Awesome local commercial makes no sense!

I love their ads, and they usually make me laugh (though possibly not in the way they're intended), but sometimes the spots for Dressler and Strickland seem as if they were conceived by someone on crack (or a twelve-year-old). I really wanted to share with you their ad which shows a bunch of cartoon animals driving around in order to offer up the line, "It's a jungle out there," but I couldn't seem to track it down. Nevertheless, for your viewing pleasure, I did find the fine example above.

There are lots of questions I'm left asking after watching this ad. First, why is the woman who has just broken her arm smiling and waving at the driver in the smashed vehicle? Why isn't she and her attorney trying to help him out of the twisted wreckage? And where did "cartoon lawyer" get his suit? That jacket he has buttons all the way up to his neck? That must be very uncomfortable. Then later, why is the jury throwing their own money at Dressler? Is he a hypnotist in addition to a lawyer, or did he just give such a moving closing argument that the pool felt the need to compensate him? And why does the non-cartoon version of Dressler (aka, the actual human being) have such a small gavel? You'd think, for show even, he'd have one of those big, monster sledgehammer deals.

On dinosaur feet and the death of a Liberal Lion ...

This week, when I wasn't busy copying other bloggers' posts without any acknowledgment, much like my heroes over at the Hartford Courant, I was visiting the Dinosaur State Park with my nephew and niece and mourning the death of Mr. Ted Kennedy.

Let's start with the dinosaurs.

I had no idea what was at Dinosaur State Park in Rocky Hill. Seeing the signs on 91, I always assumed it to be a hokey place with fake dinosaur statues and mini golf or something. But the Professor's parents were bringing the little ones down for a visit, and, me having a day off and the Prof still on summer break, we decided to tag along.

I have to say, the place is kind of cool. For those who have no idea of what I'm referring, let me give you a bit of history. Back in 1966, 2,000 dinosaur tracks were found while the foundation for a new state building was being dug in Rocky Hill. Completely by accident. Can you imagine being the person who found these things? Needless to say, the building was scrapped and a park was born. 500 of the tracks remained unearthed and a giant dome structure was built over them, creating a museum for dinosaur fans to visit.

And do they visit. While we were there, busloads of kids were coming and going, along with some awkward teenagers that, I can only hope, were more into the "science" of these fossils than the "wow, dinosaurs!" awe that seemed to enrapt the park's tinier explorers.

Here's a poorly lit photo from inside the dome:

The kids had a blast, and the adults had fun, too. Of course, there was this one egotistical dinosaur we ran into on our way out of the park. He gave us some trouble, but we managed to get away. I even snapped a picture while we escaped:

Lousy, no good hipster brontosaurus ...

Anyway, that was the Dinosaur State Park.

Now onto Mr. Kennedy.

The passing of the Liberal Lion left me with a strong feeling of disconnect toward my home state of Massachusetts. His death reminded me that I'm not there anymore, a fact that is plain to see but which I still occasionally forget. I'm now at arm's length from my former city, outside, looking in, both for better and worse. Many friends went to the processionals, saw the motorcade, posted pictures on Facebook (which, I must admit, was kind of odd). But seeing so many people I know actively participating in such moments, being part of the funeral, the physical mourning, made the 90 minutes that separates me from my former home in Boston seem all the more great.

I suppose the strangest thing about Ted Kennedy's passing is the fact that there won't be any more new television footage of the man. For the 31 years I have been on this planet (and, until last August, having lived all of those years in Massachusetts), Kennedy's face has been a nearly nightly image, as common as the newscasters who he was speaking to or the townspeople seen at the gas station. I can't say I found the man to be perfect, but such thoughts really don't matter anymore. It was the comfort of seeing him that made him who he was. It was the fire that raged in his eyes on some days. The doughy smile on others. It was the fact that he was a constant. That is what I'll miss the most. Such a familiar image, lost into the ether.

I had heard about the Cash for Clunkers program, but ...

