Mullet Watch

Here's the first mullet spotting of the year by our #1 mullet spotter, JMc.

I have failed to report a mullet sighting last Sunday at the Casa De’ Wal-Mart on Outer Loop. Pure white trash family, had a not so pleasant odor about them. The mullet was a tight cut around the head and the waterfall portion just a little bit beyond the collar of the jacket.
Score one for me.

Mullet count: 2

Breaking News

We interrupt the normally scheduled Flashback Friday to bring you breaking news. Just hours ago, I got the Blazer back from the body shop. It's been almost a month since the wreck, but the Blazer is finally fixed and back in business. Not without drama, mind you. The woman that hit me balked a bit when the body shop told her how much it was; I'm not ashamed to say that I would have kicked her ass if any more drama had ensued. But I digress. The owner of the body shop told her over the phone (and I quote) "If you'd called me back like I asked in the message that I left on your voicemail, then I would have been able to tell you the final amount." Nuff said.

The Blazer is shinier than she was on the day I brought her home from the car dealer back in 1997. Everything that was damaged has been replaced, and then some; I'm here to tell you that the heater is working better than it has in months. They also did a front end alignment, and a full oil change, too. So she's back in business.

Tour de Cure 2009

As I mentioned yesterday, the 2009 American Diabetes Association Tour de Cure is on . This year, the ride will be held in May instead of late August like last year, and it will be twenty miles instead of last year's fifteen. Yep, twenty long miles. But in preparation for this year's ride, a dear friend and co-worker is hooking me up. He's giving me an awesome Schwinn five-speed to use in this year's Tour de Cure. This bike will be a hell of a lot easier to pedal up all of those hills then the old school Schwinn I rode in last year's Tour. If the weather and Dixie Cyclery both cooperate, I hope to be starting to train on the new-used Schwinn by the middle of next week. As soon as I get it, I will post a picture of the new set of wheels. And not to worry - I'm not getting rid of my almost-antique 1963 mint condition Schwinn. I've already ridden it a couple of times this month, and will continue to give it a regular workout.

In the next few weeks, you can expect a full blown advertisement for this year's Tour de Cure, so start saving your money, because I am going to hit all of my faithful readers up for a few bucks.

File Under: WTF?

About six weeks ago, I received an email from the fine folks at the American Diabetes Association, telling me about the 2009 Tour de Cure. It's held in May this year, as opposed to the August date last year, but more on that in a forthcoming TWIT journal entry. Anyhoo, the email was about how if we preregistered for the Tour de Cure by the end of January, we would get a very cool long-sleeved t-shirt that said (appropriately) "In Training for the Tour de Cure." Plus, you'd get $10 off of the regular registration fee. I'm all about savings so I registered early to save some money. After all - we are in a recession and need to save any way we can. But I digress. Today when I got home from work, I looked at the corner of the kitchen counter, where my mail usually is, and imagine my surprise when I saw a big white envelope containing my cool t-shirt. Imagine my shock when I saw written in bold magic marker on the big white envelope "Postage Due $1.54." Yep, the fine folks at the ADA didn't have enough postage on the free t-shirts they were sending out. Dad forked over the $1.54 to our mailman, who Dad said was getting irritated by the incident. He also said the mailman told him "You can either pay it or I'll have it sent back." WTF is all I can say.

Happy National Pancake Day

TWIT would like to wish all faithful readers a very happy National Pancake Day. It's also Fat Tuesday, which we all know as the day before Lent starts. It's no coincidence that Pancake Tuesday is on Fat Tuesday. It goes way back to the old school Catholics. Anything the Catholics could not eat or drink during the fasting period of Lent was consumed the day before Ash Wednesday, thus giving us Fat Tuesday. Way back in the day, the Catholics had strict rules that prohibited the eating of all dairy products during Lent, so pancakes were made to use up the supply of eggs, milk, butter and other dairy products hence the name Pancake Tuesday.

Needless to say, Pancake Tuesday has become one of my favorite days of the year. In keeping with tradition, this morning we held our twelfth annual Pancake Tuesday breakfast at The Compound before work. This has become a tradition with the 'Rents and me and our old friend and my co-worker SH. This morning, the kitchen and dining room was decorated with about 200 strands of Mardi Gras beads of all shapes, sizes and colors. And a mess of pancakes was consumed by all.

If you haven't had your pancakes yet, never fear - there's still time. If you live close to an iHOP, you can go there tonight until 10:00 and get a free short stack (three pancakes). Yep, free pancakes. All they ask is that you give a donation to the Children's Miracle Network. So get off of the computer (after you read TWIT, of course) and head on over to iHOP. And maisez les bon temps roulez!

The Legend Of The Little Bluebird

Before I explain the Legend of the Bluebird, let me preface by saying I firmly believe there's no such thing as coincidence.

It started back in April at the funeral of my best friend Diva Stacy's mother, Dolly. One of the flower arrangements had a little life-size bluebird wired to a ribbon, and Diva Stacy's daughter (who we refer as Diva-in-training) asked me to get the little bluebird off of the ribbon for her. Back at Diva Stacy's house, she placed the little bluebird on top of a kitchen cabinet among some ivy and other greenery.

