<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751</id><updated>2010-03-17T17:41:04.343-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ad Libbing</title><subtitle type='html'>The ramblings and grumblings of author Ad Hudler</subtitle><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/blog.asp'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog'/><author><name>webmaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00790657829496097348</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>340</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-9128496425277184238</id><published>2010-03-17T17:41:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T17:41:04.393-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This blog has moved</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;       This blog is now located at http://adhudler.blogspot.com/.&lt;br /&gt;       You will be automatically redirected in 30 seconds, or you may click &lt;a href='http://adhudler.blogspot.com/'&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       For feed subscribers, please update your feed subscriptions to&lt;br /&gt;       http://adhudler.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-9128496425277184238?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/9128496425277184238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=9128496425277184238&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/9128496425277184238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/9128496425277184238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/this-blog-has-moved.html' title='This blog has moved'/><author><name>webmaster</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00790657829496097348</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09538272445965467992'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-3441407661272998385</id><published>2010-03-17T08:45:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T09:00:40.994-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Fort Myers Moment</title><content type='html'>I'm in the waiting room in the service department at Fort Myers Honda, putting some tires on my daughter's car. I came here at 7:00 a.m. so was thrilled to find a coffee machine in the lobby. Not just any coffee machine, mind you, but one of those fancy gourmet contraptions where you choose your flavor of high-end coffee (in a pouch) and insert it into a machine for a personalized and delicious cuppa Joe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this is Fort Myers, land of vein clinics, denture depots and early-bird specials. And most of the customers around me are men in their sixties or older, and they really HATE this coffee! They're sitting around me, complaining about it. Absolutely grumbling. They are accustomed to a different kind of coffee: institutional, not as strong, more like brown water infused with essence of coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This damned coffee's burned!" says one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another man is reading "Trigonometry For Dummies."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of them are wearing baseball caps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also popular with retired men: New Balance Tennis shoes....and I'm not sure why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are reading newspapers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And watching me text on my phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If only they could get some decent coffee in this place!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-3441407661272998385?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/3441407661272998385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=3441407661272998385&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/3441407661272998385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/3441407661272998385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/fort-myers-moment.html' title='A Fort Myers Moment'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-5287558591128913285</id><published>2010-03-15T10:51:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T11:02:38.707-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Fast-food Adventure: Post #744G4</title><content type='html'>A reinvention gone awry:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have y'all seen the weird new incarnation of the Big Mac?&lt;br /&gt;Here's what they did. They took a Big Mac, everything except the bread, then chopped it all up into little pieces, and then put it in a wrap. I advise against trying it. It's as if someone popped a whole Big Mac into his mouth, decided he didn't like it, then spit it into a flour napkin. Yeegods, that's exactly what it looks like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Methinks McDonalds needs some new innovative spirit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-5287558591128913285?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/5287558591128913285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=5287558591128913285&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/5287558591128913285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/5287558591128913285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/fast-food-adventure-post-744g4.html' title='Fast-food Adventure: Post #744G4'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-6065491716471598072</id><published>2010-03-12T03:19:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-12T03:36:59.837-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Here they come!</title><content type='html'>My Florida-cracker daughter (cracker is what you call a native Floridian) is coming home from Ohio for spring break this weekend, and she brings with her a vanload of fellow college girls dying for sunshine and nicer weather. It's been pretty cold here -- hell, it's been cold everywhere, hasn't it -- but it looks like things are going to warm up nicely for them.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and good friends from Kansas are coming as well. &lt;strong&gt;Total household tally: 8.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They should roll into town late Saturday, so I've got lots to do:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Find that aerobed that I haven't had to use since the last hurricane.&lt;br /&gt;-Complete one HUGE trip to the supermarket. I'll have so many groceries that the checkout clerk will ask, "Is there a hurricane coming?"&lt;br /&gt;-Set up the badminton net.&lt;br /&gt;-Make sure I know where my ear plugs are.&lt;br /&gt;-Sharpen kitchen knives (They'll be busy! Lots of cooking.)