... apparently the New Haven Register is interested in a very different initiative:

The best part? 18% of the responses were "yes."

How does this work? Do I just need to turn in a chicken? Can it be from the grocery store? And how much money do I get for each chicken I turn in?

When we are the news, what is the news?

Back in February, I wrote about our (read: the general public's) seeming obsession with leaving comments on online news stories, as if our opinions were as, if not more, important than the stories themselves. I wondered why this was, and, frankly, what the point of allowing such activity brought to the legitimate act of news distribution. Well, thanks to the good folks at NBC 30, there is now a new level of public involvement in what used to be a purely objective way to relate important information.

You see, over at nbcconnecticut.com (the online outlet of channel 30), you can now rate the news stories.

I wish I was kidding.

Here's an example. A young person recently drowned in the Housatonic River. Quite a sad story. One, you would think, the average reader would see and say something like, "How horrible." You would think said reader would then refrain from clicking the small box to the right of said article, the box that says "I am: ." You'd think a tragedy would invoke a certain sense of respect.

Of course, you'd be wrong.

Here are the "ratings" for the article:

The website does not list the total number of votes, but the fact that anyone bothered to think that their emotional input was necessary after reading of a young person's death makes you stop to wonder, no? (I'm curious if the "laughing" and "bored" votes were nothing more than children deciding to be ironic.)

Honestly, what is the point of this? Are we so pathetically attention-starved that we need to be involved in everything we touch? Is that the reason for such inventions?

And what about the long-term effect of such immediate interaction? How could this affect what we consider "news?" If NBC 30's audience decides that politics or world news is boring, will the station decide to make such information obsolete? Will the news become nothing more than fluff a la E! News or Entertainment Tonight? Will celebrity birthdays overtake a recap of the stock market? Are Lolcats going to suddenly show up?

Sure, this may be taking things to an extreme, but one has to assume that these small changes will somehow play into future models of news.

Our world is constantly evolving. How do I feel about it? Sometimes I'm "thrilled," but things like this just make me "sad." Feel free to click on the sidebar to tell me your opinion. Wait, I don't have such technology.

Sonic in Connecticut?

Back in my days of supervising an internship program (oh, those were the days!), I once had a student who, on more than one occasion, railed on and on about how much she missed the food from Sonic Drive-In. She was from Arizona (I think), a land ripe with the frozen treats and fast food meals offered by the chain. And, living in Boston, the closest she was able to get to the goods was via the commercials that ran on cable.

Well, times are changing.

Though Sonic has not officially announced it, they are opening up a shop in Wallingford. According to a report in today's Courant, the company has started looking for managers on sites like CareerBuilder. Of course, I'm pretty sure my old intern is nowhere near New England anymore. But I am. And I sure like hamburgers.

Can't wait.

Continuing the strange trend of animal stories coming out of Connecticut ...

This is odd. So odd that it almost sounds like the start of a really bad joke my father would email me. But, strangely enough, it is true.

From the Hartford Courant:

A 20-year-old driver caused a multi-car crash on Main Street Monday morning when his pet baby snakes escaped from his pants pockets, police said.

Angel Rolon, of New Britain, lost control of his SUV as he and a passenger scrambled to catch the two snakes, which had slithered down near the gas and brake pedals, police said.

Yes, jokes about trouser snakes could be made, but I'm going to refrain. Three cars were involved in the accident. Nobody was seriously injured. And, as far as I can tell, the snakes were all recovered.

If you're interested, the full (rather short) article on the incident can be found here.

Monkeys and alligators and possums, oh my!

In an effort to safely rid Connecticut of unwanted exotic pets (isn't it kind of weird that the state needs to be concerned about people having exotic pets?), the Beardsley Zoo on Saturday held an amnesty day, allowing owners to drop off their animals with no questions asked. This, of course, springs from the chimpanzee attack earlier this year that left one person mauled. There's a nice article about the event over here at the Hartford Courant.