Four days later, Diva Stacy noticed a pair of bluebirds outside of a birdhouse on the deck. The bluebirds had mated and were building their nest inside of this birdhouse. For over five years, no birds had ever lived in that birdhouse until the little bluebirds.

A few weeks later on Mother's Day, Diva Stacy noticed that the little bluebird in the kitchen had fallen from it's "nest" among the greenery on the cabinet top and was in the floor. First of all, let me say that I saw where this little bluebird was placed, and it was nowhere near the edge of the cabinet top where it could have easily fallen off. As of today, it hasn't fallen off since.

A few months later, I put on a pair of shoes that I hadn't worn in awhile, and I felt something in one of the shoes. At first I thought it was a teeny pebble or something; imagine my surprise when I found out it was a teeny tiny ceramic bluebird (pictured in the photo on the left). I have no idea where it came from, nor what it could have broken off of. I have no ceramic figurines in my bedroom.

Two weeks ago, Diva Stacy's husband found a similar teeny tiny ceramic bluebird (pictured in the photo on the right) in the floor at home and picked it up and laid it on the window sill. When I was at Diva Stacy's house the next day, she asked me if I had brought the teeny tiny ceramic bluebird from home and dropped it while I was at their house. I reassured her that my teeny tiny bluebird was at home on my dresser. A few days before this visit to Diva Stacy's house, I was listening to some of my favorite Linda Ronstadt songs while riding the bike, and one of the songs mentioned a little bluebird.

Are all of these little bluebird incidences just coincidence? I hardly think so.

Link Of The Week

As a self-proclaimed armchair psychologist, I've always enjoyed taking personality tests. Some have been way off base, others have nailed me. This week, I found an interesting personality test, the results of which fall in the "nailed me" category. It's similar to the Meyers-Briggs tests, and is simply called "41 Questions." It's based on the four personality indicators developed by psychiatrist Carl Jung. You can take the test at http://www.41q.com.

For the record, here's what it had to say about yours truly:

Your personality type:
Practical, traditional and organized. Likely to be athletic. Not interested in theory or abstraction unless they see the practical application. Have clear visions of the way things should be. Loyal and hard-working. Like to be in charge. Exceptionally capable in organizing and running activities. 'Good citizens' who value security and peaceful living.

Careers that could fit you include:
Military, business administrators, managers, police/detective work, judges, financial officers, teachers, sales representatives, government workers, insurance agents, underwriters, nursing administrators, trade and technical teachers.

Interesting. Very interesting.

The Second Year Of Trying New Things

If you've had the pleasure of eating breakfast out with me, one thing you know about Puddin is the only way I will eat my egss is with the yellows hard. I can't stand a runny yellow on my plate. I'm not sure where this came from, since all of my family ate their fried eggs with the yellows runny. But I digress. This morning, the 'Rents and I trekked out to our local Cracker Barrel to meet some friends from church for breakast. The older couple that invited us ordered first, and I listened with rapt attention as the lady gave her egg instructions to the waitress. She told her she wanted her eggs "basted." This was a new egg cooking style to me - I'd never heard of basted eggs before. The waitress then asked how she wanted them cooked and the lady told her medium. When it came to my turn to order, I thought I'd be brave and try the basted eggs, too. And of course, I told the waitress "hard". Imagine my surprise when she brought our plates and my two eggs looked like normal over-easy fried eggs. I didn't want to send the plate back and tell them just break the yolks and fry those suckers hard, so I decided to buck up and attempt to eat the runny yellows. After one bite I was hooked.

Now, for the record, the yellows weren't running all over the plate - they were more on the congealed side, but still a bit runny. But I liked them. I'm not sure I'll continue to eat my fried eggs with the yellows runny or slightly congealed, but at least I tried them and it didn't kill me. As for the "basted" part, well, the jury is still out on that one. Maybe one of my faithful readers can enlighten me as to what basted eggs are all about.

Flashback Friday

As I mentioned yesterday, I did something stupid this week and caught a cold. Some will diagnose it as a sinus infection; others, an upper respiratory infection; I prefer to call it a cold. People have asked me the past few days if I was going to the doctor and I immediately told them no; unless I'm knocking on death's door, I will not go to the doctor for a cold. That's just the way I was raised. I asked the 'Rents about that tonight, and they said "We took you to the doctor one time when you had a bad cold and that was it. We just doctored you up at home and you were over the cold in a couple of days."

When Mom mentioned "doctored" she meant common sense things that most of us don't do today -- things such as staying home (inside the house, not playing outside with the neighbor kids spreading germs nor going to work spreading germs), sleeping, drinking lots of water and orange juice, and using Musterole, the miracle rub. They haven't sold Musterole in about twenty or thirty years but when I was a kid, it was the medicine to end all colds. The moment I would develop a cold, out would come the little green glass jar of Musterole. Before I went to bed, Mom or Grandma would rub some of the stinky Musterole on my chest, and would cut a square piece out of an old sweatshirt and pin it on the inside of my nightgown or pajamas so the Musterole wouldn't get my sleep clothes all greasy, and when I woke up the next morning the congestion in my chest would be all broken up. Yep, it truly worked that quick.

