More Pictures from Bourbon Street Grille

As promised in the post below, here are a few more pictures from when Scott and I were at the Bourbon Street Grille this past Friday.

The Channel

The Rooftop Bar

There is even a place in the channel for boaters to get fuel and supplies.  

I mentioned in the previous post that the channel along the Bourbon Street Grille feeds into Lake Monona.  Here is a picture of the lake.  It's not a real great picture because I took it while sitting in the car at a stop light on John Nolen Drive.  That also explains why the bikers appear in the picture.  Actually, there are 2 reasons bikers appear in the picture.  #1  There are an ass load of bikers in this town.  #2  Since I was taking the picture while stopped at a red light, I had a limited window of opportunity to snap the shot, so I got what I got-- bikers and all.

Lake Monona is a beautiful lake and quite large.  The other big lake that flanks downtown Madison is Lake Mendota.  I need to get some pictures there.  Scott and I drove along Lake Mendota this morning and there were a bunch of sail boats out.  It was pretty. 

To close out the topic of the Bourbon Street Grille, you can click on the attached link if you want to peek at their website.  They have some good pictures under the "rooftop" and "marine" tabs:  Bourbon Street Grille. 

And finally, if  you didn't read the post below, I would recommend it.  I think that duck and that lady are about the sweetest things ever.  Oh, and Scott too.

One of the Cutest Darn Things I Have Ever Seen

Scott has been here in Madison visiting since last Friday (5/21).  We have spent a lot of time looking for a house here, but we have also had quite a bit of fun while he's been in town.  I think everyone who looks at this blog knows I adore my husband.  He is my best friend and, even when we are fussing at each other, there is no one else I'd rather be with than him.  I just feel better when he is around.  I always tell him he is my sweet baby boy...pea.  The pause between the "boy" and the "pea" is important for emphasis.

Scott is truly one of the cutest darn things I have ever seen.  He has good lips, a cute nose, and very pretty long eye lashes.

But I digress.  While Scott is my sweet baby boy...pea, and one of the cutest darn things I have ever seen, that's actually not what this post is about.

This is about another "One of the Cutest Darn Things I Have Ever Seen".

Yesterday late afternoon/early evening, Scott and I went to a place called Bourbon Street Grille.  I'll post more pictures from the Bourbon Street Grille later, but for now I will write this about it:  it's a bar and restaurant in Monona where you can sit on the roof top of the building and look at boats going up and down the channel to Lake Monona.  Boats can actually pull in and park so the boaters can come up to the restaurant to have food and drinks.  It's quite lovely.  Again, more pictures will come later, but here is a preview:

While Scott and I were sitting on the roof at Bourbon Street Grille, we noticed a woman across the channel sitting on her dock.  She was talking to some folks in kayaks who had pulled up and we were intrigued by the duck sitting next to her.  

Here is a close up.

The more we watched, the more we were enchanted.  That duck loved that woman.  I think he believed that woman was his mother.  When she got  up and walked up to her house, he followed.  When she came back to her dock with some potting soil and plants to put in a big barrel, the duck was right there with her (off to the left, looking like a statue).

Here are a few more pictures of the duck and his human mama.

The duck never left that woman's side the whole time we were watching.  The duck even let that woman pet him.

Isn't that one of the cutest darn things ever?  

There were several other ducks around that looked like this one.  I don't know what kind of ducks they are; not mallards, not Canada.  I don't know.  Big white ducks with orange feet.  That's as close as I can get to describing the kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species (anyone remember that from science class??)  Anyhow, the other similar ducks that were hanging around were honking and carrying on, almost like they were chastising him for leaving them to hang out with a lowly human being.  This duck was not to be deterred.  He ignored his gaggle because he appeared to truly love that woman.  Seems like there should be some kind of a story book about this.

So darn cute.                                                    

That Don't Make No Sense

I was behind a Honda Pilot yesterday here in Madison, Wisconsin that had 2 bumper stickers on it.  The first bumper sticker was in the upper left corner of the rear window.  It read:

Catholic Memorial
Girls Lacrosse

The other bumper sticker was on the actual bumper.  It read:

God bless our troops
...especially the snipers

Really?

To me, that don't make no sense.

