937. julie and julia

i'm reading the book before i see the movie.
and i have to admit, it's enjoyably inspiring.
it is also very, very funny.
the short plot version goes something like this.
julie, who is going nowhere painfully slow in her dismal secretarial job, decides to undertake a project to fill her life with something meaningful.
she sets out to prepare every recipe in julia child's first cookbook, mastering the art of french cooking—a kitchen talisman to the blah betty crocker set of the june cleaver era—within one year.
and she blogs about the project, which after some success she tranlates into this book about her project, her painfully slow nowhere life and the parallels to Julia Childs' own memoir.
julie and julia has quickly become a wild success, and is now the subject of a nora ephron movie, which i can't wait to see.
a great american rags-to-riches story if ever there was.
and it's with my obligatory getting-in-touch-with-someone-else's-feminine-side assignment that i undertake this effort as part of the keaton/bob healthy relationship plan.
but this is one obligatory that is a breeze thanks to julie, her story, and her natural sense of humor.
she is one funny, dream-come-true desperado.
she reminds me of the character juno, from the movie of the same name, ten years older.
a sometimes irreverent, sometimes sensitive, always wild wordsmither of wit, who can slice through a phony with the same ease as through a bologne.

her blog, book and movie have arrived at a time when i need a shot of inspiration, if not a dollop of rich marrow sauce on the next steak i sneak in the house.
don't we all.
it's like a new tune that i can't get out of my head, after i had already conceded that there could not be and would not be another.
or that perfect dinner, when everything comes together, including the conversation, and it's hard to separate the food from the voices from the visions from the transcended state of mind.

enough said—any more and i might just become downright womanly.
not congenial to my brutish, manly ways.

936. tomato thoughts

keaton and i are trying our hand at growing tomatoes this year, shamed into it by my mom.
we live in the so-called garden state, so i figure it's as good a place as any to try.
i say so-called because the trying isn't producing.
we have ten plants comprising three or four varieties.
two of the plants have been straining to yield one tomato each and are collapsing from the weight.
i know plenty of couples that have one child, i am such a parent, but i don't know many tomato plants.
it's almost like they are staging some kind of tomato plant protest of some sort.
of all the tomato plants in the world i'm stuck with a couple of joan baezes.
i wonder if they know something the other plants don't, because all the others seem to be waiting for the message.
that is except for one, which seems to be cranking them out like octomom, which makes me wonder if the plant is looking for a shot on some horticulture reality show, like new jersey has tomato talent or some such thing.

it's all very curious.
that's all i'm saying.

935. i miss her sometimes

i look at life much like the making of an old disney cartoon.
everyday is the slow, tedious process of drawing a single cel.
take one out of the pile and all you really have is a still of life in motion.
no telling what to make of it.
but fan them in sequence like an old penny arcade motion movie viewer and you can playback a life in stunning speed.
well, i do anyway.
not often mind you but i do just the same.
and when i do, i see the changes with clarity.
i also see something else.

my grandmother, other than introducing me to coffee by the age of four, was for the most part the moral guardrail on the road i travelled.
that is until she succumbed to alzheimers in her final years, retreating back to her childhood where she felt safe and tucked in from the familiar strangers surrounding her daily.
it was hard.
very hard.
i mean a frightened young girl is one thing, but when she is entombed in the body of a fully lived ninety year old, it is quite another.

with her slow departure, so too my guardrails.
and when my mind plays back my life like an old disney cartoon, it's obvious when and how far i have driven the car off the road, only it isn't quite as funny as when goofy does it.

but i've been trying for a while now.
really trying to find my way back while i'm still able to make these damn cels.
and there are moments along the way, like today for instance, when i realize for absolutely no reason that comes to mind just how much i miss her sometimes.

934. folded arms

i just realized that i've been sitting here for fifteen minutes or so with folded arms.
as resistant to anything funny as one could be.
i mean, folded arms for god's sake.
and a cheney pouty puss to boot.
shoulders pulled up to my earlobes too.
no one should be expected to be humorous when under such subversive duress.
certainly not me.
but what possibly could i be subconsciously contemplating to put me in this lowly place.

and it finally hit me.
i haven't received a call from spielberg yet demanding to produce cranelegs pond the movie.
so much for steven reading his emails.
i mean, i've got nora ephron lined up for the script, clint eastwood to direct, tommy hanks to play yours truly, and liz story for some of that piano-ey score.
well, i do once i land spielly.
but he's hanging me out to dry here.
the least he could do is text me with some sort of lame ass excuse or something.
a little acknowledgement is all i'm asking for.
what is he, too big for his own britches?
mr. first in a google search for "best hollywood producers" all of a sudden?

just give me the word and i'll move on steve.
come to think of it, this may be too big for you anyway.
you know what?
forget the whole thing!
how about that for funny?!
i'll take my business elsewhere.
that's a freakin' riot, that is!!

ya know, i'm feeling better.
much better.

