If you haven't checked out this cooking/recipe blog, I HIGHLY recommend it. The boys especially :)

Seriously folks. Takes five minutes of your time to read one post and the chuckle you get out of it will no doubt be rewarding. It's a comic recipe cooking blog! It's like Calvin and Hobbs meets food with a side of comedic ninja! What else were you going to do with those five minutes that will make you giggle and put some perspective on the snobbish assholes that we share the world with?! If your answer is: Come up with a witty snap-crack joke and make myself laugh - then write that down and share it with the world. Some of us aren't that funny on our own time ;)

Excerpt: As the recipe makes its rounds on the internet I get sporadic influxes of comments and emails etc. and I’ve gotten so much flack for that syrup that I figured I’d go ahead and put this out there:  I don’t care what kind of syrup you use.  I don’t care if you use syrup at all.  Whether you want to slather your pancakes with honey mustard or tap the finest, mapleiest syrup straight out of a tree, I don’t care.  As long you think it tastes good, that’s all that matters.  And I happen to like “fake” syrup (and its price tag).  It’s what I grew up with.  So why do you care?  I get that you don’t like it and that’s fine.  But, I’ve never said that anyone has to use exactly the same brand of ingredients that I do.  That would be ridiculous.  It never once mentions “Log Cabin” in text anywhere on the recipe.  It’s just in that one picture because it’s what I personally used.  I’m not trying to sell it.  So when someone writes “God, I can’t believe he used Log Cabin.  FAIL”  it comes off, to me, like a desperate grab for some false sense of superiority.  Like, “haha look how dumb and uninformed that guy is compared to me and my real syrup.”  Come on.  Syrup?  Really?  That’s going to be your measuring stick for the character of a person?  The only thing pettier than that is a singer named Tom.

it's not just needles. it's heaven.

Today is my sixth day of acupuncture in Portland and coupled with physical therapies once a week, I feel better in my life than ever before. Maybe since i was 13. This street takes me to the calming place where I have 30-50 needles poked into my backside (some quite literally my BACKSIDE) and I’m left to feel the muscles pulse, shake, twist and quiver for forty minutes. The instrumental music, soft lighting and calming water are offensive at first because all I want to do is yak - the muscles are causing internal organs I never knew I had to churn in discomfort but soon to transform via pure utter liquid conformity to how the human body should be. After my palms are dotted with perspiration and I’ve breathed deep enough to fill a blimp, she leaves me on the heated bed and will be back in fifteen minutes to check in. THIS my friends, is where it gets GOOD. At first you can’t get yourself to calm down despite having the lights off and a fleece blanket spread over you, well, as much of you as it can with needles going down both sides of your spine and in the toosh. But bit by bit those inner muscles that were doing a dance begin to MELT. Just slowly fizzle to deflated crack balloons that now feel like a combination of literally soft butter, a baby’s bottom and a lambs coat. Commence drool. One time the release hit so hard I found myself crying a small pond on the floor below me. Today more than three hours later I still have the rings on my face from the head holder. The forty minutes feel like forever at first but you find yourself somewhere it seems no one can reach you and you’ve forgotten time exists altogether. And this is coming from someone who’s brain DOES NOT STOP. I even wake in the morning with a song already playing in my head but during this appointment when I’m not distracted by the spontaneous pokes and jibes as muscles progress toward letting go, it all stops and I get one step closer to knowing what it feels like to stand or sit without experiencing any pain. Oh to be free.