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" But frankly, the Atora looks less like a pudding to me, and more like the Horta from the TOS episode Devil in the Dark. What can we say about Annti that hasn't been said over the past 13 years?
I realize it's a nerdy comparison to draw, but Chris will get it. Not only is K a delightfully smart and snarky commenter, she's also one of the nicest people I've ever had the privilege to know, kind to cats and people, and an all around good soul. Who didn't grow up gorging on that every Sunday morning after church? In fact, I believe it was she who inspired the whole birthday party tradition at Wo'C (certainly it was her nic that "inspired" [if that's the word I want and I'm pretty sure it's not] Sheri to celebrate each natal anniversary with an increasingly scary photo of Ann Coulter; probably because Annti's birthdate is hard by Halloween).
And if I am as honest with myself as I strive -- however imperfectly -- to be, I must further acknowledge that I'm not likely to enjoy the results of any of that, so I should just gorge myself on Zebra Cakes and Meister Braü instead. He's a font of Hollywood trivia -- both the locus and the metonym -- and a rich source of fiber and anecdotes about Catalina Island, baseball, Dutch rock bands, print-making, and many other fields of dark and mysterious magic.
Indeed, it has been suggested that EE specifically modulates hippocampal neurogenic cell populations over the course of time.
Here we have used dual-birthdating to study two subpopulations of newborn neuron in mice (Mus musculus): those born at the beginning and at the end of enrichment.
Crap, I better post something before this blog turns into Brigadoon.
First, a seriously belated thanks to Sheri for the lovely birthday post, with its glimpse into the dark mind of Jimmy and his psycho-sexual fixation on MOR, the meat so thrifty it won't even spring for an "E".
My only excuse is that I'm in a lot of pain, and while that's nothing new, my reaction to it is.
In the past, I've been able to slog through most of these episodes with a sparing use of painkillers, a liberal application of corticosteroids, and a daily refrain of "This too shall pass." But this time -- maybe because I'm getting older and my bony infrastructure isn't bouncing back as fast as it once did -- the bum disc was accompanied by depression, exhaustion, and a pervading sense of What's The Point?
I almost feel bad, knowing what's coming out of the kitchen for her... Add drained, flaked tuna, and you've got a dish that'll throw a birthday party on your tongue. Annti is a rara avis, unfailingly empathetic and generous on the one hand, fluent in fifty different dialects of paint-stripping profanity on the other.
There's a famous soul food joint in Hollywood called Roscoe's House of Chicken 'n Waffles, which I'm ashamed to say I've never gone to, because whenever I've walked by there's always a huge line (also why I've never had a frankfurter from local institution Pink's Hot Dogs) and because Chicken and Waffles has never struck me as a particularly harmonious pairing. The kind of person you only meet once in a lifetime, if that, and one who deserves a tasty and decadent treat in honor of this, the anniversary of the day when she slid through the proscenium arch that is the cervix and began to strut and fret her hour upon the stage.
But since she's going through some particularly hard times at the moment, I think I'll spare her the gorge-hoisting fare and just make do with a Florida Green Anole, because we've gotta have at least one... BDH is Wo'C Chief Medical Officer, and as such keeps things bustling at the House of Pain.
And finally, we come to the last but not least of the missed birthdays, not least because I missed it first: October 4: Dr. So who, I ask you, would be better equipped to whip up an antidote to this: A Thaw and Serve Salad!
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