Well, I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...

...or rather, you can take the girl outta Tennessee but you can't take the Tennessee outta the girl.

Somehow someone ended up here doing a search for "Redneck translator".

Sorry, I may know a lot of redneck, but I sure as hell don't know how to translate it.

Yay for chocolate!

Although seemingly inconclusive, the Dutch did a study of older men in the Netherlands and reported that eating the equivalent of 1/3 of a candy bar a day reduced blood pressure and risk of death.

The researchers say, however, it's too early to conclude it was chocolate that led to better health. The men who ate more cocoa products could have shared other qualities that made them healthier. Experts also point out that eating too much chocolate can make you fat - a risk for both heart disease and high blood pressure.

Well yes, that CAN be a problem. Even so, it seems that this is the largest study to show a possible link to the health benefits of chocolate consumption while also confirming the results of smaller, short term studies. The data was acquired over a decade on Dutch men who were 65 or older in 1985.

Unfortunately for us ladies, the study only included men, so it is uncertain whether or not the same benefits can be found in women. I'll just have to continue doing my own private studies on that one.

To tolerate or not to tolerate, that is the question...

It is so hard to be tolerant in a world that doesn't favor tolerance. I've admitted, in the past, that I have a low tolerance for anything that attempts to incorporate itself onto me - like proselytizing religions, cigarette smoke, noise, the government, etc., etc. I am tolerant, however, of people of different races and religions living around me, as long as they don't butt into my life.

I think the West has done a relatively good job of accepting Muslims into their world. In Nashville, a whole neighborhood was taken over by Kurdish refugees and Belmont University and the surrounding neighbors did all the could to make them feel welcome, including letting the families play and have picnics on the athletic fields and track. How was Belmont repaid for their hospitality? Trash, trash, and more trash. Ah well, they are from a different culture, they have a different way of doing things. So be it. I guess Belmont got them back by buying out their cheap housing and converting it into student housing. But Belmont was growing. So be it. At any rate, Muslims from all over the world have been able to settle without much ado (until after 9/11 of course), in many Western countries all over the world. Sure, things aren't perfect, racism is rampant (even more so because of 9/11) and some Muslims aren't getting treated very well. By and large, though, they have been allowed to immigrate and make their way into new countries to improve their way of life.

There are a few problems. Some Muslims can't accept the fact that in order to live in the West, they need to behave accordingly. They are free to practice their religion, but they aren't free to beat and kill their women. They aren't free to behave exactly like they would behave in their home country. Why? Because they are in a different country, with different laws. If any of us go to a Muslim country we are expected to respect and adapt to their culture, why can't they adapt to ours? Is it really too much to ask?

As the whole Danish cartoon fiasco continues, it seems now that some Islamic groups want to rally their children. So they sent out children, ages 8 - 12, into the streets of Pakistan, burning coffins draped in Danish, Israeli and U.S. flags (wait a minute, when did the U.S. and Israel become involved in this particular debacle??) and demanding death for those who insulted the prophet. Now it is really hard to convince me now that the major concern amongst Muslims was the cartoons, this example specifically tells me that it is about having a rally cry, and the cartoons just gave them a "legitimate" excuse. I just can't accept anyone, anywhere, using their children to rally for a cause, no matter how good or bad, especially children who really can't have much of an understanding of what they are protesting about.

I take issue with parents who teach their children any sort of racism, because these behaviors surely come by example, they aren't innate in us. And these Muslim leaders are, short and to the point, simply teaching their children racism. They aren't teaching them about their religion, they aren't teaching them to respect their prophet, they aren't teaching them anything, really, except hatred. It is really difficult to see Muslims as victims when their battle cry demands victims of the West. It is amazing that a religion that springs from the same roots as Christianity, and even includes Jesus as a prophet, has so much hate at its core. Hate for hate's sake.

I do hope, someday, that those Muslims who are at heart truer to their religion, and not filled with hate, find leaders who can, in the end supercede and decry these fundamentalist leaders of their chosen faith, in the same way most Christians deplore the preachings of Fred Phelps. These demons among us have the ability to destroy us all, but we have the ability not to let them.