Obsession Confession

I dig Sharpies.  All Sharpies.  Skinny ones.  Medium ones.  Fat ones.  Smelly ones.  I dig them all.  I may even be slightly obsessed with them, so imagine my delight when I was in Staples the other day and saw Sharpies on sale. Only 6 bucks for a pack of 12.  That's pretty cheap for Sharpies.  So I got 2 packs:  Ultra-Fine and Fine.  I guess that's the nice way the Sharpie people refer to their markers instead of skinny, medium, and fat like I just did.  And I'm absolutely sure the Sharpie people don't refer to any of their markers as smelly. 

What's perhaps ironic about my obsession with Sharpie's (and all pens for that matter) is that I have the world's worst hand-writing.  It's bad.  Sooooo bad.  Awful.  Horrible.  It's so bad sometimes I can't even read it.  I have been told that it looks like "Chinese".  I've also been told my cursive and printing look exactly alike, even though I swear I move my hand differently when I write cursive vs. printing.  I know it's a sin, but I envy people with good hand-writing.  Being a woman and having awful hand-writing makes me feel just a little less feminine.  Girls are supposed to have pretty hand-writing, aren't they?  I so didn't get that girly trait.  Not by a long shot.     

Even though the sales clerks in Staples have no idea how bad my hand-writing is, the dichotomy of my obsession with pens and my bad hand-writing gets the best of me every time I'm at the check out buying pens.  Every time I find myself in this place I say to the sales clerk, "I'm looking for the pen that will make me have good hand-writing."  I usually get a blank stare.  But somehow just saying that makes me feel better. 

Remembering Emmy

May 16, 2003 was the best day of my life. 

It was the day I adopted a magnificent Doberman Pinscher named Emmy.

She was the love of my life.

I wasn't supposed to get her. 

Or, actually, maybe I was.

A most unusual path led me to her.

The journey began on an ordinary day.  I was at Easy Street Cafe in German Village with friends.  Among those present was a friend named Lonny and his partner at the time, Tony.  Tony was talking about how he had just adopted a Doberman Pinscher from HandMeDownDobes, a Doberman Pinscher rescue group in central Ohio.  As he talked, something unexplainable and unexpected clicked inside me.  It was my first pull, the first clue of my affinity for Doberman Pinschers. 

I left that encounter at Easy Street and somewhat subconsciously followed the pull that I felt.  I can't say I was even fully aware of it at the time.  It was something beyond me pulling, and pushing, and I followed.  I started looking at the HandMeDownDobes website.  I was looking at the list of adoptable dogs with the idea in mind that I wanted a male dog.

I looked.  And looked.  And looked.

I was aware as I perused the website that there was a female dog named Emmy on the list of adoptable dogs.

But I kept looking for a male dog.

Then, one day, as I was looking at the website I noticed that a different picture of Emmy was posted.  I mostly noticed for the simple fact that her picture on the website had changed.

That change in picture grabbed my attention.  So, I read her profile.

As I read her profile, it occurred to me that there was no real reason I wanted a male dog.  What about a female?  Wouldn't that be OK?  This dog....this Emmy...sounded nice.

I contacted the rescue group.

Sorry, I was told.  She had already been chosen by another adopter.  I felt a twinge of hurt and disappointment.  The identified adopter was supposed to get Emmy at an upcoming adoption event to be held in Worthington.

On a later ordinary day when I was in my office at Dungarvin Ohio after the event adoption event in Worthington, it "spontaneously" occurred to me to touch base with the rescue group about Emmy.   You know, just to confirm her planned adoption went through.

I made the call and my heart soared.

I was told no, the adoption didn't go through.  The designated adopter(s) decided they didn't want to adopt Emmy because when they went to the adoption event, Emmy growled at other dogs when they were being given treats.

What?  She growled at other dogs over treats??  Of course she did.  She's a dog. 

I promptly requested to meet Emmy.  Arrangements were made for her foster mother, a nice woman named Claire, to bring her to my house.  As Emmy and Claire walked up through the yard to the front door of The Little House, I fell in love with Emmy.  Before she even came through the front door.  I just knew.  It was a pure case of love at first sight.

Claire took Emmy back with her after our meeting at The Little House-- which is typical for the adoption process.   I contacted the rescue group again after the meeting and let them know I wanted to move forward with the adoption of Emmy.  I felt zero hesitation, which is pretty rare for me.  Paperwork and money exchanged hands and on May 16, 2003 I officially adopted Emmy.