&lt;br /&gt;-Reorganize refrigerator to accommodate 4,523 bottles of water and soda&lt;br /&gt;-Hide family photos that my daughter will find embarrassing&lt;br /&gt;-Practicing masking my own eccentricities so I don't embarrass my daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It'll be a lot of work. But I'm looking forward to it. I sure miss that kid of mine. And it'll be nice getting to know her friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-6065491716471598072?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/6065491716471598072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=6065491716471598072&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6065491716471598072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6065491716471598072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/here-they-come.html' title='Here they come!'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-2573795367097516839</id><published>2010-03-10T18:43:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T18:51:33.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mayhem on the patio</title><content type='html'>I recently was cutting down a small tree on my patio, and at one point I put a saw into my pocket and reached down with both hands to pull out an obstinate root. Suddenly, the root snapped loose, and my hand went flying backward with the force of a 3,650-man army, right onto the saw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It sliced into my pinky, all the way down to the bone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the ER to get it fixed, and as the doc sewed me up he asked me what happened. I told him the honest truth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're a writer," he said. "Can't you come up with something better than that? Something sexier? You're going to be laughed out of town. Who puts a saw in his pocket?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay, how's this?" I said. "Some asshole was badtalkin' my woman, and I let him have it, and that little sumbitch bit my finger clear through to the bone ... but not before I knocked out three of his teeth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Much better," he said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-2573795367097516839?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/2573795367097516839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=2573795367097516839&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2573795367097516839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2573795367097516839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/mayhem-on-patio.html' title='Mayhem on the patio'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-7773154472853586708</id><published>2010-03-08T15:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T15:30:15.190-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Chinese secret</title><content type='html'>So I was showing a new friend around my hometown of Fort Myers today, and I learned a new phrase that you're going to love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's white but is married to a Chinese woman, and I noticed he already had the name of the only good Chinese restaurant in town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, it's good," I said, "And it's filled with Chinese, so I know it's good. But let me tell you what: I don't get the same food that they do. Their food always looks better than mine. I mean, I tell them that I want &lt;strong&gt;authentic&lt;/strong&gt; Chinese, the real stuff, but they never listen to me. They give me that same slop that I get at every Chinese takeout in every strip center. And the Chinese eaters in the restaurant? They're served beautiful steaming platters of the stuff that I want."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend said this: "That's because you're &lt;em&gt;Lo Fan.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evidently, Lo Fan means WHITE RICE! It's the pejorative Chinese use to describe white folk. Don't you love that? I compare this to what the black kids called my daughter in her urban grade school: white cracker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just totally loving this new knowledge. Next time I go to a Chinese restaurant I'm going to try saying, "I'm NOT Lo Fan, so please bring me the authentic stuff."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-7773154472853586708?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/7773154472853586708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=7773154472853586708&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7773154472853586708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7773154472853586708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/chinese-secret.html' title='Chinese secret'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-311953917350986207</id><published>2010-03-04T06:50:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-04T07:28:32.297-05:00</updated><title type='text'>HEALTH WARNING TO MY THONG-WEARING FEMALE READERS</title><content type='html'>Okay, this is interesting as heck. Might be the most under-reported medical story of the decade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A very good friend of mine recently got back from her OB-GYN, where she had to be treated for her fifth urinary tract infection in a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, her doc got smart and asked her: Do you wear thong underwear?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The answer was yes, and the doctor said, "Aha!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently thong underwear have created a surge in UTI's! Throughout the course of the day, that stringy bottom goes back and forth down there, like a tug-of-war match, carrying fecal matter and germs directly to ... uh ... to its neighbor. (Trying to be delicate about this.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, my friend's doc's advice: Wear thongs when you're "going out" (I think she meant "hooking up"), but when you're on your own be sure to wear normal panties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this is strange coming from me, a guy, but I know a lot of my readers are women, and I thought this was really good advice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.adhudler.com/blog/uploaded_images/tugofwar-799574.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 150px;" src="http://www.adhudler.com/blog/uploaded_images/tugofwar-799563.bmp" 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/4245574032048287751-311953917350986207?