This is spinal tap

On the road to becoming a proper psychiatrist, my husband has had to endure some specializing time in Internal Medicine, which seems like the anything goes field of medicine where most patients end up. Just recently he switched to Neurology, where he will learn how to tell the difference between a patient with true neurological problems and one with true psychological problems. I’ve always resented the field of Neurology and their particular tools of torture, including the lumbar puncture (aka spinal tap) and that goddamn reflex hammer.

I quickly learned how best to deal with the reflex hammer as a child. I was constantly annoyed by the doctor’s insistence on using this thing, and while I had some small understanding of the concept of reflexes, I resented the fact that doctors had free reign to just hit people with a hammer. The result was an uncontrollable urge on my part to exaggerate the resulting kick, which usually ended up square in the physician’s abdomen.

One time, however, I ended up kicking him square in the nuts, but being the age I was, I knew not of nuts or the type of pain men experience when hit there with any force. I knew it was perhaps a hard kick because of the short squeak he made, followed by about five minutes of saying nothing at all. But I didn’t realize I had hit the family jewels, so to speak – I had no regrets, and was, perhaps, just a little bit proud of myself for causing him so much pain. You might think, at this point, that perhaps I was the child of Satan, but in all fairness my parents consisted of a drunken fairy and an obsessive compulsive dwarf. All I know is that doctor kept a relatively safe distance from me when using the hammer after that, and he was impossible to kick. Ah well.

Now I have no doubts that the spinal tap is surely a tool of Beelzebub, a means of marking future minions in his fiery domain. When I was around fourteen, I was admitted to the hospital with a relatively high fever (around 104) and a headache to beat the band. I was crying from the pain of the headache, and coupled with the fever but lacking all the normal cold and flu symptoms, I was a bit worried. The doctor on call ordered a spinal tap, but I argued with him, having recently read an article that said if there was any sort of intercranial pressure, a spinal tap could make the brain stem move and result in brain death. I said I thought a CAT scan was perhaps in order to make sure there was no pressure, and he assented, grudgingly. Hey, Mr. Doctor Von PompousAss, I didn’t want to be the one in one thousand that suffers brain death because of a simple mistake.

The CAT scan showing me free of pressure, I had to face my doom. The lumbar puncture. I tried to think positively, I mean, I loved the movie This is Spinal Tap, and now I could say I had a spinal tap. That was kinda cool, right? Uh, not really, but sometimes you have to grasp at straws. Unfortunately for me, I was at Vanderbilt Hospital, which is a teaching hospital, so my spinal tap would be performed by an intern who had never done one before and supervised by a resident. No real doctor would be in the vicinity. It was the wild frontier, I was the kill.

When Intern Numbnuts and Resident McMoron entered the room, they told me that this would be an extra special treat for them because noone ever gets to “practice” on children. Trying to ignore the usage of the word “practice”, I tried hard to mask my lack of enthusiasm. Special treat for doctors usually means special torture for patients, and even at the young age of fourteen I knew that well. McMoron instructed me to lie on my side while the nurse held my hand (my parents had been summarily dismissed from the room). Imagine my dismay when I heard Numbnuts say “Oh my god! Is THIS the needle you use?!?”. The nurse squeezed my hand and gave me an encouraging smile while I rolled my eyes.

Suddenly, McMoron shouted “Wait!!”.

“What?!” Numbnuts sounded shocked.

“You need to apply some anesthesia”.

“Oh, yea, right”.

After applying the numbing solution, I braced for the needle entry. Pain. Horrifying, terrible pain. I screamed holy hell at the top of my lungs.

“Hmmm, maybe we should use more anesthetic?” McMoron wondered.

“Okey dokey”, replied Numbnuts.

More anesthesia was applied, and I prepared myself again. Pain. So much pain. At that moment, the entire lexicon of crude, rude, and offensive words known to me was released, in very loud volume, and probably taught a few of the kids in the children’s hospital a thing or two. I have no doubts that I referred to one or both doctors with the “C” word.

“MORE anesthetic?” queried Numbnuts, uncertainly.

“Sure” answered McMoron.

I honestly didn’t know if I had it in me to endure this horrible feeling again, but I waited. And of course, it still hurt to high heaven. I screamed again, bereft of words or any feeling beyond the excruciating pain at the base of my spine.

“Ok, let’s…” McMoron stammered. I saw both of them backing towards the door, stuttering something about finding another doctor. I am quite certain I heard the sound of shoes squeaking on the floor outside my door once they exited, as if they were running for their lives. Yeah, you better run, nancyboys.

