to warrant the ejection of Oblivion (but not forever, of course). The game is not intuitive, and the instructions are worthless, but luckily I had time to kill last week. Once you figure it out, it's a great two-player game.

3. That new Battlestar Gallactica series isn't so bad, either. Watched the pilot miniseries and was impressed that it's more talky than fighty. We're getting the first season disc in the mail soon.

4. My wife and sister are awesome. Already knew that, of course, but a week of invalidity helped drive it home.

Want good news? Tough.

Well, I suppose there is some good news, in that my knee surgery recovery is going smoothly. I've been bonding with the Xbox and catching up on some reading. It looks like I'll be able to hobble to work tomorrow.

but...

1. We're not buying that house I got everyone so excited about. A foundation guy said it needs more than $45,000 worth of work and that it looks like the current owner tried to cover up signs of water damage. So we're officially out of our contract tomorrow. Luckily, it hasn't been hard finding homes in our price range, and we're definitely more prepared this time around.

2. The surgeon found signs of arthritis in my knee when he went in to repair the meniscus. I'm not sure what this means for me, but he previously had referred to it as a bad, bad thing. I'll be going in for a follow-up next week, and I assume he'll tell me what I should expect. My physical therapist said it's often a sign that a full knee replacement isn't too many years off. Ugh.

Don't worry, I'm not too bummed out by this double whammy of news. Karen and my sister have been taking great care of me, and this recovery process has helped show what a great situation I'm in. That said, a new house and a few good knees wouldn't be so bad, either.

The Cafe is closed. Go feed on snark somewhere else.

Probably won't get to post again for a while. I'll be lakehousing for the holiday and then going under the knife as soon as I get back. When I return, look for new zombie research/melon destruction and big news on the house (as in, is it sliding off its foundation? Inspector says, "doubtful, but maybe.").

Oh good, Taylor won... any other news? OMG WTF?!

In case you don't know, Regions is my agency's largest client, so any shakeup can be a bit nerve-wracking. But hopefully this will only mean good things for us...hopefully.

No wonder I'm still alive

Currently featured over at MSNBC.com... my hometown of Huntsville seems to be a safe place to drive around.



Squeaking in at respectable ranks are also my former stomping grounds of Fort Wayne and my current home.



Don't know about you guys, but I'll sure sleep better at night now.

Murder, rape, familial hatred — Fun lessons from the Bible

I know I've previously vowed not to promote other blogs, and I've violated that guideline quite a few times in recent weeks, but still...this is good.

Over on Slate.com, writer David Plotz is "Blogging the Bible." It's a great read.

Bringing an ignorant but intelligent perspective to the Big Book, Plotz basically just recounts his observations on each chapter. He's irreverant, and I'm sure he's taking more than a few jabs from the Christian Right, but it's hard to argue against the points he makes.

Here's his take on the Genesis section where Jacob stages a con to steal his father's blessing from his dumber, stronger brother, Esau:

This story is enthralling and troubling for several reasons. First, I don't think I've ever read anything that's so grim on the relationship of brothers as this first half of Genesis. Cain and Abel, Ham, Shem, and Japheth, Isaac and Ishmael, Esau and Jacob, and soon Joseph and his brothers. The relationship of brothers is purely antagonistic: They battle for inheritance, for God's love, for their father's respect. They conspire against each other, narc on each other, murder each other. There's not a single act of love or kindness between brothers so far. Brothers are only enemies. Was nomadic life so difficult that only one son in any family could hope to prosper?

It's good to get in on reading this while he's still trudging through Genesis. It makes for a nice reading break once a day or so.

Maybe I'll be rebuilt stronger, better...

Yep, I've got a torn meniscus. And yep, I'm going to be going in for surgery a week from today. I'll have to miss work all next week, which means burning every ounce of sick time I'm going to accrue this year. Youch.

I found myself starting to get pretty angry this afternoon after coming back from the doctor. Partly it's because of the sick time burnout. Partly it was because it means having to hire movers to haul our stuff into the new house, and partly because it just seems silly that an injury that hurts so little requires such a dramatic step.

But just as I was getting in a tizzy, my family helped bring things into perspective. I'm insured (which is the difference between this costing $150 and this costing $12,000 or so), my company is being obscenely flexible with the sick time I haven't even earned yet, I live rent-free in a house where I can recouperate while multiple adults protect me from my dog, and I'm going through this process at what's likely the best time possible. Recovering in an empty new house that needs a lot of work would not have been fun.

In other good news, friend Emily just told me she will have three poems published in a journal out of Arizona State, so join me in congratulating her next time you see her/first time you meet here.

Aw yeah, I smoked that joint.

So I thought I was over-reacting by going to see an orthopedic surgeon today about my knee, which conked out while I was playing tennis yesterday. It hasn't hurt incredibly bad, but I've been pretty limpy.

Apparently, I reacted appropriately. The doc thinks I tore the meniscus cartilage, which acts as the protective buffer between your thigh and your shin bones. I'll be heading back in tonight for an MRI to confirm the diagnosis.

Here I must point out how my doctor phrased the prognosis:

"If you're lucky, it's a torn meniscus, and we can repair it surgically. You should recover in three weeks."

Yeah, you know it's a good conversation when a doctor describes the chance of surgery with "if you're lucky."

So what's the unlucky outcome? Early-onset arthritis! I have to admit, that puts surgery into perspective. One day of surgery and three weeks of recovery vs. 60 years or so of excruciating joint pain. Deal or no deal?

