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June 30, 2007: Live Blogging My Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans™ Tasting Experiment
Bean #1: My wife’s trying to figure out which bean is which. I’m really anticipating this. My pulse is racing. She’s smelling the beans. Ok. Here it is. It’s blue. It’s kinda. . .It’s kinda sweet, maybe tart. . . it’s not that bad. . . is it blueberry? YES! Cool. Bean #2: My wife’s having a little trouble with the bean identification. The blueberry’s still in my mouth. I’m trying to clear my palette for best effects. It’s now 3:02 p.m. My wife’s bringing me some water to clear my palette. We’re fresh out of the sorbet. Ok. I just drank from a paper Dora, The Explorer™ cup. Need one more drink. . . Now I’m ready for Bean #2. It’s taking awhile . . . oh, I don’t like this. . . it starts sweet, but it tastes kind of dirty. Maybe like an insect. I don’t like this at all. What is it? It’s either dirt or earthworm, according to my wife. Oooh... it’s really bad. I need a lot of water. I’m thinking it’s an earthworm because I’m actually feeling a little sick. I can handle dirt. My wife can’t tell. I hope there isn’t another one. I can’t take two in a row like this. Bean #3: My wife wants to know “Do I want a visual on these, or do I want to pop them in.” I just want to pop them in. I can’t take knowing after that last one. Ok. Oh. That’s awful. It’s a pickle. I like pickles. Just not in a jellybean. It’s amazing the technology that they have now. I’m going to need another full cup of water in the Dora, The Explorer cup. My wife’s going to fill the cup. I need a break already. The residue of the beans really makes this difficult. In fact, coupled with the flavors I don’t like, I may not be able to complete this in under twenty minutes as I planned. It’s 3:07 now. Bean #4: Palette’s clear. UGh. That’s earwax. No? It tastes like Pledge. My wife thinks it’s soap. Or sardine. No. That must be the British version of soap. It tastes like someone sprayed Pledge in my mouth. My stomach feels a little queasy. Need more Dora water. Bean #5: I’m really scared now because there are some really horrible flavors that are still left. I need to burp. Ah. Cinammon. That’s good. My wife loves me. I don’t think I could have taken one of the less pleasant flavors. Cinammon is good. I’m relishing the jelly residue in my buccal gutters. Bean #6: I’m going ahead and eating another one without rinsing. My wife needs to check this bean under the high light. She’s having a tough time. Great. That’s not good for me. I have no idea what this is. It’s a little sweet. But I don’t know what else to say. What is it? It’s grass? It’s definitely not pickle or rotten egg. If it’s a booger, then that wasn’t bad at all. Bean #7: Oh. Not again. It’s dirt or earthworm. No. My wife says no. I don’t care. It’s bad. Very bad. My wife says that was the booger one. No way. I don’t remember a booger tasting like that. I need a long drink of water. I may need to spit the residue out this time. I’m spitting it out. Back from the kitchen. No more of those, please. Bean #8: The pickle jelly bean made me burp, and it smelled like a pickle. Dirt? No, earthworm. It’s not as bad as the booger, which makes sense. I can clear this one, no problem. Wait. I need more water. Bean #9: Mmmm. Now that’s good. Is it cherry? Tutti frutti. Ahhhh. That’s awesome. So good. SO GOOD! No water this time. Bean #10: Ready. Yuck. I’m going to guess vomit. Yep. I need to go to the kitchen again. I’m back. I have to say that it was a little sweet, but I get the idea. Bean #11: AGAIN? Is it dirt or earthworm? Well, maybe? My wife thinks it was something else, but now she says it’s dirt. I can’t take another dirt, honey. She thought it was sausage. OH. I. CAN’T. TAKE THIS FLAVOR. Need to spit. The dirt’s worse than the vomit. By far. My wife still thinks it was sausage. I can’t risk another attempt at the sausage right now, though. Next. Bean #12: Dropped the bean. Mmm. Popcorn. You know, I never really liked the popcorn in the variety packs, but right now, it’s really good. Bean #13: Just a couple more interesting ones to go. Is that sausage. Hey, that’s good. I wonder if it’s kosher? No. Still, not a bad flavor for a jelly bean. Bean #14: Sort of sweet. It’s good. It’s either toasted marshmallow or earwax. I’m confident it’s the former. Sausage and toasted marshmallow make for an interesting jelly bean residue, too. My wife tells me that this concludes the less pleasant flavors. I want to try the earwax. Wait, there’s no earwax? This one might be? Ok.
