Movies I Can Watch Over and Over and Over.....

Paul Newman and Charlotte Rampling.  

You Can't Handle The Truth! 

Hoo Hah! 

DOA 

Show Me Da Money! Gimme shelter, v.c. 

THEM!

A well respected sci-fi movie from back in the day. Circa 1950's. Starred James Whitmore. A horde of giant ants run amok in the sewers of a desert city. Or maybe it was New York? Seems the ants ate some uranium on the high side of radioactivity and became gigantic. Sorta like the wrestlers and baseball players who have run amok on steroids. Farewell and adieu, v.c. P.S. "The Thing" ( remake with Kurt Russell ) is on tv every night here lately. But the original with James Arness playing an angry carrot from outer space is much better imho.  

Probably my most favourite album. "The White Album." And the first l.p. [ long playing ] on the "Apple" label. A Granny Smith at that. ( see opposite side for more details ) A potpurri of sounds. There's Back in the USSR; Dear Prudence; While My Guitar Gently Weeps; Happiness is a Warm Gun; Helter Skelter; Revolution; Rocky Raccoon; Cry Baby Cry; Birthday; and Don't Pass Me By, a country tune replete with fiddle. Gimme Shelter, v.c. P.S. Gimme Shelter was not on the White Album. Nor any fab 4 production. Penned by da Stones. Let it Bleed, eh? 

Band On The Run!

A tip of the cap to Gary Nelson, my former Band on the Run member. He sang bass. Daddy sang tenor. And I played the tambourine. And cow bell. Allah "Don't Fear the Reaper," eh? He sent me this via email. Funny stuff. Good shtick. Btw, I did not receive permission to print the following text. Go ahead-sue me.

HERE`S SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT SHOULD YOU HAVE TO FLY AGAIN. NOW IF YOU WORK WITH ANYONE IN YOUR OFFICE THAT FLIES, I`M SURE THIS WILL EASE THEIR MIND WHEN THEY FLY.

After every flight, Quantas' Airline pilots fill out a form, called a "gripe
sheet," which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The
mechanics correct the problems; document their repairs on the form,
and then pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight. Never
let it be said that ground crews lack a sense of humor.

Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by Quantas'
pilots (marked with a P) and the solutions recorded (marked with an S)
by maintenance engineers.
By the way, Quantas is the only major airline that has never had an
accident. .. Enjoy!

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit.
S: Something tightened in cockpit.

P: Dead bugs on windshield.
S: Live bugs on back-order.

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute
descent.
S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
S: Evidence removed.

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
S: DME volume set to more believable level.

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
S: That's what they're for.

P: IFF inoperative.
S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

P: Suspected crack in windshield.
S: Suspect you're right.

P: Number 3 engine missing.
S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

P: Aircraft handles funny. (I love this one!)
S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right, and be serious.

P: Target radar hums.
S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.

P: Mouse in cockpit.
S: Cat installed.

And the best one for last...

P. Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget
pounding on something with a hammer.
S: Took hammer away from midget

Stuck Inside These 4 Walls

Stuck inside these 4 walls. Stuck inside forever. Never seeing no one. Nice again. Like you ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! From Rowdy High's Band on the Run. That's me 3rd from the left. Circa 1974. No longer do I have my shag hairdo. Even tho the chicks dug it. No stylish goatee. Gary, our slide trombonist ( a slippery gentleman was he ) is the tallest one in the pic ( in the middle of the frame ) with the stylish moustache. I'm afraid you can't see my cowbell. Probably in my pocket with the zucchini. Gimme shelter, v.c. P.S. If we ever get out of here.... 

I invite all, young and old alike, to furnish a caption for this photo, courtesy of the 7th Voyage of Sinbad. The winner will receive my warm, personal regards. Selah, v.c.P.S. Love-It's a Bitch! 

Sci-Fi

My love for sci-fi is well-chronicled. Who can forget the classic: "It Came from Beneath the Sea." No, it is not a reference to anyone living or dead. A COO for a famous cafeteria chain notwithstanding. And does Chi-Chi's ring a taco, er, bell. Any similaries to the aforementioned is purely coincidental. Gimme shelter, v.c. P.S. Special effects by Ray Harryhausen  

From the Land Beyond Beyond-the genie and the soon to be Mrs. Bing Crosby. Lotta doo doo. 