Oh well. I should just be glad I'm a few years past this being the common treatment:

The traditional method of surgery for a torn meniscus (cartilage) involves admission to a hospital for several days, one or more surgical incisions that may average several inches, several weeks on crutches, and up to several months to completely rehabilitate the knee. (Source)

These days, it's more common to go in with fiberoptics and such and just yoink out the torn bits. (Obviously, I have a mastery of medical terminology from my days in massage therapy training.)

Anyway, I have another appointment tomorrow to go over the MRI results and see if I need to be put down. Until then, I'll be comforted by the fact that it could be worse.

The things I don't do for my blog

What's that? You just bought a new house with steep hills and lots of stairs? How are you going to celebrate?

Oh, apparently I'm going to twist my knee until I can barely walk. How else can I appropriately supervise Karen while she brings in the furniture?

But as I wait to hear back on when a doctor can look at my knee (which I torqued playing tennis, but has been hurting for quite a while), I at least have something to keep me in high spirits.

I recently stumbled across a three-year-old nugget of Internet gold called "Steve, Don't Eat It!" It's one man's attempt to eat some of the worst things available at the grocery store. He starts with "Potted Meat Food Product" and works his way down...far down... from there.

I must say I especially enjoy the section on making (and then drinking) "prison wine." It includes such invaluable insight as:

This one's aroma was slightly more earthy. Do you know that smell of grass right after it's cut? That's nice. I was just making chit-chat, because this smelled like rotten eggs tucked into the anus of a dead cat.

I really don't understand what could have gone wrong! I used moldy bread and socks, EXACTLY LIKE THE RECIPE SAID!

It's vulgar, and I wouldn't recommend reading it while you eat, but it gets high marks for passing time at work.

Update: Yep, we're buying it!

We reached an offer price on the house I wrote about, so it's sounding like a done deal. We got a much better price than we originally expected to pay in Birmingham, so we're pretty happy.

More to come, I'm sure.

Breaking News: Griners make offer on house

Oh sure, you've got your usual caveats about how this may fall through, blah, blah, blah. But yeah, we're making an offer on this quirky, well-kept house in Birmingham's Crestwood neighborhood. That's across town from our family, unfortunately, but it's close to downtown, and rush-hour traffic is a breeze.

Let's get the photos out of the way so that you don't just scroll past any important info...






Nice, huh? A few reasons why we like this one:

1. Quiet, young-professional neighborhood.
2. Owners kept it in great shape, and there's relatively little big work that needs to be done.
3. Huuuuuge yard. Huge. Needs some fence repairs and overgrowth clearing, but it's awesome.
4. Sweet kitchen. Won't hold 20 cooks, but the setup is really nice and modern.
5. It's technically a 3 bedroom, though we'll probably knock out one of them.
6. There's a garage, tons of basement storage, and an ideal wine cellar waiting to happen.
7. Good price, especially for the space.

So now we're just going through the mortgage/negotiating/inspecting phases. Karen found out today we could close in mid-June, giving the owners time to clean it and do some repairs. (They've already moved out.)

I'll of course keep you all posted as this moves ahead/falls apart/etc. Wish us luck!

The Yellow Button

My finger hovers over The Yellow Button. Four other people sit around and behind me, waiting to see when I will push it. If I push it, everything comes to a stop. If I push it, one of the nation's leading voice talents — the voice of Children's Tylenol, the voice of Massengil — will cease in mid-sentence. She's in New York, but it doesn't matter. The Yellow Button cares nothing about distance.

Today, this is my job. The sound engineer, my agency's broadcast director, the client's account representative, and a rep from the client itself — they're all watching to see when I will stop the talent and tell her I want a do-over.

She gets three paragraphs into her read. The script is for an interactive piece, not a commercial, so it's pretty long. Am I waiting too long? Should I have stopped her after just a few sentences? Am I missing some flubs that only trained ears can hear?

On the fourth paragraph, I hit the button. "Joan," I say to the talent, "that last line sounded...weird." Will she be insulted? Will this de-rail her flow?

"Yeah, you're right," she says with a slight sigh. "And I accidentally said 'upon' instead of 'on.'" I quietly pretend I noticed that, too.

With that, the pressure's off, and I actually start having a great time listening to a quasi-celebrity read a script I wrote. I stop her off and on...sometimes the engineer presses his own yellow button because he notices a sound hiccup or garbled pronunciation. Our broadcast guy notices one or two reasons to stop.

After each of my suggestions, the talent nails it. She's good. There's only one case where we have to re-do a line twice. After a mere 45 minutes, we're done, and the sound files are burning to a CD. Everyone's happy with the session (although, in fairness, they all credit the talent).

Bidding The Yellow Button a fond farewell — for now — I head back to the office to be a writer again.

It's things like this that make me love this job. Yeah, I have to write cheesy tag lines a few times a day, or come up with another way to tell you that you need another credit card. But I also get to write radio ads for the beach, "talking points" for a national morning show, and the season brochure for our community theater.

Last Friday, I got the traditional meat muffin breakfast at the office, then got a pizza lunch during our creative staff meeting — where we spent at least an hour watching funny commercials and viral videos. That afternoon, I was handed a beer at my desk when we learned we'd won a national ADDY award.

Right now, I'm writing a campaign for a brewery ... just because my boss asked us to pick a business at random and make some cool stuff for them, free of charge. Of course, the designer and I had to sample the beer during our initial "concepting" session. The door was wide open, and people who stuck their head in just said, "Hey, cool. We're doing a beer?"