A couple highlights:

Luis Rivera drove down from West Hartford to drop off a 3-foot long alligator he took in a few years ago from "three girls who couldn't take care of it and didn't know what to do."

Rivera, who installs and maintains aquariums for a living, never gave the reptile a name because he always intended to get rid of it, if he could find a safe way to do so. He kept it in a 100-gallon tank, fed it "chicken wings, steak" and other food. He found the right home when he read a news story about the amnesty collection.

That's right, alligators in West Hartford! It's like a bad horror movie waiting to happen. And this wasn't the only alligator story in the article:

The Bernier family from Milford— Kevin, Alison and their 12-year-old son, Mark — dropped off their 2-foot alligator, "Allan," which some evicted tenants left behind four years ago in a third-floor apartment, a surprise to the Berniers.

The creature had doubled in size on its diet — including frozen pet-store-bought mice — and it had sprouted teeth and a nervous attitude and had outgrown its tank.

So the collection day was a godsend, Kevin Bernier said. Allan's departure gives the family sole tenancy of the room used for ironing and a home office.

"Like, I'm sad, but it tried to bite you," Mark said of the alligator, who was considered by neighborhood kids as an awesome pet.

****

If these aren't enough bizarre pet stories for you, check out the canary fighting ring that was busted up in Shelton. You read that correctly: a canary fighting ring. Not chickens or roosters. Little, tiny songbirds. Fighting to the death.

"Am I being punk'd?" asked neighbor John Coniglio, referring to a television show famous for playing pranks on celebrities. "I mean, this is crazy. I've never heard of a canary ring. I can't picture little canaries with razor blades taped to their feet or anything."

The raid christened 19 jailbirds along with $8,000 cash.

Adventures in poor punctuation: MiniBlast Lagoon

The Professor and I recently visited the miniature golf course at Adventures at MiniBlast Lagoon in Cromwell (for an excellent review, visit the Putting Penguin's site over here). The course was really quite fun, but a typo on our scoring card left me a bit deflated:

Not only was I unable to find the Tom Cruise/Bryan Brown cinematic classic while strolling the grounds, but I got pegged by a TON of golf balls from the driving range! Kokomo, indeed.

Battle of the crunchy burgers

Imagine, if you will, a boxing ring. Two fighters stand in opposite corners: one a tried-and-true favorite, a crowd pleaser with a long history, and the other a young whipper snapper straight from the hands of fame and fortune. Each cover similar terrain. Each come served on a white plate with a pickle.

Of course, the fighters I'm referring to here are cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers with the ability to lace up boxing gloves and duke it out.

But these are not ordinary cheeseburgers I'm rattling on about (and giving arms and hands and egos and anger to). These two burgers have what very few cheeseburgers out in the land of all things patty-related offer: CRUNCH.

The first is the classic cheeseburger available at Shady Glen in Manchester. Constructed on a grill-top, it has 4 slices of orangy-yellow cheese spread both on the burger and the grill-top itself, resulting in a strangely crispy and crunchy Cheez-it flavored cheese shell. Here's a shoddy picture taken with a cell phone:

Yes, there is a burger in there. I promise.

The second pugilist, the young one, comes from the mind of ubiquitous television personality Bobby Flay, he of the battles with housewives and the various well-received restaurants and the calling of himself "Bobby" at the age of 44. Yes, Mr. Flay is now in the hamburger business (to be fair, he has been in the hamburger business for the past year) in the form of Bobby's Burger Palace, which recently opened shop at Mohegan Sun (just walk past the slot machines and old people chain smoking ... you can't miss it).

Anyway, one of the draws of the BBP is the Crunchburger, a double American cheese and potato chip feast, as seen here in a photo taken by a highly paid commercial photographer:

Let's ring this bell! Everyone keep it clean. I don't want a bloodbath!

