Sushi

My apologies, motherof2. Yesterday, I wasn't ignoring you in the chatroom. I actually found something to do and was away from the computer when you dropped by. I'm one of the few and 'proud' to have gone the way of the agnostic around here. Now that I've destroyed whatever credibility I might have had with you, I also welcome you to the cafe.

The only thing I would add is more sauerkraut. A nice touch it the Gulden's type spicy brown mustard. As far as I'm concerned, 'prepared yellow mustard' is closer to Preparation H than it is to anything remotely resembling real mustard.

Only if it's Cream of........... I"m not a huge fan of 'regular' turkey. However, I will eat the hell out of thinly sliced, smoked turkey breast (that stuff that's been processed to no end )

Somehow, I don't think it was on purpose, but this is probably the greatest example of marketing known to man. The phrase being so entrenched in our language. I too, have been out for a great many years, so the instances of 'flashbacks' are few and far between. After getting my personal safety threatened by local leadership, however, it took about seven years (spiritual perfection, eh? ) to not look at a green and black bumper sticker without having a chill go up and down my spine a few times. It didn't matter if it was an actual wayfer sticker or not. Like I read somehwere, "This too, shall pass". I guess you have to have 'faith' it will.

Still here, unfortunately.

I'm confused then, GT. If a governmental body cannot abridge free speech, then what right does a landowner have to do so? By virtue of being a landowner?

Hey Medic, we would love about 48 lbs of that Starbucks!

Dang, you beat me to it, Dooj.

The only other alternative, as I see it, is learning how to do it yourself. It's really not that difficult. All you need are floor jack, two jack stands, a pan to catch the oil, perhaps an oil filter wrench and the right size socket wrench, or box end wrench to get the oil plug out. Or, maybe, just a mechanically inclined individual who has all those things.

Some shameless self promotion. Funny Parenting Stories

Oh, you listen to NPR too? No, I didn't know it was self published. That makes it even more astounding.

I don't know if this a Jersey thing or not, but two things I liked growing up are mashed potatoes with hamburger gravy and throwing some leftover mashed potates in a frying pan (kind of like french fries, only softer).

I would hope, Mark, you aren't suggesting these people have children. I would think there are enough dysfunctional people in the world (I am probably their leader, but we're too dysfunctional to get a meeting together ), we don't really need any us running around. :blink:

My apologies, Dancing, I wasn't trying to be that 'deep'. What I meant by pragmatic was, practical. Not leave a deformed kid in the wilderness to die practical (like the old Greeks and others). But, put the seat back down and a guy will have a greater chance of, shall we say, 'loving', practical.

"Albert Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, is very convicted and outspoken on the subject." Okay, I'm starting a pool as to when Mr. Mohler will be 'convicted' of something. I say, Jan 27, 2011.

I could say more, but then I would have to............well, you know the rest. Actually, I was just referring to your post where you said you appreciated an atheist's common sense approach to life. While I don't consider myself an atheist (i prefer agnostic), I think people who aren't viewing the world with 'spiritually colored glasses' are usually more pragmatic than those who don't have that particular filter on their lenses. It is a matter of seeing the world as it is, as opposed how it should be.

No offense taken, Chatola. I'm one of the three or four guys in America who couldn't care less about sports. I don't really get the mentality of some sports fans. One time I saw this guy coming out of a Quality Dairy store with a Spartan 'S' tattoo. He was an older guy, probably a grandfather. The odd thing about this was the placement of said tattoo. It was on his left cheek (facial one, just so there's no snickering ). I would NEVER do something like that. As most of you know, I'm a HUGE Jackson Browne fan. I have most of his albums (working on getting the ones I don't have). But there's something about the thought of getting a tattoo of him that really just doesn't appeal to me. I'm okay with a SHIRT with his name or picture on it, but NOT a tattoo.

I once heard a minister say (I know, shocking, that I didn't melt like the witch in The Wizard of Oz), You can't be so spiritually minded that you're no earthly good. Just an aside....

This may qualify. 2 valencia oranges 2 large or 3 small lemons Cut all into quarters Simmer for five mins in 3 cups of water Let stand for 12-18 hours in a cool place. Remove fruit and cut into very small shreds. Return to water in which it was soaked. Boil 1 hour. Add for each cup of fruit mixture 1 cup of sugar Boil marmalade until the juice forms a jelly when tested. It should be brought to 9 degrees higher than the temperature of boiling water in your area, which is probably 212. This means it should probably be brought to 221 degrees. And there you have it, from "The Joy Of Cooking".

Most grocery stores now sell pre-made pizza crusts. Look for one that is made of whole wheat or multi-grain. The fiber will do a lot of good in counteracting some of the fat. Sauce is easy, as it is usually fat free or low fat. Again, you can pick from a variety at the grocery store. Buy low fat or no fat cheese for the topping. (low fat will taste better than fat free). Top with any veggies you want and avoid the meats. If you want to add meat, use a low fat ham or turkey ham. *****Posted by Abigail, who is too lazy to log Sushi out****************

In the interest of readability, and since I have little else to do, I've taken the liberty of editing the attachment. My apologies to those who think it is a desecration of what the author intended. THE OLD PHONE When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. One day, I discovered, somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time. My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough, since I had an audience. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me," I blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" the voice asked. "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open the icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice. After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it, birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne, always remember there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please." "Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well. "Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?" There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now." I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?" I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally." Three months later I was back in Seattle . A different voice answered, "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she said. "Yes, a very old friend," I answered. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "Yes." I answered. "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you" The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today? Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for. Life is a journey ... NOT a guided tour. I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it and get a blessing from it, just as I did.

For probably the next 5 or 6 weeks, I will be home due to medical concerns. If anyone is interested in chatting during the day, I will most likely be here. The only thing is, I'm not going to be glued to the monitor, monitoring if people are there or not. I would recommend if you want to chat, send one of the sounds, so I know someone's in the room.

Is that the one laced with Prozac?

You must have been bored out of your gourd to find this, let alone bring it back up to the top, Mr. Strange.

Hey Matty.