Bean #16: I now have a bottle of Coke™ with me that I’ve swished in my mouth and spit after the “rotten egg.” Yeah, I’m going to take a gamble (because I do like table games, heh heh). It’s not soap. It’s . . . I don’t know. . . but it’s bad. . . not rotten egg, bad. . . but I need to remove it from my mouth now. I’ve just been informed I had a “sardine.” Well, I like sardines, but not this version, and this “sardine” was no “sausage,” unfortunately. I haven’t had a “black pepper,” yet, or a “cherry,” “lemon drop,” or “grape jelly.” I’m going to enjoy these later. It’s now 3:30 p.m. I don’t think I’m going to be eating many jelly beans for awhile.
June 28, 2007: Another Day At The Office The Place: A courtroom in West Virginia where I’ve made several appearances over the past couple years The Time: About 9:20 a.m. this morning Judge: The plaintiff is unrepresented and the defendant appears by phone. Me: (Slowly waves right hand) Judge: I’m sorry. The plaintiff is represented by counsel. . . . who is. . . . What’s your name again? Me: (Tells judge my name) Judge: I’m really sorry I forgot your name. I have thousands of cases and it’s early. Me: That’s ok, your Honor. It only worries me when I’m remembered.
June 26, 2007: Heat I left work early. It was over ninety degrees in the office. I usually don’t mind working in upper seventy or even lower eighty-degree indoor temperatures, but today’s heat was too much for even me to endure. When I arrived home, my wife and kids were downstairs where Oprah held court on the television. The man sitting on the couch next to his wife, I noticed, looked like he was wearing quite a bit of make-up on his face. My wife explained he had lost nearly half the left side of his head while covering the war in Iraq and had survived a five-week coma. The man’s face was still very handsome, and it still looked much better than mine ever will in times of peace. I hope my office’s air conditioner is fixed tomorrow.
June 25, 2007: Quotes Of The Day, Extreme Law Geek Edition “I've been in the dry cleaning business for 14 years, but this has never ever happened before.” Yeah. Whatever. The air conditioner at work was broken today,and it was 83 degrees in my office.
June 21, 2007: The Host Is. . . . Now that Bob Barker’s exited stage right, Rosie O’Donnell wants to host The Price Is Right. This is a very bad idea. Rosie O’Donnell isn’t a game show host. Now I’m not suggesting that hosting a game show requires complex skills--it doesn’t. If you’re reading this and/or reached this weblog on your own, then I have no doubt that you could quickly assume Mr. Mandel’s duties in a pinch and assist a contestant with the difficult decision to open OR not open the brief case labeled number “22”. But hosting a game show isn’t the issue. Who hosts is. In the span of less than a year, Rosie O’Donnell has managed to offend a major real estate mogul, the wife of a back-up NFL quarterback, and an unknown number of people living in China--all of whom represent potential players who may someday appear on a game show. Does anyone believe that Rosie’s interaction with game show contestants won’t spark some controversy sooner rather than later? The simple, unmistakable truth here is this: Bob Barker is The Price of Right. You can’t replace the man who embodies the entire show, and whoever inhabits the role will inevitably draw comparisons to Barker. You know this. I know this. Deep down, The Price Is Right producers, I suspect, also know this. The difficulty for the show’s producers, however, is if the show continues, someone’s still going to have to decide who replaces Barker. When I told my wife about Rosie O’Donnell’s desire to host TPIR, she agreed with my above assessment. Rather than outline additional reasons why O’Donnell’s a poor replacement for Bob Barker, let’s consider some other candidates I’d like to see vie for the TPIR host: 4. Anderson Cooper: In the plus column, he actually has some game show hosting experience. He’s also intelligent, engaging and approachable. In the negative column, he has a great gig with CNN, and it would appear from his decision to leave his last game show, absolutely no desire to tackle the responsibilities involved with playing “Plinko.” 3. Jon Stewart: As I said, this is a list of the candidates I’d like to see apply for Bob Barker’s job. Next. 2. Al Roker: He’s hosted a few episodes of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire recently. Personable. Approachable. Likeable. Al Roker could pull this off. I’m serious. 1. Ellen DeGeneres: She hasn’t hosted a game show. But she’s hosted The Oscars™. If her syndicated talk show is any indication of her abilities as a game show host, she’d make the best person to continue TPIR. Imagine DeGeneres demonstrating the golf game to someone--“Here, let me show you how to putt”--or calling out “Higher, no lower, no lower, no higher, HIGHER, HIGHER, HIGHER” to a contestant playing the “Clock Game.” DeGeneres would always display her enjoyment with the show, and she’d feed off the contestants’ energy. Hmm...the more I think about it...I wonder if we should start a petition to have Ellen DeGeneres host TPIR?