933. about my navel fetish

i don't know if this makes me weird or not, but i'm a serious navel guy.
i think they are sexy, especially the perfectly formed, deep inney types, and if they are on a woman, all the more better.

i'm pretty sure this fascination is the result of my own navel being so disturbing.
it's wide, deep and desolate.
i don't get why either.
i mean there are two things the doctor has to get right at birth for a boy in my circles: the navel and the circumcision.
and if you are going to screw something up, my money is on the circumcision.

but nooooo ... my doctor couldn't get the navel right.

the closest thing to it in the natural world is an impact crater, like that one in the picture below.

my son even dragged me into school once to confirm his wild story of me being struck by a comet while napping in the hammock.
although i felt dirty for even telling him that beaut, i complied because in the life of a sixteen year old boy, confirmation of such matters can make or break you.

don't get me wrong, a navel the size of a six person hot tub can have its advantages.
it used to be cool when i was twenty-seven and so-called friends would phone me from the local pub, offering to pick me up and drive me home because it was free body shot hour.
but after a while i realized it wasn't the kind of foundation on which lasting friendships were built.

now at age 57 the body shots get old real quick, although i still oblige them over at the adult community center every new years eve.

but all that's just me coming up with self-serving excuses.
the point is i may have a sick fetish of some sort.

932. the forever stamp dilemma

i really don't know what to do with these forever stamps.
i don't want to use them until they're worth more than i bought them for.
i had to explain this recently to ned gumphil our local post office guy.

it went sort of like this.

i said, ned i don't want anymore of those forever stamps. i need a 44 cent stamp and that's it.
he said, but don't ya see, you can use them now and also when the prices go up. the u.s. postal service listened, we are giving back, and now you don't want any part of it. that's just not right bob.
i said, ned, you didn't listen to me. it's a dumb idea. i have piles of them at home but won't use them until they're worth more, which won't be for some time, and if it's all the same to you, i'd prefer 44 cent stamps because i have bills that need to be paid today.
he said, bob i don't think i've ever run across such a bad thinking brain as yours. but if that's what you want, i've got a couple of those simpson stamps sitting around here somewhere. now, they're a collector's item if the truth be told. you see, those you should save. but no. not you. you don't have good postal sense.
i said, oh, i have cents. 44 to be exact and i need a stamp i can use. don't you have those good old american flag stamps anymore?
he said, old glory? no. your buddy benny took the last of them yesterday.
i said, give me a simpson one then.
he said, okay. got a few right here.

and that's when it struck me that maybe these forever stamps would make an excellent investment portfolio.
in five years i could sell them at a mark up and make some serious coin.
maybe i could even manage a mutual postal fund.
this is killer.
i am such a financial instruments visionary.
and yet the painful irony, i have no money from the past.

931. the brothers crane at sea

it all came together quite quickly, a fishing outing on barnegat bay in steve's newly purchased boat.
the four brothers crane.
at sea.
on a collective experience of three hours.
mine: dingy boy on a rented yacht during a keaton family cruise around the caribbean.
doug's: watching the b-movie, "blackbeard the pirate" about a hundred times.
rick's: owns a small row boat that requires a 10 hp electric motor to putt around in.
and steve (the only one with a boating license): his recent boating exam and the five mile ride from the boat's previous owner's slip to his slip.
that should have been cause enough to put this whole operation on hold for a couple of more years.
but it didn't.
we went anyway.

a few sandbar near hits and channel marker misses later, and we were fishing like eskimo whalers.
and what do the brothers crane talk about when the only distraction is the occasional smirk of a passing gull or the sudden tug on the line by playful seaweed?
conquests of the heart?
wild port-of-call high jinks?
no!
the brothers crane repeat every classic line from every curb your enthusiasm episode ever broadcasted about forty or fifty times.
hours and hours of endless dialogue, laughing our fool heads off as we drifted about the bay in bawdy banter and carefree ignorance.