It was the best day of my life.

My Mom's birthday is on May 15.  On May 15, 2003 I met her and my Dad at Bravo for dinner to celebrate her birthday.  I didn't tell them that I was planning to pick Emmy up the next day.  I knew they would be hesitant about me adopting a dog.  I was single at the time and they would have questioned me about my preparedness to take on the responsibility of having a dog, plus I already had 2 cats.  Two cats and a dog and me would make for quite a full household at The Little House.  Tack on the fact that I was single and led a full single lifestyle, I knew they would discourage me from getting a dog.  I was not to be discouraged, so I just didn't bring it up.  I didn't see the need.  So I held onto my little secret, and it felt right and it felt good.

May 16, 2003- I took the day off work and picked Emmy up at her foster mother's house at 9 AM.  I was filled with excitement and anticipation as I drove to Clintonville to get her.  As I was standing in Claire's house talking to her, Emmy tore after Claire's cat.  Claire was so embarrassed and assured me that Emmy had actually been OK with the cat prior to that moment.  That's good, considering I had 2 cats at home.  Even though Emmy ripped after the cat at Claire's, I didn't hesitate to take her home with me.  I grew up in a house where cats and dogs lived together so I was confident we could make it work.

I put Emmy in the back seat of my Acura and drove her home to Grandview.  She was agreeable to getting in the back seat, which I laugh about now because it later became very clear that she is a front seat rider.  She tolerated the backseat, though.  I think she was aware enough and wise enough to know that she would just need a little time and opportunity to train me-- which she did.  I drove all the way down High Street to 5th Avenue to get home to Grandview since I was hesitant to get on the freeway with a dog I didn't really know in the car.  Emmy was perfect the whole way home.  Her manners in the car were impeccable. As I would later learn, her manners all the time were impeccable.  To describe her as regal would be an understatement.

We got to The Little House and I took Emmy in to introduce her to her new home.  She seemed fine with it, except for the cats.  And the cats, Simon and Isaac, were none to happy to see her either. They immediately retreated to the basement where they remained for 2 full weeks.  More on that later.

I remember the day was slightly overcast, slightly cool, and very quiet.  I thought the best way for Emmy and I to bond would be to walk together.  And walk we did.  I think we took at least 3 long walks through Grandview that day.  It was the beginning of many, many, many walks together that were some of the best and happiest times of my life.  She was excellent on the leash, which made walking her a pleasure.  Throughout our time together, I walked her a minimum of 3 times a day:  in the morning before work, when I got home from work, and right before bed.  Some days we would take 5 or 6 walks.  I was even known to walk her in the wee hours of the morning when I would come home tipsy from a night out.  2 AM and tipsy?  No matter!  Let's walk!  Emmy loved to go for walks and I loved walking with her.  Grandview, Ohio is the perfect place for dog walking and I always felt safe anytime of the day or night when I was out with her.  Thinking back on it now, I would give almost anything for one more day, one more walk through Grandview with Emmy.  If I was offered a deal that I could take Emmy on one more walk through Grandview but I would die immediately afterwards, I would take the deal.  Without hesitation.  That's how much I loved her.  That's how much I still love her.

I told my parents the next day that I adopted a Doberman Pinscher.  They were reserved in their response, as expected.  I took Emmy to their house the following day.  I remember my Dad was standoffish with her.  My Dad is a dog lover and his dog, Clover, was alive at the time.  While he was guarded at first when he met her, if you asked him today he would tell you emphatically that Emmy was the best dog he ever met.  My Mom, who is not an animal lover, even fell for her.  As I mentioned early on in this narrative, she was magnificent.  Anyone who ever met Emmy respected her for her dignity and beauty.  She was in a class by herself.

Back to the cats who hid in the basement for 2 weeks.  I tried on a couple of different occasions during those 2 weeks to introduce the cats to Emmy.  Emmy wasn't having it.  The cats weren't having it.  It was crazy, and a little scary.  Growling, barking, hissing.  Not good.  I felt so badly.  I didn't want the cats to live in the creepy basement at The Little House.  I wanted them to enjoy free reign of the house, like they were used to before Emmy arrived.  I was also obligated to Emmy because I had adopted her into my life and,  more importantly, into my heart.  So, I just waited.  One day at a time.  Kind of like my life now.

