Bird Is The Word

Enhance your blogging experience!
Listen to "Surfin' Bird" (to your left) whilst perusing ...

A little Thanksgiving vintage ...

Talk about your "load" of turkey ...

Nothing goes better with turkey than a pile of jalapeños.

Oh ... and an ESB ale ...

There's much to be disturbed about here.

But, the most striking thing? Pencils for chopsticks.
(There are times when you just need lead ...)

While strangely attracted,
I just don't know what to think about this ...

The Wrong Side Of The Road

This was a strange one .....

In my dream, I was a passenger in an Australian version of a Land Rover. This is to say I was sitting on the left side of the vehicle with the driver on the right side. The Land Rover was brand new, clean as can be and shiny-black with a black interior. It smelled new, it felt new, it drove new. I was comfortable as all get out sitting in the passenger side.

In my dream, President-Elect Barack Obama was the driver. There was no one else in the vehicle, just he and I.

In my dream, we were driving on a cliff face, heading west. I didn’t know where we were, but we were driving along on the left side of the road - which makes sense with a the type of vehicle configuration. To my left, out my window, was ocean. And there was no protective railing between the road and the cliff on my side, nothing but a sheer drop off that went straight down into the water below. On President-Elect Obama’s side of the vehicle, there was the other side of the road and a rock wall, nothing but mountain.

In my dream, President-Elect Obama suddenly veered toward the left and half the vehicle road off the cliff face, yet did not fall over the side. I remember hearing the scratch of the underside of the car as it skirted the edge of the cliff, but, amazingly, we weren’t going over the side and plunging into the ocean. I was wide-eyed in amazement and told him in no uncertain terms to get over on the other side of the road. He complied.

In my dream, we drove another few hundred feet and I shook my head trying to understand if what had happened just happened when President-Elect Obama drove to the left edge of the road again. And this time I raised my voice, telling him we were going to fall off the cliff face. Again, I heard the Land Rover sheer the cliff edge and I heard debris on the underside of the car, but it road smoothly still. Why weren’t we going over the side?

In my dream, we finally did. The car smoothly drove off the edge of the cliff and into the air and began falling. The rear of the vehicle tilted toward the ocean as we fell. I could feel ourselves in free fall, but I wasn’t frightened; I just sat back, made certain my seatbelt was secure and waited for the impact of us hitting the water. It was a long drop. Long enough for me to look over in wonder at President-Elect Obama. He returned my look and smiled at me, never saying a word.

In my dream, we hit the water with a jolt. It was a hard hit, but it didn’t knock the wind out of me. The car began sinking into the ocean. Water began seeping into the car. Calmly, I undid my seatbelt, forced open the door and was able to swim to the surface without incident. I don’t know what became of President-Elect Obama.

In my dream, it was the next day. I had my old faithful digital camera at my side, the one with the 3½" floppy drive. I had to get pictures of the cliff face from where we fell. I knew no one would believe we had taken such a plunge without recorded evidence of the Land Rover having sheered swaths of damage into the cliff face.

In my dream, I have no idea where President-Elect Obama was that next day. I don’t remember him getting out of the sinking car, I don’t know how I survived, I don’t remember anything but breaking the surface of the water after escaping. I just know I had my camera with me and it was the next day.

In my dream, I approached something that looked like a grand state manor - a landmark or government residence. It had been turned into a museum of some sort. I knew I had to get into this building and get to the back of the property as this is where the best vantage point for my photos of the cliff wall we’d fallen off could be taken. I knew the views from the back of this residence would afford me the chance to get the evidence I needed.

In my dream, the manor was indeed a museum showcasing the history of the place. Documents under glass and antiques and clear Lucite boxes housed things that showed the history of the building and the site. It was a maze and I couldn’t find a means to get to the back of the property. Finally, I found an exit, but it was not accessible to the public. I looked around to make certain no one was watching me and I slipped through a door.

In my dream, the back of the property opened up into a wide vista. The ocean was there and the cliff face was opposite the back of the manor in the distance. But something was wrong. There was no sign I saw of chunks of cliff lopped off by the speeding Land Rover the day before.

In my dream, I decided I was at the wrong view of the cliff and that I needed to hike across the expanse of the property; where we fell must have been a way off in the distance and I just couldn’t see it yet. I began hiking through beautiful waves of scrub.

In my dream, I hiked miles and miles. Nothing but unobscured land opened up before me. I trudged what seemed like forever, but the cliff face I saw showed no sign of any damage. Looking through my camera and zooming in on part of the cliff, I recognized mile markers we had passed when driving the previous day. I scanned past the mile markers, knowing approximately where the area was we first skirted the edge of the cliff and the second where we finally fell off the edge.

In my dream, my hunt was in vain. There were no scars from the Land Rover at the edge of the cliff. I put down my camera and shook my head in wonder. I came to the conclusion there had been a cover up of the incident by President-Elect Obama.

