Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Halloween is an American horror franchise that consists of ten slasher films, novels, and comic books. The franchise focuses on the fictional character of Michael Myers who was committed to a sanitarium as a child for the murder of his older sister. Fifteen years later, he escapes to stalk and kill the people of Haddonfield, Illinois while being chased by his former psychiatrist Dr. Sam Loomis. Michael's killings occur on the holiday of Halloween, on which all of the films primarily take place. The films collectively grossed over $366 million at the box-office worldwide.
The original Halloween, released in 1978, was written by John Carpenter and Debra Hill, and directed by John Carpenter. The sequels have had various writers and directors attached to them. Michael Myers is the antagonist in all of the films except Halloween III: Season of the Witch, the story of which has no direct connection to any other Halloween film in the series. Carpenter, who had a hand in writing the first sequel, has not had any direct involvement with the rest of the films. The film series is ranked fourth at the United States box office–in adjusted 2008 dollars–when compared to other American horror franchises. The first Halloween film is credited with beginning a long line of slasher films inspired by Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. The franchise began when the first novel appeared less than a year after the release of the first film, and then seven sequels have followed. In 2007, a remake of Halloween was produced and directed by Rob Zombie, with a direct sequel released two years later.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
L7 - American Society
Don’t wanna drown
Don’t wanna be found
This is not my destiny
No twentieth century casualty
I don’t wanna watch television
I don’t wanna listen to the radio
I don’t wanna drown in american society
Don’t wanna be rich
Now can’t you see the way they dress
Well they’re a bloody tax mess
I don’t wanna go to the movies
I don’t wanna listen to the company
Don’t wanna drown in american society
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Okay, here's what we got inside here:
Whole Wheat Lasagna Noodles
Non-Fat Cottage Cheese
Yellow Sweet Onions
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Regular hi-fat cheese lasagna, fully cooked, will be gooey and melded together: noodles, cheese and sauce, but these elements listed above are low in fat (comparatively), so do not be surprised when the end product is kind of mushy. Maybe I use too much sauce, but I like it saucy and so does my wife.
Next time I plan to try it with an olive oil and lemon sauce instead of tomato.
What can I say my wife loves my cooking and all she has to do is the dishes.
If you try it, please let me know how it worked out for you.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Being well known pet rat lovers, we received a call in late August asking us to adopt a friend of a friend of a friend's pet rat. The present owner was returning to college and his dorm does not allow pets of any sort. At first, he bequeathed the rodent to his elderly grandmother, but she proved to be horrified by the rat's presence in her home. She called our friend for advice. Our friend populates her Chatsworth home with husky, friendly dogs and has several cages of exotic birds she cherishes. Knowing our pet rat history, she immediately contacted us.
Poe and MannyWe'd been rat-less for two years. Manny died in 2009. He's still in the fridge awaiting burial. Sealed in plastic, he's right next to the ice cubes and above the frozen chicken stock. I miss him. I don't look at him or anything, but it affects our ice production.
Diane and I debated whether to take this new rat into our home. The debate did not last long. We agreed immediately. One small problem: the rat's name was "Buddy" and so had been the name of our dearly departed dog, a black dachshund/beagle/pit bull mix whom we once cherished. Both of us knew we'd have to change the name. Even Buddy had been previously named "Snoopy" and there was no living with that cliché. We tried "Benny," but "Buddy" was just perfect. And so it was.
I was assigned to drive out into the valley heat to adopt Buddy the Rat. Now I love the valley when it's cool weather, but I avoid it all summer long. Yes, there are exceptions such as friends, funerals, theatre, and a number of excellent restaurants, but they are exceptions. This adoption would be both a suitable and noble exception. Plus, I have air conditioning.
I had already decided to call him "Freddy." We'd never named a pet rat "Freddy" or even "Freddie." Also, "Freddy" was the name of one of my father's best friends. But mostly, it kind of rhymes with "Buddy," so hopefully that could help the new rat make the transition easier. Buddy the Dog did.
I entered our friend's dog and bird house and found respite from the raging heat outside. The dogs were happy to see me, but the birds could've cared less. I found our new pet rat living in a plastic litter box. The previous owner had given the rat the entire apartment to roam in and trained him to use a litter box. So, since leaving his owner, he had been living in his toilet. I couldn't wait to get him home to our huge pet rat cage, nicknamed the "Ritz" by the manufacturer. The Ritz has three levels above the litter with food and water sources above as well. Lots of room to run around and, most importantly, lots of air to breathe.
The high walls of the plastic litter box were topped by an improvised cardboard roof. Buddy/Freddy tried a few times to pop through the roof and explore the car, but I caught him and put a heavy object on top to keep it closed. I wasn't ready to play with him. He might have jumped out the window or gotten lost in the car. Not that I couldn't eventually find him, but training or not, he might've pooped all over the upholstery.
Freddy is home with us now. He lives in the Ritz between our desks and has a full view of the television as well as each of us. For the most part, he toilets in his cage, but we've found a few errant poops beneath my desk chair. He rests in my hands, atop a towel for sanitary safety sake, receiving my massages. He crawls up my arms and rests on my shoulders. He crawls behind my head from shoulder to shoulder. He returns to my hands and gets the neck rubs he cherishes. Freddy is our new pet rat.