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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UBQnY-eyp7ImA9WhRQFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357307515257273902</id><updated>2011-12-09T09:34:13.853-05:00</updated><category term="childhood" /><category term="self-awareness" /><category term="pet peeves" /><category term="resolutions" /><category term="songs" /><category term="whatever" /><category term="favorites" /><category term="stress" /><category term="current events" /><category term="movies" /><category term="food" /><category term="Christmas" /><category term="college" /><category term="advertising" /><category term="solutions" /><category term="sandwiches" /><category term="aging" /><category term="television" /><category term="good intentions" /><title>Stuff On Our List</title><subtitle type="html">This Stuff Is On Our List.  Discuss.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default?start-index=6&amp;max-results=5&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Nance</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="19" src="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r4/donn211/cat_sunglasses.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>63</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>5</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/StuffOnOurList" /><feedburner:info uri="stuffonourlist" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="license" type="text/html" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>StuffOnOurList</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UASXcyeSp7ImA9WxFVFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357307515257273902.post-5642125929270550618</id><published>2010-06-14T10:59:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T11:27:28.991-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-06-14T11:27:28.991-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="good intentions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="resolutions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="solutions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stress" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="self-awareness" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="whatever" /><title>All Good Things Must Come To An End</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/TBZJ-yvqPGI/AAAAAAAABpc/6lAS8WYrICc/s1600/riding+off+into+the+sunset.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482650939492547682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 435px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 278px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/TBZJ-yvqPGI/AAAAAAAABpc/6lAS8WYrICc/s400/riding+off+into+the+sunset.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The life cycle of a star is long; our sun was born approximately 5 billion years ago. Compare that to the lifespan of the Lake Erie midge, more commonly called the Canadian Soldier, which lives only 24 hours. In between those two extremes is this blog, which has been in existence for almost two years. Sadly, its time is now over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;3 Reasons We Must Stuff&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Stuff On Our List&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; Jared&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; Nance&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; You &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok. In brief:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jared is a twentysomething guy with twentysomething-guy pursuits and a twentysomething guy commitment level. You probably noticed that I outposted him at least three to one. Additionally, he has moved out to an apartment with a buddy, and they do not yet have Internet capability beyond their Blackberrys. This all adds up to A Lot Going On And Some Minor Inconvenience, so he is pretty much not going to be posting anytime soon, not that he was doing so all that often, which I covered already. SO! Moving on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have two other Main Blogs, so this one admittedly was not my Main Priority. I started it with Jared so that we could Do Something Together. It soon became something of a drag for me when it looked like it was yet another Personal Blog. I can't helm three blogs. This is the easy one to let go. Just like in a work situation, last hired is the first fired.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Finally, this blog has the least number of subscribers and almost no commenters. It's pretty obvious that it won't be missed, and so I feel that I'm bowing to the will of the public anyway. Please know, the few of you that do read occasionally, that I will incorporate a few Lists on my anchor blog over at the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Dept. of Nance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. The clickable link is in the sidebar here. I won't be taking down this blog; rather, I'll be using it to experiment with some of Blogger's new features recently introduced. That way, I can decide whether or not to implement them worry-free at my other sites. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks for the laughs and for the discussions we had here. It was fun while it lasted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4357307515257273902-5642125929270550618?l=stuffonourlist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~4/ZDshzGD95pk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/feeds/5642125929270550618/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4357307515257273902&amp;postID=5642125929270550618&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/5642125929270550618?