Round one: The restaurant

First off, Shady Glen is a rather fun place to visit, from the old-school service counters to the labyrinthian nature of the table placement to the uniforms worn by the employees. Add in the little touches, like the doilies for under one's glass to the tiny cups of water given to each customer, and you can't go wrong popping in for a bite.

Bobby's Burger Palace, on the other hand, already has one strike against it because it's sitting in the middle of a casino. That being said, it has a cool, metropolitan vibe to it, with v-shaped community tables and funky light fixtures. Essentially the complete opposite of Shady Glen, BBP can almost make you forget you're in a void of desperation ... until the person next to you starts counting their chips or complaining about a pit boss.

Winner of round one: Shady Glen

Round two: Burger

The hamburger patty from Shady Glen is essentially a patty you've eaten about a million times: gray, circular, nondescript. There's nothing much to it, and the bun it sits on is pretty plain and simple. What makes the burger uniquely tasty is the crunchy cheese.

The BBP Crunchburger, though slightly smaller than I expected, came perfectly cooked to order: medium with lots of pink. The cheese on top was oozy, the bun flecked with sesame seeds. And the potato chips were surprisingly crunchy. However, they didn't add all that much for flavor outside of a saltiness. The condiment options, ranging from the typical to chipotle ketchup, added extra kick.

Winner of round two: Though close, the victory goes to the BBP Crunchburger

Round three: Extras

Shady Glen offers some pretty amazing ice cream flavors. The prices are also incredibly reasonable. The Professor and I had dinner for under $15. And, as mentioned earlier, the location (at least at the original Shady Glen - I haven't been to the other shop), is really a treat to visit.

There's also a really bizarre mural along one wall that I think I could look at all night:

Who are these elfin people and how are they able to carry ice cream cones in a picnic basket without any of them melting?

Over at Bobby's Burger Palace they serve some mean milkshakes (with real whipped cream). The fries are excellent, as well. Being as they're inside a casino, the prices for everything could have been much higher than they were, with burgers hovering around $7.50 and sides like fries ranging in between $2.50 and $3.00. Of course, while you're eating you're reminded that you're padding the wallet of this face:

Frankly, I think I'd rather stare at the picnicking elves.

Winner round three: Shady Glen

So, victory goes to Shady Glen. They make a decent burger, but the cheese is really where it's at. Bobby's Burger Place probably does offer the better food, but there's something about the feeling of sitting in the sixty-year-old Shady Glen that makes up for some of its shortcomings.

Scary gumball machine

This gumball machine was spotted at the Manchester movie theater:

It kind of speaks for itself, though I can't help but wonder what happened to that creepy child's eyebrows? Was that part of his gang initiation?

I can't stare at it for very long. The kid's eyes follow you across the room.

Oh, the places you'll go ... maybe.

If you're like me, you like to spend your weekends inside gigantic convention halls and exposition centers, learning about things you may never need and meeting celebrities you have never heard of. Who needs daylight, am I right? And Connecticut is right there with you, supplying these events like they're going out of style (heck, we like these things so much the Hartford Expo is only 2 miles from the Hartford Convention Center).

Here are a few of my favorite upcoming events:

Did you watch The Wrestler and think, "You know, I think I need a firsthand look at that lifestyle?" Then keep August 2nd open, because that's when the Pro Wrestling Icons convention hits the Courtyard Marriott in Cromwell. See Terry Funk! See The Giant Silva! See .... this guy:

I guess he's supposed to be an umpire? Wait, I get it, he's from New York!

Anyway, don't take my word for it. Here's their commercial:

Oh, it's going to be quite the event. Lots of greased men, lots of stringy, sweaty hair, lots of women in tight tops and too much make-up. Hey, according to the website, King Kong Bundy is going to be there. That's all the advertising I need. I'm sold. Who do I give my $99 to? (Yes, the "superticket" to the expo, which allows one autograph and one photo-op with each special guest, costs $99. Make sure you bring your own camera. They don't supply the photos, only the opportunities. And don't haggle. Some of these guys probably need the money.) Just promise to not beat me up. I'm fragile.