15 minutes of Fame-Love-It's a Bitch

Andy Warhol once said that everyone will experience 15 minutes of fame at some point in his/her life. It is a true statement. I immortalized my old pal from band on the run [ Gary Nelson ] in one of my more recent posts. And whoever posed for this cover [ Sticky Fingers ] will live in infamy.* The model is engaged with a) a pocketful of big bills and change; b) a big zucchini stuffed down his trousers; c) engagement, period; d) a love of brown sugar and thinks love is a bitch; e) the libido of a John Holmes or Ron Jeremy. I have yet to fulfill my 15 minutes. Maybe one day. Gimme shelter, v.c.

P.S. * See Pearl Harbor for more details.

P.S.S. Does anyone know who designed the cover with an actual zipper?  

Never a Dull Moment

Here's a bigger picture of me circa 1974. So I had a shag hairdo back in the day. However, the chicks dug it. But sometimes you had to get away from it all. Sharpen the ax if you know what I mean. So what if I looked shell-shocked as I relaxed in my favourite chair. It was just a brief respite from the pressures of Truck U., post teenage angst, and life in the big city. Maybe I'm a little older now. No shag but replaced by a stylish goatee and gray receding hairline. Crow's feet, age spots, and all the things associated with the geriatric crowd. So what if my diet includes prunes, roughage, and mega vitamins. And pills for depression. And pills for cholesterol. And stress tests. And blood work. And the onset of arthritis. And fearful of the big C. And vericose veins. And the libido is slowly withering away. The good news-I still have Paris, er, memories. Submitted for your approval and perusal, v.c.

P.S. Whatever you do, DON'T GET OLD. Hopefully this sage advise will help. Gimme shelter, v.c.  

Johnny Weismuller, Bob Dylan, and Sonny Listen et All

I know. I know. Is v.c. obsessed with the 60's and the fab 4 in particular? Guilty as charged. Sgt. Pepper was voted numero uno by Rolling Stone Mag. as the best album of all time. "When I'm 64" with the breezy clarinet. "A Day in the Life." I read the news today, oh boy. About a lucky man who made the grade. "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite." "With a Little Help From My Friends." Joe Cocker did not pen the tune. Sung by Richard Starkey aka Billy Shears and written by-who else- Lennon/McCartney.The l.p. [ long playing ] bridged the gap. I'm no reviewer so a link will follow.

The famous faces in the background, courtesy of Madame Tussauds, included Lawrence of Arabia; W.C. Fields; Marilyn Monroe ( Happy Birthday to you, Mr. President [ John Kennedy, eh? ) Happy Birthday to you; Tony Curtis; Oliver Hardy; Marlon Brando; Albert Switzer; Albert Einstein; a member of the Mafia with his hand above Paul, which was one of the clues concerning the death of Mr. McCartney-see Paul is Dead- and, me, v.c. ( Huh? ) Submitted for your approval and perusal, v.c.

P.S. I bought Paul Mac tix today. Me and Kitty bopping to my main man. Hopefully, he'll sing "Here, There, and Everywhere." My ode to Kitty in a post from a few months ago.

Thursday, December 16, 2004
Ode To Kitty
Tonite's foray will be brief. We will eshew ( gesundheit ) entering the perilous parameters of the political arena [ strong attempt at the alliterative vibe, here ] and, instead, go with something a bit more constructive: An Ode To Kitty, my darling wife of umpteen years. How she's been able to put up with me for so long defies comprehension.

Her job description is limitless. And she never receives enough help from me and the kids, Charlie Jr. and Katlin.

She cooks; she works; she listens to my whining; she scolds; she inspires; she's industrious [ envious am I, here ]; she's responsible; she's loving; the list goes on and on.

I have been listening to "Revolver" this week via the c.d. playa. During those lonesome times on the road from H.W. to the Pond and back. And one of me favourites [ keep listening to it over and over ] is the lovely "Here, There, and Everywhere." And the lyrics describe my affections for Kitty, my wife, confidante, and friend.

So here's to you, Kitty:

To lead a better life I need my love to be here...