we all caught a fish too, mostly summer flounder.
even doug, although he snagged something called a skate, a prehistoric looking affair that quite frankly doesn't look anymore like a fish than "catfish" harley buttress up the street.

a few hours, coronas, lost hats, and basil cell carcinomas later, we safely landed our boat back in the slip to the angst and relief of neighboring yacht owners, our empty ribald tales of maiden conquering left adrift on the placid gray-green waters, like all stories told at sea.
for if the brothers crane are anything, we are pirates at heart, needing only a good ale and the soft warmth of a fair lady's touch to temper our zest for plunder.
a raucous brood we are me matey!

(or so we'd like to believe anyway.)

930. the more i learn the less i know

i've concluded recently that the more i learn the more i realize how little i know, and since the less i know the better off i am, i need to pretty much learn as much as i can.

929. the gates 911 call transcript

a cranelegs pond exclusive.
we've obtained the transcript of the 911 call to cambridge police regarding the gates break-in.

operator: emergency response center, your name and location please.
caller: please hurry there are two men trying to break into my neighbor's house, and you wouldn't be wrong if you guessed they were black but you didn't hear that from me.
operator: your name and the address of the premises please.
caller gives info.
operator issues alert to police.
operator: can you tell me what is going on now?
caller: well there are two men, let's just say opposite of no color, and they are pounding on the front door.
operator: can you describe them?
caller: one is kinda dressed like a chauffer. ya know in a black suit with one of those driver caps.
operator: is he carrying anything?
caller: yes. it looks like a suitcase, probably to stuff bodies or a safe in. please hurry!
operator: got it! what about the other intruder?
caller: he's a small man with short gray thin hair. actually he looks kind of like yoda.
operator: yoda?
caller: you know the jedi knight, the little one. he even walks just like him with the same cane. probably knows death pressure points and can levitate oprah if he had to. where are the police?
operator: they are on the way. what's yoda wearing?
caller: a really bad stripped polo shirt, purple no less, with gray slacks and dark shoes of some sort. if i didn't know any better, i'd say he looks like he just came from an "americans of color for palin" croquet outing. hold on! what's he up to?
operator: what?
caller: oh no! yoda is slowly gimping his way to the back of the house. please hurry! he might be making a slow speed run for it, like that oj fella!
operator: calm down. the police should be arriving shortly. do you know whose house it is?
caller: just a neighbor. never met him. i heard he is a harvard professor. pretty sure he has an older butler of color that frequents often. other than that, don't know anything else. we keep to ourselves around here. wait! the front door is opening. holy cow! it's yoda! he's letting in his accomplice with the bags. oh this is bad! please hurry before they rob the place blind!!!
operator: remain calm. the police should be arriving any moment. are there any vehicles parked outside?
caller: yes there is a limo in the driveway.
operator: limo?
caller: yes, a limo, the trunk is open and the motor is running for a quick getaway.
operator: got it.
caller: oh thank god! the police just arrived. i hope they're careful, those guys in there, who others would say are not white, looked like tough customers. who knows what kind of jedi shenanigans they know.
operator: okay ma'am. please remain there until the police have cleared the area. they will need to talk to you. and thank you for being our eyes and ears.
caller: no problem. just doing my civic duty.
operator: if there were more people like you ma'am, we'd all be a lot more safe. thanks again and you enjoy the rest of this beautiful, sunny afternoon.
caller: may the force be with you.
click.
click.

928. andy talks about his dating theories

i asked, hey andy, are you dating anyone these days?
he said, no, not really.
i asked, well how does that work nowadays anyway?
he said, first off, you have to work a few angles see. a little of this and a little of that.
i thought, why does he always talk in code?
i asked, what are you saying? explain.
he said, i'm always setting the scene with a few women of the opposite sex. doing the ground work.
i asked, what ground work?
andy said, it's the eyes. i make eye contact. ya don't have to say a thing. then ya come back a day or two later and see if they are looking at you.
i asked, ya mean like at a bar or something? but what if they're not there when you check back in on your ground work.
he said, no, not bars. i hunt at supremarkets, the food baggers specifically, an untapped, furtive resource my friend.
i said, wow. food baggers.
he said, yeah, they're pretty cool. and they're always right there for check in and check out.
i said, so no eharmony dot com for you?
he said, that's for dead people who can still dance.
i said, what?
he said, you heard me. besides, this food bagging idea is working just fine. it's not taxing on the system and the women are pretty appreciative. it's a nice little dating niche i've carved my way into.
i said, not that i'm interested in dating because i'm with keaton and all, but if i were interested, i'd be the dead dancer kind.
then andy said, yeah, that's what i had you pegged as. a dead astair sort.
then i said, there's nothin wrong with dead astair, besides you're not going to find any ginger rogers bagging food anytime soon.
so andy said, dude, do you know what she probably looks like by now? you can have her.

