my pitas page

 
More yummy things coming soon, including my first food review, but for now, here's one for the Due South fans. Don't read this unless you've seen #110, Gift Of The Wheelman recently.
Friday, January 23, 2004, 03:36 p.m.

Rant Of The Month
"Code Badparent"
I have to admit, I used to look down on those "Code Adam" parents. I mean, who loses track of their kids?
But then my mother started retelling a story of one day we went shopping. She set me and my brother down, and instructed us not to move. She proceeded into the dressing room and tried things on. When she came out, I was gone. The whole staff of the store looked for me. I was gone like a cool breeze.
No one could find me. Because I'd gone two stores down.
So, okay, it's all right. Good people can lose their kids. At least they're concerned enough to try to find them. The point of this is, I've only heard about one Code Adam in the last four months (during the week before Christmas, which is no surprise). But what I do hear, at least once a week, is:

"John or Marsha Badparent, please come to the customer service desk to meet your child."

These people bring their kids to the store and leave them untended for HOURS. Not twelve-year olds, not even ten-year olds. But five- and six-year olds come up, crying, to associates ALL THE TIME. And the parents finally show up, ten minutes later, unconcerned or even openly hostile.
I was talking about this very subject to Cheryl (Housewares, second shift) and she told me what happened to her a few weeks ago. A child had come up to her, sniveling and saying he lost his mother. So Cheryl took him up to the service desk and called his mom.
When the mother got there, she was MAD AT THE BOY for having her paged. She yelled at him.
At that point, Cheryl says, she called the police to report a bad mother. (I not absolutely positive she called them, but don't you just wish she had?)

So here's the deal. We're starting a new program at my store. Anytime I find a lost child, I'm paging a "Code Badparent." With age, name, physical description, and clothing. Until the parent is found, I will page every minute, on the minute. If we haven't found the parent after ten minutes, just like with "Code Adam", I will contact local authorities.
Saturday, January 17, 2004, 11:48 a.m.

Film Rereview Of The Week
Bad Santa, Redux
So here's my rule: I'm only going to review movies I see in a theater. It may sound silly, but there's still something about that experience that's important.
I mean, I don't want to sit here and type reviews of Citizen Kane all the time. And, let's face it: you don't want to read that. And, I don't want to type reviews of every single thing my lovely wife makes me watch (love you, sweetie -- just don't wanna review Romeo Must Die here).
So we (my lovely wife and I) took a whole mob -- seven people, all told -- to see Bad Santa. Here's some things I picked up on the second time.
John Ritter is so so funny. I wrote the first time that he was funny, but this time through I laughed at him more than anyone else. The scenes between John Ritter and Bernie Mac are so perfect; they could carry their own movie. (In a better world, one where John Ritter was still alive and not doing "8 Simple Rules..." and Bernie Mac couldn't get movie roles, those two characters would get their own TV show. I'd watch every week. And when Billy Bob Thornton made his guest appearance during sweeps week, well, it would be sheer magic.)
Again, Lauren Graham is so full of heart. She's so sweet and vulnerable and funny, it makes me want to send her flowers and chocolates. But then my lovely wife might not understand that.
And, finally -- theater experience. This movie is much better with an audience. Granted, a total of 11 people isn't quite an audience, but I can only imagine how much fun this movie could be with a full audience (COMPOSED ENTIRELY OF ADULTS OVER THE AGE OF 17!! Ahem). Maybe I should've caught it the Friday before Christmas. Of all the words in the English language, these are the saddest: What might have been.
Sigh.
Saturday, January 10, 2004, 12:53 p.m.

Concert Review Of The Two-Month Span
You can find it here, because it's so long. Enjoy.
Tuesday, January 6, 2004, 12:32 p.m.

Even Better Newsradio on DVD Update
Hippee, yippee, skippee again. And doubly so.
Tuesday, January 6, 2004, 10:27 a.m.

If you had told me just three months ago...
...that I'd be posting a link to the trailer of the upcoming Tom Hanks movie, I'd have stabbed you in your cold, black, unfeeling heart. So it's a good thing you didn't, because I'm a-posting it anyway.
(I promise, this will be the last Coen Brothers mention in this blog for at least a week. No, wait, hang on. Maybe not. Wait, no, is it? No.)
Tuesday, January 6, 2004, 09:47 a.m.