Here, making each day of the year
Changing my life with a wave of her hand
Nobody can deny that there's something there
There, running my hands through her hair
Both of us thinking how good it can be
Someone is speaking but she doesn't know he's there

I want her everywhere and if she's beside meI know I need never care
But to love her is to need her everywhere
Knowing that love is to share
Each one believing that love never dies
Watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there

I want her everywhere
and if she's beside meI know I need never care
But to love her is to need her everywhere
Knowing that love is to share
Each one believing that love never dies
Watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there

To be there and everywhere
Here, there and everywhere


P.S.S. http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/_/id/6595610  

Deja Vu, eh?

Did anyone listen to the song? It is a good one. Shaken not stirred just like a "sex on the beach." Consult your nearest Funk and Wagnalls for further details. The following text is reprinted here with the approval of vee. From veesgoldenpond.blogspot.com

http://www.geocities.com/bsarohmss/sdaf1.mp3

The following picture has never graced The Pond. I luv the music. Shirley Bassey: "He loves only gold." Sorry, wrong song. All the early Connery Bond theme songs were great. Imho. From Russia with Love featuring Matt Monro. Ever heard of him? Goldfinger by the aforementioned Ms. Bassey. You Only Leave, er, Live Twice. A beautiful song from Nancy Sinatra whose "boots" fame must have made her the perfect choice. And being the daughter of the Chairman of the Bored didn't hurt either. Thunderball by Tom Jones always delivers me back to a time long gone, circa 1966. Diamonds was the last time Connery played Bond for Harry Saultzman and Cubby Broccoli. Listen! Gimme Shelter, v.c.

P.S. I listened to "Rubber Soul" today while tooling down the road. I'm afraid I somewhat misled the readers in a recent foray. It all came back to me. The butcher shop photo symbolized the way Capital Records was butchering the fab 4's English l.p.'s [ long playing ] here in the States. Snipping here and snipping there to make more money for the capitalistic Capital Records. While destroying the themes of the l.p.'s. [ long playing as previously chronicled ] vee  

I'm having fun importing pictures from the web. And here we go with another from the fabulous 4. I liked all their l.p.'s [ long playing ] as well-chronicled in past editions. I remember receiving this one for Christmas. Rubber Soul, that is. Voted #5-500 greatest albums by Rolling Stone Magazine. And I also received a cocker spaniel, too. The original Atlassie. She had a short life, run over by a crazed teenager in a souped-up hot rod who lived up the street. And said "thumble" for fumble-go figga-when we played football in the front yard. I'm not sure who ran over Atlassie, but it was very hard and very sad for me. I had to go out in the street and pick her up. We buried her that night under the house. Prior to the tragedy Atlassie had jumped up on my turntable and scratched R.S. It brings back sad memories for me as I'm writing this.It's tough when your pet dies unexpectedly.

But R.S. was a great album. With songs like "Norweigan Wood, This Bird Has Flown," "The Word," and "In My Life." I haven't listened to it in awhile, but with this foray, it may see the light of day tomorrow. Gimme shelter, v.c.

In My Life

There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

 

What a beauty. Even tho she hails from another country.  

Beauty pageants. I can still recall Bert Parks singing, "There she is, Miss America." And Bob Barker ogling the bevy of beauties. "Come on down." But all things must pass. And in today's world, everyone must be represented. So everyone's self-esteem will stay at a fever pitch. And as a result, I give you Miss Detroit, 2005. A tip of the cap to the bbq man who sent me the picture. v.c. 

Vees Golden Pond

The Pond went poof with the click of the mouse last Saturday nite, and I thought it was gone forever. I had a sick feeling knowing that my blog of eight months had gone down the tubes. I was sick when I noticed "39 and Counting," ( the blog that was supposed to go into cyberspace and into the many black holes of the universe ) was still around and "Golden Pond" was kaput. Fini.'

So I wrote an email to Blogger all the time wiping away the tears. "Please help me get back the Pond. It wasn't my fault. Puhleeze!"

In the meantime I started another blog. And hastily resurrected a few old posts. And voila-back in business. But not even "V.C.'s Golden Pond" ( my new blog ) could assauge my sense of loss. ( assauge is a good word, eh? Pulled that one out of my arse. )

Yesterday, an email from blogger awaited me:

Hi there,

I was able to restore that blog to your account, so you should see it the
next time you log in. Note that you will need to republish your blog in
order for it to be visible online again.

