Plastic Bags and People

Seattle, where I live, is a very green city. I enjoy that. Why not? Living in an environmentally-friendly way does not require living less conveniently. It's as easy to recycle as it is to not recycle. It's as easy to bring your own bag to the store than to use the crappy ones they provide (my doubled-up plastic bags split wide open twice last year on the 2-block scamper home, once from QFC and once from Safeway, respectively). Though some cities have restrictions on plastic and some suburban towns have outright bans, Seattle stands to become the largest U.S. city to ban plastic. Click here for a legitimate news story

There's an initiative to impose a 20-cent green fee on disposable shopping bags, both paper and plastic. Some people are in an uproar. Many of these people are referring to using plastic bags as a right. Yeah, I think it's in there, in the Bill of Rights, that is. The right to use plastic bags is right up there in the top ten, alongside free speech, trial by jury... actually, Number Nine offers open interpretation to anything anyone wants to call a right: "Protection of rights not specifically enumerated in the Bill of Rights." I say God damn. The Bill of Rights may as well say, "this document covers these nine things, plus whatever else you want it to. All right? Now bang the gavel and let's break for lunch." What a loophole, that crazy Number Nine.

Back to the ballot. The 20-cent tax/fee/surcharge would take effect next year. Bags used inside stores to contain bulk items, bags for prepared food, newspaper and dry-cleaner bags would be exempt. There's also a proposed ban on Styrofoam.

To the people who feel their Constitutional rights will be violated by this initiative, I really don't see the big deal. Every grocery store around here already offers cloth bags for cheap purchase, and you can also bring your own. Some stores offer a discount to people who use their own bags. Ikea offers 10% off on Tuesdays to everyone who uses their own blue cloth Ikea bags (59-cents apiece), and the store is discontinuing all use of plastic bags in October regardless of how the vote goes. Some consumers have been on the program for decades. According to NPR, an estimated 20 to 30 percent of Seattle shoppers already bring reusable bags to the store. Also, most fast food restaurants are already Styrofoam-free.

According to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, "Seattleites use 360 million disposable paper and plastic shopping bags every year. Almost 240 million end up in the garbage. That's close to 4 percent of all residential garbage, by volume. This will save 4,000 tons of greenhouse gases per year, the same as taking 665 cars off the road."

Ireland placed a 33-cent tax on plastic bags in 2002 and watched use shrink 94% within weeks.

What's the big deal, plastic-lovers? I refuse to believe this thing really puts you out, yet I continue to hear silly things like, "How do you expect me to shop now? I won't be able to feed my family! It's my right!" Wow, kid. Paging Dr. Darwin...

Women and Men

From a message board I frequent, unsuspecting guest blogger John's Shack says:
Do any of you guys think of the parallels between sports for men and celebrity tabloid culture for women? Not with the games themselves, but with the 24 hour news cycle and the popularity of SportsCenter, there's such a huge focus & time devoted to pointless non-stories that would never have been reported in earlier decades.

I bring it up now because two of the more egregious non-stories have been reported within the week: Vick drinking a vodka and pineapple juice at an airport bar & "dissension" in the Vikings locker room over Favre. The headlines might as well read "Adult Man Drinks Alcohol" and "Players in Locker Room Might Not All Like Each Other." Also the extensive coverage of the Romo-TO-Witten BS of last year comes to mind. Who gives a shit about this stuff?

No need to expand or comment. This guy is on the money.

Blogospherical Defamation, the Double Standard, and A**holes

Some blogs are informative, particularly special interest blogs which focus on something specific. Others - like this one - are essentially an electronic diary of "what's on my mind right today" ramblings shared with the world rather than stuffed under your bed (for the record, I never kept a diary). And then there's the diarrhea of the Internet, the ones written by people who can't write but wish they could, they issue (what they consider) shocking or attention-grabbing sophomoria. Without linking to the story or the blog (undeserving of attention), some chick has a blog called Skanks in NYC. Its point is fairly self-explanatory. In it, the blogger named some supermodel "the first-place award for Skankiest in NYC" while also referring to the supermodel as a "psychotic lying whore." The supermodel took offense, sued for defamation of character, which publicly identified the identity of the blogger, who in turn was flabbergasted about her privacy being "violated" and filed some kind of counter suit.