Book Reviews of several weeks ago
Movie Megacheese, by Michael J. Nelson
A Year At The Movies: One Man's Moviegoing Oddysey, by Kevin Murphy
This is a review of the first books of two funny Minnesotans. (What is it about Minnesota? Besides the relevant cowtown puppet show [I'll mention it by name in just a second here (if I can ever get out of these darn multiple parentheses)], the state also produced Garrison Keillor, the Coen brothers, and Terry Gilliam. What is in the water up there?) Both are better known as writers and performers (Kevin played the erudite ladies' man, Tom Servo; Mike played, well, Mike) on one of the five best television shows that ever used puppets to mock bad movies. That's right, Siskel and Ebert.
Ha ha.
But I kid the thumbs up guys. Mike and Kevin are, of course, known for their decade of work on Mystery Science Theater 3000. And they are still friends, as you can see from this bit of dialogue recounted in A Year At The Movies:
	[phone rings]
	[Kevin:] "Mike?"
	[Mike:] "Kevin?"
	"Mike, my friend, Corky Romano."
	"Ah, yes. Of course, Corky Romano. When?"
(In my defense, please note that that officially qualifies as a short excerpt embedded in a review. Please do not sue me. Thank you.)
However close Kevin and Mike remain, these two books seem very different to me. First, let's look at Kevin's near-perfect book. The gimmick here is, Kevin saw a movie in a theater every day for a full year. He visited the world's smallest commercial movie theater (run in a private house in Australia). He took six women (one Mike's wife, one his own) to the same date movie. He traveled quite a bit. In fact, reading this book is a lot like reading a Michael Palin travelogue, if Palin were completely obsessed with moviegoing.
Kevin Murphy examines not only movies, but the whole moviegoing experience, describing each theater and its staff and food in detail. He worries about the death of the drive-in and the googolplex mentality. He spends time ripping tickets and in the projection booth. Oh, and it's hilariously funny -- did I mention that? Kevin's snarky comments throughout the book keep the pages turning, and entertained me so well I'm not sure I noticed what he was doing with the book most of the time.
Which brings us to Mike's book. It could be called A Year At Blockbuster. Mike, I'm sorry. You're a very funny guy, but your book left me feeling kind of empty. I know, you really enjoy making fun of bad movies (and we all love to watch you do it). But howzabout something else? What I took away most from Kevin's book is his celebration of all the good movies that are out there (and, of course, the good places to see them). Mike, you can be just as entertaining (and I imagine it'd be less painful for you) talking about good movies, not just riffing on the bad ones. I know you can; I have faith in you.
What the hey -- it was still funny, and it won't stop me from reading Death Rat, Mike's new novel, available now. And of course I'll be listening to Kevin's near-weekly film reviews on NPR. Keep going, guys. Keep working, and keep putting it out there. And to "all the rest" -- Joel (and Jim), Trace, Frank, Bill, Mary Jo, et al. -- let's hear more from you. I can't wait forever for Darkstar.
Tuesday, January 6, 2004, 09:31 a.m.

My nomination...
...for best French cigarette commercial of 2003. Directed, for the record, by Los Hermanos Coen.
(And also, while I'm here, please let me apologize for the shoddy updating of this lil bloggity. I've been a very lazy OneTrue. Sorry. I promise I'll do better.)
Tuesday, January 6, 2004, 09:24 a.m.