Today, we have Vick's and other similar salves but none of them work near as good as Musterole. I would have given anything for a jar of it last night or tonight. And no, I'm still not going to the doctor.

Thursday Updates

There's really not a lot I can say today. I've caught a cold, and feel terrible, and I'm wondering how I made it though the day at work. And in case you're worried about me spreading my germs to everybody, I made sure I sprayed Lysol around the cubicle. In fact, I walked around in a little Lysol fog all day long.

It's been a rough week at work for most of the people I've talked to, and the only thing I can say about that is at least tomorrow is Friday, and it will be all over for two whole days.

Speak Up

It's been one of the roughest weeks at work for me. On Monday, I attended the funeral of a friend and co-worker who lost a long hard battle with cancer. She sat just a few feet away from me in our cubicle for the past six years. Over the years we laughed together, we cried together, and we got mad at each other. Neither one of us were the world's best at speaking our feelings - we would hold things inside when we should have spoke our minds. I'm sorry that I waited until a few months before she died to finally speak up about some things, but at least I spoke up. After I finally did say what was on my mind, tensions eased; I only regret that I didn't speak up sooner.

If there's one thing I learned this past week it's that life is way too short to hold things inside. We don't know if there will be a tomorrow for us to fix things or say what's on our minds and in our hearts - we have to do it today. I hope and pray I can put that in practice.

I Don't Really Know What To Think

Back in the summer, a horrible thing occurred in the 'Ville; actually, it happened in my 'hood. Just about a mile up the road from The Compound, a teenage boy on the PRP High School football team collapsed during football practice. The allegations say that he was denied water during the practice, which was on a typically hot and humid Ohio Valley summer day. The boy died a few days later. Now, criminal charges have been filed by the Commonwealth, and civil charges have been filed by the boy's family. I really don't know what to say about this.

First of all, I have a slight connection to the coach - my mother has known his in-laws for about forty years. Personally I've never met him, but I know who he is. That having been said, I just don't know what to think. But I've had some comments from faithful readers, asking for my opinion on this - mainly because they know it happened in my 'hood. So I feel compelled to give my opinion.

Second, my opinion is based on the fact that an autopsy was not performed on the boy, at the request of his family. So truthfully, we have no way of knowing if heat exhaustion was in deed the cause of death, or at least a contributing factor. Also, since there was no autpopsy performed there is no way of proving that the boy was taking a much-talked-about steroid, either. So from my point of view, since there is no concrete evidence, I think there shouldn't be any criminal charges from the Commonwealth. But that's just Puddin's point of view. I'm sure the Commonwealth's Attorney has a much different view.

If the coach is in deed to blame because the boy had a heatstroke because he was denied water, then I'll be the first to say make the coach rot in jail for the rest of his life. But without an autopsy to prove what the boy died from, it's inane to have a lawsuit again the man. The same would be if the boy was on some type of 'roids -- if they'd done an autopsy and we found that could have been a contributing factor, then I say let's go after who gave him the 'roids. But without an autopsy we'll never know that, either.

We've been talking about this for weeks, and a friend emailed me her opinion on this, and I felt compelled to share it with you. It gives another viewpoint to this case. She has a child that has participated in high school sports, so she knows what she's talking about. Here's her take on this:

"After reading so much about the Max Gilpin drama at PRP high school, I decided that I had to throw my two cents out there (after all, everyone else has). First, I would like to say as a parent, that losing a child must be utterly devastating. I can imagine that it might make them feel better to blame someone – anyone who could be held responsible in any way. However, I think that the lawsuit against the coach is not the right thing to do in this tragedy. I will say that I was not there and I don’t know the coach personally. I have heard nice things from people who do know him.

From what I have read, there was no autopsy done on Max. Why not? Wouldn’t it be in everyone’s best interest to rule out any other possible cause of death besides heat stroke? Perhaps there was some genetic abnormality that went undiagnosed, or perhaps an overdose of some supplement that he was rumored to have been using. The problem is, now we will never know if there was any other factor that aided his death. So…to charge the coach with his death when all other causes of death have not been ruled out is in my opinion, a witch hunt gone awry. The authorities do not have half of the evidence.

As a parent of a child who has spent many years in sports, I know the methods that coaches must use to get the kids to listen – especially teenagers. I can go off on a tangent about the number of undisciplined teenagers I see, but that is another story. All I know is that I would eat my left hand before trying to get a large group of teenagers to perform the way they are supposed to. Using water breaks as a method of getting the kids to do what they are supposed to is common because it is often the only thing that works. So this was hardly an unreasonable tool used by the coaches, IF that is what even happened.

