Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

OPEN LETTER

you know who you are, dude. you and your two precious, PRECIOUS darlings came to the saturday morning animated shorts screening today at the CIFF. it didn't start well for you (in relation to the two-older-nearing-grandparent-age people who were seated long before you came in with your two precious, PRECIOUS darlings).

first of all, dude, DUDE! it's not DISNEY shorts -- there are many other animated films, MANY of which are not at ALL suitable for children. dude. you should have checked. the first two were especially inappropriate. then there was the CLOWN feature. karma will bite you in the ass (i'm sure) for the nightmares that are sure to be generated by that TERRIFYING short.

second, don't EVER let me catch you in a theater with a camera again. a digital camera with the FLASH turned on. just. don't. and are you CRAZY thinking that it would be cool for your precious, PRECIOUS son to use? in the theater? taking shots of his teddy bear sitting in a seat? taking shots of the SCREEN. just. don't.

it might be better if you avoided downtown cleveland altogether for a while to allow me to lighten my mood.

Not About Peanut Butter, But Another Evil Substance

Okay, I wasn't raised the right way, I guess. Or I'm still kind of like juvenile when it comes to dealing with some food things. And you know what I have to say about that -- well, you don't really want to know; so, fuck it.

I got peanut butter on my hand yesterday. If you recall -- and if you do, what kind of sick-o are you, remembering stupid fucking details like that about someone you don't even know -- I can't stand peanut butter, except if it's in peanut butter cookies; but peanut butter cookies aren't really peanut butter due to the magic of chemistry. So, I hate peanut butter. It's a texture thing. And how easy is it to get it off human skin?

Not easy. It does not dissolve in water. You can run water on your hand all day, and the stuff will not rinse off. You need like Boraxo, which is going back a-ways, because today's fragrance-free, chemical-free, super-safe-for-kids soap just is not -- uhhh, you know -- adequate to handle the job. And then if it dries on you, well, consider yourself really fucked because a jackhammer can't get it off.

But this story isn't about peanut butter, as you have probably inferred from the title, it is about another evil substance, which was probably invented by space aliens, the beings who drew the Nazca lines and images, like this monkey with four fingers on one hand and five on the other (proof that it was drawn by space beings), visible only from way up in the air or from outer space:

You know, it really doesn't pay to bring up stuff like this because -- well, like -- uhhh -- only those with vivid imaginations and those who have been kidnapped by alien beings with four fingers on one hand and five on the other really understand. Others, the Others, well, they look sidewise at you and chuckle when you bring it up, as if they are superior know-it-all beings. Yeah. That's what it is.

So, anyway, I was at one of the upscale, hoity-toity grocery stores today; and that's where I got the Egg Salad. Stacey likes it -- just the Egg Salad made at that particular store by the Egg Salad Master Chef, who is not of this world. I know that because Stacey said once, "This Egg Salad is out of this world." And being the courteous, thoughtful individual that I am once in a great while, I bought a small container of it. There were bigger containers -- the Egg Salad Master makes two different sizes -- and I got the smaller one.

If peanut butter is bad, Egg Salad is worse. I admit that I have not ever eaten Egg Salad, not even once, which I guess, from my limited Egg Salad experience, is always eaten as a part of a sandwich. At least, peanut butter can be transformed into cookies -- I haven't seen a recipe for Egg Salad cookies.

There I was, earlier this afternoon, in the kitchen. And frankly, looking back on the experience, I am surprised that I am alive to tell you about it. I took two slices of the Italian Bread I got from Mazzone's Bakery on Clark near Fulton and put them on the plate. And I took this little plastic container, 8 ounces, I think, that held the Egg Salad and looked at it -- studied it, actually, because it didn't have a normal top that you just pry off. I tried that -- taking it off -- and it wouldn't come off. In hindsight, I now understand that they do not want this stuff getting out of the container on the way home, contaminating everything it touches.

I took the table knife, the kind that my Mom called a butter knife because it can't cut anything but butter, I guess, and pried the top off -- broke something off the lid, which was probably a mistake, or maybe it was supposed to happen like that. Apparently so because it happened that way -- if you believe that things happen for a reason. So, I got the top off. That's when the smell smacked me up side of my head, like I almost passed out from the smell. Next time I am asked to do this and I am in a good mood, I'm getting that stuff that they put under their noses in the morgue in CSI.

And next time I am asked to do this and I am in a good mood, I'm using a spoon.