Film Review Of Two or Three Weeks Ago
Bad Santa
(center, front row of stadium seating)
Remember Mrs. Johnston's lecture on conflict? (Most of you do, I'm sure.) She insisted that all stories are conflicts, that no fiction can exist without it. Conflict can be man vs. man, or man vs. nature, or man vs. himself, or any number of other choices. I thought that sounded like a challenge, so I wrote a short story with absolutely no conflict in it at all.
It was okay, if you like descriptions of animal herding behavior and weather. My good friend Josh Hernstrom read it, and said the conflict in it was man vs. short story; i.e., reader tries to find plot and fails.
But we'll get back to this in a few minutes.
Billy Bob Thornton IS Santa Claus, like you've never seen him before! He's a tough Santa, who doesn't play by the rules! No, really, Santa swears, has sex. He does everything but freebase heroin in the mall. This is one specific movie, with a very specific target audience. Read: teenage boys and other Howard Stern fans.
Santa has tattoos and is rough-hewn. Always unshaven (well, almost always -- the continuity in this film is ATROCIOUS!), he has no moral base whatsoever. Yet he has to help out an unloved, uncared-for kid. This is another movie, with a very different target audience.
Yet these two styles coexist. Well, not really coexist, it's more like they are constantly warring for our attention. It's kind of jarring, going from hungover vicious Santa to tears-in-his-eyes Christmas appreciating Santa. But somehow Billy Bob manages to hold it together. Without his cohesive performance, I can't even imagine what a mess this movie could've been.
But I think that's at the heart of this movie's subversive charm. I'm always happy to see truly subversive movies. Let's look at The Big Lebowski for a second. (The Coen Brothers, who executive produced Bad Santa, wrote and directed Lebowski.) It's an unravelling of the Hitchcock mythos. Lebowski is the wrong-man. A case of mistaken identity drags him into dangerous territory, and he's completely unprepared. And I don't mean just physically, either. He's a hippie throwback, content to bowl and listen to Dylan records and drink his White Russians. He's unprepared to be thrown into a movie plot, and it's great fun to watch.
Or take Way Of The Gun. Christopher McQuarrie, who wrote The Usual Suspects, says he wanted to make a film with completely unsympathetic protagonists, and he succeeded. Intellectually, I love the movie. But there are other parts of me that aren't so sure.
Anyway, Bad Santa (which we were discussing here, remember?) is at least as subversive as those two. The film's moral center is... um... hang on... I guess the kid. Not that he ever talks about it, but his liquid little eyes gleam hopefully (like my family's dog when he's waiting for you to throw his ball). In any other movie, this kid would drive me berserk. But here, with his snotty nose, and his massive wedgie, I almost love the little critter.
The plot of this movie (remember my short story) could be said, if you're a pretentious film-school type, to have nothing to do with the kid and the Santa. The conflict might just be plot vs. plot. The whole thing might just be a large metafilm construct, couched in obscenities and Disney cuteness to draw our attention away from the man behind the curtain. The fact that Disney cuteness kind of wins in the end (I don't think I'm giving much away here) could be said to comment on the state of the film industry, or even the mellowing of cynicism as we grow more mature.
A word on this film's pedigree. The story was by the Coens and Terry Zwigoff (who directed Crumb and Ghost World, which is my favorite comic-to-film adaptation in the history of the universe). Turns out it was actually written by John Requa and Glenn Ficarra (whose only previous credits seem to be Cats and Dogs). The Coens produced it; Zwigoff directed it. And according to the IMDB, the script supervisor is Michael Taylor, who'll probably have a hard time finding work if this shows the extent of his continuity skills. (He also was responsible for a few much less error-ridden movies, so I'm reserving judgment.)
Mandatory content: Lauren Graham is a bartender who falls for Billy Bob. Most of America knows her best from "Gilmore Girls". Most of you know her as Andrea Planbee on "Newsradio." She is excellent (and, need I add, quite sexy to be a sitcom mom). Her comic timing is great, and she adds almost more heart than the movie needs. It's great to see her working her way up to the big leagues. Also, and it almost goes without saying, John "Dr. Frank" Ritter is hilariously funny and marvelously human, as always. He will be missed greatly.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Now a bit on my theater experience (with super-jumbo apologies to Kevin Murphy). We saw this movie on a Monday afternoon, when all the kids were still in school. There were 6 people in the audience: two other couples, plus myself and my lovely wife. I'm sure all six of us liked it. Why is this? Because we knew, going in, that THIS IS AN R-RATED MOVIE!! PARENTS, DO NOT TAKE YOUR CHILDREN TO THIS MOVIE!! Just don't.
Ahem. An odd side note, and something that very rarely happens: my wife and I have a simple movie-selection system. We alternate picking movies for the other one to see. She likes my movies about 41.8% more than I like her movies, because she is not as picky and anal as I am. Shannon liked this movie more than I did. I can't remember the last time one of our joint movies was preferred by the person who didn't choose it.
Finally, let me sum up (because this is far too long now): I do like this movie. It's funny in all the right places, and heartwarming in all the weird places, and charming where it shouldn't logically be, but it all works out. I like this movie a lot. I'm just not sure why.
Saturday, December 13, 2003, 06:06 p.m.