My point? What's good for the goose is good for the gander. I understand a blogger who chooses to hide behind the anonymity of the Interwebs. I've considered it myself, as I work for a large and (sadly) conservative company and I use this blog to rant about things that I may not consider controversial but my (or a potential new) employer might. But at the end of the day, I choose to put my name on the things I say, especially those which I elect to float into a public forum. If I were to hide behind a pseudonym here, I wouldn't feel that my thoughts have truly been shared in a meaningful way. If an idea isn't worth putting your name on, perhaps it isn't worth sharing. But like I said, I do understand anonymous bloggers. They're protecting their careers, or purging alter egos they're self-conscious about. I get it. I just prefer to stand behind anything I put out there for worldwide consumption.

Back to the skankblogger. She's got no right to be pissed off. If she can issue her content, an offended party can respond in kind. If she doesn't like the fallout, maybe she'll consider that while she pecks the keyboard under the glow of the monitor and giggles at her finished product, she's also issuing publicly accessible material about real people. The skankblogger has a right to do her thing, and the subjects of her missives have a right to react. Live by the sword and you know the rest.

I've cast some harsh judgments about people on this blog and I stand by all of them. Those people can react, sue, whatever, if they choose. And just to be clear, let me offer up a list of assholes, in no particular order, some of whom have already been crucified here and some of whom are making their Mystery Train debut:

Previously ordained assholes:
John McCain - the angry midget, personifies the idea that Spaulding from Caddyshack was given the keys to the kingdom and several dozen pre-pardons for a host of douchebaggerous acts.
Anyone who voted for him last November: also an asshole. You can't hide in the back, assholes. You don't get to criticize Dubya's terms, Rumsfeld, Rove, Cheney, and all the other crap you loved for the first eight years of this century just to fit in socially. Stand by your putrid values, assholes. Revisionist history is not allowed here, assholes.
Sarah Palin - fanatic c*nt, don't get me started.
Michael Vick - can be removed from this list once he spends an hour in a room with a number of wild fighting dogs who equal his weight in sum. He'd have to be naked because the dogs are. Also, the dogs haven't eaten in a week and Senor Vick has been doused in pig's blood. It's only an hour. He'll probably survive, in which case, he won't be an asshole anymore! If he doesn't, the world is minus one asshole. It's a win-win!
Brett Favre - one of the all-time greats, a warrior on the field and a gamer if there ever was one, but a first-class indecisive asshole to teammates, coaches, and fans in every market in which he's played.

Assholes making their Mystery Train debut:
Glenn Beck - goofy conservative talk show host who often declared U.S. healthcare a disaster in need of drastic reform in 2008, has trumpeted U.S. healthcare as the world's finest in 2009, recently called Barack Obama a racist and has sinced watched nearly all of his advertisers pull out of his retarded show. Sorry, calling his show retarded is a disgusting insult to the mentally handicapped. With any luck, this state of affairs will result in Glenn landing on his true calling, that of a state fair carny anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Maybe he can be the subject of a paintball game called Shoot the Asshole.
Anyone in a reality t.v. show - I understand, you're good looking and stupid, everyone from your small town is stupid and ugly, and your fifteen minutes allows you to hook up with your cross-gender stupid/good-looking counterpart from some other small town on the reality t.v. graduates reunion circuit thanks to 700-channels-and-nothin'-on basic cable... you're a harmless asshole, but still an asshole.
Lance Armstrong - big ups for beating cancer. Big downs for cheating on your wife while she saw you through it and then leaving her once you'd recovered. Further big downs for being a prima donna member of a team sport in which you really only want your team to win if you get to ride pole position. I've got a pole for you, jerkass...
Sheryl Crow - the object of Lance Armstrong's cheating, who, in an ironic twist, came down with cancer shortly after leaving the cycling asshole. Also, on the Letterman show she told the untrue and self-serving tale behind her hit song "Leaving Las Vegas" which inspired the real subject of the song to commit suicide after watching her appearance on t.v. When that person's best friend called to advise of the suicide, she said, "So sue me, asshole" and hung up. A real lady, that one. She is super hot, though, I'll give her that.

How many assholes is that? Nine? Man, ten would be nice, but I can't think of anyone else to flesh out the list. Ooh - I got one!