My parents burst into the room, fear for my young life reflecting in their eyes. I looked at them, managed a smile, and told them that the young doctors needed some help. Shortly, the door swung open, and in walked The Professional, looking slick and sure in his tightly pressed white coat. Numbnuts and McMoron cowered in behind him. With a snap of his fingers, The Professional had the nurse escort my parents out of the room, then had her get me back into position, with one hand squeezing mine and the other holding me into place. The Professional spoke not a word. McMoron started with “shouldn’t we use more anes…” and suddenly stopped. Silence.

“That does it”. The Professional left the room as quickly as he came, Numbnuts and McMoron were left to clean up, shock and awe in their eyes. I felt nothing. Nothing.

As they left, Numbnuts stammered a thank you. Yea, you’re welcome. Jackass.

A couple of years later I had another spinal tap, this time without incident, although it still hurt. I can’t imagine a spinal tap ever not hurting, unless you’d been anesthetized three times and finally had a doctor do it right. Still, it was with some glee that my husband told me that now he is in Neurology he might get to perform a lumbar puncture.

I stared at him coldly, and told him I am not sure I can stay married to a devil who performs spinal taps. It just might be a dealbreaker.

Lesson learned

Apparently, in Greece, you are not supposed to turn on the oven, the washing machine, and the boiler at the same time. Not that I am ever that efficacious in my household duties, it just so happened that today I had them all on at the same time. The electricity went out, and when I heard the elevator moving I realized it was just us.

Replacing the fuse didn't work, except that we now know there is not just one fuse, there is apparently a fuse downstairs where the meters are, unlike anything I have ever heard of before. Apparently, when the electricity is cut off by the power company the fuse downstairs is simply removed, which means that felons can just replace the fuse to get their electricity back. How cool is that?

In the end, I spent a grueling 3 hours without electricity. I almost drove my husband mad. I do not handle the lack of modern conveniences well. Not well at all.

Still, for now I'll limit my housework to ensure that all three devices are never used at once. Ah, such sacrifices!

Discovery Channel...why do you do me like that??

This weekend ALL weekend has been Aviation weekend on the Discovery Channel. My husband is is in imminent danger of suffering aviation overdose, and I am in imminent danger of suffering aviation boredom.

If he starts running through the house pretending to be an airplane and shouting "too low terrain! too low terrain!" I am outta here.

Normally, I'm not the type...

But DAMN, this puppy is so cute I think I've gone into sugar shock.

Red dawn

The weather here has been strange. By strange, I don't mean frogs falling from the heavens or tiny Cupids flying around with their little naked butts blowing wind in everyone's face. It has been moderately warm, but the winds have come. By winds, I mean gale force, ships don't go to sea winds. Having been landlocked for most of my life, I never really experienced winds like this on a very frequent basis - only when a tornado was looming near, and even then, the winds never lasted more than a half hour or so. Yet here in Greece, strong winds like this are quite common, especially from late Autumn to early Spring.

Poor Athena has been covered in a fog of red sand, thanks to the vast desert of Africa. Luckily, Thessaloniki is far enough away that we don't experience these things in such measure. When we lived on Kos it was a reality for us though, and I hated it. That sand was everywhere, coating everything, you could feel it in the air you breathe, in your hair, in your eyes.

The heavy winds began last night, amidst the late night Carnivale revellers, and they haven't ceased all day. Despite the imminent danger of flying debris, I love these strong winds - the city, normally filled with noise, becomes quiet, all but the sombre moaning of the wind. The wind groans, it cries, it roars - a lugubrious song of the denizens of a past time. It is as if all the suffering, all the rage, all the glory of Greece's past can be heard in these gales. What a story there is to tell.

I don't think so!

Rex tagged me for a weird meme, and even though I am an avid fan of Rex, since it involves New Math, ritualistic nude moon dancing, and remembering things I have no memory of, I'm copping out. Not to mention it involves admitting things from my past that are better left unspoken.

Sorry Rex!

Ah, lovely

A group of kids in my neighborhood were apparently given whistles for their Carnivale celebrations this year. I keep forgetting how much noise kids are freely allowed to make this time of year.

The big question is, how much more can I take before I march down to the street and take the whistles and crush them forcibly into a million tiny pieces? Θα δούμε. For now, I am drowning myself in the sounds of Vanderbilt's premiere student radio station, WRVU. God bless the internet.