Just thought I'd drop a note to explain what I've been up to at work recently. We'll likely have big house-hunting news soon, too. Stay tuned.

Will you be ready?

Be sure to check out the newest Asterian side project, The Center for Zombie Research. We've started posting some valuable scientific findings to prepare the world for the next great epidemic.

Big props to Bill for spontaneously coming up with the idea for the site a few weeks back, when we honestly were already researching anti-zombie weaponry. We were really just trying to settle a longstanding bet about the best gun/blunt weapon to fight off the undead. Now it's gone from group wager to international aid project. I'm proud to be involved.

Or maybe we could just concentrate journalists into convenient camps!

Living in California, I saw that liberal zealots and conservative zealots were separated only by the party they wished to see in power. As a journalist, I was harangued by both on a regular basis, and I actually enjoyed their inability to even imagine that someone could be a moderate.

I generally stomach what I hear on right wing radio by recognizing that it's the same tack that liberals are taking, now that they know it works. I'm looking at you, Al Franken.

But today, when ABC reported that the White House is tracking the phone records of reporters to find the sources of leaks, I was flabbergasted by the "rebuttal" of some conservatives. It just seems that after all the flagellation Clinton took from the press, Republicans would recognize the value of investigative reporting being part of the check-and-balance system.

Apparently not.

Here are some comments from the ABC Web story. They're just about a brick's throw away from a Kristallnacht.

Posted by: Brad | May 15, 2006 11:13:00 AM

well maybe ABC news better stop leaking classified information. This only helps our enemies and right now I believe ABC news is an enemy of the US.

Posted by: scott | May 15, 2006 11:13:39 AM

You didn't inconvenience someone, you broke the law. It's called a criminal investigation!!!!

Posted by: robert johnson | May 15, 2006 11:17:13 AM

GOOD! I hope they find out who is reporting all of these leaks. And I hope you are tried and perhaps spend some time in jail for it.
KEEP CALLING and I hope they track your every word!

Posted by: voxpopgirl | May 15, 2006 11:26:09 AM

I am a journalism graduate, UNC-Chapel Hill. I am also a veteran.
I hope they catch every government leaker of classified secret information and put them in prison for life. And any reporter publishing known classified secret information should be shot. It is called treason, not first amendment rights.

Posted by: Tom Paine | May 15, 2006 12:50:44 PM

I think that this is very good news. Something has to be done to investigate the main-stream media as the MSM has obviously declared war against the President in regards to the war on terror and and the liberation of Iraq. It is outrageous how they are working to leak classified information and to undermine our security at every turn with their reporting. It is also outrageous how they fabricate stories against the President or in a timely fashion recycle old stories as if they were new. I personally no longer trust the MSM at all and feel extremely threatened by their agenda.

Posted by: Garry | May 15, 2006 12:51:49 PM

You commit treason and expose classified national securtiy information - the goverment is going to come after you - as they should.

I feel the bony finger of Skeletor

In a strange pop-culture coincidence, we recently finished watching a two-disc compilation of "He-Man" episodes, right around the time Slate magazine ran an essay on one man's reflections upon the same subject.

While I can't offer the same level of depth and insight on the show (I personally love when the writer laments, "The dialogue is tediously expository."), it did get me thinking about what forms of childhood entertainment hold up when you're an adult. I'm sure the answer is "not much."

Sidestepping cartoons for a moment, let's get high brow and ask whether the best pieces of childhood literature can be enjoyed 20 years later. I haven't found any. They're nostaglic, maybe, but not fulfilling. You really start to wonder how you stomached so much angst and overt emotion as a young adult. That said, I am itching to re-read "A Wrinkle in Time," which I hope to actually understand all these decades later.

Now back to cartoons. (Whew.)

Watching He-Man reminded me that cartoons rarely challenged the viewer. I understand now that they were trying sell toys, but I remember staring hypnotized at the screen each day and actually asking my dad to tape episodes I had to miss. But nothing ever really happened in an episode.

The big exception (to me) was Voltron, which had an ongoing plot that even included one of the main characters dying. Of course, it also had the world's most predictable episode structure: Bad guy appears, a Voltron team member tries fighting bad guy solo in a robotic lion, other lions join in, they're SHOCKED to learn that they cannot defeat bad guy with just lions, they turn into Voltron to fight bad guy and are SHOCKED to realize that they will have to form the blazing sword to cut him in half.

Hrm...maybe Voltron's not a good example. Howsabout Robotech, which was challenging to the point that I never understood what the hell was going on. Now that I'm old enough to watch the whole Robotech series on DVD and catch the intricate plot development, I'm not really interested in doing so.

The first cartoon I saw that really stepped up the intellectual stakes was the movie "Wizards," which obviously was meant for an older crowd. I say "obviously" because one of the female characters spends the whole movie topless. But man, that was a good flick.

I was reminded a lot of Wizards this weekend, when we watched "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind." For one, it's a great movie, even better than Wizards (Nausicaa was made in 1984, Wizards in 1977). But what it really showed me is that there's no good excuse for cartoon movies to be engaging without being an intelligent experience for kids.

So what's your big huge favorite cartoon from childhood? Have you gone back and watched it? Did it hold up? What disturbing things did it teach you about your younger self?

Meanwhile, in a blog more exciting than mine...