Mick Jones - charter member of one the world's greatest bands, The Clash. They broke up in '84 due to the usual tensions associated with a band finally becoming commercially successful and all the "what next?" divisive issues. The story most often told, though, is the break-up was primarily the result of Jones' inability to show up to rehearsals, gigs and meetings on time. Shortly before his unexpected death, Joe Strummer admitted that "Mick was not the most punctual guy, but looking back, I believe talent is worth waiting for." Ouch. Thanks to Mick Jones' star complex, we do have the fine output of Big Audio Dynamite. But for it, we'd also have a handful more Clash albums. Given a choice between the two... come on.

* Sorry, Mick, I dig your stuff with B.A.D., but I had to come up with something

50 Concerts

This idea comes from a Facebook thread in which my old ass is unable to figure out how to fit more than the first seven of fifty into the space allowed to post a reply, so I post it here. The task is, list 50 concerts you've been to, as they come to mind but starting with your first concert, no ranking, no comments, just think of your concertgoing history and type 'em as they enter your memory. Here's mine. I tried to avoid artist repetition, but even I am not perfect (hard to believe, I know, you'll get over it). Here goes somethin':

1. (first concert) Ozzy Osbourne, Vandenberg at Worcester (MA) Centrum, April Fool's Day '83 (below/right)

2. Robert Plant (Phil Collins on drums) at Worcester (MA) Centrum, Sept. '83

3. The Clash at Worcester (MA) Centrum, '84

4. Van Halen at Worcester (MA) Centrum, '84

5. Pretenders, the Alarm at Orpheum Theater, Boston, '85

6. Stevie Ray Vaughan & Double Trouble, Jason & the Scorchers at Orpheum Theater, Boston, '83

7. Cheap Trick, Twisted Sister, Ratt, & Lita Ford at Kingston (NH) Fairgrounds, '84

8. Aerosmith & Foghat at Manning Bowl, Lynn, MA '85

9. Motley Crue, Accept, Helix at Manning Bowl, Lynn, MA '86

10. Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band, Fabulous Thunderbirds at Boston Garden, '86

11. Bob Dylan, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Great Woods, Mansfield, MA, '85

12. Deep Purple at Worcester (MA) Centrum, '86

13. Judas Priest, Dokken at Worcester (MA) Centrum, '86

14. James Brown, the Blues Brothers, Kenny Wayne Shepherd at Bell Auditorium, Augusta, GA, '96

15. David Lee Roth, Poison at Worcester (MA) Centrum, '87

16. Los Lobos, Treat Her Right at Club Casino, Hampton Beach (NH), ‘88

17. Michelle Shocked at House of Blues, Chicago, ‘99

18. Billy Joel at Carrier Dome, Syracuse, ‘90

19. Boston, Farrenheit at Worcester (MA) Centrum, '86

20. Extreme at Celebration / Kenmore Club, ‘86

21. Neil Diamond at Madison Square Garden, ‘91

22. Fabulous Thunderbirds at the Stone Pony, Asbury Park, ‘93

23. Elvis Costello, Crash Test Dummies at Garden State Arts Center, ‘93

24. Southern Culture on the Skids at 9:30 Club, Washington DC, ‘97

25. Tom Waits at Chicago Theater, ‘99

26. Wilco, Steve Earle & the Dukes, Chris Mills at the Riviera Theater, Chicago, Y2K NYE (I played Baby New Year in the show, my finest moment)

27. Paul Westerberg at Ogden Theater, Denver, ‘05 (below/right, after his pants fell down - he never did pull them up)

28. Patti Smith at the Showbox (Seattle), ‘07

29. ZZ Top, Black Crowes at Carrier Dome, Syracuse, ‘91

30. Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band, Southside Johnny, Max Weinberg 7 at Convention Hall Asbury Park, ‘00

