<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432</id><updated>2012-02-16T05:13:43.749-05:00</updated><title type='text'>World War III</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432.post-5975286468990186973</id><published>2008-04-12T18:05:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T22:35:52.941-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thunderstruck</title><content type='html'>It is that time of year again: Thunder Over Louisville (aka Thundar!) marks the official beginning of the Kentucky Derby Festival and due to a conflict with Passover has been scheduled a week early this year, giving us an extra week of the madness that is Durrbay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year is a chilly one at 50 degrees with the threat of rain as the B1 bombers whiz over Butchertown and rattle my 150 year old house. My cat, B-cup, is not pleased and frankly, neither am I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are a few photos and observations from 2008's offering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEz-k7LawI/AAAAAAAAAE8/e_dfMbte_Qk/s1600-h/IMG_0754.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEz-k7LawI/AAAAAAAAAE8/e_dfMbte_Qk/s320/IMG_0754.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188485395864316674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thundar! offers the local Butchertown entrepreneurs an opportunity to rake in the big bucks. I saw parking from $15 to $35 dollars. This one was my favorite. Look closely at the sign.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEyt07LapI/AAAAAAAAAEE/5jZClHizotE/s1600-h/IMG_0772.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEyt07LapI/AAAAAAAAAEE/5jZClHizotE/s320/IMG_0772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188484008589879954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thundar! always kicks off with an eight hour long air show displaying the might and power of our US military. It's like being in Iraq only it's just for fun. With all those super cool planes flying around, the military sets up miles of recruiting booths. Look at that sweet Hummer. Dreams &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;can&lt;/span&gt; come true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEz2E7LavI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-ZNUoqdlbMY/s1600-h/IMG_0763.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEz2E7LavI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-ZNUoqdlbMY/s320/IMG_0763.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188485249835428594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The "Patriot Chopper" was new this year. Recruiting must be slow so they had to bring in this bad boy. You could even have your photo made in front of it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEzyU7LauI/AAAAAAAAAEs/36tLU46MePM/s1600-h/IMG_0765.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEzyU7LauI/AAAAAAAAAEs/36tLU46MePM/s320/IMG_0765.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188485185410919138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In the midst of the madness, a small and quiet group of folks wandered through the masses with shirts that read "War is no Future." Buzz kill, man - this is Thundar!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEzYU7LatI/AAAAAAAAAEk/K9jNEr6hAIc/s1600-h/IMG_0767.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEzYU7LatI/AAAAAAAAAEk/K9jNEr6hAIc/s320/IMG_0767.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188484738734320338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The tanks were also new. They were crawling with kids who were clearly impressed. Don't they need to use these somewhere else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEzNU7LasI/AAAAAAAAAEc/Aa4Gjlf7W_Y/s1600-h/IMG_0773.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So does all this hubbub really work? I mean who is going to actually sign up to go kill poor people so that rich people can get richer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEzNU7LasI/AAAAAAAAAEc/Aa4Gjlf7W_Y/s1600-h/IMG_0773.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEzNU7LasI/AAAAAAAAAEc/Aa4Gjlf7W_Y/s320/IMG_0773.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188484549755759298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Oh, these people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEy6U7LarI/AAAAAAAAAEU/sEqQxGEvCqM/s1600-h/IMG_0774.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEy6U7LarI/AAAAAAAAAEU/sEqQxGEvCqM/s320/IMG_0774.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188484223338244786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This whimsical soldier puppet has been in attendance in the past but this year he got a tan. Must have been all that middle eastern sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEy6U7LarI/AAAAAAAAAEU/sEqQxGEvCqM/s1600-h/IMG_0774.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEy1k7LaqI/AAAAAAAAAEM/YKKvt4burGY/s1600-h/IMG_0784.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEy1k7LaqI/AAAAAAAAAEM/YKKvt4burGY/s320/IMG_0784.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188484141733866146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not to worry, the spirit of Thundar! is alive and well with these underage thug-lets and their coconut monkey sippers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy the fireworks boys, and god bless america.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121891883546211432-5975286468990186973?l=willwarthree.