Song Of The Week
"Killing Me Softly" (The Fugees, 1996)
I don't think there are enough songs about songwriters -- and I don't mean Barry Manilow's "I Write The Songs" (which, by the way, he didn't even write) or even "Best Imitation of Myself" (Ben Folds) here. I mean tribute songs to other, idolized songwriters. Bob Dylan did "Blind Willie McTell." Paul Simon sang "The Late Great Johnny Ace." And The Barenaked Ladies did "Brian Wilson," though that's not really a tribute to Brian as a songwriter (that honor goes to John Cale's sweetly cynical "Mr. Wilson").
The story goes that folk singer Lori Lieberman saw a concert by Don McLean and was so moved that she wrote "Killing Me Softly." (I agree wholeheartedly -- not to get too offtopic, but singing along to "American Pie" has always been one of my most transcendent musical experiences, right up there with Pet Sounds and The Beatles' "Because" and Moe Tucker's whisper-singing on her cover of "To Know Him Is To Love Him.") I have to admit here: I'm not real partial to Roberta Flack's recording of the song. While it seems heartfelt, I just can't get into her easy-listening pop reading of it. Even being in a minor key (C'mon, quick! Name three pop songs from the seventies in minor keys! And "A Fifth of Beethoven" doesn't count!) doesn't add much to the song.
Until. Until briefly, just for a second, the vocals drift into a minor seventh. That second is wonderful.
What The Fugees did is, they took that second and expanded it to fit the whole song. Oh, sure, they dropped a hip-hop beat and Wyclef's wonderful sitar onto it, but the important thing is those minor-seventh vocals.
When The Fugees performed this song live on some MTV Awards show (I'm almost positive it was that year's Movie Awards), in grand TV-awards-show-style, they called Roberta out to sing a verse. Her voice was still great, and she looked pretty good, but her hair was out of control. I mean insanely so.
~~~~~~~~~~~
A little while later (say, oh, two years?) I was in a car riding back to Conyers from Social Circle. My mother and me, and my mother's college roommate and her son John Stephens had all been to The Blue Willow Inn for lunch. I'd worked overnight immediately before this, and kept falling asleep. I didn't want to fall asleep, because I hadn't seen the Stephenses for years. But I kept nodding off.
And the the Fugees record came on the radio. And I perked up a little bit. And, coming out of a fifteen-minute silence, John and I discussed the song. Like quite a few white people who otherwise weren't too fond of mainstream rap, we both liked The Fugees. And, it turns out, we'd both seen that MTV show.
And so we mocked Roberta Flack's hair.
I'm sorry, Roberta Flack, that the most lasting memory I have of my childhood friend does you injustice. But it's the only real memory I have of John Stephens. And, as such, it bears remembering.
Tuesday, December 9, 2003, 08:31 a.m.

Book Review of Last Week
Blankets, by Craig Thompson
Children under the age of 90 please note: this blogpost contains an obscenity. [T]read carefully.
This is an amazing, filmic graphic novel. And I call it a graphic novel not just because it doesn't have any superheroes (except perhaps a peeing 6-year-old in a towel cape) or action, but because it deals with real human emotions. I can't help but be reminded of the (masterful) film of John Irving's (even better) novel, The Cider House Rules. The similarities are really kind of obvious: young man comes of age in beautiful snowy climate and learns warming life lessons while suffering heartbreak. But there's much more. Both CHR and Blankets have a similar emotional style. We see the exterior of our protagonist, as he blunders his poker-faced way through life. He shows nothing to us outwardly. We must read his thoughts (which is, granted, hardest to do in the film, and much easier in Irving's and Thompson's novels) to find how he feels. The uber-Thompson (Blankets is, as far as I can tell, mostly autobiographical) is indeed at least as appealing as young Mr. Tobey Maguire. (In Scott McCloud's book Understanding Comics, he points out that the simpler a character's design is, the more accessible the character is to readers. That is, if we see only a simple smiling human face -- two button eyes, a quick loop of a nose, and another loop of a mouth -- we can implant our own feelings on those features much more easily than if the character is excrutiatingly detailed, which points out the differences between the character and ourselves. Although McCloud demonstrates this more effectively and easily. And more entertainingly. But then, I'm off topic again.)
Uber-Thompson (Let's make this simple: he's "Craig" from now on; the author will be referred to as "Thompson") struggles with his religious faith, and with a near-happy relationship. He struggles with parents who aren't really neglectful but still have no emotional connection to him at most times. He struggles to comunicate with his brother. He struggles to understand the memories of his childhood and how they made him who he is today. But for all this struggling, Craig remains a very calm, stolid character. He creates the illusion of standing still while life swirls around him.