31. Wallflowers, Michael McDermott at Metro, Chicago, ‘00

32. Soul Asylum at Metro, Chicago, ‘97

33. Mighty Blue Kings at House of Blues, New Orleans, ‘99

34. Swimmer at Elbo Room, Chicago, countless times, ’96-‘97

35. Liquid Soul at Double Door, Chicago, countless times, ’97-98

36. Drivin N Cryin’ at Schuba’s, Chicago, ‘97

37. Poi Dog Pondering at the Aragon Ballroom, Chicago, NYE ‘97

38. Cowboy Mouth, Squirrel Nut Zippers, Cake, Cheap Trick, Steve Miller Band, many more at Music Midtown, Atlanta, ‘96

39. Sepultura, Vision of Disorder, Earth Crisis at House of Blues, Chicago, ‘99

40. Pete Townshend (w/ Eddie Vedder sitting in) at House of Blues, Chicago, ‘97

41. Pearl Jam, Bad Religion, Otis Rush at Soldier Field, Chicago, ‘95

42. Raphael Saadiq at the Showbox (Seattle), ‘08

43. Radiohead, the Beta Band at Hutchinson Field, Chicago, ‘01 (above)

44. Buddy Guy, countless times at Buddy Guy’s Legends, Chicago, ’95-‘04

45. Billy Corgan at the Hideout, Chicago, ‘01

46. Soul Coughing at Double Door, Chicago,’98

47. Verbow at Double Door, Chicago, ‘99

48. Beastie Boys, A Tribe Called Quest at Target Center, Minneapolis, ‘98

49. The 4th Waltz: Nick Tremulis w/ Steve Earle, Graham Parker, Sonia Dada, Ronnie Spector, Billy Corgan, Jon Langford, Alejandro Escovedo, David Amram, John Sinclair & more at Metro, Chicago, ‘02

50. Sonic Youth, Guided By Voices, Waco Brothers, Bob Mould in the parking lot at Finkl & Sons Steel Company, Chicago, ‘02

Geesh. That's an honest process right there. I'm already thinking of great shows absent from the list, but honoring the spirit of it, no edits can be done. It is what it is. Adding a couple photos now and I swear, no revisions will be made to the list. You wanna make a list? Hit me with it - I'd love to ask about some of your shows. As James Brown said, "Hit me one time! Aaaow!"

Cats, Quarterbacks, and Kitchen Aid Mixers

The cat update: bad news, Rosie is still dead. Good news, no animals have dug her out of the yard. I would like a new cat, Jessica would not. Looks like maybe we'll get a couple turtles. Maybe we can name them Cuff and Link, like Rocky's turtles.

In NFL quarterback news, Michael Vick was interviewed on 60 Minutes the other night and while he did his best to give the interview his all-star team of media relations and image experts have coached him to, nothing about his demeanor convinced of anything. Sure, he expresses regret about having spent his first pro signing bonus on a multi million dollar dogfighting compound and running it for seven years while torturing and murdering (who will ever know how many) dogs; he will be a very public ambassador for the Human Society, speaking to kids and so forth. Those things are wonderful at face value and his verbiage may work in text, but watching Vick speak, his body language and facial expressions convince me me that nothing he says is sincere on any level, not even the "Lie to me because I want to watch you on SportsCenter every week but I just need to see you sell it well enough that I can in turn lie to myself about your sincerity so I can respect myself in the morning much in the same way I tell the wife I was at ESPN Zone with the fellas when in reality I was getting lap dances and maybe a hand job in the champagne room and rationalize it as a victimless crime" level. He is only concerned about striking while his earning potential iron is still hot, which, as a skill position player at 29 going on 30, can mean 3-8 years. If he plays his cards well enough to stay in the NFL and earn an annual salary with two commas each year, he's set for life. That's all Michael Vick cares about. The Eagles signed him and despite my long standing man-crush on Eagles QB, model citizen and athlete (and Chicago native and Syracuse alum) Donovan McNabb (who Vick will be backing up), my affinity for the Eagles' head coach Andy Reid who has been through some tough personal stuff and is my kind of coach, running back Michael Westbrook who is a class act (last year he downed a surefire touchdown on on the one yard line with nobody near him because it was late in the game, the Eagles had it wrapped up and he didn't want to rub it in), kicker David Akers who has helped my Fantasy Football teams over the years, cornerback Ellis Hobbs who put in some awesome years with the Patriots... what was I saying? Oh yeah. I used to like the Eagles, but not any more, at least not until their roster is free of Michael Vick.