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/5975286468990186973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121891883546211432&amp;postID=5975286468990186973' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/5975286468990186973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/5975286468990186973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/2008/04/thunderstruck.html' title='Thunderstruck'/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/SAEz-k7LawI/AAAAAAAAAE8/e_dfMbte_Qk/s72-c/IMG_0754.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432.post-4934975124877996441</id><published>2008-03-02T17:11:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T22:35:53.287-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R8smPeG_70I/AAAAAAAAAD0/oqcqWaP3VtY/s1600-h/download.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R8smPeG_70I/AAAAAAAAAD0/oqcqWaP3VtY/s320/download.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173270644187459394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;After what has seemed like an infinite winter, the bright ball in the sky finally peeked through the clouds and gave us an almost 70 degree day. I dusted off the old bike and headed down to waterfront park.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was beginning to believe that myself, my missus and my cat were the only people left alive on earth. It was quite a relief to see so many folks out and about today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's good to be reminded that it will get warm again. Sometimes I forget.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121891883546211432-4934975124877996441?l=willwarthree.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/4934975124877996441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121891883546211432&amp;postID=4934975124877996441' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/4934975124877996441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/4934975124877996441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/2008/03/after-what-has-seemed-like-infinite.html' title=''/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R8smPeG_70I/AAAAAAAAAD0/oqcqWaP3VtY/s72-c/download.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432.post-3487095635184068344</id><published>2008-02-15T14:59:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T15:37:32.705-05:00</updated><title type='text'>MyTeeth.com</title><content type='html'>There are periods in my life when I cannot for the life of me, get out of bed. These past several weeks have been one of those periods. The cold, the early darkness, some inexplicable internal timer I have always puts me down this time of year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not one to remember my dreams but this recent hiding under the covers in various states of alertness in the morning to mid afternoon has allowed me to recall snippets of dreams that dance in my skull as I try to will myself out of bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I dreamt that there was a website called MyTeeth.com. MyTeeth is similar to MySpace but it's all about teeth. Everyone has pictures of their mouth and you can be friends with other people's teeth, leave comments, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I reckon this comes from my recent trip to the dentist where I got my tooth cleaned (they cleaned all of them but I only have one in the front that picks up a coffee stain). This trip resulted in my dentist, Dr. Barber recommending I get a Sonic Care toothbrush. Dr. Barber has been my dentist since I was a child and I was very confused about the difference between a  Dentist and a Barber for many years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I now have a toothbrush that has an instruction manual and is currently being "charged" for its first use.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a little frightened as to how this is going to go down but I will keep my MyTeeth profile up to date with all the latest info.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get the feeling that since the thought of getting up and brushing my teeth with just my regular toothbrush has been too much to stomach lately that this electrified contraption will only add to the stress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. The web page at www.MyTeeth.com is incredibly disappointing. I recommend you do not go there and just assume that it is a real social networking site all about teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.P.S. Upon further investigation, I have discovered that while MyTeeth.com may be disappointing in and of itself, the links it provides are not. I found &lt;a href="http://www.drbukk.com/"&gt;this link&lt;/a&gt; under "Dental Humor."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.drbukk.com/images/odysseus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://www.drbukk.com/images/odysseus.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121891883546211432-3487095635184068344?l=willwarthree.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/3487095635184068344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121891883546211432&amp;postID=3487095635184068344' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/3487095635184068344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/3487095635184068344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/2008/02/myteethcom.html' title='MyTeeth.com'/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432.post-3032854283484400211</id><published>2008-01-05T18:45:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-05T19:01:37.