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/5642125929270550618?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~3/ZDshzGD95pk/all-good-things-must-come-to-end.html" title="All Good Things Must Come To An End" /><author><name>Nance</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="19" src="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r4/donn211/cat_sunglasses.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/TBZJ-yvqPGI/AAAAAAAABpc/6lAS8WYrICc/s72-c/riding+off+into+the+sunset.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/2010/06/all-good-things-must-come-to-end.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8FSXc5eSp7ImA9WxFWEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357307515257273902.post-3877523585079243974</id><published>2010-05-28T11:47:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T12:23:38.921-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-05-28T12:23:38.921-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="favorites" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="self-awareness" /><title>I'm Outta Here!</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S__tQHPTazI/AAAAAAAABoU/NihRlvIpndQ/s1600/thumbs+down.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476356532982737714" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S__tQHPTazI/AAAAAAAABoU/NihRlvIpndQ/s400/thumbs+down.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Animals sang, "We gotta get out of this place if it's the last thing we ever do." I find myself in hearty agreement about several Places. Here is my list of&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Places That Don't Do It For Me Anymore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Applebee's&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;2.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; The Gap&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Old Navy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Max &amp;amp; Erma's&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Express&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;6.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Macy's&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know I usually go in order, but try and stay with me. Let's start with the two restaurants on this list. Those of you who are even snobbier than I am and are ready to start harping at me by saying (with your noses in the air), "Oh, what do you expect when you--&lt;em&gt;assume air of disdainful elitism here--&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;eat at a chain restaurant&lt;/strong&gt;!?" can settle yourselves down immediately. I live in Ohio, first of all, and secondly, do not have the choices or unlimited disposable income to go eat at &lt;em&gt;Le Bistro de Plus d'Argent. &lt;/em&gt;Regardless of all of this, allow me: These two establishments bore me senseless with mediocre food and uninspiring menus. I can make their offerings at home. (And far better. So I do.) I don't think Max &amp;amp; Erma's has put a new pasta entree on their menu since, possibly, 1988. Inexcusable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The clothing stores start off at a disadvantage for me because I am a difficult individual to fit. The Macy's in my area, which would carry clothing for a 51-year old woman does not stock pants or skirts in a size 2. Also, they lean heavily on the Karen Scott line, which runs alarmingly large and trends toward knits, which I hate. And if anyone can tell me how the hell that store is "organized," and I use the term very loosely, I will gladly listen. That store is a nightmare. Express, which is the only place I buy pants for work, fits me beautifully, but let's face it: I am not their target demographic. I would, however, like to know who in the hell buys &lt;em&gt;puffed sleeve tops, &lt;/em&gt;for that is the preponderance of their shirt style. All of their shirts are hideous and overpriced. Even if I were not a half-century old, I would never buy a shirt there. Ever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Old Navy and The Gap are owned by the same corporation, The Gap being the upscale big sister of the two. In this case, "upscale" means vastly overpriced. Sometimes I go into The Gap just for the entertainment value. I once picked up a little cotton eyelet sleeveless blouse and it was $56.00. Usually, I just wait out The Gap. Sure enough, my patience is rewarded. I really liked a skirt there that was $49.95. Rick wanted to buy it for my birthday. I snorted and said, "Don't be silly. I can beat The Gap. By July, this will be down to twenty bucks." I got it for 14. (On a related note: I am currently waiting out a little sleeveless shirt at American Eagle where they are silly enough to think someone will pay $29 for what is, essentially, gauze. Idiotic.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Old Navy used to carry some pretty decent stuff for very reasonable money. I would shop for separates there: jeans, jackets, the odd sweater or shirt. Now, it's all crap, period. My sons, ages 22 and 25 don't even shop there. Not even for a sweatshirt. What happened to that store is a tragedy. Their fit got bad, their quality got bad, everything went to hell. Even their commercials. What on &lt;em&gt;earth &lt;/em&gt;is that mannequin campaign? Terrible.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, what about you, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Stuff&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;readers? What places are you over and done with?