And yes, dammit, he reminds me of myself. While only a few of the particulars of his story are close to my own, I identify with Craig in a way I haven't with any fictional character in years. I want (though hopefully I'll restrain myself) to write Thompson, to tell him, I've been there! You hit the nail right on my head. Though Craig isn't me, he's a spiritual twin to my soul. (You can see why I'm not writing that letter -- enough people think I'm crazy already.)
And I'm afraid I rushed though the book. Though long (592 pages), it's such a quick read. I gobbled it up in a way I can't remember doing since Harold and Maude (the novel), in tenth grade. I want to own this book (Bah! Nancy Guinn library, with their must-be-returned policy!), to treasure it, to reread and absorb every panel, every thought balloon, every time transition. I want the Special Edition DVD of this book, with Thompson's lovingly detailed and witty comments. And deleted scenes, and a soundtrack CD. Hey, and an official commemorative Blankets blanket to wrap myself in (45 degrees isn't a high!) while I read. I covet Thompson's first book, Goodbye Chunky Rice. I want to look at his bookshelf and read all the things he does.
And what's more, I want to keep this longing, this coveting sensation from fading away. No matter how much I love a book like this I always find myself falling away from it. Other things come in between myself and the book. I have to stop thinking of the book and stock ironing boards. Why can't I just set aside one day a month for Blankets? Today is December 5. My goal is to reread the book every month, for as long as I can stand it, on the 5th of each month. And I'd imagine that, just like with Citizen Kane and Catch-22 and Sandman and Berlin, each time I'll find something new while still being captivated by the old loves that first drew me to it.

Oh, yeah, and a quick update to my news story from the last post. Turns out that woman is a slip-and-fall artist. My mistake. Sorry.
Friday, December 5, 2003, 11:47 a.m.

Wal*Mart In The News... Again!
Here's a quick one. Let's say you can't find enough lonely bored people willing to serve on a jury... where would you find some to enlist? I have an idea. Let's try WAL*MART!
Every year during the blitz sale, people get hurt all over the country. There are fist fights and near-riots. But no one's ever been knocked unconscious before. Next year, maybe someone will die. Then will we stop this horrible tradition?
Probably not.
Sunday, November 30, 2003, 11:07 a.m.

Who says political activism is dead?
Here's a heartwarming and inspirational story about a man who:
1:Escaped from captivity,
2:Did his best to free others in a similar situation, even though there is no evidence he even knew them,
3:And was ultimately recaptured, but with a song in his heart and a newfound freedom of mind.
Okay so I made that last "heartwarming" part up.
Friday, November 21, 2003, 07:59 p.m.

Book Review Of The Week
Where The Truth Lies, by Rupert Holmes

I didn't know much about Rupert Holmes going into this book. I knew he created (and wrote) (and scored) Remember WENN, of which I had seen only one episode (it was pretty good -- now I want to see them all). I read on the back flap that he's been writing mysteries for years now -- and won not only a Tony and a Grammy but also two Edgars for them.
But what I knew Rupert Holmes best for was, as you might guess, "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)." And I expected much the same thing from this book: a light-hearted, poppy romp through a specific, detailed time and place with a wee bit of well-disguised commentary.

I was half-right. The first hundred or so pages are just great fun. We slowly meet all the characters and the settings, learning of our narrator and her dealings with an alternate universe Martin and Lewis. It isn't until page 126 that we even find out what the mystery is.
The rest of the book (don't get me wrong) is also great fun, but there's a lot more going on here: double crosses, duplicity, quite a bit of metaphorical mirroring, and a racetrack bettor with three identities.
We wonder how much we really know about our celebrity gods. We live a bit of urban legend. We go through Disneyland on ecstasy. And these are just the nonspoiler items I can mention.
Our narrator is witty. Her friends and co-workers are witty, or at least amusing. And of course, the defunct comedy team at the heart of the story are funny. But, and this is important, not as funny as you'd think. They have more comedic downtime than the other characters -- they've earned a rest. Rather than having to be funny all the time, they are allowed to simply BE.