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You Can't Handle the Truth</title><content type='html'>Here is my acting resume' - all of which is true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2nd Grade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul Bunyan in the Saint Agnes Production of "Paul Bunyan and Babe The Blue Ox"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I remember is wearing boots that were too big and eating popcorn on stage. I have no idea why Paul Bunyan eats popcorn but he does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;8th Grade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Captain Von Trapp in the Saint Agnes Production of "The Sound of Music"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I landed this role during a period of my development known as puberty where my voice was changing. My solo performance of "Edelwiess" was absolutely humiliating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Freshman Year&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leader of the Socs Gang in the Saint Xavier Production of "The Outsiders"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My stage-combat training from YPAS landed me the job of orchestrating the rumble scene. Stay gold pony boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sophomore Year&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge Randolph in the Saint Xavier Production of  "A Few Good Men"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you handle the truth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Junior Year&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Private Boone in the Saint Xavier Production of  "M.A.S.H."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My role was the comic relief. Every time I entered or exited the stage I tripped on my unlaced boots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi-larious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Senior Year&lt;/span&gt; - I lost my thespian ambitions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Currently not acting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121891883546211432-3032854283484400211?l=willwarthree.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/3032854283484400211/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121891883546211432&amp;postID=3032854283484400211' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/3032854283484400211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/3032854283484400211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/2008/01/you-cant-handle-truth.html' title='You Can&apos;t Handle the Truth'/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432.post-6155724221662606985</id><published>2007-12-30T13:17:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T22:35:54.755-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Living the Flea</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhRBLeWaI/AAAAAAAAAC0/WNxb92Dv8uw/s1600-h/IMG_0471.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhRBLeWaI/AAAAAAAAAC0/WNxb92Dv8uw/s320/IMG_0471.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149832381412039074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Year's weekend: a time for reflection, a time for renewal, a time for New Year's Eve plans that always disappoint. It is also time for what was voted "One of America's Top 10 Flea Markets" at the Kentucky Fair and Expo Center. There is a flea market held here every month but only twice a year to they open the coveted &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;second wing&lt;/span&gt;. The one with the good stuff. Unique items and weird shit that doesn't show up at the rest. Those choice items that have escaped the insatiable vacuum cleaner that is eBay that has all but killed the thrill of the hunt at flea markets across this land. There are still some folks out there that don't own a computer and never will and god bless them (every one).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit A: The ALF Phone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhXxLeWbI/AAAAAAAAAC8/jWd9leIaYm4/s1600-h/IMG_0472.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhXxLeWbI/AAAAAAAAAC8/jWd9leIaYm4/s320/IMG_0472.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149832497376156082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhXxLeWbI/AAAAAAAAAC8/jWd9leIaYm4/s1600-h/IMG_0472.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This item I coveted greatly. Something about talking through that cat lovin' creature from outer space was really doing it for me. I still couldn't bring myself to pay $45 (haggled down from $48) for the privilege.  I asked if I could take a picture and held up my iPhone and made the statement: "Before the iPhone, there was the ALF Phone." The old man looked up at me with a note of sympathy as if I was special and said "Is that so?" He had no earthly idea what I was blathering about. That is precisely why this ALF Phone will remain in the realm of the flea market and not end up on eBay. This is also the reason why they will never get $45 for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit B: Box of axe handles - $2 each or 3 for $5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhvhLeWgI/AAAAAAAAADk/mycI8uopmbY/s1600-h/IMG_0479.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhvhLeWgI/AAAAAAAAADk/mycI8uopmbY/s320/IMG_0479.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149832905398049282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhvhLeWgI/AAAAAAAAADk/mycI8uopmbY/s1600-h/IMG_0479.