I know, I know, I just stumped for my friend Brittany's blog a week or two ago, but I just want to make sure as many people as possible are reading great entries like this one from her recent jungle excursion:

The surrounding jungle has been sprayed with herbicides several times to halt the growing of the coca plants. It hasn´t worked so well, on a side tour, we spent a morning at a cocaine factory. The man who ran it wore a very nice hat and said he´d been in the business for the past 18 years. It is much more lucrative than growing other crops, he says, and besides, the police don´t like to walk into the hills so he isn´t afraid of getting caught.

In a fit of blog envy, I plan to spend an upcoming morning at a northside crackhouse.

Actually, my favorite part of Britt's most recent posting is this comment from her mom AFTER reading that her daughter spent a morning at a coke factory:

We are glad to hear from you - know how we worry!!!! Sounds like an amazing place to visit.

Love,
Mom

That, my friends, is a cool mom.

Shoot this, Johnny Depp.

So I've now made two attempts at the dish made famous by "Once Upon A Time In Mexico" (insert Salma Hayek joke here), and I have to say, it's a bit of a hit. I'm judging that partly on the fact that I've been really happy with it and partly on the fact that my sister wants to implement "Puerco Pibil Night" about three times a week.

So in case you haven't gotten this recipe from me (or if you haven't gotten to try it...poor bastard), here it is. Although the recipe is on the DVD, I got it from this great site, which includes reader comments on how they tweaked the recipe. I've attached some of my own suggestions at the bottom, but I would encourage you to at least try to standard recipe once before gooning around with it.

Puerco Pibil

5 pounds pork butt, cut into 2 inch cubes
5 tablespoons annato seeds
2 teaspoons cumin seeds
1 tablespoon whole black pepper
1/2 teaspoon whole cloves
8 whole allspice berries
2 habanero Peppers, fresh or dried, cleaned and minced (optional)
1/2 cup orange juice
1/2 cup white vinegar
8 garlic cloves
2 tablespoons salt
5 lemons
1 shot of tequila
banana leaves (optional)

Grind the annato seeds, cumin seeds, whole peppercorns, whole cloves, and whole allspice in a mortar and pestle, spice grinder or coffe grinder. Blend the chopped habanero peppers with the orange juice, vinegar, garlic and salt.

Mix the dry spices with the liquid.

Add the juice of 5 lemons and a nice splash of tequila.

Place the cubed pork butt in a large zip lock bag and add the marinade. Soak 4-6 hours, in refrigerator, turning several times.

Line (8x13) baking pan with banana leaves. Pour in pork along with the marinade. Cover with Banana leaves and seal the pan with foil. Bake in a 325 F degree oven for 4 hours.

Griner's suggestions:

1. I replaced the lemons with limes and was very happy with the outcome.
2. I haven't yet tried the banana leaves (I just cooked it in casserole dishes), but I plan to use them someday.
3. Don't remove the habanero seeds. So far, no one's complained it's too spicy.
4. Let it marinate as long as possible. I've been letting it sit in the fridge three days or so.
5. Don't trim the pork butt when you cube it (except for the huge chunks of fat). The fat and connective tissue made the dish deliciously tender.
6. Use the biggest Boston butt/pork butt you can find. I did a 7-pounder last time, and there weren't leftovers. You have to remember there's a big, obnoxious shoulder blade bone in the middle of it.
7. Try serving it on flour tortillas instead of rice. That's been a crowd pleaser.

Good luck, and be sure to let me know how it turns out for you.

My life is a full frickin oyster

Because there just aren't enough beautiful things in my life, this weekend I discovered "dog bloat."

I assure you, it's as great as it sounds.

In case you don't know my dog, he's a slender chap with a runner's build and a diverse vocabulary of Star Wars noises. On Saturday, he returned from an unchapperoned sprint around my parents' neighborhood and looked a bit...puffy. In fact, he looked like he had swallowed a soccer ball.

At some point, I also saw him drinking 17 gallons or so of lake water, which I'm sure is awesome for him. There's a nuclear power plant a few hundred yards away from my parents' lakehouse, and I'm personally comforted that so many scientists are nearby to ensure the safety and flavor of the lake.

I spent most of that afternoon doing what any responsible pet owner would do: poking him and calling him names like "lardbucket."

But at some point, my wife decided that it might be worth looking up this little change in body type on the Internet. That's how she discovered bloat. And that's how I ended up driving to the emergency vet at midnight.

That's because she stumbled upon such calming advice as this:

If you know or even suspect your dog has bloat, immediately call your veterinarian or emergency service. Do not attempt home treatment.

Do take the time to call ahead.; while you are transporting the dog, the hospital staff can prepare for your arrival.

Pretty much every site reads like that. Apparently, dog bloat is equivalent in seriousness to a human's head exploding. No time for second guessing! Call out the medi-chopper!

So we drive Fat Jonas to the vet (who agreed that it was potentially life-threatening). There they inform us that, shockingly, Joe has gas. "I understand," I say. "Best to shoot him now then."

In all seriousness, this was an apparently lucky case of bloat. Large breeds of dogs can die within hours if their distended stomachs cause their internal organs to twist until the blood supply is cut off. So it's hard to blame Internet sites from sounding dire in their warnings that a bloated dog has the life expectancy of a Berkeley grad walking the streets of Cape Girardeau, Missouri.

It's just a matter of time, the vet warns us, before Jonas' internal Hindenburg takes its fatal toll. So now we have the options of having his organs stapled to the inside of his chest (I'm probably not using the technical name for that procedure) or feeding him slower with a special bowl that rises in the middle to keep him from inhaling the food. We took the most fiscally responsible approach and turned his current bowl upside-down. Voila.