Wrestling not your thing? Then you're probably a woman. And, since you're also most likely a total stereotype of what women have been trying to break free from for the past, oh, forever, then maybe the 7th Annual Connecticut Women's Expo (sponsored by Comcast) is more your speed. According to their advertisements, they have everything the typical woman wants in an expo: psychic readings, FREE samples (yes, FREE with capital letters), shopping, fashion shows, beauty makeovers, seminars on things like diets (I've been there, sister), and ... and this is big ... SOAP STARS! Yes, that's right, on September 12th (and 13th), you can get your psychic-loving, vendor-pawing mitts on none other than Lucas from Days of Our Lives!

I know if I were to meet him I'd ask him why he's always such a snake! "You don't need to be a drunk, Lucas!" I'd yell. "All of your relationships turn to mush because of you!" I ... I've said too much.

To be fair, a portion of the proceeds from the 7th Annual Connecticut Women's Expo (sponsored by Comcast) go to the Susan G. Komen fund. So, while you sit in on that sex therapy seminar, you'll know that at least part of your $10 admission is going to a good cause. Of course, you probably will have already known that, thanks to the free psychic reading.

Now, I know what some of you are saying: "Ben, I'm neither a wrestling fan OR a stereotype of the female species. I'm fun and have a family. Is there anything on the horizon for me, or should I just pack my things and move?" All I can say in response is, "Put that Samsonite back in the basement and cancel the U-Haul, my friend!"

My final awesome upcoming expo is just for you!

No, it isn't a scuba expo (but, man, that'd be cool. I imagine there'd be some neat harpoon guns at such an event). It's the Lego Kidsfest, and it's happening November 20-22. Dude, there's going to be so much stuff! Legos! And more Legos! I bet there's going to be BIG, BIG things made out of Legos! Maybe a life-size M. Jodi Rell! Or a big ol' Mark Twain mustache! That'd take quite a few gray blocks.

Seriously, though, I need to borrow my nephew come November. My inner child really, really wants to be in a giant room full of Legos. And my nephew'd probably have fun, too.

So, there you have it, something for everyone: the angry guy, the June Cleaver, and the children (young and old). Now if only they somehow combined all three of these ... I can see it now: Lego wrestlers giving women advice on nutrition, while soap opera stars battle it out in the square circle. Good times ... good times ...

What's in a name?

Since becoming a member of the Nutmeg state, I've always wondered how Connecticut earned its unusual nickname. Well, thanks to a back issue of the fun publication Hog River Journal, my questions have been answered. Many of you lifers probably know this tale, but for those who don't, read on:

During the years surrounding 1800, Connecticut sea captains actively traded Wethersfield onions—used largely to feed Caribbean slaves—for much-sought-after nutmeg, a spice grown only on the West Indian island of Granada and in the Mollucas islands of Indonesia. Also during this time, young Connecticut men ventured in ever-increasing numbers to the American South and Midwest to peddle the clocks, buttons, needles, and other sundries being produced by a host of small, new Connecticut manufactories.

These Yankee peddlers loved having the hard-shelled nutmegs—durable, light, and profitable—among their goods. They were highly desired and always easy to sell. So easy that, so the story goes, some of the craftier—and less ethical—of these Connecticut lads took to mixing wooden nutmegs in with the real ones, simultaneously increasing both their profits and their “nutmeg” supply. They, of course, counted on the fact that the purchaser wouldn’t discover the difference until the trader himself was back in the Land of Steady Habits (or was that the Provision State?). As a result of these and similar trickster-like practices, Connecticut Yankees’ reputation for clever-but-not-fully-principled trading spread widely and quickly, and the homeland of these likeable but shrewd hucksters became known as “The Nutmeg State.”