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The box of axe handles is a good example of the abundance of peculiar but sad crap that now dominates America's flea markets thanks to eBay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was tempted by many things and even succumbed to two fantastic Micheal Jackson dolls (one from &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thriller&lt;/span&gt; and the other from &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Beat It&lt;/span&gt;) which are both on display/sale at &lt;a href="http://whylouisville.com/"&gt;WHY Louisville&lt;/a&gt; (complete with sparkly glove and matching sparkly socks).  The Mr. T talking doll from 1983 was talking at me pretty loud but I had the strength to look T in the eye, proclaim "enough of your jibba jabba" and walk away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhjBLeWdI/AAAAAAAAADM/Wj6S12RFF04/s1600-h/IMG_0475.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhjBLeWdI/AAAAAAAAADM/Wj6S12RFF04/s320/IMG_0475.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149832690649684434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhjBLeWdI/AAAAAAAAADM/Wj6S12RFF04/s1600-h/IMG_0475.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While advances in modern technology have greatly reduced the number of original items available at the flea market, the entrepreneurial spirit of these people is alive and well. These people are living the fucking dream. They are doing whatever they can to be their own boss. Clinging to any racket that will keep them out of the cubicle or off the factory belt. I got all choked up as I looked around and saw each vendor proudly hovering around their booth with whatever less-than-choice domain name they had recently registered to promote their business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit C: Mike - He paints crystal nail files (by hand)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhnBLeWeI/AAAAAAAAADU/AHNPmEhbKdY/s1600-h/IMG_0477.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhnBLeWeI/AAAAAAAAADU/AHNPmEhbKdY/s320/IMG_0477.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149832759369161186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhnBLeWeI/AAAAAAAAADU/AHNPmEhbKdY/s1600-h/IMG_0477.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was particularly struck by Mike. When I asked if I could take his picture, he was thrilled to pose behind his sign which I can safely assume he hand painted as well. It was as if he had been waiting for someone to recognize his accomplishments and by someone wanting to take his picture that day was finally here. I wish I was with TIME Magazine for Mike's sake but sadly it's just a picture from my phone that is being posted on one of the bejillion blogs out there and may be read by as many as three people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit D: Beanie Baby Lady&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhdxLeWcI/AAAAAAAAADE/kJ5dQme-o5Y/s1600-h/IMG_0474.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhdxLeWcI/AAAAAAAAADE/kJ5dQme-o5Y/s320/IMG_0474.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149832600455371202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhdxLeWcI/AAAAAAAAADE/kJ5dQme-o5Y/s1600-h/IMG_0474.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was gathering the courage to ask folks if I could take their picture I said to this lady something idiotic like "that's a lot of beanie babies." She looked at me (again like I was probably "touched") and said "yeah I sure wish someone would buy one!" Ouch. I remember the Beanie Baby craze. People were buying and trading them like they were stocks on Wall Street and then like most markets the bottom fell out. I don't know if this is Beanie Baby Lady's primary form of income but I firmly believe that she wishes it could be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is an air of desperation in the eyes of these vendors but they are still out there trying to make it happen. Whether they succeed or fail, the fact that they are going for it is what I respect. I can easily see myself in this world one day. Lord knows I've collected my share of junk over the years that I will one day need to unload. If I can pay for my booth rental and have enough left over too treat me and my peeps to a Tidy Taco, it will have been a success.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhzRLeWhI/AAAAAAAAADs/6Coxs9NhTmA/s1600-h/IMG_0480.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhzRLeWhI/AAAAAAAAADs/6Coxs9NhTmA/s320/IMG_0480.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149832969822558738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121891883546211432-6155724221662606985?l=willwarthree.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/6155724221662606985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121891883546211432&amp;postID=6155724221662606985' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/6155724221662606985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/6155724221662606985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/2007/12/living-flea.html' title='Living the Flea'/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R3fhRBLeWaI/AAAAAAAAAC0/WNxb92Dv8uw/s72-c/IMG_0471.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432.post-9043625834403790759</id><published>2007-12-13T16:24:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T22:35:55.797-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Signs</title><content type='html'>Somewhere in the bowels of Butchertown, beyond the stench, lies a magical place. A place where signs go to die. This is the sign graveyard's most recent offering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GjMJpjurI/AAAAAAAAABs/qDopEOOiaSI/s1600-h/shoneys.