Sincerely, Graham
Blogger Support

Original Message Follows:
------------------------
From: Vietnamcatfish
Subject: Re: [#201322] Lost my blog
Date: Sun, 17 Apr 2005 23:39:03 EDT

I lost my beloved "golden pond" blog thinking I was deleting "39 sucks cos 40 lies ahead"
I am sick!!!!!!!!!!
Can you help? v.c.

I did write Graham back thanking him from the bottom of my heart. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus! And his name is Graham.

And to Gary, my Rowdy High alum, here's looking at you.

Gimme shelter, v.c.

P.S. Kitty said my bad luck started when I posted the fab 4's butcher shop photo. There could be something to that. My boss, Briggs, chewed me out this week. And it's been downhill ever since.

P.S.S. My other blog can be reached by plugging in the new URL. veesgoldenpond.blogspot.com Farewell and adieu!

The infamous butcher shoppe photo circa 1965. Includes "Day Tripper" and "I'm Only Sweeping, er, Sleeping." Capital Records issued only a few thousand of these and pulled them worrying about the controversy which was shirley to ensue. The l.p. [ long playing ] cover shot was a symbolic gesture from the Fab 4. Cut-throat business practices-see capitalism! ( pun unintended ) Gimme shelter, v.c.

Another Archived Post-"Revolver Synchronicity"

We had just opened the doors. 11:00 A.M. Food looked good and appetizing. Cookies were at the cashier. Everything was in place. The rowdy guests were eyeballing their favorites.Something's missing? I thought. We didn't have the muzac on. No problem. Just push play. An old song from the 80's was playing. "Every Breath You Take." Everything's complete, now.

A knock on the door to the office. A policeman.Damn. What'd I do? He was only soliciting for the policeman's ball. What syncronicity, I thought.

It got stranger. The next song on the muzac was "Waxman." From Revolver. Voted the no. 1 album of all time from VH-1. I had just watched that show the night prior and had been waxing lately. About old songs.This is weird. I walked up to the serving line. To help serve the guests.

The next song was from Revolver, again. "Ah, Look At All The Rowdy People." This is too much.
I lost my concentration.A rowdy guest got me out of my stupor. "I remember when the dilly was $1.89." The song on the muzac. "I'm Only Napping." ( please don't wake me, no don't shake me. Leave me where I am, I'm only napping. ) Damn, they're playing the whole album. This will be good. But it's getting strange. I looked around for Rod Serling or Ann Southern.

Next song. "Here, There and Everywhere." A guest wanted a 16 sl lid for her cup. Suzy had to take her asthma medicine. The fryer went out.I had to light it. The rowdy guests wanted their fried chicken. And someone mentioned that the drain ( same one from yesterday ) was running over again. Somebody wanted a jello to go. And the old reliable dish machine was out of soap. And a guest had found a bristle brush on her blackened stuffed catfish.
Damn.

I was trying to get the fryer on. It lit, thank god. I took a deep breath. Whew. Next song, "We All Live In a Yello Bain Marie."Peter Fonda, the fry cook, thanked me.

There was a disturbance on the line. Between two of my rowdy team members. They were having a dispute. Something about having the same boyfriend."She Said, He Said" was playing:

Team Member #1: "You don't understand what I said."

Team Member #2: "Oh, no, no, no, you're wrong." We had to send them home.

"Good Day Fun Times"was next. This synchronicity was getting to be too much. Plus, I'm gonna have to serve all day. Plus, my usual other jobs."And Your Phone Will Ring." For takeouts. And rowdy complaints, etc. Where's Rod Serling?

"For No T Bone" Your day breaks. Your mind aches. You find that all her words of kindness disappears when the guest finds a bone in her tetrazzini."

Time to take a Xanax. "Doctor Hobbit." I expected J.R.R. Tolkien to show.

"I Want To Tell You."My head is filled with things to say. When you're near, all those words, they seem to slip away.The roast beef carver brought me back to reality.

"Got to Get Me Another Knife."We made it through the day. Unbelievable.

The last song. "Tomorrow Never Knows." Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream. Impossible at H.W. I started napping again.The cashier brought me back. A rowdy guest didn't want to pay his tab. She said he handed her the ticket and said "submitted for your approval." And left without paying.