One day, the situation broke.  I was standing in the kitchen at The Little  House.  Emmy was sitting on the leopard print rug in front of the refrigerator.  Isaac, the alpha cat (who even out-alphas me, if that's possible), came up from the basement and peeked his head around the door into the kitchen.  He looked at Emmy.  Emmy looked at him.  I looked at both of them, my heart starting racing and I was thinking "oh shit, here comes a confrontation".

There was no confrontation.  After a brief stare-down, Isaac came into the kitchen and slowly sauntered over to Emmy's food bowl where he helped himself to 3 pieces of her dog food.  She watched, but didn't react.  Then Isaac laid down in the kitchen and looked at her.  I'm sure he was thinking, "how you like me now??"  From that moment on, they lived in harmony.  Except for one little incident that involved a raw hide, but no need to go into that.  Once Isaac and Emmy made peace, Simon decided to join in.  It took him a couple days after Isaac established the territory, but he did come up from the basement and from then on all 4 of us lived together blissfully.

When I think about living in The Little House with Emmy, Isaac, and Simon, my heart wells up.  It was the happiest time of my life.  Emmy was the best of companions.  We did everything together.  If I had a bad day, it melted away as soon as she and I were together.  I experienced nothing less than joy when she was in my life.  She was gentle, beautiful, smart, and elegant.

377 days after I adopted her, I lost Emmy to cancer.

I was devastated.  I'm still devastated.  I miss her so much it physically hurts.  I love her and I long to see her again.  I sleep with her picture in the bed every night, even after all these years.  I won't describe the ordeal of losing her here, but suffice it to say that throughout her illness I learned many valuable lessons, including how far I'm capable of stretching myself for love.

On this day, though, the anniversary of the day I adopted her, I am trying to transcend the pain I still feel at her loss so that I can give proper thanks for the time I had with her.  In the 377 days that we spent together, I learned what love is in it's truest and most unconditional form.  I learned how rare that is.  And I also learned that it's possible to experience a depth of love that can't be measured or described in words.

While I still miss her so much it hurts and I still feel love for her in every cell of my body, I'm incredibly thankful for the time I had with her.  She was rare. A gem.  The kind of dog one is lucky to have once in a lifetime.  And I do consider myself lucky to have had her.  Technically I rescued her.  In reality, she rescued me.   

Emmy, do you remember what I used to tell you all the time?  "A million kisses for you everyday, girl."

Here's to you Emmy... the love of my life.   

  

Pan-Handling: Me on My Soapbox

Madison, Wisconsin is known as a liberal place.  A college town.  Forward thinking.  Progressive.  Mostly democratic.  Maybe even, as I wrote in a previous post, populated with a lot of people who are tree-hugging, patchouli-wearing, granola-eating.  These are the kind of people who should comprise a peace-loving kind of town, right?   

I guess that doesn't necessarily always apply though, as disappointing as it may be.  I heard something on the local news tonight that was totally out of character with my perception of this city.  The story on the news had to do with pan-handling.  I didn't catch all of the report, but what I did catch is that the Madison police will fine people who give money to pan-handlers.  Fine them to the tune of $177.00.

Really?  A $177.00 fine to people who give money to pan-handlers??

That's super f*cked up.

Some thoughts on pan-handling:

• Do I like it when people are pan-handling?  No; not really. It's not really something that you "like".  Sometimes it's downright uncomfortable when you stop at a traffic light and someone is standing there with a sign hoping to get some $$. 
• Is it my place to judge pan-handlers though?  Of course not. It's not my place to judge whether or not their claim about being a homeless veteran or needing to feed their family is true.
• A friend of mine knows a comedian who actually does a joke about this.  It goes something like this:  I told my family I gave money to a pan-handler and they said, "Don't you know they are just going to use the money for beer and cigarettes?"  To which she replies, "Like I wasn't??"

My view of pan-handling has been largely shaped through Buddhism.  As many of you know, I consider myself a Buddhist.  A Christian Buddhist.  The very worst Christian Buddhist in the entire world.

While Zen Buddhism isn't what I study the most, I will comment on lessons in Zen Buddhism here.  Zen Buddhism teaches of the Three Pure Precepts:  1)  Not doing evil.  2)  Doing good.  3)  Doing good for others.