Just as their forefathers had done when they adopted as their own the song “Yankee Doodle”—a tune originally intended to ridicule Yankees for being crude rustics—Connecticans took to “Nutmeg State” the way “snake oil” took to “salesman.” At an early and quite formal dinner gathering of the Connecticut Historical Society, one of the dignitaries—following a numerous and extended series of toasts preceding his own—offered this salute to the assembled guests, “To the Nutmeg State,” he said, lifting his glass yet again. “ Where shall we find a grater?”

Yes, it's true. The nickname comes from bad businessmen. From deceit. And from people too daft to know that they were being mocked. Ah, New England. You've got to love it.

You can read the full article over here.

Made in the dark

The Nutmeg has been waterlogged. Hard rains, lightning storms, hail, and even a tornado in Wethersfield (and yet the DMV still stands ...) have hit lately. It has gotten to the point where, sadly, power outages have become common. The Professor and I were in the dark along with 30,000 others just yesterday (thus my excuse for not writing until now).

So, with this strange turn of weather pounding us here in Connecticut, I've begun to think about activities to do when the electricity inevitably cuts out during the next deluge.

My best idea, as I'm sure you've already guessed, is becoming an expert shadow puppeteer. I've got the tools: hands and a flashlight. And it seems like a pretty open market. I can't tell you of many local expert shadow puppeteers. You know, maybe I'll start some new trend. I've even got a book called "Shadow Art," where everything from geese to sea anemones (I'm not kidding, this book is almost 300 pages long) is displayed in all its black and white glory.

The only problem I've run into thus far is my realization of how completely inept my fingers are when it comes to bizarre contortions. I've got the bird down. Dog is easy. But, my God, have you tried to make a silhouette tiger? You've got to get a hood for your arms! And don't even get into making a mouse. Miniature wire whiskers between your fingers. Before you know it, you end up with a trunk full of props like that weirdo Carrot Top.

Some of these puppets are so difficult that the author of the book, Sophie Collins, provides a chapter on finger and hand exercises to prevent cramps. Maybe I need to play more computer games or take up the piano or something. Get my fingers stretched out.

On second thought, maybe I'll just read a book the next time the power blanks out. Shadow puppets are too much work. Besides, if I'm going to die in a horrible lightning accident, I'd rather not go out making a horsey with my hands. I'll die with a book in my hands. Something manly. Hemingway or some Ian Fleming.

Old Gloria

I was six years old (almost seven) when Hurricane Gloria hit New England back in September of 1985. I remember what you'd expect a little kid to remember: the noise, being scared, seeing trees cut in half, not really understanding exactly what was going on when the eye of the storm hit and everything was calm; that sort of thing. 

Our power in Massachusetts was knocked out for about two or three days. It was fun at first, then the reality of the situation took hold. My mom grew angry because the food in the freezer went bad. My dad became frustrated and convinced that the electric company ignored small towns like the one where we lived. And I was panicked because of a television show. You see, the series premiere of Steven Spielberg's Amazing Stories was to air that Sunday. And Gloria was going to make me miss it.

Amazing Stories wasn't just any show to me. It was the show, a program my father and I were waiting to watch with baited breath since we had heard of its creation earlier that summer (Needless to say, Indiana Jones and E.T. were rather big in my household).

But big, stupid Gloria had to come and spoil the party.

I remember that Sunday evening almost more than the storm itself. Evening was beginning to roll into town. Still no power. My dad had all but given up hope. We figured, "Hey, they'll rerun the episode sometime around the holidays. We'll catch it." But we were disappointed. Stupid Gloria, I remember thinking. Ruined everything.

And then, right before the program was to start (I can't remember if it was a 7 or 8 o'clock show), boom, the lights flickered on. We were dumbstruck, like we had never experienced electricity in our lives prior to that moment. My father and I scrambled to the television and flipped it on. We turned the rotor box to adjust our antenna. It clicked into place. And there it was. Amazing Stories. The power came back just in time.

It was a miracle! It was an amazing story!

For about five minutes.