10 more days to go til the celebrations are over. Tick toc, tick toc...

When Supreme Court judges don't need intelligence

I’ve been mulling over an article I read a few days ago reporting that the Italian Supreme Court has ruled that sex crimes against non-virgins are not as serious. I kept waiting, hoping, I suppose, to see some sort of retraction – an early April Fool’s joke perhaps, and it hasn’t come.

Now I know scores of people have been talking about this, in fact are quite incensed about this, and rightly so. I suppose it is a utopian dream, but I am still waiting for the day when the world acknowledges that any sort of sexual contact with a woman without her permission is never, under any condition, acceptable. I don’t care if a woman is standing before a man naked, asking him to fuck her like an animal – if she says no when he approaches her that should be the end of the story. Yet accused men have had their lawyers, sometimes successfully, argue that “she was asking for it, she was teasing me, it shouldn’t be ok for a woman to do that and not expect me to have sex with her”, and somehow judges and juries in their infinite lack of wisdom seem to respond to such things with a sententious “well then” and suddenly the sex offender is getting off with just a slap on the wrist (no pun intended). While I’ll admit that no, it really isn’t ok for a woman to tease and tease and then say no, that doesn’t serve as justification to have sex with her against her will.

The court ruled in favor of a man in his forties, identified only as Marco T., who forced his 14-year old stepdaughter to have oral sex with him after she refused intercourse.

The man, who has been sentenced to three years and four months in jail, lodged an appeal arguing that the fact that his stepdaughter had had sex with men before should have been taken into consideration during his trial as a mitigating factor.

The supreme court agreed, saying that because of her previous sexual experiences, the victim's "personality, from a sexual point of view, is much more developed than what would be normally expected of a girl of her age".

"It is therefore fair to argue that (the damage for the victim) would be lower" if the abused girl was not a virgin, Italian news agencies quoted the court as saying.

This means the man could now be handed a lighter sentence.

This court’s decision throws Italy back into the Stone Ages as far as women’s rights are concerned. It is hard to believe that a court of law could make a rational decision stating that if a 14-year old girl is more mature sexually than other girls her age, any type of sexual predation is less damaging to her. Excuse me? Being forced to give fellatio (to a stepfather, no less) is less damaging because the girl has had sex before? Is there crack smoking involved in this court’s decision making process? Can they honestly say that a woman who has had a few sexual partners is less damaged by a violent rape than a woman who is a virgin?

I’ll tell you what. I’m assuming that most of these judges have had sex before (although I doubt any woman would have sex with them now). Now, lets say someone (woman or man, doesn’t really make a difference) forcibly shoves something up their asses against their will. Now can they come back to the court and tell us that it isn’t as damaging to them because their wives stick their fingers in their assholes now and then? Think about that for a minute, and tell me it doesn't suck.

Sex is a very personal thing. To think for one minute that “being used to sex” makes a rape less “damaging” takes the thinking ability of someone barely evolved from an ape.

Italy needs to work hard to get some new folks on their court. And god forbid any woman in Italy gets sexually assaulted in the next few years.

Not something you wanna hear when giving birth

Rosario said: "I got scared when the nurses said: 'Oh my God!'.

These nurses were reacting to a 15 lb, 22 inch long baby that was born in Spain recently. For me, had I heard such words I would have immediately assumed some sort of hornage or alien features on my newborn.

I realize I've often said I'd like to give birth to a fully grown child, but I mean it in the manner of Athena springing from Zeus' head, not in the manner of an unusually large watermelon springing forth from a vagina. I'd like to keep it separate from my anus, thankyouverymuch. In my opinion, any woman who has a vaginal birth of an exceptionally large baby deserves sainthood, or at the very least a medal. Yeeshk.

When the doctor is the patient

For three years of marriage I had wondered when this would happen, and finally, it did.

My husband was stricken.

Sure, he has had a cold or two but he never gets so sick he can't take care of himself. But two and a half weeks ago he started having problems with his back, a condition inherited from his father. For two weeks he continued to go to work every day, saying "oh I'll come home early" (he came home early twice) and "I'll be ok". He worked two 24 hour shifts during that time, and every day at the hospital is busy on his feet. "I'm fine", was the mantra of the day. As if someone half bent over with icicles shooting out of his back is actually fine.

