The Weekend: What Are You Going To Do?

Barnyard Gravy, it turns out, is vanilla ice cream with peanut butter and chocolate-covered pretzels.  It looked nothing like the way I had it pictured.  I mean, where was the chocolate swirl?  The caramel?  The nut-brownies?

In fact, it was fairly dull.  It was mostly just vanilla, with the goodies spaced too far apart.  The so-called pretzels were little nodules, roughly the size of a peanut, covered in dark chocolate.  I kinda liked ‘em; they were sweet, salty, and crunchy.  But there were only four or five of the things in the entire bowl of ice cream.

And I don’t know where they came up with that name.  It can’t be good for business, can it?  Barnyard Gravy, for godsakes?  Sounds like high-pressure cow diarrhea.

I give it a C.  It wasn’t horrible or gross, or anything.  It was just kinda boring.  I ate it with no problem (of course), but can’t really see myself ordering it again, ever, as long as I live.  That place offers far too much greatness to waste time on such dull-ass fare.

Here’s a picture, taken before I’d had my first bite.  It’s a shame, really.  It probably means one less bowl/cone of Oreo I’ll ingest during my lifetime.  And it’s pissing me off just thinking about it…

The upstairs bathroom is slowly coming together.  Our contractor is taking today off, so something can set (who the hell knows?).  But he should be able to finish it tomorrow, if all goes well.

And what started as a leak in our hallway downstairs has turned into a new bathroom floor, new ceramic tile, all new tile on the walls, a new toilet, and a new sink.  In fact, the only thing that isn’t being replaced, from the floorboards on up, is the bathtub.  It’s a kick straight to the cherry tomatoes, believe me.

But whatever.  We knew there was trouble brewing in there, and didn’t want to acknowledge it.  It was one of those unspoken truths, that nobody dared let out into the open air.  So it’ll be nice not to have all that dread and guilt hanging over our heads.

Plus we’ll have a high-powered toilet designed by the Army Corps of Engineers, or whatever.  I can’t wait to give that baby a test drive.

I’m just glad we had that home warranty (which I’d proclaimed “a rip-off!” multiple times in the past).  Our out-of-pocket expense is probably only about one-third of what it would’ve been under normal circumstances.  The dude is putting in massive hours.

And not that it’s relevant or anything, but here’s a sliver of a conversation I had with our contractor yesterday:

Me:  I’m going to work now, see you on Tuesday.
Him:  You work on Sundays too?
Me:  Yeah, I start on Sunday.
Him:  Where do you work?
I told him.
Him:  Shuffling papers around?
Me:  Pretty much.
Him:  Have a good day.

Remember my recent diatribe against our local Bennigan’s?  Well, guess what?  The place went out of business.  I’m sure it had nothing to do with their bad food, though, or poor service.  Right?  No, they’re obviously just another victim of the bad economy…

Ha!

A big-shot at my old job has reportedly purchased the building (after being laid-off like everybody else), and will be opening a pub/restaurant there.  We’ll see how it goes.  God knows I’ll do my best to see that it succeeds.

On Saturday we went to see Harry Potter and the Fresh Prince, or whatever it’s called.  I thought it was pretty darn good.  In fact, I’d rank it as the best Harry Potter movie I’ve seen so far.  And I’ve watched all but one, I believe.

The place was crowded, of course, and we had to sit way up in the rafters.  We were surrounded by the morbidly obese, carrying popcorn buckets the size of bathroom trashcans, huffing and puffing, and sweating profusely.  Half the crowd was coughing and hacking up a lung, blowing a fine mist of respiratory disease all around the joint.

But I still had a good time.  What are you going to do?

Have you seen the movie yet?  What’s your verdict?  Tell us about it in the comments, won’t you?

I also finished off the most recent season of 24 on Saturday night.  So, let me get this straight…  Jack Bauer is in a coma with only minutes to live, but his daughter has made a last-minute offer to donate her stem cells, for use in an experimental long-shot treatment?  And we know that  Kiefer Sutherland (between savage beatings of clothing designers) is signed through season 8?

Wow, what a cliffhanger!  Wonder how it’s going to turn out??  I’m on the edge of my freaking seat over here.

I was talking to Steve on Saturday, and he told me an interesting story.  He said one of his co-workers is a semi-pro singer/actor, who often volunteers his time by performing at area nursing homes(?!).

Curious, Steve went to see one of the guy’s “shows,” and he said it wasn’t bad at all.  But some of his song choices were kind of curious.  “Don’t Fence Me In,” for instance.  Is that really an appropriate tune for a bunch of World War I veterans warehoused inside a nursing home?

And I’d like to make that the Question of the Day:  What other songs do you think would be highly inappropriate in such a setting?  How about “My Generation?”  “Working for the Weekend?”  “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet?”

Use the comments section below, to give us your thoughts.

And I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

Have a great day!

Now playing in the bunker.