So let’s roll ahead a bit if this man is wrongly convicted. Who will coach high school football? No one in that has anything to lose. Will schools even allow football if they have to worry about potential lawsuits? Not likely. Think that won’t snowball to the colleges? Where will they get players with the skills to be on their teams? Answer: they won’t. Not to mention that college coaches would be afraid of lawsuits too. So where does the NFL find their players? Ah, bingo - say goodbye to the Super Bowl. I know this may seem like an exaggeration, but that is where we are heading with lawsuits like this.

I hope and pray that this lawsuit will be dropped soon. Not because I really worry about losing the Super Bowl, but because I think it has no merit. What really scares me are people’s comments to the articles I read in the courier-journal. While I believe that everyone is entitled to their opinion, it seems as though some people are ready to chase this coach with a pitchfork and ignore the lack of evidence. If those are the people that are put on any jury, you can kiss more than the NFL goodbye."

I'm Disappointed, Diane Sawyer

I watched an interesting show Friday night. Louisville's own Diane Sawyer hosted a documentary titled "Children Of The Mountain." She visited different families down in the Appalachia Mountain area of Kentucky. The main theme of the show was to show America how they live down in the coal mining part of the state. Most of the people she talked with lived in poverty, and talked about being addicted to prescription narcotics - one teenage boy even lived in his small truck in an attempt to get away from the drug abuse in his home. And in case you're wondering, most of the people they showed on the documentary had multiple teeth missing.

I'm familiar with that part of the state - I know that people in that area do in deed live in poverty and don't take care of their teeth, and I know that drug use is rampant, but one thing about the TV show really upset me and got me all riled up. When the people Diane Sawyer was interviewing would talk, they showed subtitles at the bottom of the TV screen, as if they were speaking in a foreign language none of the American TV viewers could understand.

I'm the first to admit that I do have an accent, as did the people Diane Sawyer interviewed, but the TV viewers hardly needed subtitles in order to figure out what they were saying. Sure, they talked with a twang, but ABC made it appear like they were speaking in Swahili. I ranted and raved about this all day long, and one co-worker said that when she was dealing with people from Boston in a previous job, she could barely understand them. Having worked in customer service for twelve long years, I've encountered some people in New England and in New York City that had stronger accents then the people on the documentary. And it's a safe bet that if Diane Sawyer had been in Boston, Mass doing a similar documentary about Bostonians, you know damed good and well ABC wouldn't have had subtitles for them.

At least Diane Sawyer didn't call the Appalachian Mountain people hillbillies, even though they do in deed come from the hills.

Here's The Screaming Children

I knew that MP would not let me down. Here's the picture I mentioned in Link Of The Week. It was taken wayyyyy back in 1963 by photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt. The children are watching a puppet show, and the evil dragon had just been slain. Some kids are freaking out; some are cheering; some don't know what to do.

For the record, MP and I named the little brown haired girl in front with her mouth gaping open "Simone."

Link Of The Week

I'm hoping that my dear friend and faithful reader MP will read this post tonight and come to my rescue. Way back in the day when he and I worked together, we were fascinated (okay, obsessed) with a picture in a copy of the old school Life magazine. The picture was in black and white, and was of a group of little children. The cool part of the picture was the fact that each child had a different expression on their faces One year on my birthday, MP had copied the picture about one hundred times and had them taped all over my cubicle at work. But I digress. After reading the fine print about the picture, we found out that the children were watching a puppet show, and each kid was reacting differently to what was happening at that very minute in the show. I'm hoping that MP will have researched online and has found this picture and will email it to me

In thinking about this picture, I started doing some research online and came across a cool site called TinEye. It's a reverse image search engine. You can submit an image to TinEye to find out where it came from, how it is being used, if modified versions of the image exist, or to find higher resolution versions. TinEye is the first image search engine on the web to use image identification technology rather than keywords. So if we had the picture of the children, we could upload it and it would in deed tell us the photo was taken at a children's puppet show in Europe. Check out the site at http://www.tineye.com .

Happy Valentine's Days To The Senior Citizens In Mexico City

Mexican mayor aims to add spark to flagging sex lives
By Marc Lacey
Friday, February 13, 2009

MEXICO CITY: Flashing a boyish grin, the silver-haired septuagenarian fidgeted nervously. His voice dropped to a whisper. A reddish hue enveloped his face. All this because he was asked how the latest social program to be offered by Mexico City's government was affecting his home life.
"Things have changed," Angel Posadas Sandoval, 74, finally confessed, not going into specifics but nonetheless making himself abundantly clear.

He was talking, however obliquely, about the free Viagra the government is giving away to poor men age 60 and above.

With midterm elections looming in July, Mayor Marcelo Ebrard has been rather creative in his attempts to make life more livable for the people of this sprawling metropolis, which finds itself clogged with traffic, overwhelmed by smog, prowled by criminals and reeling from the global financial crisis.

The mayor dumps sand at public pools to create artificial beaches. He bans cars from major roadways on Sundays and turns them into sprawling bike paths. The largest skating rink in the world, one that makes Rockefeller Center's patch of ice look puny, went up in the Zócalo, Mexico City's central square, for the second straight year over the Christmas holidays.