From the Haze, Farewell and adieu, v.c.

P.S. http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/_/id/6595634

Micro Shaver

Hello Golden Pond devotees. Thank you for visiting and taking the time to read my forays into the infantile. And a special welcome to Mr. Gary Nelson, one of my childhood, er, teenaged friends from back in the day. ( see the magical yet turbulent sixties for more details )

At Rowdy High we were members of a band on the run. ( apologies to "Jet" and "Let Me Roll It." ) Gary played the slide trombone allah Blood, Sweat and Tears and Chicago Transit Authority while I played triangle. And cymbals. They call you a percussionist today but in the day they just called me 3 sided v.c.

As a young teenaged broncin' buck I saw many a concert. The loudest by far was from "The Marshall Tucker Band." Can't you hear, er, see? And I saw the Vanilla Fudge and Steppenwolf, who sang the immortal "God Damn The Pusher Man" along with the classics: "Magic Carpet Ride" and "Born to be Wild." ( Heavy metal thunder-a line in the song-coined the term for loud, psychedelic-type music. ) And I saw "The Beachboys. " And Tres Hombres. And the fab 4 in 1965. The latter being the best of all time.

But I never saw the King. Not even Slim Whitman of yodeling fame. Kitty saw the King but not me. Which reminds me, the Stones are having a farewell and adieu concert this summer. I can see it now: Mick: "I just busted a button on me trousers. Hope they don't fall down. You wouldn't want me trousers to fall down now, would you? At his age, yes, we would care.

And Paul McCartney is coming to town in the fall. I saw him in 1976 ( Happy 200, U.S.A. ) and in 91 and 95 and 01. My main man. In 91 me and Kitty had tickets on the 6th row. Awesome does it little justice. When he and the band on the run broke into "I Saw Her Standing There," the crowd went ballistic. And hearing him sing "Sgt. Pepper, the Reprise, and the"Golden Slumbers" litany of tunes from Abbey Road-well, imho, it don't get no better. Will I get tickets for his 05 tour? As shirley as I work at Hell Whole!

I've seen Bobby Dylan, Chicago, Rod Stewart w/wo Faces, Neil Young a coppola times, and shirley there were others.

But a special hello to my fellow band on the run chum, Gary Nelson. Who doubts the authenticity of my anniversary shindig photograph posted yesterday by yours truly.

Gimme Shelter, v.c.

P.S. Almost forgot. I saw George Harrison in '74 and Richard Starkey in the summer of 03. Talk about "magic in the air."

P.S.S. The micro shaver? Currently being sold on television. Quickly gets rid of those unsightly nose and ear hairs. A must for anyone who shaves. And speaking of which: My stylish goatee-save or delete?

Here's a recent picture of me and Kitty at our anniversary shindig last week. I had too many "sex on the beach" while Kitty indulged in too many singapore slings. We had a ball. Farewell and adieu, v.c. P.S. Kitty wants me to shave my stylish goatee but I want to keep it. What do you think? Save or delete?

Time, time, time. Look what's become of me....Yes, time fades away. And it seems like only yesterday me and Kitty were starting our lives. L'il Charlie Jr. And Katlin had yet to be born. Farewell and adieu, v.c. P.S. Hang onto your hopes my friend That's an easy thing to say But if your hopes should pass away Simply pretend That you can build them again

Well, I thought it was cute! 

Paris, France. There goes the theory they don't wear pants and then there's....

Paris, Kentucky! You've got to love the synchronicity!

Me and Kitty

went to the movies the other nite for the first time in a while. She wanted to see "Million Dollar Baby" and since Clint Eastwood is my main man, it was a match made in heaven.

What a movie. Hillary Swank gave a marvelous performance as the neophyte woman boxer. I was inspired by her dedication, which made me "want to get my ship together."

Morgan Freeman was excellent, as usual. And so was my main man, Clint "Dirty Harry" Eastwood. Who directed the film as well. What a talented guy, eh?

And wouldn't it be nice if he reprised his role as the S.F. cop who rids the streets of scumbags and vermin. But with advancing age the dialogue would certainly be something like "I can't remember if I ate 5 prunes or six. A prune is the most powerful laxative in the world. Blow a man's insides clean out. Are you feeling lucky punk? Well are you?"