Of course, we have reason to believe that this isn't an everyday problem. Jonas promptly threw up Sunday evening, and evidence seems to suggest he ate a pile or two of catfood while he was on his lakehouse excursion. So that might explain why his only other case of bloat (which he survived in another Festivus miracle) came shortly after he ate two loaves of banana nut bread.

It's times like this I just can't wait to have a kid.

Surely I wasn't the only one who thought this?

When you were a kid, did you ever think that you might be the only real person, and that everyone one else just existed to entertain/confuse/torment you?

I remember when I was little, I would try jump around corners unexpectedly so that I might catch the world not moving ... you know, because it didn't think I would be there yet. I don't know what I thought I'd catch...maybe people just standing perfectly still, waiting for my presence to cue them.

I think part of that carries over to adult life. Most people I know share the belief that if he/she/I stopped going to work (or wherever), that the entire operation would fall apart within a mere day. Three days, max.

Not sure why I've been thinking about this lately. Maybe it's because with this new job, I'm more of a cog than I was before. I think I still have one of the most interesting cog roles, but it's an anonymous effort that could just as easily be made by someone else. Maybe I miss having a byline, but I doubt it, since I didnt have one (except rarely) during my time as an editor.

Oh well. These are the random thoughts of someone who spent a weekend playing board games, watching zombie movies, drinking sangria, wakeboarding and spending an amazing few days with friends who I'm glad don't exist just in some Twilight Zone world where I'm at the center of everything.

Stroke of culinary genius

Trying to decide last night what the theme should be for our small monthly supper club, we came up with a great idea.

Someone mentioned going with fusion, and we decided to randomly draw country names and then create a dish that joined the two. The results were, of course, cuh-lassic.

Karen and I are responsible for a dessert that's Greek-Filipino. My sister's entree will be Ethioppean-Mexican. Other combos included Turkish-Japanese and Spanish-Indian.

Personally, I can't wait to see how this turns out. I'll post photos.

Feel free to make any recommendations on how we could pull this off.

I may have to be a double agent in this brewing conflict.

I recently wrote about the new Dunkin Donuts ad campaign, which I mentioned was part of a national effort to spread the chain beyond its Northeast roots. (I've also since learned that the Dunk has just about deserted Alabama in the 10 years since I last lived here...sniff.)

Anyway, at the time, I noticed that Slate's ad review said that Dunkin was positioning itself as the working man's Starbucks. Dunkin's drink sales have far exceeded donut sales, so its true competitior is now the Seattle Siren, not the Southeast Sugarmomma (Krispy Kreme).

Today, AdAge has an analysis of Starbucks and how it could face a surprisingly strong competition from (drumroll) Dunkin Donuts! It's an interesting read, especially if you share my obsession with coffee.

I don't have any strong opinions on this emerging rivalry, except to say that I stopped into a Dunkin Donuts while consulting in Kankakee a few months back, and it looked like the steam wand on the espresso machine hadn't been cleaned in days. I'm serious...days. Looked like it had been dipped in concrete. That's a mortal sin in the barista world. It's DAIRY, people. Of course, I failed to mention that this donut shop was in a gas station, but still...

In case the AdAge article requires a log-in (it's free) or the link becomes unavailable, here's an interesting bite from today's piece:

"What should the new owners of Dunkin' Donuts do with the brand? Well, I believe they do have credibility in coffee, but not the Starbucks stuff. They need their own coffee twist. They need to be the opposite of Starbucks. Strong No. 2 brands don't emulate the leaders, they become the opposite.

"Listerine was the bad-tasting mouthwash, so Scope became the good-tasting mouthwash. Home Depot was male and messy, so Lowe's became female and neat."

No seriously, what'd you really think?

Had my first-ever meeting with a client yesterday, when a designer and I pitched three mock-ups of an invitation that will go to a few thousand businesses.

I girded myself for some sort of combat, since I've been hearing that clients often shoot down everything you present them with. But I had gotten a head's up that this one was pretty bright and had a good sense of humor, and sure enough, she loved all three of our proposals. In fact, she hopes to use one of them for another project entirely.

Sorry again for the lack of specifics, but I'll post the final result once it's approved, printed, etc. Just wanted to pass along that, yes, apparently I am doing pretty well at this gig.

Didn't everybody?

Checked my e-mail the other day to find this disturbing insight into my apparently evil soul, courtesy of Netflix:

As someone who enjoyed 9/11, we thought you'd like to know United 93 opens Friday, April 28th in a theater near you.

Now, I assume they're talking about the documentary "9/11," which I did think was amazing. But still...

With coworkers like this, who needs a high-priced dominatrix?

Today's sentence best taken out of context:

Lawyers for Alarm One said the spankings were part of a voluntary program to build camaraderie and were not discriminatory because they were given to both male and female workers.

If you must know, you can read the article here. Have a great weekend, folks.

Hurry and read it before she gives into the allure of bean farming

You know I'm reluctant to throw around blog links, but some just deserve a big fat nod.

Today's is the travel diary of my good friend Brittany, aka Sadiebelle on Cafe Asteria. Brittany is noodling around South America, apparently now in Colombia. She's that rare kind of friend, where you don't mind if she ends an e-mail with "hope all is well... i am in the jungle right now and the weather is sweltering."

I'm tremendously excited that Brittany is blogging, especially since she provides a good place to check out whenever I feel that my humble Europe-Russia trip just isn't practical.