This weekend, for Valentine's Day, the government is sponsoring a mass kiss-in, in an attempt to break the world record and raise awareness about domestic violence. "Bésame Mucho," or "Kiss me a lot," was recently adopted as the city's motto by tourism officials, and Ebrard is expected to preside over the event, though his staff was not sure whether he would be publicly smooching his wife, a former soap opera actress.

But the free Viagra is what had Posadas, a retiree, hemming and hawing on a recent afternoon. After reading an announcement about Ebrard's latest gesture, he summoned the courage to broach the topic of his erectile dysfunction at a local government health center. After undergoing an in-depth health exam and receiving a lecture on the dangers of sexually transmitted diseases, Posadas recently became among the first men in the city to be issued a handful of government-subsidized pills.

Apparently, they worked. "Now, I'm able to fulfill my wife," he said. Posadas, the father of two and grandfather of six, acknowledged that his sex life had slowed somewhat in recent years.
The initiative may be more about politics than anything else, and with nationwide elections looming in July, candidates across Mexico are beginning to lay the groundwork for their campaigns.

To bolster the fortunes of his leftist Party of Democratic Revolution and to further his own dream of becoming the country's president in 2012, Ebrard has pushed to legalize abortion and gay civil unions in the capital and crack down on illegal street vendors and unlicensed taxi operators, who have long been associated with crowds and crime. His plan to expand subway and bus service is ambitious and popular.

In announcing the erectile dysfunction program in November, Ebrard, 49, portrayed it as a way of bringing smiles to the faces of those who have reached the tercera edad, or third age, as Mexicans call the golden years.

"Everyone has the right to be happy," the mayor said, noting that many of the poorest elderly people do not qualify for employer-based health plans and have been abandoned by their families. "They don't have medical services, and a society that doesn't care for its senior citizens has no dignity."

An estimated half of Mexican men over the age of 40 experience difficulties achieving erections, said Dr. Irán Roldán, a specialist in geriatrics who helps run the new program at Mexico City's Department of Public Health. But the subject has not been one that many men have felt comfortable talking about before.

Getting men into public clinics with the promise of free erectile medicine, Roldán said, could help them get treatment for other related health problems, like diabetes, hypertension, obesity and depression. "This is a public health problem," she said.

So far, huge crowds have not turned out for the free Viagra, Levitra or Cialis, which are the three tablets being offered. Fewer than 100 inquiries have been made at health clinics and only about a dozen or so men whose erectile dysfunction has been diagnosed have begun the process to get the pills, health officials say. They range in age from their early 60s to 82.

Still, the new program has managed to provoke a spirited debate on a topic that was considered taboo before: sex among senior citizens.

One of Ebrard's long-shot rivals for the presidency, Fidel Herrera, 59, the governor of Veracruz State from the Institutional Revolutionary Party, dismissed the Viagra handouts as ridiculous. "What's the point of encouraging old people to have sex?" he asked in a recent interview. "There's such a thing as nature. You can't play God."

But others disagreed with that take.

"Nobody pays attention to us," said Bernarda Valenzuela, 77, whose husband died in an accident years ago. "Those children who care for their parents only worry about giving them food and changing their clothes, as if we were children. They forget that we feel many things, even sexual things. We're not made of wood."

But Pepe Castro, 65, a barber who dyes his hair jet black, thought the money spent on the pills could be better used on more pressing matters. "There's other things more important," he said. "Everyone wants sex, no matter the age, but the government ought to be paying for medicines to keep people alive, not this."

As for Posadas, he has used three pills already and has three left from his initial batch. Soon, he will return to the clinic for more tests and, he hopes, another supply.

His artificial knee still hurts him and his cholesterol is elevated. But other than that, he said he felt quite robust. "I'll enjoy whatever time I have left," he said, flexing his biceps a bit.

With a memory like mine, you'd think I'd be able to tell a funny old vaudeville one-liner about this subject, but there's not much I can say about it except that TWIT would like to wish a very special Happy Valentine's Day to all of the senior citizens in Mexico City. You go.

Flashback Friday

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and I don't even want to know how much $$ will be spent on this holiday - never mind that we're in the deep throes of a recession. But I digress. While I was at work today, I reminisced about Valentine's Days past, and one common thread that kept flowing through my memories was Valentine's boxes.

I'm sure you all remember what I'm talking about - a few days before Valentine's Day, elementary school kids would all bring a shoe box to school and would make a box for their classmates to put their Valentines in. It was a very big production. We would work all week on our Valentine boxes - using as much red and pink construction paper as the teacher would give us. They would all be pretty much the same - construction covered shoe boxes with a slit cut in the lid for the Valentines to be dropped in. But still they were unique. We all put our own distinct decorations on them. I was a paper lace doily gal myself, and would glue as many as I could on my box.

Just this afternoon at work, I was asking my co-worker RGS about his kids and the Valentine logistics in their classes, and I was very sad to find out that the school kids no longer make Valentine boxes. The kids still hand out Valentines, but they don't make Valentines boxes like we did. What a shame. The kids are truly missing out. To me, that was the highlight of Valentine's Day. I could not have cared less about how many Valentine's cards I got, nor who they were from - all I cared about was having the perfect Valentine's Day box. I wish things were that simple right now.