In related news, Brett Favre just couldn't stand Vick taking the "I'm baaaaaaaack!" QB spotlight and despite having retired and un-retired twice in the last two seasons, he signed with the Minnesota Vikings today. Once again, Brett decides he wants to play after training camp has begun, pre-season games have been played, and his team d'jour has spent thousands of hours and millions of dollars planning for a season without him. I don't hate the Vikings or Brett Favre (hate is a strong word I normally only apply to things like Republicans, Nazis, rapists, child molesters, the likes of Michael Vick, and my employer), but as they compete in the same division as my co-favorite team the Chicago Bears, I look forward to the imminent Favre post-Week Nine physical meltdown and the associated unraveling of his locker room as teammates resent the soap opera their precious, delicate flower of a quarterback has brought into their world. But hey, the Vikes and the NFL will sell boatloads of purple #4 jerseys and the Metrodome now has eight guaranteed sell-outs this fall. On the upside, he now has a chance to set another NFL record:
NFL's All-Time Fumblers
1. Warren Moon - 161
2. Brett Favre - 157
3. Dave Krieg - 153
4. John Elway - 137
5. Kerry Collins - 127

Lastly, my cousin Paul is a big fat jerk. Last Saturday night, we talked on the phone and among the topics of conversation, I extolled the virtues of the Kitchen Aid Mixer. Among my gushing statements, "This is the greatest product of the modern era! If I was a celebrity and could only endorse one product, I'd endorse this one! For free! Making dinner rolls on the fly! Whipping up my famous Christmas Bread! Cakes! Muffins! Biscuits! Oh my goodness, it's the greatest thing EVER!" Paul asked why I don't have one and the two part answer began with having lost mine in divorce - don't bleed for me, readers, I got the dog - and ended with not being wise enough to spend an extra couple hunny on the Mixer instead of a nice dinner or concert tickets just one time. That was Saturday. I come home from work today and there's a Kitchen Aid Mixer on the porch. That little bastard. Now, if all the misfortune imaginable comes down on Paul and his family and they wind up destitute and shirtless... I'll feel bad, like that money may have saved the Maloneys of San Francisco, but I'll also be makin' some kick-ass bread with my Kitchen Aid Mixer, homeys! To My Cousin: Thanks, and also, It's On. It's on like Donkey Kong.

This Guy is a Genius

Invest the next 2:28 of your life and behold the genius of the beer tosser.

Oh, Snap

This is how they kill time at Jessica's place of employment.



Man, I wish I'd majored in Advertising... Also, Please enjoy this George Carlin transcript from 1999. Aaaaaaaaand... GFY.

Rosalita, Jump a Little Lighter

Our cat died this week.

November 2005:
I'm not a cat guy, historically. I'm at one of my truck rental dealerships, about an hour north of Seattle. It's rain season. We're amidst some record 20something consecutive days of rain. This cat is out in the lot and I ask my dealers, Jack and Suzanne, what's up. They say she's been there for 3 weeks, apparently abandoned, not by someone in the apartment complex next door (they'd canvassed) but presumably by a truck rental customer who maybe couldn't take the cat to wherever they were moving.
I recall this moment succinctly, feeling that life was presenting me with a chance to go against my own personal grain for the right reasons. There's a K-Mart next door. I walk over and buy a pet carrier. Jack, Suzanne and I spend the next hour and a half getting this incredibly feisty feline into the box. They wish me luck and assure that I will need it.

Whew! I get in the car, call home to advise of our new situation. Jessica, my remarkable girlfriend, had just moved in with me a month ago, so I can only imagine she was still in the early stages of getting accustomed to life with a Maloney (we're a lot of things, but we're far from easy). She says, "A cat? You hate cats! Okay, whatever happens, this is your responsibility. What are you, testing yourself? What the f**k? Should I even believe this? Did I mention you hate cats?" Yes, dear. (Jessica would soon emerge as the world's greatest pet mom, and this was among the early signs that my behavior isn't predictable enough for comfort - she endures, she's a keeper).

First Two Weeks
We decide to name her Rosalita. Why not? It's a great song by the Boss, about a girl whose personality seems to match this cat. For short, we can call her Rosie, as Bruce does in the song. We phase her into co-habitation with my dog, Champ. Cat stays in bedroom, door closed, we place cat toys in dog's area, dog toys outside bedroom door for cat to smell, and eventually let them co-habitate. She terrorizes him so badly (he's five times her size) that he chews most of the door frame apart in an effort to escape whatever brand of whoop-ass she brings while we're at work. We normally come home to Champ crying and Rosie saying, "What? I'm a cat." Whatever we do, she escapes and goes outside. The blind lady next door helps me find her the first time. We accept that despite her lack of front claws (that's how we found her), she simply needs to go outside. She's the same with collars, doesn't like 'em. Putting a collar on her is a battle, and when we succeed, we find it in the yard later. Tough broad, this Rosie. But her tender side shows at home. We love her.