then i thought, and this from someone i call a friend.

927. rectatum cloggata and writing humor

the other day i wrote a dumb post about how the word "precocious" seems to have taken on a new meaning.
it was the result of listening in on a conversation between a young teen girl and an adult.
it wasn't a very funny entry.
truthful, yes.
funny, no.
so i deleted it.
but that's not the point.
i shouldn't have written it in the first place.
ya see, i was constipated (medical name: rectatum cloggata) at the time i wrote it, and i know better than to write anything while under the strain, so to speak, of this god awful condition.
it doesn't happen often, but when it does, bob gets writer's blockage.
and it's not good for funny business.

so my apologies.
it won't happen again.

and for those wiseguys out there, no, i'm not constipated now, thank you very much.
of course, that is the result of my venturing out to the local drug store to discreetly obtain an arsenal of looseners and relaxers, which i managed to divert attention away by making an assortment of diversionary procurements, just like i do for all my tricky staples, for example, condoms.
well, like i use to do anyway.
okay maybe once.
all right, never but i did buy a playboy once at age 22.

it doesn't matter really.

what does matter, is just like then, i'm stuck with a bunch of stuff i have no use for, the cost of discretion i suppose.
i have no plans to read "american needle point" magazine, and i don't know what i was thinking i'd do with the baby announcement cards.
now the breck for color treated hair i can put in keaton's stocking next christmas.

you know what?
maybe this is all a little too much information, come to think of it.
even the title is misleading.
the takeaway from this post is: i wrote something dumb and deleted it.

926. bob gets ahead of the next diet craze

925. the neck tie and life

probably the dumbest wardrobe accessory i can think of is the neck tie.
its only function is to latch on to the throat of its host like a fabulous parasite.
it is agreed in fashion circles, which i dabble in only to maintain my rather suspect reputation as a gq kind of guy, that the inventor of the modern day tie is jesse langsdorf, who patented the neck serpent in 1924.
ironically, and i might say deservedly, he died at the hands of his own invention.
he was strangled when his tie got caught in the rollers of a mechanical laundry press.

well i read that somewhere anyway.
actually, i wrote it down and read it.
okay, i don't know how he died, but you can't blame me for wishing life is a self-correcting endeavor.

924. about food inc.

keaton and i went to see food inc. last weekend.
it was a bad idea then and it still was a bad idea now.
i knew that it was simply a ploy by keaton to guilt me into vegan submission.
and for a short period, it worked.
but i'm coming around from the god awful images of cattle and chickens being treated like pieces of ... well ... like pieces of meat.
sorta like i was treated when i wandered into a chippendales establishment not long ago to fetch a drink of water—or so i'd like to imagine anyway.
but after much sifting and thrashing, i've concluded that the real point of the movie is to go local, seasonal and organic—principles a high brow omnivore much like myself can live with.

so it's off to bart thumptickle's organic cow farm to find me a little grain fed beef, and this is one former three day vegan who plans to go armed with his trusty a-1 sauce bottle.

923. captain company crunch

i just heard about c.i.t. possibly falling into bankruptcy.
i worked there for a year or so.
initially i didn't think i had anything to do with their difficulties but i'm not so sure anymore.
you see, there are more in my dark employment history.
other companies i've worked for that did not fare well: aig and enron.
places that i worked for that were taken over by someone else while i was there: pharmacia, dsg, spectrum and centeon management group.
other joints that were taken over shortly after i worked there: stone paper and agere.

i'm beginning to wonder if i might possibly have company killing superpowers.
that being the case, if you see dark clouds gathering in the distant horizon that might just be me demonstrating my superpowers at a company near you.
if you don't see clouds but would like to, submit the company name to me and i will get back to you with my rates—even captain company crunch has to eat you know.