While I knew that her blog would have great writing and anecdotes, it's already provided a few little gems, like the note she got from a newspaper editor in South America about her grad-school plans: "The university is the tomb not the womb. Get out and do something. Plant some corn. Hoe some beans. Learn about life."

So check it out and join me in saying, "Good job, Brittany. Now get some damn photos up already."

PS, Britt's blog from her trip to Uganda for my old paper is still online and worth checking out, too. Her stories from our "Friends to the Forgotten" special section are there, and the blog entries are on the right.

Vacation: All I ever wanted.

After years of big talk, Karen and I have finally committed to taking a train trip across Europe next April. That doesn't give us an immense amount of time to plan/save/learn Estonian, but it does put a fire under our collective booty to make this long-planned journey a reality.

So it's easy to say, "I'm taking a train trip across Europe." Oooh, how romantic and bohemian. But now, we actually have to figure out some things. Like, how do you take a train across Europe? How long does it take? And, perhaps most importantly, where the hell are we going?

The goal was to hit three spots, which unfortunately are not in a convenient line. Paris, Prague, St. Petersburg. (Why St. Pete? I dare you to read this book and not think it's the most amazing city ever.) The rough plan is to fly into Paris, pick up our friend Alexia and spend a day or two recovering from jetlag while enjoying the city, then head out to Prague by train. After a few days there, we veer north to St. Pete and fly home from there.

Easy peasy, right? Well...

My preliminary research on one-way flight tickets shows they're a wee bit astronomical, even a year out. Then there's the wacky route. Paris to Prague isn't a stupendously crazy route, but it does involve quite a few choices on where you pass through (anybody have a preference on Stuttgart, Bern, Zurich or Strasbourg?).

Heading out of Prague and toward St. Petersburg presents a few more challenges. A direct route cuts through Warsaw and a corner of Belarus, which is apparently worth avoiding because of the extra charge for the privelege of riding through scenic Belarus.

That led me to look over at the non-direct route along the Baltic Sea. I can't say I've ever dreamed of going to Lithuania, Latvia or Estonia, but they might end up being pretty sweet. Or I might just end up seeing them out a train window on the way to Russia.

So this is your chance to weigh in nice and early to help shape our travel plan. Are there any cities/countries we should hit/avoid? Have you traveled across Europe? Any good tips? We won't be sleeping in parks or staying in youth hostels, but we won't be doing a luxury tour, either.

If nothing else, use this post as a place to talk about your dream trip...where would you spend a week or two? No islands, please, unless they don't have an airport. Then I want to hear about it.

Three reasons to rejoice on this day in 2006

1. Another study finds coffee isn't bad for you or your heart. I love these findings, even though I have an arrythmia that can be pretty serious if I glug coffee and get stressed out. Luckily, I gave up stress months ago. So, glug away!

2. Wes Anderson is in an American Express commercial, and it's pretty great. You'll also see he's got his Rushmore alumnus with him. The bayonet is my favorite part.

3. They Might Be Giants are in a Dunkin Donuts commercial (actually, a few of them), and they're pretty great. Who else could pull off lyrics so seemingly inane? It's part of some manifest destiny march by Dunkin Donuts across the continent. I was flabbergasted to learn that California natives had never heard of it. Of course, they have In-N-Out.

The immortal battle between monkey and fart can

It's always hard to pick a favorite from the great minds that make up the Cafe Asteria patronage, but I'm going to have to say that the winner of the first-ever Cafe Asteria Camera Phone contest is....DALE!

Here again is his entry:



Who among us has something stranger than fart-sound-making putty? Not me.

So what does Dale get as his prize? As I promised, or at least vaguely hinted, he gets a new nickname! Oooh, feel that electric tingle? That's excitement.

From now on, he shall be known to all as:

Dale the Portably Flatulant

This immediately and comprehensively replaces Dale's longstanding nickames of "shirtless mulch shoveler" and "the Irish Pirate." Funny thing about nicknames, while I'm here. Long ago, Dale and I were in high school chemistry together. Someone discovered that the edge of a lab table could be removed. Underneath, there was a message that said, "I'd give me life for you." Somehow, that almost immediately translated into Dale being called the Irish Pirate. It just goes to show how the most seemingly disposable moment can shape your identity.

Comment topic of the day: What's your nickname? Where did it come from? I'm willing to bet that most can be traced back to some pretty inane little incidents.

Thanks to everyone who entered, and be sure to check back often for my next contest. You might end up being as big a winner as Dale!

I feel like Darrin Stephens

Just found out that my first ad campaign pitch was received well by the client, which means it should actually see the light of day. This is a big deal mainly because I've written a lot of copy for existing campaigns, but this is the first time I actually came up with the idea, mocked it up with a designer, got it approved by the boss, etc.

I can't give any details for now, but I just wanted to share with somebody. I'm also coming up with a campaign idea that should be broadcast/printed throughout the Southeast, so I'll let you folks know if any of this goes public.

DON'T FORGET: It's your last chance to enter the photo contest, so e-mail me your cameraphone pic of the weirdest thing on your desk. Don't miss the surely amazing prize!

I suppose it would be bad if I started watching now...

You know how somtimes it feels that if you watch your favorite sports team in a pivotal game, they're more inclined to lose?

Well, apparently, if you stop paying attention to them altogether for a few years, things really start looking up. The Detroit Red Wings thus seem destined for greatness this year. They apparently have the best team since I started following them in their prime years of the late 1990s.