Friday he came home after an especially busy day, a little bit worse for wear. At first I thought he was just attempting the famous Michael Jackson "Moonwalk" manuever, turns out he was simply walking. Saturday morning he woke up and had regressed to a more apelike de-evolution, completely hunched over and barely able to move. By Sunday he lay prostrate on the floor, babbling and drooling as if possessed by the soul of a gomer. Things were not looking good.

To his credit, he isn't a very demanding patient. Sure, he has an electric taser that he shoots at me if I am late bringing him his medicine, and lets not forget the little bell that he just WONT STOP RINGING. Seriously though, get him set up in his computer chair with a hot water bottle, a bottle of water and all his medicine and he is set for a few hours. He is about the only person I know with muscle spasms that laughs when it happens. Since he is a doctor, the sadomasochism makes sense.

As of today, he seems to be markedly better, and plans on making a go of attempting to work tomorrow. It is really too bad, because I will miss the opportunity to point and laugh everytime he takes a dive from a back spasm. At least he'll have his fellow physicians for that.

Dubya hasn't made the list...yet

A survey of presidential historians by the University of Louisville has revealed what the historians consider to be the top 10 Presidential blunders of U.S. history. James Buchanan has topped the list, for failing to do more to prevent the Southern states from seceding prior to the Civil War. Obviously, I wasn't around during Buchanan's presidency (perhaps in another life?) but I don't think presidents are magicians. From what I've read of the history of the time period, I seriously doubt any president could have done anything to prevent secession - anything Constitutional, at least. Besides, at this point in time I'm not entirely sure secession would have been a bad thing. I'm just saying.

Clinton's Lewinsky debacle makes number 10 on the list, although I am not sure it deserves a spot at all. It is the kind of thing I consider a personal mistake, not a presidential one. Yea, yea, I've heard it, if he lied about this...he could lie about anything. Hello, kettle?

Andrew Johnson made the number 2 spot for siding with Southern whites after the Civil War and impeding civil rights improvements for Southern blacks. To me, this one should be number 1.

Tricky Dick landed in the number 5 position for his involvement in Watergate. He got off easy on this list.

It is an interesting survey, and comforting to know that presidents of all political persuasions have always been mucking things up.

Forget Freedom Fries, how about Roses of the Prophet Muhammad?

In a scathing political move, bakeries in Iran have changed the name of Danish pastries to "Roses of the Prophet Muhammad" in protest of the cartoons published in a Danish newspaper in September.

It seems that most customers in Iran really couldn't give a damn.

"I just want the sweet pastries. I have nothing to do with the name," shopper Zohreh Masoumi said.

Ah, a voice of reason! Seriously, though, does changing the name really prove anything? The whole "freedom fries" fiasco never really ran its course in the U.S.

Still, I have to say I am a bit annoyed by this. I'll be damned if you can get a danish of any kind here in Greece, yet they seem to be popular in Iran. I think I'll have to protest.

In which I continue to humilate my husband

My husband talks in his sleep. I don’t mean an occasional mmhmm or uhuh, oh no, that would be too simple for our life. Typically, I stay awake reading long after my husband has fallen asleep. Every once in awhile, I am surprised to find him sitting upright, eyes wide open, looking at me, as if he wants to say something.

ME: Are you ok?

HUBBY: Claws too from there

This makes tiny springs erupt from my brain and hit the inside of my skull. I proceed cautiously.

ME: What?!???

HUBBY: It true from now. Ok and then.

He looks at me curiously, desperate to get his message across.

ME: (giggling a bit) Babe, I don’t understand you.

HUBBY: Wiesel fizzle whats

ME: (laughing) OK, I see. Go back to sleep.

At which point he gives me a look of relief, falls again to his pillow and resumes snoring immediately.

Now, while I do indeed find it amusing, I also find it a bit creepy. I have come across these sleep talkers before, and they all act the same, wide awake, as if they have some sort of message to convey. Of course, none of them have any memory of the episode, and nothing they say while sleeptalking makes an iota of sense. I’m certain that even if no one else was around, they would still do the same thing.