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4357307515257273902-3877523585079243974?l=stuffonourlist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~4/UFxqnTC7N0I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/feeds/3877523585079243974/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4357307515257273902&amp;postID=3877523585079243974&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/3877523585079243974?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/3877523585079243974?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~3/UFxqnTC7N0I/im-outta-here.html" title="I'm Outta Here!" /><author><name>Nance</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="19" src="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r4/donn211/cat_sunglasses.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S__tQHPTazI/AAAAAAAABoU/NihRlvIpndQ/s72-c/thumbs+down.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/2010/05/im-outta-here.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUMRXg6cSp7ImA9WxFQFk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357307515257273902.post-2755837794290660962</id><published>2010-05-11T21:27:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T22:11:24.619-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-05-11T22:11:24.619-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stress" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pet peeves" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="television" /><title>Sounding Off On The Sporting Life</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S-oNmr5alVI/AAAAAAAABnc/oxW_ImZOqBU/s1600/sportsfans.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470199655664620882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 298px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S-oNmr5alVI/AAAAAAAABnc/oxW_ImZOqBU/s400/sportsfans.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't participate in Sports; they require that you exert effort and I might, therefore, become sweaty. I do, however, watch Sports on television. (Sometimes, I might even go to A Sporting Event "live.") Spectating also allows me to observe those in attendance, and I have to tell you, there is a lot of&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Stuff That People Need To Stop Doing At Sporting Events&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Sending text messages&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;2&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; Talking on cell phones&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Trying to get on television&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Inserting themselves into the event&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Taking off their shirts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even if you don't watch Sporting Events on television, you can undoubtedly appreciate the righteousness of these arguments. Consider:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; There is nothing so idiotic and irksome to me than to watch, say, a championship Sporting Event whose prime seats go for a thousand dollars, and to see some bozo or bimbo sitting there with a cellular device, thumbing away. If you are going to ignore The Major Sporting Event in order to send vowelless gibberish to your friends, &lt;em&gt;then just stay home! &lt;/em&gt;I don't get it. And it is People Of All Ages who are guilty of this transgression. I know dozens of people who would literally mow down the elderly for lower bowl seats to an NBA playoff series game, and some airhead is sitting courtside sending random bullshit to someone who is probably sitting next to him/her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;2.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Ditto with cell phone usage. Every time the camera zooms in on a batter in an MLB game, some yahoo behind home plate with excellent seats is on his phone. Naturally, the goofball he is talking to is watching the game at home and tells him he is on TV. Now the doofus has to wave and stand up and act like a moron so that his friend can say, "Yeah, I see you! I see you!" Sigh. Sit down and--here's a novel idea--&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;watch the game!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Sometimes there are pre- and post-game interviews near the seats/stands. This means that sad, attention-deprived fans who are maturity-challenged will stand behind the interviewers and jump up and down, make faces, keep wandering nonchalantly back and forth, wave, etc. in order to be on television. Sometimes they will helpfully yell the name of "their" team or the statement "We're number one!" Stellar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Recently, a &lt;a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2010/05/police-tasered-a-teenage-baseball-fan-good-move/56209/"&gt;teenager decided to run onto the field&lt;/a&gt; during a Phillies baseball game. He was tasered when he kept running and eluding security. According to some reports, this idiot even called his father first to tell him he was thinking of doing it. He just wanted the game to be memorable. To quote my son Sam, "Hey. Save your ticket stub." Police also had to taser a &lt;a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-504083_162-20004545-504083.html"&gt;golf fan&lt;/a&gt; on May 7th. And Danny Ainge, the Boston Celtics General Manager, &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFmaMQTFMNs&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded"&gt;tossed a towel&lt;/a&gt; into the air while an opposing player was shooting a free throw during a playoff game. He was subsequently fined $25K for insinuating himself into the game. What is wrong with these people? &lt;strong&gt;THE GAME IS NOT ABOUT YOU. SIT THERE, WATCH THE GAME, GO HOME. &lt;em&gt;HOW HARD IS THAT?