The power went back out after the opening credits. The story wasn't so amazing, after all.

We did eventually get power back that night. Of course, by then Amazing Stories was over and I was headed off to bed.

Now, you're probably wondering why I'm writing about this. Well, there's two reasons. First, this Sunday is Father's Day, and thinking back on this story reminds me of some of the fun times I've had with my father over the years. And two, I came across this funny (mostly because of its age) compilation of Connecticut news broadcasts during the peak of Gloria's wrath.

So, to all the fathers out there, enjoy your Sunday. And for all the storm enthusiasts, here's a video for you to watch: 

 

Louis Lunch

One hundred and nine years ago, a man entered Louis Lunch in New Haven and asked for a quick meal. He was served a broiled beef patty on two slices of sandwich bread. And thus the hamburger, according to lore, was born.

Okay, history lesson over. Fast forward to today.

The Professor and I were down in New Haven to shop at Ikea (it was very exciting, but not as exciting as this Pavement fan's recent trip). As we finished the long strange excursion, filling our shopping cart with far more than we ever intended, we realized we had worked up quite an appetite. Though the 50 cent hot dogs and Swedish meatballs were tempting, I just couldn't find a reason to eat a meal in a gigantic box store. So we decided to find Louis Lunch and see not only where the classic American sandwich was born, but what one of these Louis burgers tasted like.

The place is small. Very small. Small in a "I hope you are comfortable eating with strangers" kind of way. And it feels like a dungeon or set piece from an old Roger Corman/Vincent Price production. This isn't meant to be an insult. I actually really liked the dark corners, the strange wooden cubby-hole seats, and the endless graffiti carvings. It is, for lack of better terms, unique and uncompromised.

The folks running the show know the regulars. They're also are Red Sox fans, which is nice. That being said, it was pretty obvious that we were first timers as we bumbled our way inside, bouncing from seat to seat and waiting in the complete wrong area to order.

Thankfully, when we finally were able to get our bearings and bellied up to the counter, ordering was easy. We could get a hamburger or a cheeseburger. That's about all. Then there was the big decision of potato salad or chips. We went with the potato salad, as you can see below:


Now, don't let that paper plate or plastic fork fool you, Louis Lunch serves serious food. The potato salad was tangy and rich and delicious.

After a few minutes, our burgers came up. We got the straight up Louis standard: medium rare with onions, tomato and cheese.



Louis Lunch has a strict condiment rule: no ketchup, no mustard. Being as I'm a heavy mustard-on-burger advocate, I had a slight hesitation taking my first bite. Needless to say, my fears were quickly squashed. The burger was juicy and tasty, so juicy that the bread seemed to be included more for its functional sponging qualities than its flavor.

What was nice about the burger was the fact that it was as close to a "pure" burger you can get. The meat wasn't seasoned; there wasn't any special sauce. It was just a nice hamburger. A hamburger I would expect the hardcore burger fan would love.

We filled up and headed home. And maybe, one hundred and nine years from now, some future blogger will be writing about their experience at Louis Lunch. Something tells me it won't be very different than the one I had today.

"Perfect Burger" update

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about a survey which was being conducted by a local radio station. They were looking for the best burger in the Hartford area and, at the time of my writing, Red Robin was in the lead for the title.

Well, the polls closed last week over at DRC-FM, and I'm happy to say Red Robin did not take the title of "Perfect Burger." That honor went to GoldBurgers in Newington. Can't say I've ever been there, but I'm glad an actual local restaurant won, rather than a chain.

I'd point you to the results page on DRC's website, but they've already moved onto bigger and better things. Those "good time rock n' rollers" are always on the move.

Long weekend tidbits

 • This Sunday will mark the final curtain call for the Park Road Playhouse. In my short time here, I've never been to a performance, but it's sad to see it go. Here's an article detailing the closure.

• Did you hear that there's a zombie movie that only cost $70 to make that premiered at the Cannes Film Festival? It's true. 