Personally, I like to think my dreams make perfect sense, and that if I suddenly awoke in the middle of one and tried to talk about it people would understand me. But perhaps not. What exactly is our brain doing, and why does it make some people wake up, seemingly wide awake, and need to talk? I could get really creative and paranoid and say these people are being mind-controlled by aliens, but since I make sure my husband and our three cats wear their aluminum helmets at all times, I know this isn’t possible. When people sleeptalk, is it actually residue from a dream, or is the dream still going on, and thus the language centers in the brain can’t put coherent sentences together?

All I know is once my husband goes back to sleep, I get a case of the willies. He acts so awake, so sentient, and yet apparently, he was asleep the entire time. I don’t know what it is about the idea of someone being asleep yet interactive in the waking world that creeps me out, but it seems like some sort of line you shouldn’t cross. Like being a zombie, or something. And what happens if you get stuck in the waking world while you are still asleep? Creepy thought, isn’t it?

For now, I’ll have to keep a record of my husband’s nonsensical verbiage, just in case it is a message from beyond. Maybe someday I’ll figure out what exactly wiesel fizzle whats means.

If I had a brain, I would be dangerous

My brother's birthday is on February 14th, and despite the fact that this is a well-known and well advertised holiday, I always forget. It is also the birthday of another good friend of mine, and as per usual, I forgot his as well (obviously, if I forget one I forget the other).

I was pretty bad about birthdays when I lived in the U.S. and it was easy to send cards out in time, here in Greece it is damn near impossible, in fact, I've pretty much given up. Still, I like to send out the email in time, at least. It just never happens.

Too bad my brother doesn't read the blog, or he'd see how bad I feel. Ah well.

Thursday is full of amusing things

Bruce Willis lambasted Oprah for chewing out James Frey on her show. Don't mess with John McClane, woman!

An Indian director wants Paris Hilton to play Mother Teresa? Apparently there is some slutty Mother Teresa I don't know about.

Madonna had a hernia. She should really stop trying to impress people with how agile she is these days. Between her skinny ol' grandma legs, the skimpy leotards (seriously, quit wearing these, we all know you are fit for your age), and the kicking and stretching, she is really creeping a lot of people out.

Why can't the world just let David Hasselhoff fade away?

Countries need to get more original with their flag colors.

Attack of the killer toad.

Teflon might cause cancer? Bah, I'll take cancer over scrubbing pans anyday!

The Incredible Hulk is now a sheriff's deputy. And all was right with the world.

One fifth of Americans are paranoid. Yea, because bitching at your mom over the phone is what the government wants to listen to. We know they especially love the calls where people talk to grandchildren and nieces and nephews. And don't forget the phone sex. The gummint loves the phone sex.

Mama wasn't wrong

South Korea's Consumer Protection Board did a survey to find out which commonly used public item is the biggest source of bacteria. Six items were tested, including shopping cart handles, bus straps, mice at Internet Cafes, doorknobs in public toilets, elevator buttons and straps in the subway.

Not surprisingly, shopping cart handles had the highest amount of bacteria. When I was growing up, my mother was always very strict about our hand washing. Always after going to the bathroom, handling money, and especially after going to the grocery store. I finally came to the conclusion that any time I go out in public I should wash my hands when I get home, because lord knows there will be something I touched that ten bajillion hands have touched. If I actually took the time to think about it, I'd never go out in public.

We are all filthy little creatures, after all. A bacterium's wet dream. I find it rather hard to accept that bacteria and virii are organisms that are just trying to survive in the world, just like you and me. The idea that they mutate and evolve freaks me out a little bit. But I try to be tolerant of these microscopic organisms. You never know if one day they might save us.

A tribute to the Winter Olympics

Every time I get into an Olympics discussion with people (it happens a lot more often than you'd think!) I am always lambasted for liking the winter games best. I get various responses, from "ice skating is gay" to "they don't have real sports at the winter Olympics" to "winter games are so boring".

These have to be people who have never truly watched winter Olympic coverage. My typical response to these people is generally "snow + ice + slippery = fun". After the last few days of watching various things off and on, my husband (formerly one of the naysayers) seems to be a bit more interested. Of course, this year's games have really helped to prove my point, what with all the falling and sliding and cross-country ski pileups.

Last night we were watching downhill skiing, and one guy totally wiped out hard core. Once I realized he was ok, I said to my husband:

"See, right there. That is why the winter Olympics are so fun".

He nodded in agreement.

Snow + ice + slippery = fun. Every damn time. As long as no one really gets hurt, of course.