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/311953917350986207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=311953917350986207&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/311953917350986207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/311953917350986207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/health-warning-to-my-thong-wearing.html' title='HEALTH WARNING TO MY THONG-WEARING FEMALE READERS'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-2848511077592367148</id><published>2010-03-03T13:20:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T17:02:20.260-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Is profanity hereditary?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a name="4204333318910105361"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My daughter knew things ... bad things ... long before she should have, and it's my fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of her first spoken words, for example, would get most kids kicked out of pre-school, or at least sent home for the day. My wife had warned me to clean up my mouth around our baby-turning-toddler. "She absorbs everything you're saying," she said. "You need to stop cussing in the car."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, yeah, yeah ... sure, Carol, yeah, thanks a lot for your concern. I'll be sure to note this."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then one day, some idiot pulled out in front of me in the supermarket parking lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You ...!!" I yelled, stopping myself before finishing the sentence with a cuss word. "You! YOU! ... YOU! ... YOU!" (I felt constipated ... unable to finish something I so desperately needed to finish.) "YOU... YOU!! ... YOUUUUUU ..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And at this point my not-yet-2-year-old daughter pulled the binky from her mouth and finished my sentence for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Douche bag!" she yelled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wife, 1. Husband, 0.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-2848511077592367148?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/2848511077592367148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=2848511077592367148&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2848511077592367148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2848511077592367148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/is-profanity-heredity.html' title='Is profanity hereditary?'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-2479599669399267005</id><published>2010-03-02T09:27:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T09:43:33.662-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Is that a birdy in Ad's computer?</title><content type='html'>I told you a few days back that I started tweeting on twitter. It is no secret among authors that blogs are on the way out, and they've been replaced by facebook and twitter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're not my friend on facebook, you really should be. I give great status reports.&lt;br /&gt;And on twitter I'm AdHudler.&lt;br /&gt;Note to people not on facebook: Don't be afraid of it. If I can do it, believe me, YOU can do it. I am a technophobe moron.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, I'm enjoying the Twitter. You can tweet from anywhere on a cell phone, and I have found it to be a nice way to pass the time while standing in line at the grocery store or filling my truck with gas ... except in Florida, where the stupid laws don't allow gas stations to have those catch thingies on the pump trigger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some recent tweets of mine:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Starting to plan the menues for daughter and friends coming back to Florida for spring break. I'm thinking Nachos and cereal"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"cat is in the dog house: all night long, on the bed, then off, lick my face, etc. Note to cat: I am not a pillow."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-2479599669399267005?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/2479599669399267005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=2479599669399267005&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2479599669399267005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2479599669399267005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/03/is-that-birdy-in-ads-computer.html' title='Is that a birdy in Ad&apos;s computer?'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-1564754255551903891</id><published>2010-02-28T13:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T14:00:24.833-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A great weekend</title><content type='html'>Each year the Hoover Public Library in suburban Birmingham, known as one of the best libraries in the country (seriously, only Queens beat them in a recent national comparison), invites a handful of authors to their Southern Voices Conference. This year, I was asked, and I was in fine, fine company:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Billy Collins&lt;/strong&gt;, a poet laureate of the United States. A very funny, very smart man (I think my wife, who accompanied me, has a crush on him.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Marc &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Fitten&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;, who recently published his first novel "Valeria's Last Stand." Right now he's in the middle of a 100-bookstore tour in which he's driving around the country, visiting indie booksellers. Just a super nice guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Masha Hamilton&lt;/strong&gt;, author of, most recently, "31 Hours" and "The Camel Bookmobile." A former world-affairs journalist, she's also organized book drives for the Third World and writing projects for Afghan women. She reminds me of what Eleanor Roosevelt would have been like had she been a novelist/journalist. A woman with a mission and big heart who is great with words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rheta &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Grimsley&lt;/span&gt; Johnson&lt;/strong&gt;, who presented with me on stage. Rheta is a syndicated columnist (Yes, '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;tis&lt;/span&gt; the same Rheta on your newspaper's op-ed page), who talked about her memoir "Poor Man's Provence: Finding Myself in Cajun Louisiana," which I am reading right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Todd Johnson&lt;/strong&gt;. Todd and I share the same agent, the beautiful Wendy Sherman. He is one fascinating dude. He sings and records jingles for a living, and he was a producer of the traveling show of "The Color Purple." His first novel is "The Sweet By and By." Truly, one of the funniest speakers I have ever heard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ridley Pearson&lt;/strong&gt;: The best-selling