Sometimes I feel bad that I don't make time to watch Red Wings hockey. If it's on, I watch, but that's about it. Truth be told, it's just not that great watching even the best teams on TV. Seeing the Red Wings in person twice made for some of my favorite memories, whether it was from high up in the aging Joe Lewis (thanks, Kare!) or a few rows back from the glass at the swank San Jose arena (thanks, Kare's dad!).

Oh well. Maybe when I have a house of our own, with a nice recliner parked near a nice TV, I can bring back my college weekend lifestyle of hot hockey action, cold beer, and occasional naps during the pass-pass-pass-turnover periods.

For now, good luck, Wingers. I'll be with you in spirit.

Starbucks speaks: Griner, your complaint is groundless. Have a Starbucks card.

So a week or so ago, I e-mailed Starbucks customer service to point out that the quality of their beans has gone from "burnt but generally good" to "burnt and gnarled like tiny black gravel."

I was more polite in my phrasing, but I really was noticing that the great Bucks doesn't seem to screen its beans as well as it used to. For all its faults, Starbucks consistently had evenly roasted beans without too many misfit toys per bag. Lately, it seems there are more bad beans than ever.

(Note about today's photo -- this is an illustration of the difference between Starbucks beans, at left, and roasted beans from a small shop in Ukiah, Calif. The portion at the top left is malformed and broken beans from the Starbucks sample. For more, check out this coffee blog where I found it.)

In addition to my complaint, I did praise Starbucks for adding more fair trade coffees. I pointed out that they still have a long way to go, but any progress is good progress for coffee farmers who make pennies for something that costs more than $13 a gallon.

Today, I got my response from the hidden Starbucks superfortress atop Mount Seattle:

-----------

Dear Mr. Griner,

Thanks so much for contacting us regarding the quality of the coffee beans that you received as well as your kind words regarding our fair trade efforts.

Your feedback is very important to us, so we appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts. I want to assure you that I've passed on your comments to the appropriate people in our company for their attention.

I want to assure you that we take pride in providing the best coffee available, and that all of our purchases are screened at different points in their process from growth through roasting and bagging. I would be happy to mail you a Starbucks card to replace the bag that you found to be of low quality.

If you have any other questions or concerns, don't hesitate to call our Customer Relations department at (800) 23-LATTE. Or, email us from www.starbucks.com/customer/.

Thank you again for contacting Starbucks, we really appreciate it.

Best Regards,

Bill B.
Customer Relations Representative
Starbucks Coffee Company

-------

So this is apparently an isolated incident....a once-in-a-lifetime bag of crap coffee. Oh well, at least they responded and are apparently sending me a make-good card.

Entry No. 4

Camera phone pics continue to pour in as Cafe Asteria's first-ever contest continues to find the weirdest thing on your desk.

This one's from my brother-in-law. It's unidentfied, but it appears to be some sort of stuffed monkey with a soda bottle cap on its head. I'm left with only the most important questions: What is the quality of its fart noise?

Send in yours now, by having your phone send the pic to my e-mail, griner (at) gmail (dot) com.

-----

UPDATE! Jamey says his monkey is customized with a homemade accordian, hat and tip jar. Germany says: 'Gleichmäßiges besseres!"

Entry No. 3

While you were forgetting about the new excitement, loyal Asterian Dale sent in our third candidate in the contest to show the weirdest thing on your desk.



His comments:

It isn't quite so weird as yours, but it's got three canisters with "Flarp!" written on them. So it's a step above mundane. If you haven't played with Flarp, then it's a must-have. Nothing makes more realistic fart noises.

But shouldn't Brendan dye his hair black?

I'm generally not a big fan of collaborations, be they musical, literary or otherwise. With music, it seems like a collaboration yields muddled fruit -- two singers from very different genres creating an ego-driven product that doesn't appeal to fans of either.

But enough negativity, because there's a collaboration afoot that just about makes me clap my hands fast-like and giggle.

Brendan Benson, a geeky but talented singer/songrwriter, is working with Jack White of White Stripes fame on an album coming out in May. The band is called The Raconteurs, and the album is Broken Boy Soldiers.

I know I should reserve jugdment until I at least hear the single, but I have grounds for optimism. First, I'm just glad they're calling it a band. Not, you know, "Brendan Benson vs. Jack White" or "Jack White, with Brendan Benson and the Gold Toof Mafia" or something.

So has anyone actually heard these guys yet? I could probably poke around for a clip, but I'm lazy. I'll just cuddle with my optimism and hope for the best.

Unquestionably sound theories

Frequent commenter and beloved Cafe Asteria treasure Drea has floated a perfectly reasonable response to my previous question: Why do men prefer male singers, while women like to listen to women?

"... I really think the reason most people prefer the same gender is that they can sing along easily to their songs."

Elegantly simple and logical. Maybe that's why I like Concrete Blonde. But...I really like Portishead, largely for the same reason I like Radiohead...they can hit notes that are beyond the capabilities of myself and most dolphins.

Thoughts?

Oh, and I want to take this opportunity to air one of my musical pet peeves: Covers where the gender of the subject is changed to suit the gender of the singer. (Tiffany's "I Saw Him Standing There," etc.) Wait, did I just reference Tiffany? And would I really want They Might Be Giants singing "Maybe I know that he's been cheatin?"

Oh well. Create a bulletproof theory, dismiss criticisms of said theory, then conveniently forget you ever floated the theory. ("The only good sci-fi movies involve aliens that swarm like insects," etc.) It's just what I do.