And at this point in the process, right before I put that butter knife in the little container to get some of the vile-smelling, yellowish stuff out, this is when I think I saved my life and am lucky to be telling you this story. Something made me pause with butter knife poised over the little white chunks in some weird goopiness in the container. Maybe it was the peanut butter experience that made me do it. I think it was the peanut butter experience that made me do it. Just had to be, looking back at it.

I opened the drawer, the one with the junk in it, the junk drawer -- and I have some cool, purple latex gloves I got from some doctor's office stuck in the back of the drawer. I pulled them out, fw-a-a-a-a-p, one of them stuck in the back of the drawer. I pulled them on, like a purple second skin. Hah!

And so, that was the moment that I can reflect upon in future times when I am telling my story to my great grandchildren as a turning point in my personal history -- better safe than fucking sorry, they say about stuff like this -- because I am sure that if that Egg Salad had gotten on my bare-skinned hand instead of on the latex surgical glove, I would have died instantly. I don't know how she does it -- eats it, that is. Loves that stuff. It doesn't get on her hands because of the bread, I guess. The protective power of Mazzone's Italian Bread -- there's gotta be like a fucking story there. Or maybe it's something about building up a tolerance, just like Westley did with iocaine in The Princess Bride. Something like that, anyway.

Whatever. It's true.

Cleveland International Film Festival

The 34th Annual Cleveland International Film Festival begins tomorrow with its opening night events; then, on Friday, the real fun begins with 300 films being shown over the next week and a half.

If you are in or around Cleveland for the next 10 days, you might want to catch some flicks. The better half of the blog over there on the left and I have about 9 movies picked out, along with the Best Commercials of 2009. I think I have recovered from the significant psychological trauma caused by seeing Surveillance last year to return to Tower City Cinemas without having any flashbacks, although I did have some discomfort picking up tickets yesterday at the movie house.

I'm staying away from any film in which any "Lynch" takes part in any capacity.
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Oh, to follow up on the last post to this half of the blog, someone called me -- said she was from Homeland Security -- and warned me not to perform my electrical shock experiment on Peeps, as I had promised to do. It seems that because of my previous intimate relationship with electricity in the past -- you will recall the big black-out covering most of the eastern half of the U.S. and Canada a few years back that was traced to an "event" in northern Ohio -- I have been enjoined from performing such experimentation. I suppose it is for the greater good.

Peeps Patrol

There are times when one must coax an answer out of the suspect. Sometimes, the witness will be cooperative -- the witness has nothing to hide, has no stake in the outcome, or is just downright honest.

Other times, a witness will be uncooperative -- the witness has something to hide, has a stake in the outcome, or doesn't like the person who will be helped. At these times, threats of legal action or payment of money may achieve the cooperation of the witness.

Then, there are the unusual times when the witness is obstinate and intransigent -- the witness is hiding something, has a stake in the outcome, or is just plain crazy. One finds that the normal methods do not work.

So, the witness refuses to talk. What do you do?

Many Peeps refuse to talk; therefore, it was decided to attempt harsh interrogation methods.

Peep after being smacked around and refusing to talk, but prior to administration of microwave radiation:

Peep after 10 seconds of microwave radiation:

Microwave radiation was halted, after which Peep was asked if it would talk. Peep refused.

Peep after 20 additional seconds of microwave radiation:

Microwave radiation was halted, after which Peep was asked if it would talk. Peep refused. An examination was conducted of Peep. The white matter of its head was liquified. Administration of microwave radiation is not a technique that is effective in obtaining rational statements from the subject Peep.

CAUTION: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! DEATH MAY RESULT IF A PEEP ESCAPES FROM CAPTIVITY. SEVERE BURNS MAY RESULT FROM CONTACT WITH MICROWAVED PEEP.

TOMORROW: Electric shock.

The Death Knell of Mankind

I read about 3-D televisions coming to market about a year ago; now, it will be a reality.

I have a problem with it. How much testing has been done on the effect the 3-D technology has upon the human mind? None.

A large number of movies were released in the 1950's that audiences watched in 3-D. Among them was the classic, It Came From Outer Space.

Many of them were pretty bad flicks, but people flocked to see them.

What happened? Look around you. It is all due to the 3-D glasses -- the children born of those people who viewed movies wearing 3-D glasses have started the world on this path to ruin.

Some of us are now faced with a fork in the road. Do those of child-bearing age cave into their baser desires and buy 3-D HDTV's, stocking their living rooms, bedrooms, and ... mini-vans with dangerous 3-D glasses?

Or do they choose to save humanity?