922. too many channels, too few choices

i said, so keaton our guest from zimbabwe is gone, the two dogs we were watching are returned, without injury i might add, and we're done with the graduation party. let's relax and watch something on tv together.
keaton said, but there is nothing on.
i said, how can that be. there are like 562 channels. something must be on.
keaton said, nothing i'm interested in.
i said, when we were growing up and there were like only seven channels, and one was that pbs channel 13 for god's sake, we couldn't make up our minds what to watch. it was like, "i'll take potpourri for $100 art!". now you are telling me there is nothing on. what about "seinfeld"? that's gotta be on one of the channels.
she said, nah, not in the mood. besides, we've seen every episode a million times.
i said, how about "deal or no deal". that's always fun when the banker offers them like $52 dollars because they just blew everything.
she said, i get no joy from that. no.
i asked cautiously, mets baseball?
she just stared at me with those frozen porkchop eyes.
i said, okay, how about mtv, they always have something whacked out.
she said, i thought we banned that channel.
i said, yeah, i guess.
i pondered some more.
i said, i know, how about the discovery channel? they're always good for a pack of hyenas taking down a wildebeest. it'll get us back to nature. what do ya say?
she said, it makes me cry when the wildebeest baby is orphaned.
i said, okay, there must be an old movie we can watch?
she said, no, i'm too tired for something like that.
i said, i got it. the food channel?
she said, no way. i'm feeling bloated.
i said, oh, don't let some passing bloat get ya down. come on! what do ya say? a little iron chef action?
she said, no. not tonight.
i thought some more.
i asked, keith olbermann?
she said, he's growing stale.
i said, i know. hannity! we can hate him together. it can be a bondage experience.
she said, bonding.
i said, whatever!
she said, not in the mood.
i asked, for bondage?
she said, bonding! bonding!
i said, whatever.
she said, i really can't stand him.

now by this point i was having a tough go of it.
so i decided to play my trump card.

i said, i've got it! forget tv. i'll play my guitar and sing.
she snapped, okay! okay! okay! let's watch that "real housewives of new jersey" idiocy.
she paused a moment.
then she said, god i can't believe i'm suggesting this.
i said, excellent. i really hope danielle clears up her little spats with jaqcueline and dina. plus i'm dying to find out why caroline dissed danielle so much at the reunion. this will be great.
keaton said, you are scary. you seem to know a little too much about that dumb show. are you watching it during the day while i'm at work! is that what you are doing?
i said, no! i hear things. that's all.
keaton mumbled, you hear things. that's all. i'll hear ya.

and with that i quickly turned the tv on to channel 325 for a little jersey reality, as i had just pulled a rabbit out of the hat—i wouldn't have to risk watching the rerun the next day to catch up.

921. the population thinning plot

i think there is a plot at play to thin the population.

i'm speaking of those walk/don't walk signs at busy intersections.

i was always taught to "cross at the green, not in between".

then why is the guy, you know, the one from the men's room door who is running. always in red or with the hand up when the light is green?

then he turns green just long enough to get me half way into the road before turning back to red, signalling the cars to thin the population.

and in jersey, they thin!

it's no picnic in palm springs here.

i guess he's running because that's what i'm suppose to do.

personally, i cross in between now.

it's healthier and the kind of mavericky that suits bob fine.

(from the files) 142. an optimistic environmentalist

not all environmentalists are pessimists.
my neighbor, stilton wilbur, is such a character.
just the other day i saw stilt struggling to empty cans into one of his recycle bins.
i struck up some conversation.

i asked, hey stilt how are your recyclables going?
he said, not many cans yet robby but the glass is half full.

i thought, well now, that makes him an optimist by all measures i know.
i also thought, i'd wish he'd stop calling me robby.

920. michael jackson

death does wonders for the goodness of one's life story, if only momentarily.
and i suppose why not, after all, the well intentioned ruse is only momentary.
yesterday's public funeral for michael jackson was such a fond farewell by celebrities celebrating celebrity as only celebrities can do.
and the mourning masses were appeased.

but now what?

the toxicology report.
the ugly family feuds over everything michael.
the untold tell-all stories surely to fill the barnes and noble holiday budget table by christmas time.
the human branding business underbelly rearing it's slop and demanding its ounce of michael's flesh.
the supermarket tabloids splashing check-out line eyes with wild images and claims of michael sightings in istanbul, now named michele, dressed in a mysterious burka, clutching her half-human/half-wildebeest offspring.

most likely and most sadly, the fragile lives of the kids, snatched away much like their father's.