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; What is it about going to a Sporting Event that makes men act as if they are having Their First Beers Ever? Then they take off their shirts in a manly display of...what? It would be different if they were Fine Examples Of The Masculine Form. But, more often than not, they are tubby, flabby, chalky ickmonsters who then jiggle their puddingy selves while their bad haircuts get sweaty and some of them then throw up. Ugh. Again: I don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All sports have rules. It's part of the game. Maybe it's time for there to be stricter rules about Watching the Games, too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4357307515257273902-2755837794290660962?l=stuffonourlist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~4/Jk9U465RB50" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/feeds/2755837794290660962/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4357307515257273902&amp;postID=2755837794290660962&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/2755837794290660962?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/2755837794290660962?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~3/Jk9U465RB50/sounding-off-on-sporting-life.html" title="Sounding Off On The Sporting Life" /><author><name>Nance</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="19" src="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r4/donn211/cat_sunglasses.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S-oNmr5alVI/AAAAAAAABnc/oxW_ImZOqBU/s72-c/sportsfans.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/2010/05/sounding-off-on-sporting-life.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUINQno9cCp7ImA9WxFRFEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357307515257273902.post-8187608212817405255</id><published>2010-04-28T15:03:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-28T15:39:53.468-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-28T15:39:53.468-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="good intentions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="solutions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stress" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pet peeves" /><title>We Can Put A Man On The Moon, Huh?</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S9dC69X7tEI/AAAAAAAABms/w5Jp9TQDTBE/s1600/moonbulb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464910253512176706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S9dC69X7tEI/AAAAAAAABms/w5Jp9TQDTBE/s400/moonbulb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I used to hate it when people would say, "We can put a man on the moon, yet we still can't..." But now? Now I get it. The USA put people on the moon because they &lt;em&gt;wanted&lt;/em&gt; to. They had drive. Ambition. Curiosity. I see how this works. However, the question remains: Doesn't it take significantly less of each of those attributes to do a few minor things that are relatively practical and provide everyday functionality for everyone? This brings me to my list of questions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc9933;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc9933;"&gt;Hey, How Come We Can't...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Make a cordless vacuum?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;2.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Have normalized television programming?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Make a faucet that doesn't sound like you're rinsing dishes with Niagara Falls?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Make cooperative car cupholders?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Create a straw that does not leak?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; That cord is terrible. Running The Sucker is really two jobs. &lt;strong&gt;Job 1&lt;/strong&gt;: Vac. &lt;strong&gt;Job 2&lt;/strong&gt;: Babysit and wrangle the cords constantly. This is terrible. Also, while we are at it, can we do something about the noise that this thing makes when you inevitably suck up a little bit of the cord? Really? Do the neighbors need to know that you failed at &lt;strong&gt;Job 2&lt;/strong&gt;? Everytime I suck up the cord a little, I feel like I have to get ready to defend my fail. "Am I OK? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just sort of accidently navigated over this here cord. Yeah, I know it was loud. Right. I know. It's fine. Thanks."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Is there such a thing, technically, as a "cordless" vac? Yes. Absolutely yes. It is called &lt;a href="http://store.irobot.com/family/index.jsp?categoryId=2501652&amp;amp;cp=2174940"&gt;Roomba&lt;/a&gt;. However, does anyone really trust these things? Let me get this straight. You turn on a ROBOT that glides around your house and supposedly knows where all of the dirt is? And I am just supposed to TRUST this contraption? Not a chance. If a&lt;em&gt; person&lt;/em&gt; doesn't vac, then no sucker-running has taken place. We are not &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpBqYcGqaaw"&gt;The Jetsons&lt;/a&gt;. Also, I am not one of &lt;a href="http://treesflowersbirds.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/male_chauvinist.jpg"&gt;Those Men&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;a href="http://images1.cafepress.com/product/420712341v1_225x225_Front.jpg"&gt;Those Men&lt;/a&gt; that think that housework is for women. Oh hell no. I was not raised that way. Men, run that goddamned vac. Please. Not tough.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;2.