In my dream, I wondered why .....

......................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Little Known Facts: The Celebrity Edition

Probably little known to you (yes, you ... reading this at this very moment), Rupe's life's been a mass of mess of celebrities and actors and names. I've had the good fortun (if you want to call it that) to have known / bumped into / met / gotten a photo with or autograph of a bevy of personalities.

Here are fivesuch that will .... well .... who may do something for you:

#1: Seventh Inning Traffic Jam: I was attempting to extract myself from some function years ago at a ritzy hotel. I was caught in a logjam of traffic, nowhere to escape. An obviously angry motorist behind me had an important engagement and let me know in no uncertain terms he needed to be there ... and now. Honking excessively wasn't enough for the man, so he went as far as to get out of his car, cursing every step of the way, and march up to my window to give me a piece of his mind. Before reaching me, the traffic cleared and I sped off. I looked in my rearview mirror to see I was getting a final cussing out and the finger from none other than ...

....... Tommy Lasorda, Manager of The Los Angeles Dodgers .....

#2: Killed On Main Street, News At Eleven: While distributing flyers in the early morning hours before the day's Sundance Film Festival crowds descended on Main Street, a maroon Hummer skidded toward me in the snow, unable to stop. I leapt from the street onto the sidewalk, narrowly getting sideswiped. Whoever was driving was driving too fast in the wintery conditions and I recovered to approach the now stopped vehicle and give him a piece of my mind. The passanger door opened and a hulking figure emerged, came over to me and asked if I was all right. It was none other than The Last King Of Scotland, Forrest Whitaker ... and let me tell you, he's a big dude .....

#3: Help Me Ruprecht ... You're My Only Hope: I was in line. And she just kept staring at me. And staring. And staring. And staring. For almost forty-five minutes. It was eerily exciting and disturbing, all at once. I'll admit, I pictured her without her glasses, hair pulled back and in her slave outfit ala Return Of The Jedi.

Yes ... I was ogled uncomfortably by Princess Leia herself, Carrie Fisher.

#4: Yeah, That's The Ticket: I was leaving a Dodger game and there, in the exiting crowd, was Jon Lovitz. I went up to him. "Mr. Lovitz! I just realized - you don't have a picture of me!" We hugged while getting several goofy mugshots. Good times.

#5: Cowabunga: I waited for over an hour in a holding room at her private residence. Staff buzzed about and asked if I needed anything. No, thank you, I was fine. "Sorry she's late, but it's a bit frantic around here; we're throwing a surprise birthday luncheon for her. Her assistant will be out when she can to help you. Thanks!" That hour afforded me the opportunity and rare treat to peruse the many plaques, awards, framed salutations and more of Nancy Cartwright, the voice of Bart Simpson.

.................. Ruprecht ( STOP )

(This blog was the result of a game of tag from others .....)

An Institution ..... Gone .....

This October past saw an institution gone.

No more the comforting pink and white iced animals of youth whilst sitting in front of your television set watching your most favorite program.

No more that icy glass of milk wherein the chocolate chips would break free and float.

No more the bottom of the bag you would stick a wet finger in to catch the reminder of the sprinkles.

So long, Mother’s Cookies .....

.............................. Ruprecht ( STOP )

Fashion Drama ala Mode

The youngest.

Talk about your persnickety dressers.

For whatever reason – and it didn’t come from her parents genes, because we do not possess the “persnickety chromosome” – our youngest is downright defiant and rebellious about what goes on her body.

Jeans are verboten. Anything with different colored short sleeves other than the main torso color of a shirt will not even be considered. Tags on the back of the neck? Like Rupe’s son at the same age, they must be removed. Oh ….. and she’ll do the removing, thank you, ‘cause Rupe’s not intelligent enough to do it properly.

Yeah, she may have just turned eight years old, but the teenage backtalk is well underway and past the formative stages. Did I say "well underway"? Scratch that: It’s just about fully developed.

The conversation about clothes went something akin to this this morning:

“It’s not summer anymore. You’re not going to be able to wear shorts any longer, don’t you understand that? It’s actually going to be cool out there today.”

“But Moooooooooooooooooooooom …”

I verbally stepped in: “Goof … look. Sometimes you’re just going to have to suck it up. There’s stuff that Mom and Dad don’t like to wear, either. That long-sleeved shirt and tie Dad had to wear the other night for that party? It wasn’t exactly comfortable, let me tell you. There are going to be times when you’ll have to deal with real life …”

She turned in a huff and stomped out of the room, trailing the following in her best whine: “But Dad … I just don’t like dealing with real life …..”

Rupe and wife did our best to stifle the laughter so she wouldn’t hear.

We did a pretty good job of it, too …..

................................ Ruprecht ( STOP )