The third precept (doing good for others) is a more active form of the second (doing good).  Doing good for others is "wiping the wounds of the person who is suffering" (from The Beginner's Guide to Zen Buddhism, by Jean Smith).  Doing good for others includes all social actions, those that are a single act and those that involve long-term commitment.

It is possible to experience all three pure precepts almost simultaneously.  This is how it works in Zen Buddhism when it comes to encountering a pan-handler.

• See the pan-handler and make no judgments about their situation or claims or whether they want the money for drugs/alcohol.  (Not doing evil)
• Don't make the pan-handler invisible by looking away.  Make eye contact and see that person, not as separate, but as an extension of yourself.  We are all interconnected after all.  In traditional Buddhism it is taught that, at some point, every person on the planet was your mother.  Now that's a whole new way of looking at a pan-handler, isn't it?  (Doing good)
• Finally, say a few kind words and toss a couple coins in the cup or give the pan-handler a buck or two.  (Doing good for others)

I suppose after reading that, it's no surprise I give money to pan-handlers.  I have also been known to give money to random people who have approached me.  I remember a particular incident in the parking lot at Carfagna's off of 161 in Columbus.  Scott and I were loading up the car with our purchases and this woman came up to me, seemingly out of no where, with a story about how her husband was killed a couple weeks earlier and she needed money to pay for the hotel room she was staying in or she was going to get kicked out and have no where to go.  I gave her a couple bucks. Scott was furious with me.  At first.  As we were driving home, we talked about my philosophy on giving money to pan-handlers.  That day, I converted Scott-- changed his way of thinking.  (Maybe he will even post a comment about this??)  In addition to ascribing to the Buddhist teachings described above, I add in a few elements of my own philosophy:

• I have been extraordinarily blessed in my life.  I have always had everything I needed and most of what I wanted.  I have plenty.  I can share.  It says in the Bible that to those who much is given, so shall much be required.  I consider living by that tenet a duty.  It's one that I take on willingly and reverently.
• I think to myself, what if it was me?  Or someone I care about?  What if I or a friend or loved one was so downtrodden that I/we had to turn to pan-handling?   Wouldn't I hope that someone cared enough and extended him-/herself enough to offer a little help?  Of course I would.  That, then, makes it my responsibility to be that person to someone else in need.
• I also wonder about the magnitude of being the person that really makes a difference in someone else's life.  For example, let's say a pan-handler for months has been collecting money and using it for beer and cigarettes.  But, what if one day that pan-handler decides to go for treatment?  What if he/she needs money for bus fare to get to a treatment center?  And what if he/she then completes treatment and goes on to become a treatment counselor who helps others overcome addiction?  It's possible that anytime any of us are approached by a pan-handler, we could be the one who gives the dollar that is used for the bus fare to go to the treatment center to get the help that leads to the helping others.  Isn't that powerful to think about?  Of course, when we give money to a pan-handler, we never know how the money is used.  But, we don't need to know, do we?  To me, if I gave $1000.00 to pan-handlers who used that total amount of money on drugs/alcohol and then the next dollar I gave, taking the total to $1001.00, was the dollar that really helped someone get back on their feet, I would consider every dollar given worth it.  All $1001.00 of them.  And I don't feel the need to know one way or another where the money I give goes.  I put it out there and then let the universe take over.  
• Even if the buck or two I give might not lead someone to treatment or some other life-altering experience, I still feel strongly willing to give.  If in the moment I give a buck or two to a pan-handler and make that person, even for a split second, feel seen and validated as a human being then I feel I have done something good with the day.

We never know when the actions we take might be the catalyst that helps change someone else's life.  For me personally?  I put judgment aside and play the odds every chance I get. 

Of course, the stakes are higher in Madison given that the police will issue a $177.00 fine for those of us acting from a place of humanity.

Did I already mention I think that's super f*cked up?

Beware, My Friends

I noticed in my post below that 2 people I don't know made comments.  These clearly appear to be attempts at some kind of sabotage.  My guess is that whoever made the comments did so with the hopes that either myself or one of my followers would click on the links they attached and thereby compromise my/your computer (i.e., virus) and, perhaps, cause security problems. 

This irritates me.  I write on this blog and share pictures for the sole purpose of sharing little parts of my life with family and friends, especially since I am currently living so far from those I know and love. 

I don't know who the people are who posted the comments below, but I want them to get the f*ck up off my blog.

Flowers etc.

