For The Times, The Are A Cha--Whattha@#$%!?!

SO THIS is not the way my Blogger was configured when I left it. This is also not today's lunch, but it is a pulled pork barbeque grilled cheese. Say it with me: pulled pork barbeque grilled cheese sandwich. I had to cobble together a kind of bastard barbeque sauce with ketchup and a couple of different mustards. Then I had to choose yet another mustard for each side of the bread. And then-- THEN-- I had to double up the American cheese on each side before lightly heating the pork and forming it into a pallete the precise shape and size of the sandwich template (or, as you would call it, "bread") and then lovingly grilling it, one turn only, in order to preserve the structural integrity of the vehicle. And, of course, Totlettes(TM). In the black cup is Ketchupo!(R), and in the white cup cole slaw. Because not matter how much you have tampered with it, pulled pork barbeque always requires slaw. The beers are a combo, the last proper IPA from a Saranac Mixed Bag, and a Rye IPA from Saranac's Summer Sampler. I had done the same thing the previous week, only following the Rye IPA with the other. Call me a coward. 

This is the movie of the day, for no other reason than it was what was on. And, in point of fact, I love this stupid movie. I used to have it on VHS, back when such initials meant something. I taped it off HBO back when I was in college. And yeah, I know I have blogged about it before. I almost went so far as to look up the entry, but eventually I just decided to hell with it. Because I am really just blogging to be blogging today. I had some high falutin' point about the niche in time when this occurred, when you could justify all kinds of things based on name recognition and reputed reputation (yeah, I know that's redundant, but I kind of meant it that way), and how all kinds of comedic theory can be defeated by dumb gags and obvious stereotypes. I was probably going to go so far as to rhapsodize about how you wouldn't ever recognize Carey Lowell if you didn't know she was playing one of the beach babes (identified in the credits as "Fashion Model #2," if memory serves), and went from those fairly meager grounds to go on and do some of the best episodes of Law & Order ever made. (Which probably sounds like damning with faint praise, but I meant is more as praise by way of the faintest possible damnation, which would take me a half hour to back out of if Ms. Lowell ever heard me say it, no doubt.) But really, what happened is I noticed it had been well over a month since I last blogged, and then I caught up with a week's worth of my pal Doc Nagel's blog, and then, later in the evening, the Wifey read his latest entry, in which he detailed having had a hard scare with chest pains that he is pretty sure were just a panic attack, but may eventually be connected to a dilated aorta, which he probably ought to have checked out once a year.

So I thought I really ought blog a little more often. And then I come and find this. Blogger really wants me to send feedback on all their improvements, but until I determine whether there are, in fact, buttons to change the orientation and/or placement of the pictures-- and the paragraphing format of the text in relation to same-- I ain't sayin' jack shit.

And where are my category labels?! HUH!?! WHE-- oh, wait. There they are.