November 2005 - August 2009:
Rosie practices her role as Bad Ass Cat. Examples:
Pizza - Jessica is eating a slice of pizza, Rosie jumps and swipes it right out of her hand.
Cheeseburger - our local bar has a peanut butter & bacon burger, which frightens me until this one night, after a couple beers I get one to go, take it home, put it on a plate, leave the burger for about 30 seconds and return to see Rosie on the floor, eating my burger. God damn cat.
Neighbor's Bulldog - corners Rosie and growls. Mistake. One of Our Cat's rear paws swings around, swipes the dog in the nose, dog runs home crying with bloody nose. Cat looks at me as if to say, "any questions?" Luckily, neighbor and owner of dog says, "no worries, that's what [dog] gets for f***ing with a cat."
Birds - Rosie has brought a few birds home. We come home, she's trotting along the yard with a bird in her mouth, she places it down in front of us like it's a trophy. We feel bad for the bird(s), but we understand.
One night, Jessica was out of town and I heard a raucous in the kitchen around 6am. Sounded like a couple large animals fighting feverishly, slamming against cabinets, knocking things over, etc. I sprung out of bed, ran into the kitchen and saw a much larger animal - maybe a large cat, maybe a squirrel or raccoon, I'm not sure - diving out of the window we keep open for Rosie to come and go as she pleases during the day. Rosie is sitting calmly in the center of the kitchen floor and looks at me as if to calmly say something between "all in a day's work" and "nothing to see here, move along now." Fucking awesome cat.
Notoriety - Jessica and I threw a Christmas party a couple years ago, the Stranger (Seattle's weekly paper) covered the occasion and mentioned the cat. Click here.


The End
Monday
We last saw Rosie when we fed her Monday, 7am. She didn't come home that night which is unusual, but it has happened.
Tuesday
She's not waking us from outside at 4am, 5am, 6am... something's wrong. After work, Jessica and a friend canvass and spread flyers while I work the Internet.
Wednesday
We learn that a cat was found dead by a neighbor c. 10am Monday and taken to the neighborhood vet. The description fits. The vet has mistakenly let a cremation service pick her up. The cat will be brought back to the vet tomorrow. Jessica brings some hair from the death site home and it matches perfectly to Rosie's in terms of length and where black turns to white.
Thursday
Jessica makes a positive ID and takes her home. I come home and we bury her.

Cause of Death:
We can't assess the cause of death based on her physical position because we estimate she was contorted in the process of being transferred several times. There are no visible signs of her having been attacked. Her face appears somewhat relaxed, not in a state of panic but not entirely serene, either.

We figure she either ate something (maybe pesticide-treated grass, maybe part of a bird) or was hit by a car, and in either case she knew she was seriously injured or dying. The neighbor who found her said she appeared to be trying to get under the house. Cats normally prefer to die alone, they hide, probably a combination of pride and an understandable desire to go in peace. She knew she was in trouble and hadn't quite arrived at the place she was trying to crawl to.

Last Photo (taken a week ago)


Conclusion:
What can you do? She died as she lived, tramping around the neighborhood, defying all the rules a cat with no front claws should, pushing the envelope. We found her almost four years ago and she certainly would not have lived much longer if we hadn't taken her in. It's sad that she's gone, but we have to appreciate the lease on life she got from us. I've known all along that an outdoor cat doesn't normally die of old age or natural causes, more likely she just doesn't come home one day. Not that we think of that any morning when she leaves with us, we go to work and she to the great outdoors, wondering "is today the day she doesn't make it back?" She was a bad-ass, resilient cat who has successfully defended herself against much larger cats, dogs, squirrels, and has taken home some trophies (birds). She surfed the rooftops and car ports, galloped in and out of the yards, wrought a harmless brand of entertaining havoc on the neighborhood, and on Monday her number simply came up. It happens to us all, at one time or another we've all got to go. We don't always have the luxury of knowing in advance. Of course we don't, because of course we'd alter our plans to avoid it.


CLICK HERE FOR ROSIE'S PROPER TRIBUTE