• West Hartford's Memorial Day parade will begin at 10AM on Monday. The parade starts at the corner of Woodrow Street and Farmington Avenue and runs all the way to the Town Hall. Attendance is encouraged ...

• Is there a fight brewing between TV pitchmen Billy Mays and Vince "Shamwow/Slap Chop/prostitute biter" Shlomi Offer? According to a report from Pittsburgh's KDKA, Shlomi may have to start watching out for the bearded wonder:

He's still fighting with the bad boy of the infomercials, Vince Shlomi. Just mention "ShamWow!" to Mays and the sparks start flying.

"Sham pow!" said Mays. "What do you think? I'm going to take the high road on this but be careful what you name your product. I had the original product 'Zorbeez.' It laid the foundation. What he did was build the house. Now, I'm moving back in. I'm going to take back what's mine and if you're out there Vince ... 'ShamPow!'... okay?"

• And, finally, speaking of scary things hunting you down, there's the story of Ex-UConn and New England Patriots football player Eric Naponski, who was arrested this week in connection with a murder that occurred in 1994. Naponski is accused of shooting a man six times as part of a life insurance scheme.

His lawyer, one Jeffrey Chartier, is quoted as saying, "I don't know why they made such a big dog-and-pony show out of it," when referring to the arrest. Hmmm, it might have something to do with the six bullets fired into a man's chest. Plus, we're in Connecticut, we need  some action.

Burger lovers unite! We can't let this happen!

I was cruising this morning and listening to the "good time rock n' roll" tunes on 102.9, DRC-FM (have I mentioned how poor the choices are for radio stations here?), when I happened to hear that the station is having a "search of ... the perfect burger" poll. 

Needless to say, my interests were piqued, as I'm always up for a tasty burger.

Turns out, though, as of 8:30 this morning, Red Robin is the leading vote getter. Seriously! Red "according to our website we have over 250 locations in the United States" Robin!

Burger fans, we must unite and take over this poll. We all know that there are plenty of better places to grab a burger in the greater Hartford area than Red "endless basket of fries, hey, look at all this wacky stuff on the wall!" Robin!

Hop on over to the DRC website here and click on the "The Perfect" tab to vote. We cannot let the good listeners of the Big D think we're all zombies to the burger chains, no matter how cool it is to get your picture taken with their mascot at the Park Road parade!

Note: Truth be told, I actually don't hate Red Robin. For a corporate entity of a restaurant chain, the burgers aren't that bad. 

The new(ish) Silas Deane Pawn ad

A while back, I wrote about Connecticut's amazing amount of pawn shops and the massive amount of advertising each business does in an attempt to separate themselves from their competition. Well, one of these shops, Silas Deane Pawn, has a (somewhat) new commercial that I saw for the first time on television the other night. According to their YouTube post, this has been around since December, but since it's new to me, I figured I'd pass it along:

Now, did these guys already have these costumes or were they pawned by Macho Man Randy Savage and Hulk Hogan (he is going through a messy divorce and could probably use the extra cash)?

Urban Oaks Organic Farm plant sale!

The Professor and I were on the hunt for some tomato seedlings for our veggie patch (we're not skilled enough to bother trying to grow them from seeds on our own), but we didn't want to bother with the Home Depots of the world (Home Depot and I just don't mix very well together. I honestly think the store tries to keep me from finding anything and then sends me to the least educated of their employees to try to solve my problems). So, after much web searching, the Prof stumbled across the Urban Oaks Organic Farm's spring plant sale, which just happened to be starting yesterday. 

Oooh, were we lucky!

They had a huge variety of heirloom seedlings, from plums to beefsteak to cherry, and they were only $2 a piece! Add in peppers and herbs and one could walk out with a full garden for under $40.

If anyone out there is looking for seedlings, they should give the folks down at Urban Oaks a visit.

The plant sale is on Fridays and Saturdays until supplies have been exhausted. For more information, visit their website.