Biggest Loser Update

We had our second official weigh-in at work Tuesday, and I'm happy to report that team Winner Winner Chicken Dinner are in deed losers. We all lost - some more than others - but we all lost. I was tickled pink over losing 6 pounds since the contest started four weeks ago. I know that it's not going to come off as fast as it did when I first started losing a year ago, but my goal is to continue to lose at least one pound a week and keep it off.

Back to the contest. My good friend and co-worker out in the plant Big Willie was the Biggest Loser for the first weigh-in -- he dropped a total of eleven pounds. In case I haven't mentioned him before, Big Willie used to do compete in body building contests and is one big man. Not big as in needs-to-lose-weight-in-his-belly big; big as in big. But don't let his size fool you or scare you off - he's a big ol' teddy bear and a great guy. Everytime I see him I just want to walk up to him and ask "Will you give me a big ol' hug?" I know he'd be happy to oblige.

The Second Year Of Trying New Things

I thought I was doing some pretty big things last year by trying asparagus and other vegetables, but faithful readers, I'm not done yet. It's February and I am in the Second Year Of Trying New Things.

Just minutes ago, I finished a cup full of collard greens. And they rocked. They always looked good when I would see the 'Rents eating them, and one of my most vivid meal memories as a kid was my Grandmother's vinegar cruet that always got out fo the cabinet when we had greens for supper. So needless to say, I had to have Grandma's cruet tonight when I tried the greens. I'm hooked. I tried spinach a few weeks ago but it was just too slimey for me to eat. Mom assured me that I would like collards better, so I trusted her and tried them tonight. I loved them. I think they might be my new favorite vegetable.

Top Ten Favorite One Hit Wonders

1. Keep Your Hands To Yourself - Georgia Satellites

2. Hot Rod Lincoln - Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen

3. 100% Pure Love - Crystal Waters

4. Groove Is In The Heart - Dee Lite

5. I Touch Myself - The Divynals

6. Walking In Memphis - Mark Cohn

7. Baby Got Back - Sir Mix-A-Lot

8. All Right Now - Free

9. Help Me Make It Through The Night - Sammi Smith

10. Turn The Beat Around - Vicki Sue Robinson

Cooking At The Compound

I've mentioned before how much we love watching the Food Network at The Compound. We especially like Giada de Laurentis, Cat Cora, Sandra Lee and everybody's favorite Paula Deen. Just this past weekend, the 'Rents were watching Paula Deen whip up a meal, and were intrigued by her recipe for Cornbread Salad. They were so intrigued that they sent me out to the grocery for the ingredients and then they whipped it up for supper. It was awesome. Now, I'm the first to say that I normally don't like foods mixed up a la KFC's Bowls. But I digress. This salad rocked. Sure the foods are in there mixed up (actually, they're layered) but hey - it's a salad - it's supposed to be mixed up. Here's the recipe. I hope you enjoy it half as much as we did. And in case you might be wondering, even a day later the cornbread still was not soggy - it was almost as dry as it was when we ate it on Saturday evening.

Cornbread Salad

1 batch cornbread, cut into 1-inch squares
1 (14.5-ounce) can red kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 (15-ounce) can niblet corn, drained
1 medium Vidalia onion, finely chopped
1 large green bell pepper, finely chopped
3 large tomatoes, chopped
2 cups grated sharp Cheddar
1 (8-ounce) bottle buttermilk ranch dressing
Chopped fresh parsley leaves, for garnish

In the bottom of a large glass bowl, place cornbread cubes. Layer beans, corn, onion, bell pepper, tomatoes, and cheese on top of cornbread. Spread ranch dressing evenly over cheese. Cover, and refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Garnish with fresh parsley, if desired.

Link Of The Week

If you know me well enough, you know that I love to use slang and catchphrases. Diva Stacy and I are notorious for quoting lines from our favorite movies and TV shows repeatedly. Actually, we wear them into the ground, but it makes us laugh so we keep on saying them. For instance, Diva Stacy made me a very cool t-shirt with my current cool phrase "Pray for bettah dayz" on it. This week, I watched a clip from a previous "Ellen" episode that contained what I believe will be THE catchphrase of 2009. I'm not going to spoil it for you by telling it here, so you'll just have to watch the video and see if you can figure it out for yourself. Go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83JDXXKzOXg and watch it. I just might have to make a shirt with this phrase on it. I know you'll probably want one, too.

Unconditional Love

My 46th year has sure started out with a bang, pun intended. First of all on my birthday, we get the worst storm to ever hit the state of Kentucky. The entire state has been paraylzed since then, and thanks to the 60 degree temps today, we're finally thawing out. As if dealing with all of the ice wasn't bad enough, last Sunday I was in a wreck and my beloved Blazer's front end was demolished. After dealing with insurance companies and body shop estimates all week long, I'm drained. But yesterday afternoon when I came home from work, thoroughly disgusted after having to leave the Blazer locked up at a body shop because it is now leaking oil and was undriveable, I experienced unconditional love. Our friends black lab Rocky is staying with us for a few days while his family is out of town, and he was waiting at the French doors for me when I came home last night. For about an hour, he never left my side. He followed me from room to room, and I think he sensed that I was in need of some unconditional lovin'.