I love the surprise of receiving flowers.  Over the years, my Mommy (who should win an award for being the kindest, most thoughtful, caring, generous, self-sacrificing, loving Mommy on the planet) has sent me flowers when I really needed a boost.  She has done it for years and she has a knack for sending them to me at exactly the right time.  For example, my first full week in the Dungarvin Wisconsin office back in January when I was experiencing misery of epic magnitude, I got a delivery.  A lovely winter flower arrangement.

Then there was another time a couple of weeks ago.  Scott had been here in Madison visiting, but left to return to Columbus on a Sunday afternoon.  On Monday, a delivery.  Sent by my wonderful Mommy.  Very cheery.

While my husband doesn't send me flowers nearly as often as my Mommy, when he does send them he goes all out.  This was one of the most beautiful arrangements I have ever received.  They were wonderfully fragrant and I got many compliments (and inquiries) about them from the people in my office here at Dungarvin Wisconsin, as I always do when I receive flowers at work.  Plus the vase the arrangement was in was really cool.   

IMHO, flowers of any kind are nice to receive; flowers of a grand scale, like the ones above that Scott sent me, and flowers of a smaller scale like the ones below.  I think all flowers are good flowers.  Except for carnations; not a personal favorite.  Anyhow, the office I work in has a "Sunshine Committee".  The Sunshine Committee made these for all the staff in the office and put them on our desks about a week ago.  I especially enjoy Pansies because they flank the growing season for most other flowers in the Midwest.  Pansies grow in Spring and Fall, two seasons that I love for their vibrancy.

"If you've never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in spring bloom, maybe your soul has never been in bloom."  ~Terri Guillemets

When I lived in Columbus, in both The Little House and The Medium House, I looked forward to planting flowers in the Spring.  I learned from my Mommy how to plant flowers properly, which go in the sun and which do better in shade, the importance of measuring when planting, how to carefully mulch properly for added emphasis and beauty.  I wish I had pictures of the yard at The Little House.  My goodness it was lovely when it was freshly planted in the Spring.

The yard at The Medium House is different.  We don't plant as many flowers in the ground at The Medium House as we did at The Little House.  We do more planting in pots.  I always put a pot of flowers at the turn in the walkway that goes from the driveway to the front door.  This year, I wasn't home to plant since I'm here in Wisconsin.  Scott took on the task in my absence.  He did a great job!

Scott did all the mulching at The Medium House this year by himself.  That is no small task.  It was hard work when we did it together.  I can't imagine having to do it alone.  Scott is meticulous, though, and he did an amazing job.  Oh, Lord, and that man can trim some bushes.  He is patient and attentive to detail, which are two things I really admire about  him.  Doesn't the front of The Medium House look gorgeous? 

Scott even got the plants that I like to have on both sides of the front door.  He also put out my star on the door and the flags in the ground by the front door stoop.  I taught him well.  :)

If I had to identify the single greatest thing about The Medium House, it would be the back deck.  I wish I had better pictures of it, but for now here are a few pics of the work Scott did on the landscaping around the deck.

This post started with me gushing about how I love to receive flowers, segued into flowers/landscaping at The Medium House, and will end with a picture of my two wild hillbillies in the backyard.

I showed this picture to someone I work with.  She asked, very excitedly, "You have trees in your backyard?"  Big trees in yards of homes are rare in many neighborhoods in Madison, sad as it is.  Her comment made me appreciate the yard at The Medium House all that much more.  Scott and I have been fortunate to live in a home on a wooded lot, next to a large open field with a park, in a nice neighborhood.  It's a real treasure right there on the west side of Columbus.

I Love Jon Stewart

I really do.  I love him.  He is smart, has sharp social and political view points, is thought provoking.  And he is funny as hell.  Toss in a little bit of sex appeal and I am in love.  (Sorry Scott)

I saw the attached clip on CNN on-line.  It's Jon Stewart talking to Steve Jobs.  It's a little lengthy, but worth the watch in my opinion.  The attached link takes you to the CNN on-line article.  You can then click on the (second) video inset to watch.

Seriously, it's worth the 8 minutes and 40 seconds.  I belly laugh at a few spots when I watch this.  I mean, how many video clips are out there that mention a Harvey Wallbanger?      

Beyond the humor, his point about Appholes is well taken.

To watch:  Jon Stewart