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; QUICK! What time and on what day does your favorite show air? Exactly. Now, don't get too comfortable with this. Because for no reason, and without warning, it will change. Also, new episodes will be interrupted with re-runs for weeks before the continuance of the prior episode. This is egregious. And I want it fixed. This is why I like &lt;em&gt;ESPN&lt;/em&gt;. I know EXACTLY what time my shows are on. And if something preempts it? It is simply, easily, and VERY publicly moved to another one of their networks. Flawless. Take notes, Network Bitches.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;3&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; Full disclosure: I hate noise. Of all sorts. Most things are too loud and probably don't need to be as loud as they are. And I hate it. I HATE the noise that the faucet makes. It sounds like someone is standing at my kitchen counter with a fire hose and they refuse to stop until the nonstick coating is permanently destroyed on every pan and that the glossy coating on the plates is totally obliterated. And what's more is that they don't give a FUCK that I am trying to watch television, read an article or do anything that is NOT listen to the goddamned life-ruining faucet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; There's this annoying little rubber insert thing in cupholders. I understand that it is there to try to stabilize the beverage in question. And, hell, if you take them out? Why, then you can theoretically fit a larger drink in there! ERRONEOUS! What happens then is that your drink is wobblier than a &lt;a href="http://www.gunandgame.com/forums/attachments/humor-forum/2931d1068081004-1-vs-telatuby-purple-teletubby-found-drunk.jpg"&gt;drunken Teletubbie&lt;/a&gt;. And when the thing is in there? As soon as you free your beverage from the visegrip that is your cupholder...get ready because that obnoxious little bugger will attach itself to your delicious refreshment. Brutal. This is why I refuse to use the cupholders in my Focus. Unwieldy, at best.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;5&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; We have combs that will not break. We have bridges that basically use wires to hold up TONS and TONS of poundage every day. We even have fabric that will resist a stain. However, for some reason, any time you whack the end of your straw in an effort to break the opposite end's cellophane enclosure, your straw is liable to bend and break. Not visibly shatter. But create a small leaky crack that will undoubtedly challenge your ability to use it to enjoy your drink of choice. I can run a comb over with a car that weighs 4356758667567 pounds with ZERO DAMAGE, but I cannot simply open a straw without fear of ruining it? Furthermore, it isn't even being ruined by &lt;em&gt;using it&lt;/em&gt;. It's being ruined by &lt;em&gt;trying to prepare to&lt;/em&gt; use it. Am I the only one that finds this ludicrous? I cannot be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Stuff&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;ers, what do you find yourself unable to come to terms with due to modern mankind's lack of effort, despite the fact that MEN HAVE WALKED ON THE MOON!? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;--&lt;br /&gt;JPD&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4357307515257273902-8187608212817405255?l=stuffonourlist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~4/8Q18Gdc3qCM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/feeds/8187608212817405255/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4357307515257273902&amp;postID=8187608212817405255&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/8187608212817405255?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/8187608212817405255?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~3/8Q18Gdc3qCM/we-can-put-man-on-moon-huh.html" title="We Can Put A Man On The Moon, Huh?" /><author><name>JPD</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17332435129324941983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S9dC69X7tEI/AAAAAAAABms/w5Jp9TQDTBE/s72-c/moonbulb.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/2010/04/we-can-put-man-on-moon-huh.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ACQnc6eip7ImA9WxFSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357307515257273902.post-1158897697414718719</id><published>2010-04-12T16:38:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T16:16:03.912-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-13T16:16:03.912-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="favorites" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="self-awareness" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="food" /><title>I Have Seen The Enemy And The Enemy Is...Delicious</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S8OQ8q-sfrI/AAAAAAAABmU/CKE9aUR3BuI/s1600/love+food.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459366545306975922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 461px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 385px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S8OQ8q-sfrI/AAAAAAAABmU/CKE9aUR3BuI/s400/love+food.