Flashback Friday

With all of the ice that we've had in the past week and a half, I felt compelled to share a picture of one of my favorite games as a kid, "Don't Break The Ice.

Special Guest Writer Thursday

With all of the crap going on this week in dealing with the insurance companies and trying to drive my Blazer to different body shops only during daylight hours because I have no headlights, my nerves are pretty much shot. A friendk, co-worker and newest faithful reader Krazy K talked to me at work today about a subject that she is very passionate about -- crazy Louisville drivers. After hearing her while she was on her soapbox, I asked her to please write it down and share it with everyone on the world wide web. Before we go any further, let me say that the opinions expressed are [close but] not necessarily those of Puddin, but I feel everyone has the right to their own opinion, and I'm thrilled I could give Krazy K a place to express said opinion. Without further ado, here's Krazy K's take on driving in Kentucky:

Okay folks, let me tell you a little bit about myself so that you can understand my perspective: I am 39 years old, born and raised in California, but have driven in many states from one side of this country to the other. I’ve lived in Fresno, CA; Bakersfield, CA; Modesto, CA; El Paso, TX; Las Vegas, NV; and now, Louisville, KY (don’t ask, we’ll just say my family is full of gypsies and leave it at that). I have frequently driven in dreaded Los Angeles and San Francisco (which is hell on brakes), New York City and Chicago, as well as been a passenger in 14 different countries in Europe. Up until moving here, I would have said that the worse drivers were in Naples, Italy. One week after living in Louisville, I changed my mind – the worst drivers are here! Now, I will do my best to not sound self-righteous, but please forgive me ahead of time because I know I will probably fail.

It didn’t take long for me to notice that no one here knows what that little stick on the left of the steering wheel is for. Well, let me clue you in: it is a courteous little stick that lets the drivers around you know that you are turning or changing lanes BEFORE you do it – and oh, what a wonderful tool. After a year here, however, I think I have learned why it is not used. Because those “the-world-is-all-about-me” people will actually speed up to close gaps so you cannot get into their lane. But I have also learned that people will squeeze their big a$$ SUV into any gap I leave in between me and the car in front of me – not matter how small. This must be why people drive so close to my butt that they can probably see panty lines (even the so-called cops – but I won’t go there). BTW: If you own a black PT cruiser and were going south on the 71 at 7:24 a.m. this morning - driving like shit and almost causing an accident – you are an idiot and need to consider riding the bus.

Apparently, red lights and stop signs are a suggestion. This could be the cause of all these accidents I keep seeing and hearing about on the news, but I guess there’s a learning curve. This must be the same learning curve that keeps people from learning that ice is slippery. And let me touch on the hillbilly road rage (Boy, I’m really heated up now) – I have had more than one idiot follow me all the way to work because I made the mistake of braking in front of them when cars in front me also braked. Who the hell do these people think they are? Let me say that I’m packin’ now, so I dare one of these punks to catch me. This NEVER happened in Cali, Texas, or Nevada.

So (allow me to take a deep breath – in and out), let me just reiterate something: driving is a privilege allowed by the state government once you have proven that you know the rules of the road (or can at least find a way to cheat on the test). Those rules are there to keep the general public safe, which includes you and I. I understand you’re in a hurry – we are all in a hurry. I, however, am not in a hurry to die here in Kentucky on the stupid 265. And if my daughter gets hurt while driving here, I will personally rip the internal organs of anyone causing the accident with my bare hands – that’s when my road rage will top any wanna-be-Billy-badass.

Mid-Life Crisis, Phase 2

Last spring, I finally figured out what I was going to do for my much-anticipated mid-life crisis: I took up cycling. It's been awesome, and I have to say that it truly changed my mid-life. Well, it's been almost a year, and I've come to the realization that I'm now in Phase 2 of my mid-life crisis. In this phase, I believe I've reverted back to my early twenties. And I think it's pretty cool.

Phase 2 actually started a few months ago, when I started listening to top 40 radio again. I bought CDs by Nickelback and 3 Doors Down, and I'm even considering going to see both groups in concert later this month. I also got into what I call club music. I bought CDs by Lady GaGa and Rihanna and play them almost every day while I ride the recumbent bike and work out.

While I was listening to my new tunes, I started dressing a little bit hipper. Not that I dressed like a nerd or an old grandma (even though I know some old grandmas that are very hip and way cooler then me) - I just bought a few things that the young things happen to wear right now. When I had to buy some new smaller jeans, the only ones I could find had the wide flared legs. I hated them at first, but after people started complimenting on how cool they looked, well hell - I bought more. Then when the temperature got colder, I started wearing the layered look - long sleeve Under Armor or thermal shirts with a cool t-shirt over the top. Once again, the layered look got rave reviews. And just this weekend I bought a pair of what I call "urban" boots.