June 20, 2007: Donutbuzz Mailbag Any chance you’ll return to acting in the future? --Lott E. Dear Lott, That’s an excellent question. My short answer is “I don’t know.” My longer answer is, well, longer. It’s been over ten years since my landmark appearance in the West Virginia Symphony’s production of Carmen. As someone who’s followed my career closely, you’ll no doubt recall my performance as the dying smuggler whom Carmen cradled in her arms. If you paid really close attention, you may have also noticed that I later returned to play picador number three in the final act. Although neither of these roles required me to sing opera--or even speak--I always appreciate it when someone remembers the dimensions I contributed to the dying smuggler and picador number three. I suppose you could say that it makes me feel “extra” special. I haven’t performed in public since my last official role as Woodstock in the “World According To Snoopy.” Playing Woodstock required me to master the use of rollerblades, and I really had to rely on “method acting” to interpret the character of Charles Schulz’ beloved bird. Although Woodstock doesn’t speak, this bird’s gestures and antics reveal his incredible depth of character. It truly humbled me to have worn that yellow pair of overalls in that production. I’ve been unable to land any acting gigs since WATS, requiring me to ply my trade as an attorney. I’m hoping that someday I might make an appearance on a game show or a local commercial for the lottery. I have several ideas for the latter, which I won’t explore here, but one of them involves a chinchilla and a ferris wheel. I also want to give props to you for your stock tip. Given the incredible rise in gas prices and the prospective 25% hike of our water bills, my family doesn’t have the spare cash to invest now. Still, it’s always nice when a total stranger offers me unsolicited financial advice that I hadn’t considered. Anyway, thanks a lot, Lott, for writing. It’s the thoughtful e-mails from people like you that inspire me to keep reaching for the stars! Cordially, Donutbuzz
June 6, 2007: Rejected West Virginia State Slogans 1. The Pit Bull State 2. Wrong Turns, Right Living 3. Birthplace of Mothman and Joyce DeWitt 4. Welcome to Tort Hell 5. Get Rich Or Die Tryin’ 6. Sexiest Folks In America--Heh, Heh, We’re Kiddin’ 7. Stop For The Gas, Stay For The Hugs 8. Got Ramps? 9. Still Tired Of The Hackneyed Incest and Toothless Jokes 10. Help Is On The Way. . . Right? 11. Check Out Our Mystery Hole 12. Simply Craptacular! 13. Nope. . . Still No Nascar 14. Shalom, Baby 15. You Wish You Could Quit Us
June 6, 2007: I Was Going To Title This “Banquet,” But The Introduction’s Twice As Long As The Story I visited my mother’s home this past weekend. When I visit my mother, I’ll often spend time sorting through my boxes of books, notes and memorabilia stored in the garage. On this recent occasion, I discovered an essay I wrote about Bob Vila during my brief stint for a newspaper. The newspaper never assigned me the topic. I simply wrote it for my own entertainment and printed a copy for posterity. As I read my fictional Bob Vila story, it struck me that it is something I might publish here. And I would publish it here, but I’m not satisfied with the writing. I see flashes of my current style in places, but mostly I see evidence of a brash twenty-two year old guy with a propensity for telling stories with at least one fart and/or nudity reference. Of course, that’s why I love the internet and I love blogging: I can publish whatever I want, whenever I want, and no newspaper can tell me not to reference “poop” or “nudity.” Or tell me that it won’t publish eighty or so words about a dinner I attended on Tuesday: I don’t often attend banquets, but on the urging of a friend, I did yesterday evening. After dinner, the featured speaker climbed atop a several hundred pound log with a diameter measuring nearly a foot and a half, took out an axe, and chopped the wood in half--in under thirty-five seconds. I asked my friend if he knew about this demonstration before the dinner and he answered “no.” Suffice it to say that if more banquets featured speakers showcasing their lumberjack skills, I’d be more inclined to attend them.
