Claire

I love watching Mario and that's saying a lot because I don't particularly care for Italian food. He show casts hypnotic trance on me. After watching an episode I feel as full and sated as if I've eaten a comforting and satisfying meal. As well as learning a little bit about Italian cuisine. Maybe it's just the clogs. Another fave--ATC. The jungle, the cobra hearts, the AK-47s, the really, really cute Brazilian waiters-who the hell knew what would happen next? I had to pop a couple pepcid just to watch it. Even though the show ended, I'm glad AB went the literary route. TFN has a way of sucking the life out of their hosts until they look like plastic, hollow-eyed plastic versions of their former selves. However, I'm pretty sure Sandra Lee came that way already. And why does she always dress like she's come straight out of a JC Penny catalog? Hello Sandra? The '80's called and it wants the red polo shirt back.

Can Diet Dr. Pepper Can Diet A&W Can Diet Vanilla Pepsi I don't like Coke because it's too sweet for me but once in a while I crave a McDonald's coke and french fries. I love fountain Pepsi as long as the mix is right but I can't drink fountain Diet Dr. Pepper. Go figure. In Texas you can go to the Dr. Pepper bottling plant and get old fahioned Dr. Pepper made with sugar cane. Haven't tried it yet. Has anyone ever warmed their Dr. Pepper and drank it? I think it's a southern thing.

I didn't know what it was either until I found this site. Imagine a wild, wonderful food science Mecca. The concepts are amazing. In a sense, El Bulli is to cuisine what Willy Wonka was to candy. Reservations are the golden tickets and the snozzberries are made of air. If you do a search, there are a few threads on the subject.

Best list yet!

Man was born free and everywhere he is in chains--stores. The only way to stop it is to choose. Choose to be aware. Choose not to buy in. Choose not to sell out. Choose not to patronize. Choose not to consume. Choose not to feed the monster. Choose change. Even a small change is still change indeed.

Forget clothes and toys! Hasn't anyone heard of the Golden Arch Hotel? In Switzerland, McDonald's actually had two hotels; each room decorated in red and yellow, complete with the McDonald's theme, littered with the Ms and an actual "golden arch" as a headboard for the beds. <insert your own bawdy joke here>

From the tone of your post Therdogg, it sounds as if this woman thinks her cooking is comparable or superior to yours and that she actually has the audacity to give you unasked for cooking advice and information. If she is really that insulting then I wouldn't know what to say. However I do have a few coping strategies: 1. Eat before the meal. A big one. 2. Bring the drinks and/or dessert. (Some friends don't drink. Which brings me to step three.) 3. Amp yourself up with music or whatever makes you happy. Have a little drink while you dress or get ready.(Unless you're driving or it's breakfast ) 4. Always be gracious even if you don't like the meal because the love and care that went into it was sincere. 5. Shift your focus from the food (however hard it may be) to the friendship. 6. On the way home it's okay to talk about the meal. Not to be mean but sometimes you just gotta. Heaven knows I've made quite a few jokes about my own attempts.

How do I love Mario? Let me count the ways. I love pasta to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight, For the ends of Italy, and idea Malto. Note: Bad poetry is always inspired by honest emotions.

When I was a young server back in the dark ages, I NEVER told the guests my name. Why? Because usually the ones who saw it on my name tag used it in a very belittling manner, like a master ordering around a dog. They were the always most obnoxious people I would encounter during my shift and never a good tip to boot. When I am the guest, I don't care either way. I never use the server's name because I don't want to sound like the people in the paragraph above. However I always smile big and let them know I appreciate their hard work. My father is famous for flirting with the no-nonsense waitress and good natured teasing (they always talk like Flo, the wise cracking waitress on Alice). OTOH, some of my friends will not tolerate any conversation attempts by the server. This automatically results in no tip.

Amazing. I can't imagine how relieved you were when you stumbled across the doctor. I wouldn't have been able to restrain myself from throwing the damn pickles out the window. I wonder if those old motorcycles have any value to collectors in the U.S. Curiously, the event that really gives me the skeevies is sleeping on the gas station floor. Fantastic report. Can't wait to read part three.

Next time can you post some pics? I'd love to see how it turns out.

Indulge. Music. Alcohol. Smoke. Flirt. Undress. Rinse. Repeat. Extra points for performing all the above simultaneously.

Marc Summers is a show killer. When he walks on set, Fonzi breaks out his lifejacket and skis. I usually have the FTV playing in the background while I'm working. Unwrapped works purely on a subliminal level. I think to myself, hmmm, vending machines...what's so mysterious about a freaking vending machine? Then five minutes later, I'm asking myself, why am I watching clips of a vending machine convention? Hang on, they sell BEER in those things. Why can't we have those? It all goes downhill from there, my friend. Unwrapped is like Muzak. Everyone hates it, yet sooner or later when you're listening to it in an elevator, you find yourself humming the lyrics of the instrumental for "In-a-Godda-de-Vida".

When I was a kid the most common meal was hamburger patties and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Spaghetti is still regularly boiled for a good 20 minutes. Mom used canned tomato sauce but once, feeling inspired, she put threw in left over bacon. If the bread was moldy, I was told to cut out the green bits and eat it anyway. Vegetables are always limp and brown at the edges. Her refrigerator is full of mysterious tinfoil packages and foggy recycled plastic baggies. Five years ago, I had to explain how a vegetable steamer worked. Three years ago, my father accidentally tried calamari for the first time in his life when he grabbed it from my plate, thinking it was an onion ring. Whenever I make a “exotic” meal for them like roasted chicken or pork ribs, my mom irritates me with passive aggressive compliments to the point she makes me feel like shit for actually cooking something different for them. So yes, ma mere is the inspiration for learning how to cook.

it sure does resemble a bandwagon in the sense that a bunch of people are doing the ol' i'll-pick-out-one-soundbite-and-proprose-that-it-makes-some-sort-of-grand-statement-about-rocco-the-person. ITA. The forum doth protest too much, me thinks.