Al's sausage

Dear friends,

Frequent Owner's Manual visitor Al the Retired Army Guy has delivered unto me this photo of his sausage, shaped no less into my own initials, EOB.

Here in Cleveland, we have a lot of sausages and believe me, I've got my share of sausage experience and then some. I know a righteous sausage when I see one and Al's sausage is top notch.

Al the Retired Army Guy

Look at the way the flesh fills the casing--it's stuffed to the perfect consistency. Al's sausage also has a lovely sheen and a respectable girth, which matters more than people think. That there is one long tube of quality. It may be the most beautiful sausage I've ever seen.

I picture Al's sausage framed by glistening threads of sauerkraut or nestled in a cozy bun with a thick bead of Stadium Mustard dressing its glorious length.

Imagine picking up Al's sausage and wrapping your lips around it. Imagine rolling Al's sausage around in your mouth!

~~sigh~~

Any woman would surely admire such a sausage. I daresay plenty of men would envy this hefty coil. It is a fine sausage of which Al should be proud. To that end, Al should display his gorgeous sausage for all the world to enjoy.

Thank you readers. Thank you Lord. Most of all, thank you Al, for allowing me to be part of your sausage's debut.

Love,

Erin

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My heart is open like an open book and yours is closed

There's so much to love here, it's hard to know where to start: the "No Parking" sign above the parked motorcycle (indicating outlaw status of Ms. Terri's love interest), the date scene (happier times), the close-up on the United sign (ultimate freedom).

 Just need your love, indeed.

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She smells like angels oughtta smell

Courtesy of my new Netflix account, you are going to be getting recommendations for movies that are older than your brother's can-you-believe-they're-starting-second-grade-it-seems-like-they-were-just-born twins. I apologize, but there it is.



Sin City captivated me from beginning to end. Everything about this movie is pure candy: the selective use of primary colors in an otherwise black and white film, the blocky cut-out industrial background scapes, the over-the-top violence, and of course the hard women and harder men.

The dialogue would come off clichéd and hackneyed anywhere else, but in this noir confection, it's a pitch-perfect device.

Kill em' for me, Marv. Kill 'em good.

I won't let you down, Goldie.

Prior to watching Sin City, I knew nothing of Frank Miller's work. He produces graphic novels, which I am not supposed to call comic books, but watching Sin City was like tumbling through one pulpy page after another. Every frame is steeped in whiskey and smoke in the night, with plenty of stiletto heels and splatters of blood to mark the territory.

Whatever you do, get this one. Get it for the cars and the throaty voice-overs. Oh for Christ's sake, get it for the dames. You will not be able to take your eyes from the screen.

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Curly

Maybe I should begin defining the 2013 Me by incorporating curlers. I wonder if you can still get those big plastic numbers in pastel colors. I could crank up my whole miserable head, coat it with an atrocious amount of hairspray, and cover the terrifying behemoth with one of those filmy hairnets. But I wouldn't call it a hairnet, I'd call it a scarf. Imagine me in the discount grocery with my hairnet and hulking winter coat and boots--a domestic Medusa. I'd be at once mythical and real.

How beautiful is that?

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The sweetest face?

The Goat and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary in November. To commemorate the occasion, the Goat gave me a gift.

"ooh!" I exclaimed as he handed me the wrapped package.

Inside were three bags of m&m's, about six or seven ounces each. But these weren't like other m&m's. They had little pictures on them--pictures of me and the Goat!

The m&m's won't last forever, we all know this. No matter how long they do last, however, one thing's for sure: eating m&m's with your picture on them never ever ever gets old.

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