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Sometimes, the thought of an entire meal overwhelms me. I'd rather just snack, or &lt;em&gt;graze, &lt;/em&gt;as some people call it. Often, though, this turns into the sad and horrifying spectacle of me shovelling mass quantities of the snacky food into my gaping maw. What is it about some foods that just make us completely lose control? Here are my own personal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#339999;"&gt;5 Dangerous Food Nemeses&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Lays Original Potato Chips&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Fresh Guacamole&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; French Fries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Garlic Bread&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Shrimp Cocktail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay. The simple act of &lt;em&gt;looking at the nouns listed above &lt;/em&gt;is driving me nuts right now. But for you, I will endure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; I have written about my unseemly adoration for Lays Original Potato Chips &lt;em&gt;ad nauseum &lt;/em&gt;at my &lt;a href="http://deptofnance.blogspot.com/"&gt;other place&lt;/a&gt;. I have been known to hide my Grownup Card and have only the Foldy Chips from an entire bag for dinner if I can't think of anything else that sounds good. I once made my husband &lt;em&gt;hide the chips from me&lt;/em&gt; when I couldn't trust myself around them anymore. I hope the staff treat me kindly at &lt;a href="http://www.cartoonstock.com/lowres/csl1666l.jpg"&gt;The Home&lt;/a&gt; when I get there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;2.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Last summer I discovered the ease of making fresh guacamole in a bigass Ziploc bag and let's just say that the Ziploc bag was not the &lt;em&gt;only&lt;/em&gt; bigass thing until I got my addiction under control. &lt;em&gt;But holy crap, I love that stuff! &lt;/em&gt;Do you know that for over 45 years, I had never tasted an avocado, let alone guacamole? I blame my mother for this, and I lived in a part of Ohio that had a &lt;em&gt;significant&lt;/em&gt; Mexican population. When avocados go on sale, I get unnaturally excited. Just thinking about it makes me tear up. And store-bought guac &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;sucks&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;. Period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; First, let's agree to some basic terminology: those things at McDonald's are &lt;em&gt;not &lt;/em&gt;French Fries. Not even close. Wendy's fries, yes. Burger King? I have no effing idea &lt;em&gt;what &lt;/em&gt;those fakey things are, but French Fries they are not. They taste like generic, off-brand Pringle's. I love hand-cut, real-deal fries with both vinegar &lt;em&gt;and &lt;/em&gt;ketchup, and don't be stingy with the salt, either. If you're an Ohio or Michigan reader, think &lt;a href="http://www.experiencethepoint.com/features/frenchfries.asp"&gt;Cedar Point's Berardi's fries&lt;/a&gt;. But, failing those, even good old Ore-Ida fries, &lt;em&gt;deep-fried&lt;/em&gt; (don't &lt;strong&gt;bake&lt;/strong&gt; your fries,&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; come on!)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; and golden with the aforementioned condiments will see me through my jones. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; More than once during my pregnancies, I made entire meals of garlic bread. I &lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt; good bread. When Rick and I plan a trip to Cleveland's &lt;a href="http://www.westsidemarket.org/about.html"&gt;West Side Market&lt;/a&gt;, we always make sure we go well before 10 AM, or all the bakeries are sold out of their gorgeous artisanal breads: asiago, rosemary garlic, kalamata olive, pepperoni, challah, and before they stopped making it, an astonishing chocolate cherry. If there is garlic bread served with a meal, though--warm, chewy, fragrant and buttery--look out. Forget the pasta for me. I'm parking next to the breadbasket and smacking the paws of anyone else who ventures a grab.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#0b5394;"&gt;5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; When I was little, my dad used to bring home the little teensy frozen glasses of individual shrimp cocktails. They were 99% sauce with about 5 miniscule shrimp in each one. I thought it was the most wonderful stuff in the world. I still love shrimp cocktail, and I'm forever just blown away that the shrimp are so much bigger and so much better. As a result, whenever cocktail shrimp appear, I act like it may very well be &lt;em&gt;the last time in my entire life. &lt;/em&gt;But really--isn't shrimp cocktail terrific?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about you, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#073763;"&gt;Stuff&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;readers? What little snacky or grazing foods make you lose all control? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4357307515257273902-1158897697414718719?l=stuffonourlist.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~4/OigJ6g4I0gU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/feeds/1158897697414718719/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4357307515257273902&amp;postID=1158897697414718719&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/1158897697414718719?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4357307515257273902/posts/default/1158897697414718719?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/StuffOnOurList/~3/OigJ6g4I0gU/i-have-seen-enemy-and-enemy-isdelicious.html" title="I Have Seen The Enemy And The Enemy Is...Delicious" /><author><name>Nance</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="19" src="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r4/donn211/cat_sunglasses.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AjmQtWD7bbI/S8OQ8q-sfrI/AAAAAAAABmU/CKE9aUR3BuI/s72-c/love+food.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://stuffonourlist.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-have-seen-enemy-and-enemy-isdelicious.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