919. sayings i don't much like

when someone tells me i should live as if i were going to die tomorrow, i can't help but wonder if they'd been struck down by a wayward golf ball recently.
i mean i hate to break it to you, but if i know i'm dying tomorrow, i'm not having a good day today.
i might be a tad on edge.
perhaps a bit cantankerous.
maybe even argumentative.
i'm sure i wouldn't have much of an appetite.
and if you think sex is in the picture, well you'd have another thing coming to ya bub.

you don't see inmates on death row carrying on like richard simmons at a fat farm.
i watch "lockdown".
i know.
they're a pretty miserable lot.
and i figure it's because they're living today knowing full well they're gonna die tomorrow.

in my book that is not exactly how i'd like to feel.
call me odd.
maybe you get bubbly at the thought.
but if it's all the same to you, i'd prefer to live today as if i knew i was going to be around tomorrow (and the next day too).

and since i'm on the subject, why do people insist on saying something is good enough "to die for".
"i had a macaroni and cheese the other day to die for."
if that's true, well then, let me be the first to say, you are an idiot.
the only thing worthwhile for you to die for is anything that might on the off chance keep me alive.
a hostage situation immediately comes to mind as a good example.

you see, i'm a big believer in the living for.
i'm not a fan of the dying for.
"i had a thin crust pizza the other day to live for."
now that makes sense.

just call me your every day nietzscheian narcissistic nihilist.
been called a lot worse.

918. a lesson from baby dumpling

when i was growing up, one of my best friends, richey (a.k.a. "baby dumpling"), always had a booger hanging out his nose.
at the time, it was the source of easy ridicule and mockery, as only young male friends can engage in.

but now i think of it differently.
in retrospect, the "dumpling" was trying to make a statement.
he was trying to warn us that's how life is for some.

you see, the truth is there is always a booger flapping around the nostrils of life.
sometimes defiantly dry-crusted to the skin.
other times moist-gooped and ready to eject without warning.
always mucking up the little self-confidence one might occasionally indulge in.
and although a good sneeze might dislodge them from time to time, others are soon to take their place.
it is the human condition, at least mine anyway.

yup, life is a bowl full of boogers.
and if you don't think so, just ask any kid.
he or she will be sure to cackle like a hyena to the punch-line of a wildebeest joke at the mere suggestion that life could be anything else but.

my apologies richey for i was cruel and of ill will, when thoughtful introspection is clearly what was called for.

917. time for a spin in the spam

got nothin' to complain about.
keaton hasn't been carrying around frozen porkchops, so i'm improving in the manstake department.
benny and andy are behaving.
haven't heard from the folks since the hd flatscreen was put in place.

so when bob has nothin', bob takes a spin in the spam emails.
it's my way of keeping in touch with the internet underbelly.

so let's see what we have here.

interesting.
another email from the future.
stardate: friday, january 18th; the year, 2036; the time, 19:26 hours.
based on all my calculations, i should be dead a good solid three years by then.
hmm ... it's from someone called "girlfriend".
apparently "girlfriend" thinks keaton will be long gone and i'll be lonely.
that's what she is counting on anyway.
"well what she doesn't know, can't hurt her", i always say, which, by the way, is exactly how i get myself into manstake hot water all the time.

oh wait!
there's a website link.
maybe some sort of internet time warp continuum parallel hosting sort of affair.
god only knows what dating tricks they have in 2036.
oh baby.
here goes.

presto!

hmm ... still alive.

now she wants a name and email in order to send me some kind of free "how to get a girlfriend guide" from "the daily hot".
sounds legit to me.
she even made mention that she takes pride in discreet services.
sort of a "i won't ask and i definitely won't tell" philosophy.
sounds pretty good—as noble as the armed services really.

let's see.
a little fake name.
and a little fake email.
there!

hit enter!

nuts!
she wants me to verify the email address by responding to her image which she just sent to the made-up email address.
oh well, i sure hope bob at rcrane@yahoo.com is really fake or someone is in for a big surprise.

oh well, that's enough underbelly for one day.
i'm gettin' while the gettin's good.