June 3, 2007: Time Flies Like An Arrow, Fruit Flies Like Manischewitz I don’t understand the forces at work in the universe. How is it this receives a network cancelation after airing fewer than fifteen episodes, while that lasts several years and merits a release on dvd? Or how can the bananas we bought for the kids harbor a colony of fruit flies? As a lawyer, I’m well aware of the perceptions about my profession. I know many folks cannot fathom how any lawyer can possibly purchase produce that sustains vermin. After all, everyone knows all lawyers must resemble those on Boston Legal. And everyone knows a real lawyer must end each day by lighting a cigar like Alan Shore while reclining on his office’s high-rise balcony overlooking his chosen metropolis and chatting about sex and politics with Captain Kirk over martinis. But the one thing that you will never, ever, EVER hear or see on Boston Legal is a discussion about fruit flies. That’s because real lawyers don’t have fruit flies. Our house has fruit flies. Either this means I’m not a “real lawyer”--an accusation that at least one real person has, in fact, leveled against me in person--OR--and I think this latter possibility is, in fact, the reality--something has gone seriously awry with our society’s perception of attorneys. I don’t know the precise moment when this process occurred, but I suspect that it began sometime between 1981, when Rick Springfield sang the word “moot” in Jessie’s Girl, and 1983, when Jackson Browne devoted an entire song to (and titled his album) Lawyers In Love. Fortunately, for me, my wife is a real person, and she also knows how to solve real problems plaguing this “unreal” lawyer.
Mix some orange juice, vinegar, a dash of dish soap, and wine. Then place in a cup. Unfortunately, for us, we had some really sharp fruit flies, and they refused to enter the cup. This forced my wife to devise her own contraption to eliminate our super-intelligent strain of fruit flies. She calls this contraption her “Fruit Fly Funnel Of Death™,” and, if you’re a fruit fly and you’re reading this, let me assure you that it’s incredibly effective. Making your own Fruit Fly Funnel of Death™ is simple. First, mix your orange juice, vinegar, dish soap and wine (preferably some leftover Passover Manischewitz) and leave an inch of it in a glass. Next, scrounge around for a Dora the Explorer™ party hat left over from your four-year-old’s birthday. First, remove the string. Then snip the tip of the hat to make a hole. Reinforce the party hat’s seams with some transparent tape. Next, invert the party hat and insert it into the glass, and make sure the tip of the hat does not touch the liquid. Then tape the hat in place, being sure to close off any gaps between the hat and the glass. If you’ve completed the process correctly, the blood should be rushing to Dora’s head, as pictured.
And remember: All other mentioned brands, logos, and products other than my wife’s Fruit Fly Funnel of Death™ are trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective companies. Nothing contained on this website constitutes legal advice, and said author of aforesaid website accepts no liability whatsoever, especially from anyone who lacks a sense of humor and/or appreciation for satire, sarcasm or well-crafted television shows yet-to-be released on dvd.
June 1, 2007: Oops, I Did It Again For the second year in a row (or is it the third?), I forgot about this. If I recall correctly, Jim noticed the first time I missed it. Thanks to the Film Geek for reminding us of this important matter.
All content copyrighted by HEG 2004-2007 |
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Bean #15: Yes. It’s earwax. Wait...Ok. I’m back from the kitchen. That was the worst one yet. My wife thinks that might have been rotten egg. It literally made me feel queasy. And it tasted more like vomit than the vomit. My wife asks me if I’m willing to risk the next flavor that may be “soap” or “something worse.”
“The first thing we’ll do,” my wife said, “Is we’ll kill all the fruit flies.” She researched several internet sites, and finally settled on the following deadly recipe:
Here’s your carnage from the morning after. Make sure that you do NOT drink it. That ain’t pulp.