But Phase 2 doesn't end with new music and clothes. A couple of weeks ago I bought an iPod Touch. I have to say it's probably the coolest gadget that I have ever gotten. I used it so much last week while I was iced and snowed in that I thought I was going to wear it out. But wait - there's one more part of Phase 2: Facebook.

I have to give props to my dear friend and faithful reader Big Mama for being the first person to invite me become a "friend" on Facebook. This was months ago, but I never did aything with Facebook except reading Big Mama's posts on there. . . until this weekend. While still being iced in, I messed with Facebook and started finding a lot of people from high school and work on there, and since then it's just snowballed. Why, just today I received 6 invitations to be someone's "friend."

I've heard stories about people going all crazy in their mid-life crisis and buying a Corvette - I think my mid-life crisis, Phase One and Two, has been a whole lot cheaper. And way more fun.

Wreck Assessment

All day long I was worried and nerved up over what the first estimate would be to repair my beloved Blazer after Sunday's wreck. I've barely eaten anything in the past two days (something that I'm sure my Biggest Loser "Winner Winner Chicken Dinner" team will be happy over, but I digress. ) I got the estimate back, and after I saw the total dollar figure, I have to say I could not breathe. But then I looked back to an email I got this morning when I got to work from my boss, who is off on a medical leave as she is battling ovarian and colon cancer, and then my attitude changed completely. She told me that she just completed her next-to-last chemo treatment, and was currently in what she calls the "crappy" stage. She also told me that she talked to our other co-worker who is also battling cancer, and found out that her doctors have stopped her chemo treatments because the tumors in her liver have not responded to the chemo treatments and have expanded.

I don't need to tell you that as soon as I read that, all of the anxiety, stress, and worries that I had over my stupid car and my shoulder just disappeared. None of that mattered anymore. As I made it through the rest of the afternoon and evening, all I could think of was how there's no such thing as coincidence, and how the Lord allows things to happen in our lives to put things in perspective for us. There's not much else I can say about this .

Favorite Super Bowl Commercial?

I have to admit I don't remember much from last night's Super Bowl, especially the commercials. I was still upset from the wreck, and was in some serious pain and couldn't find a comfortable position to sit or lay down, so I spent most of the night just walking from room to room. During what parts I did watch, I have to honestly say that the commercials pretty much sucked. Ordinarily I'm able to give Puddin's Top Ten Favorite Super Bowl Commercials, but this year I can't. Sure, the Budweiser Clydesdale commercials were pretty good, but nothing really stood out this year. But if I had to pick just one commercial as my favorite, it has to be Castrol motor oil's "Grease Monkeys." I've said it before and I"ll say it again - monkeys in a commercial for any product are funny regardless of what they're doing or selling. And if you put them in little clothes - well, that's all the better.

On a quasi-related note, I'm feeling better tonight. I had a rough morning - when I got up I was pretty stiff, and when I got to work my nerves were on edge. It took me till almost lunchtime to get calmed down, but as the morning went on, the stiffness and some of the soreness went away.

Surreal Sunday

It's been one hell of a Sunday, faithful readers. I was coming home from our favorite Mexican joint this afternoon with carryout for lunch, and was about a quarter of a mile from The Compound when a woman in a new Mustang turned in front of me and hit me in the Blazer. We're all OK, except for some major pain in my left shoulder, but I have 100% mobility in it so I'm hoping nothing is broken. The lady and her son were OK, too. But her Mustang was totalled, and my Blazer will need a new front end. So we're OK - that's all that matters. But it's been over four hours since it happened and I'm still shaken up. I honestly don't remember eating what lunch I brought back home - mainly because I threw it up about a half hour after I ate it, due to major nerves. I just got out of the shower, and surprisingly enough the shower calmed me down a little. Mom is more shaken up than I am - she said it was a major flashback to that day in July 1992 when I had my big wreck while bringing carryout home for the family for supper.

There were plenty of witnesses behind me and in the other lanes that all told the police that it was clearly the woman's fault, so there shouldn't be any trouble getting the Blazer fixed. But still, I can't help to be nerved up. I'm just thankful I was in the Blazer and not the BMW. Once again, a Blazer saved my life. I will forever sing the praises of General Motors and their Blazers.

I guess I can't stay in my bathrobe all night long, so I'll put on some clothes and go attempt to watch the Super Bowl.

Link Of The Week

When I was in elementary school, the coolest field trip that we went on was to the Coca Cola bottling plant about a half hour south in Elizabethtown. Sure, we got samples of freshly made Coke, but the coolest part was seeing the bottles go down the line, get filled with Coke, and then get capped. Today, I don't even know if taking school kids on a field trip to a soft drink company would be politically correct. Anyhoo, I found a site this week that will let you take a virtual field trip to see how soft drinks are bottled, as well as see how an airplane is made. It's brought to us by the fine folks at Stanford University, and it's aptly called How Everyday Things Are Made. Check it out at http://manufacturing.stanford.edu/hetm.html.