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GjMJpjurI/AAAAAAAAABs/qDopEOOiaSI/s320/shoneys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143571678577801906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Shoney's Sign!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GmHZpjutI/AAAAAAAAAB8/JV6dITeE17E/s1600-h/IMG_0386.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GmHZpjutI/AAAAAAAAAB8/JV6dITeE17E/s320/IMG_0386.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143574895508306642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;On a recent turkey-day-trip to wild and wonderful West Virginia, I learned that Charleston, WV is the birthplace of Shoneys. In fact, I had the pleasure of dining at this establishment which was literally wedged between a Long John Silvers and a Captain Ds! There's an apparent high demand for hush puppies in the area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The "family style" buffet was quite a bounty and I did my best not to look too close. I was on the verge of a major gross out for the duration of my visit but my strong sense of denial was once again serving me well and I wolfed down my mashed taters and veggie soup with oyster crackers without a hitch. I snapped this photo of a shrine of sorts behind the buffet. I assume this was the founder or at the very least a highly esteemed customer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Smith's Furniture, that's who!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GoWJpjuvI/AAAAAAAAACM/o6TLHSmeDK4/s1600-h/owl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GoWJpjuvI/AAAAAAAAACM/o6TLHSmeDK4/s320/owl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143577347934632690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There were several Smith's Furniture signs and I didn't get a picture of the best one. It was the old one with a graduation cap on the owl. I wanted desperately to take it home but my annoyingly  strong conscience prevented  me from walking away with it. Not to mention it was too heavy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GpCppjuwI/AAAAAAAAACU/Rt0zBg1qAsk/s1600-h/ky.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GpCppjuwI/AAAAAAAAACU/Rt0zBg1qAsk/s320/ky.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143578112438811394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This sign was from the Kentucky Theater which is now a Cricket cell phone store (barf). One of the ways I know Cricket is evil is that homeless people were wearing their t-shirts everywhere when they first came to town. Coincidence? I think not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GqoppjuxI/AAAAAAAAACc/bWVhCHnWVfs/s1600-h/tweed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GqoppjuxI/AAAAAAAAACc/bWVhCHnWVfs/s320/tweed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143579864785468178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last but not least is the Tumbleweed sign. I can't go there anymore with their American flag neckerchiefs they force those poor waiters to wear and the mediocre Tex-Mex cuisine but I remember a time when Tumbleweed didn't suck. Before they went public, when I was just a young confused lad in love with Tumbleweed's salsa. I LOVED that salsa. I would literally eat 8 to 10 bowls of it in one sitting (fer real - you can ask my dad!) The old Tumbleweed on Melwood used to have this taxidermied coyote that was all old and dusty with cobwebs all over it. Someone had placed a tortilla chip in it's forever gaping mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss that thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121891883546211432-9043625834403790759?l=willwarthree.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/9043625834403790759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121891883546211432&amp;postID=9043625834403790759' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/9043625834403790759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/9043625834403790759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/2007/12/good-signs.html' title='Good Signs'/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R2GjMJpjurI/AAAAAAAAABs/qDopEOOiaSI/s72-c/shoneys.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3121891883546211432.post-2201612486425611886</id><published>2007-12-06T16:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T22:35:57.089-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good people in bad Santa suits</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R11m4hB8iGI/AAAAAAAAABU/TYuJyKj0zeI/s1600-h/IMG_4302.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R11m4hB8iGI/AAAAAAAAABU/TYuJyKj0zeI/s320/IMG_4302.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142379470652213346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1x2nBB8iFI/AAAAAAAAABM/8Wt4S-bsI8c/s1600-h/santamanger.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1x2nBB8iFI/AAAAAAAAABM/8Wt4S-bsI8c/s320/santamanger.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142115287213836370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past weekend marked the re-emergence of the &lt;a href="http://myspace.com/santabrigade"&gt;Santa Brigade&lt;/a&gt;, an all volunteer army of folks who are willing to act a fool just for the fun of it. It all started last year when I got a line on some cheap Santa suits down in Cave City, Kentucky - which I commonly refer to as the most magical place on earth. When presented with the opportunity to acquire 20+ cheaply made Santa suits at such a bargain, I jumped at the chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through the miracle of Myspace the Santas were gathered for the initial coming out Santabration and invaded the &lt;a href="http://www.mymorningjacket.com/"&gt;My Morning Jacket&lt;/a&gt;/&lt;a href="http://www.waxfang.com/"&gt;Wax Fang&lt;/a&gt; show in Louisville on Thanksgiving eve in the year 2006. There was no agenda so we just ran around like a bunch of nuts engaging in random acts of entertainment such as breakdancing (poorly), doing the wave and "ho-ho-ing" until our voices were gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R11nABB8iHI/AAAAAAAAABc/MUxSj0O6F3k/s1600-h/IMG_4291.