But, alas, it will probably never be.

Me and Kitty enjoyed the movie. Well, sort of. Seems the ending is quite the tearjerker. And Kitty cried and cried and cried. Claiming she never wanted to see a sad movie again. But we always enjoy the refreshments. We bought 2 $4.00 cokes ( diet and regular ) and shared a big tub of buttered popcorn, which was refillable the day of the show.

And we waded through the obligatory previews. And we always ask each other thumbs up or down for the upcoming flick.

We drove home, Kitty's head resting on my shoulder as I tried to navigate old Betsy home.

We are going to another show tomorrow and Kitty has decided on a romantic comedy with Drew Barrymore and Jimmy fallon. No more sad movies for Kitty.

"Million Dollar Baby" was inspiring but very sad. The 50's endings where "they live happily ever after" are not in vogue in 2005. Oh well-it's all show biz.

Farewell and adieu, v.c.

An oxymoron, eh? Courtesy of jokeworm.com.  

A Post About Nothing

Speaking of records, there were 78's, 45's, and 33 1/3's.

It also reminds me of my humble beginnings as I made my way onto the team, the Piccadilly team. And it goes without saying, but it was back in the day.My first g.m. and the one who hired me was the legendary Peter Principle, who recently retired, but is in good condition. A daily regimen of pushups and situps being the key.

I was fresh out of Rowdy High and in need of gainful employment. Noticing the wariness in his eyes, I assured him that hiring me would be a good decision. Peter relunctantly gave me the job. My first assignment and job title was prep cook.

"You can be the next Joe Polito, cat," alluding to the fact that J.P. had begun his humble beginnings there.

They gave me a list to complete. First was picking the meat off the turkey bones. Next a sack of onions to peel. Then they got technical:

"I want you to make 50 lbs. of chop beef, young fella," said Chef Boyardee.

I found out later Chef B. was a legend in his own mind. Being on special payroll, he had a habit of being late to work and took extended leave of absences, some authorized, some not.

Anyway, no one showed me how to proceed. They just gave me a card with the directions and ingredients. No one knew of my medical condition ( back then it wasn't cool to be infirmed ) and the dyslexia reared its ugly head. The chop beef was supposed to be an 80-20 mixture. Got that right. But used 80% fat and 20% lean meat. So they fell apart. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day....

I was concerned that my job may be in jeopardy. But, Peter, in his most sympathetic voice, told me that I had the unofficial Piccadilly record for consecutive days with falling apart chop beef.

"Am I fired, Mr. Principle?

"No, son. You have potential. Forget the chop beef." he said as he showed me a box. Full of frozen patties.

"What's that?" I said meekly.

"TQC, cat. The wave of the future." he said.

"TQC? Huh? What's that?"

"It's an acronym, cat. Stands for Traditional, Quality, Cumbaya."

That's how it all started. My career and tqc. And the list of tqc products kept growing. And growing. Coincidentally, after my stints at making rolls, biscuits, garlic bread, mayonnaise, etc. And as my prep cook career was heating up, an old staple was meeting its waterloo.

"I hate to tell you this, men." said Mr. Principle. "But the days of cooking with animal fat are over."

As he made his statement, I remembered the freshly ground pot of suet that had been cooking on the range. The familiar burnt smell permeated the building.

"Cat!!!!"

"Sorry, Mr. Principle."

"Cat, we all make mistakes. We're only human. But I got the o.k. We want you in mgmt. You've got what it takes."

I took off my apron and paper cap. And discarded my white kitchen shirt in the hamper. As I was heading out the door, Chef Boyardee chided me for allowing the suet to burn.

"Chef. Sorry about the suet. They want me in mgmt. The brass at the G.O. approved it."

"Do you know what you're getting into, cat?"

"Don't know."

"We'll miss you in the kitchen."

"I'll miss you, too. Especially when I had to cover for you, [ and your lazy ass ] when you didn't show up. Farewell and adieu, chef."

"No one will ever beat your record. Cumbaya, cat."

"Cumbaya, chef."

Farewell and adieu, v.c.

March Madness

Illinois wins it all. Predicted before the game. Shirley, I have put the onus on the fightin' Illini. Selah, v.c.