The new excitement: Cafe Asteria Camera Phone Contests

In my ongoing effort to add interactivity to ye olde cafe, I'm starting an occasional camera phone competition. We all have em. Let's put em to good use.

The topic for the first one:
The weirdest thing on/in/hanging above your desk at work.

My entry:



It's a urine sample cup with an easter egg. Both are surprises from my company...one from April Fools, the other from yesterday. I'm going to see if I can build it into some sort of holiday shrine.

HOW TO TAKE PART
Just take the pic in the next week and have your phone send it it to me at griner (at) gmail (dot) com. I assure you, it should work. Feel free to include a description, or not, but follow it up with an e-mail letting me know who it was from. The winner will get...I dunno...a new nickname, probably.


------

UPDATE: Our first entry

This from Em:


It's her cat mug featuring scissors, chopsticks, a fork and some well balanced eggs. A lesser person might have photographed the hat in the background, but who am I to judge?

Shocking confession: I like guys.

As I was burning ... err ... tracking down original versioins of some CDs to loan to a friend, I stumbled across something that's concerned me off and on for a few years now. It doesn't concern me to the level of "Is shaving once a week too little or too much?" But, you know, it's in the back of my mind.

Anyway.

I seem to overwhelmingly prefer guy singers. Most fellas seem to, as well. (With one recently noted and glaring exception.) And most of the women I know seem to prefer female vocalists. The permutation of this is that women seem more likely to like male singers than the other way around. Plus, is there a female equivalent of Coldplay or John Mayer? (Meaning, is there a woman that guys would like, but women would consider poorly representative of their gender?)

So back to the question at hand: Do men prefer to listen to men, and women to women? If so, what does that say about us?

OK, discuss.

Wait, there are other blogs out there?!

After recently re-posting my original blog entry, I feel justified in breaking one of the initial rules I established. Namely, I said I wouldn't link to a bunch of other blogs. I think I've been pretty good about this, and I don't plan to make it a regularity.

BUT, I wanted to pass along some sites that help me get through slow days while still motivating me in my new profession. While some of these are advertising-oriented, I'm only listing the ones that I think each of you will enjoy:

• AdFreak - While part of the much more staid Ad Week, AdFreak is the most consistently updated and fun advertising blog I visit. It's got a quirky voice and avoids industry politics. Plus, if it weren't for them, I'd never find gems like this little guy.

• AdHunt - This one's so much fun, I think I breezed through all the available archives in just a few visits. It's an international collection of whacky ads, some risque and some just plan bizarro. Possibly not safe for work, if you work for a bunch of prudes.

• Minor Tweaks - I don't really read this blog, but AdFreak recently linked to a section where they e-mail corporations with fake compliments. Some of the letters and responses made me titter, I must say. Oh, and there was this classic post about a Duke of Hazzard.

• Gawker - I don't care a tinker's cuss for New York gossip, so I'm not sure why I like this blog. But I do. Maybe it's because they seem to care so intensely about something so vastly unimportant. It reminds me of those people who protested for Fiona Apple. I mean, who cares that much? Oh....wait...it's someone from Columbia, MO. But I digress. Oh, and I should note Gawker uses some pretty rough language, in case you're sensitive about such things.

• Romenesko - If nothing else, this is one aspect of my journalistic life I still cling to. Most of you who aren't already reading this blog will probably find little interest in the goings-on of newspapers, but if it weren't for this blog, I'd never learn about things like the obscenity in a New York Times Crossword. (Don't worry, that one's only unsafe for work if you're working in the year 1912.)

Hope this helps pass some time for you all.

Extreme puppy makeover

As you might know, our dog Jonas shares our current housing with two others... my sister's dogs, Loki the Brittany Spaniel and Picasso the Spanish Water Dog. Today was Picasso's first annual shearing, which had dramatic results.

The before:




























The after:


























The side view:

10 months, 100 posts....I'm so lazy

Egads, people. We've reached an honest-to-god benchmark! CafeAsteria has now had 100 posts, all by little old me.

When I launched this bad boy last year, my goal was just to create an easy way for me to keep family and friends posted on the increasingly unpredictable question of what was happening with me and Karen. Obviously, we were in California at the time, and we were both ready to move along with our lives. But where would we end up? Oh, the drama! But, you know, the answer's Birmingham.

Yes, given its humble origins, I didn't expect this blog to become an international sensation racking up thousands of hits a day.

And thank goodness, that never happened.

My patronage still seems to be our loyal friends and family, several of whom now read my posts days after taking part in the actual events being described. It's like reality TV ... with a REALLY SLOW lagtime. Wait, don't reality shows generally have a lagtime of six months or so before airing? Heck, I'm way ahead of schedule, then.

So how am I celebrating? Would you believe we're going to fly to Spain's Costa De Morta to visit the real Cafe Asteria? No? That'd be nice, though. It's the one pictured up top.

Or maybe the tourist-packed Cafe Asteria on the Greek island of Poros? Nah.

Instead I'll just paste in my first-ever blog post for nostalgic effect. Thanks for reading, folks.

Let's get brewin

Here's the plan. The best way to write more is to force myself, and what better way then to push myself out onto the virtual ledge of the blogging world? Thus, I'm kicking off Cafe Asteria.

What you won't find here: Political rambling, angst-ridden poetry, a flurry of links to other blogs.

What you will find: Some random thoughts, some fun new things to think about, and probably some recipes. For my friends and family, it'll be an easy way to stop in and see what I'm up to. For everyone else, it will be a momentary break from a Web world that always seems itchin for a fight.

So here goes.