That's the good news about the book. Now here's the bad news. I doubt it can be made into a movie [though apparently Atom Egoyan is going to have a good try at it].Let's ignore that the book is so complex, so dense, that the only way to keep it to two hours would be to cut out a major subplot. Let's focus instead on Disneyland.

One of the most magical, and affecting parts of the book is the repeated setting there. But Disney will never allow its flagship park to appear in such a context. They've already put out a Haunted Mansion movie; they don't want or need it in theaters, or on TV, except in commercials for the movie sequel, or the Playstation game, or Haunted Mansion plush toys, or Haunted Mansion toothpicks.
To use another setting (Funland? Happy World?) would kill all the other authentic details and turn the whole thing into a caricature. Or, and this is even more frightening, this book is a legitimate candidate for Gumpification.

Ahem. But I'm getting offtopic. This novel is hilariously funny, meticulously plotted, well-detailed, and wonderfully human. From now on, whatever Rupert Holmes is up to, I'm along for the ride. I'm going to dig out my 45 of "Escape..." now.
Wednesday, November 19, 2003, 08:56 p.m.

Newsradio on DVD Update
Hippee, yippee, skippee.
Sunday, November 16, 2003, 11:39 a.m.

Film Review Of The Week
Bubba Ho-Tep
(second row back, far right side)
A Solid 8.
Exactly what Bruce Campbell fans have been waiting for. I'm not such a great big fan, but I liked Evil Dead (the first one) and really like Joe Lansdale (who wrote the story the movie's based on). Oh, and this should go without saying, but I like Ossie Davis too. I'm sure many real-actor type people are dismayed that he took the role in this film, but he's perfect in the part. And as for Ella Joyce... she is certainly up to her large supporting task. Khandi Alexander, watch your back.
I'm sure that, once this movie hits DVD, it'll make all the money back and then some. Maybe a nice sequel, hmm?

Theater Experience The audience loved this movie. You can tell who's there for Bruce Campbell (mostly the men, many of whom wear WWE attire and yell "whoooo!" when Bruce curses) and who's familiar with the story (mostly the women, many of whom chuckle quietly over familiar elements well-done in the film).
Also, this film had several trailers, but the one that caught my eye was the trailer for The Triplets of Belleville. I will have to see it someday before I die.
Sunday, November 16, 2003, 11:05 a.m.

This is the NEW ONETRUE FAQ!

Before you send me a question, please make sure it isn't answered here.

1. Who are you?
Well, I'm a person. That should be clear. Although I could possibly be a simple code-writing program... it would be pretty simple to program a blog-writing program to write your blog for you. (Just enter search terms, program it to call each entry "This is unbelievable" or "I think everyone needs to see this page", etc.) But I am a real person. I promise.

2. Who wrote your originating code?
It was written by... hey! I said I'm a person.

3. What does OneTrue mean?
Many people think they have "one true" answer to all their questions or problems. They may think it's religion, or science, or just listening to Barry White a lot. But actually, I've found I'm my own "one true" answer. And I may be yours as well. Just think, all those times you've had trouble. Did you ask me for help? No, you didn't. And so you'll never know the mystical healing power of my friendship.

4. But I did ask you for help, and you didn't help me.
You lacked sufficient faith in my mystical healing powers. Sure, I may not have dragged myself off the couch, but I sent rays of love your way. Zap! Zap! Zap zap zap! Like that. If you can't perceive my help, that's due to your own faults. Maybe you should try to become better attuned to the reality of my "OneTrueNess".

5. Who's that guy to the left?
That is a self-portrait I painted with my mind. It may not appear similar to the way the human eye perceives my face, but it represents my soul.

6. What is Barry White's middle name?
That would be Eugene.

7. Who hosts this fine website? This fine website is hosted by the good people at www.pitas.com -- and sponsored by Quick Bran. When you need Bran goodness in a hurry, why not try Quick Bran?

8. Weren't you responsible for many other websites?
I cannot comment on that due to the restraining order.

9. What is your personal information?
I cannot comment on that due to the restraining order.

10. Did Dolly Parton ever make an appearance on the Captain Kangaroo show?
Of course she did, silly.

11. I have a question that's not on this FAQ! What do I do?
First, take a few deep breaths. Count to ten. There, have you calmed down a bit? Good.
You can send an email to me at misterplug [at] yahoo.com and I might just answer it.

12. Are you interested in e-mails about hot sex and/or penile enlargement?
I must be. I get at least 15 a day.
Wednesday, November 12, 2003, 06:50 a.m.
 