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R11nABB8iHI/AAAAAAAAABc/MUxSj0O6F3k/s320/IMG_4291.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142379599501232242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past weekend was a more humble offering of the Santa Brigade with a mere six Santas which can probably be attributed to no offering of free booze or free admission to see what the magazine's are calling "The best live band in America." We met in front of &lt;a href="http://www.whylouisville.com/"&gt;WHY Louisville&lt;/a&gt; and put on our bad Santa suits which almost everyone still had from last year. This is noteworthy because these suits are made of very fragile and highly flammable fabric. You certainly don't want to be near an open flame in these things. Each Santa suit consists of the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1hrGxB8iCI/AAAAAAAAAA4/averQG9SqLw/s1600-h/santabox.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1hrGxB8iCI/AAAAAAAAAA4/averQG9SqLw/s320/santabox.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140976738628306978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;- Hat&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;- Jacket&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;- Beard&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;- Belt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;- Trousers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were handed our hymnals as prepared by Santa #2. Our mission was to sing carols (not of the holiday variety mind you) up and down the street during the annual neighborhood shopping extravaganza known as Bardstown Road Aglow. Armed with only our hymnals and a tuning pipe from Santa #4/F1 (F=Female), we hit the streets. We had no rehearsal and no idea what key each of our songs were in so we always started with the key of "C" which I have been told by a professional opera singer is "the people's key."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our song list consisted of the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Rock Me Amadeus" in the style of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Falco&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Kokomo" in the style of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Beach Boys&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ghostbusters" in the style of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ray Parker Jr.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Friends in Low Places" in the style of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Garth Brooks and/or Chris Gaines&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Rawhide" in the style of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Blues Brothers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you Wanna Be My Lover" in the style of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Spice Girls&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Convoy" in the style of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;C.W. McCall&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made about 15 stops and picked one or two songs for each. We were met with varied degrees of enthusiasm, apathy and/or fear. Highlight performances included the Spice Girls collaboration with the bucket drummer in front of Ramsi's Cafe and the breakthrough rendition of "Rawhide" when we figured out how to split up the final verse alternating between "Head 'em up" and "Ride 'em out" in front of Day's Coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R11nlxB8iII/AAAAAAAAABk/MbANSeOpTco/s1600-h/IMG_0397.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R11nlxB8iII/AAAAAAAAABk/MbANSeOpTco/s320/IMG_0397.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142380248041293954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Words can't express the fondness I have for the folks in the Santa Brigade last week. They are good people and I can't think of a better group to run around in bad Santa suits with.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3121891883546211432-2201612486425611886?l=willwarthree.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/feeds/2201612486425611886/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3121891883546211432&amp;postID=2201612486425611886' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/2201612486425611886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3121891883546211432/posts/default/2201612486425611886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://willwarthree.blogspot.com/2007/12/good-people-in-bad-santa-suits.html' title='Good people in bad Santa suits'/><author><name>WAR III</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12780075663555370198</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R1nNwhB8iEI/AAAAAAAAABE/BqCuHuf5nEw/S220/IMG_0427.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ydgZUpCt_4k/R11m4hB8iGI/AAAAAAAAABU/TYuJyKj0zeI/s72-c/IMG_4302.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