crime writer, who has a charming wife, gave us insights about the CSI-like research he conducts for his books, and he told us some secrets about Dave Barry, whom he has worked with in co-writing a series of children's books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;River Jordan&lt;/strong&gt;. I have grown to know River more in the past year because she went to Girlfriends' Weekend, and she is very active in the Nashville writer's community (where I am now living, part-time). She has her own radio show in Nash, called River Jordan Radio, on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;WRFN&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Diane &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;McWhorter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. Okay, so while my wife has a crush on Billy Collins I have one on Diane. She won the Pulitzer Prize for her book, "Carry me Home," a personal documentary of the cataclysmic civil rights events that took place in Birmingham in the sixties. Diane and I sat next to each other at the Ruthie Foster concert Saturday night. Both of us had trouble keeping in our chairs. Ruthie ROCKS, y'all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;SHOUTOUT&lt;/span&gt;: None of this could have happened without the incredible staff at the Hoover Public Library. Linda Andrews, Head Cheese, has put together an excellent festival team, headed by Amanda Bonner and Carrie &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Steinmehl&lt;/span&gt;. Their staff made us feel at home. Thanks, everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Readers: Put all these writers in your queue. They are talented and deserve your time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-1564754255551903891?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/1564754255551903891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=1564754255551903891&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/1564754255551903891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/1564754255551903891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/great-weekend.html' title='A great weekend'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-7063637335999047693</id><published>2010-02-25T11:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T11:15:14.377-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Technophobe</title><content type='html'>Yeah, that's me. I was reluctant to start facebook, and even more reluctant to start twittering. But after several readers have badgered me about it, I finally signed up for twitter. My twitter name, appropriately, is AdHudler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like how twitter only gives you 140 characters to say what you need to say: verbal discipline. Maybe it'll make all of us poets in the end, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm off to Macon, Georgia tomorrow where I give the Friday keynote address at the Crossroads Writers Conference. I'm going to read my essay "Tree Bitch," which is forthcoming in the Oxford American. Should be fun because I am staying across the street from the guy you adhudler.com readers will know as papazook. He is a frequent comment contributor to my blog, and, oh gosh, did I fail to mention that HE MAKES THE BEST MARTINI IN THE WORLD!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm comin', Papazook! Get those martini glasses in the freezer!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-7063637335999047693?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/7063637335999047693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=7063637335999047693&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7063637335999047693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7063637335999047693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/technophobe.html' title='Technophobe'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-5785436401968392337</id><published>2010-02-22T07:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T08:01:00.457-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cell phones: Maybe not the anti-Christ after all</title><content type='html'>Readers of this blog are well aware of my feelings about people who talk on cell phones while driving: THEY DESERVE CAT VOMIT FOR DINNER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have to say I saw a good, practical use of cell phones the other day. Two guys got into a fender bender in the Publix parking lot near my house. And instead of calling the cops -- damages were slight -- they used their cell phones to take photos of the damage as well as photos of the license plates!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-5785436401968392337?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/5785436401968392337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=5785436401968392337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/5785436401968392337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/5785436401968392337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/cell-phones-maybe-not-anti-christ-after.html' title='Cell phones: Maybe not the anti-Christ after all'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-7387184623359119624</id><published>2010-02-18T09:03:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T09:16:34.528-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Will this bring me bad karma?</title><content type='html'>I found the perfect place to put my hat when I'm at our downtown condo in Nashville:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.adhudler.com/blog/uploaded_images/IMG_0616-767591.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are calling him Bubba Buddha. And standing beside him? Why that's Miss Kitty, of course!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-7387184623359119624?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/7387184623359119624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=7387184623359119624&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7387184623359119624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7387184623359119624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/will-this-bring-me-bad-karma.html' title='Will this bring me bad karma?'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-1929447017647444553</id><published>2010-02-16T08:25:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-16T08:36:38.917-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Weird newspaper names</title><content type='html'>Since I hail from a four-generation newspaper family, I'm a newspaper junkie, and I love quirky newspaper names. Some of my favorites:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Macon Telegraph&lt;/em&gt;, where my wife got her first publisher job. It's just a solid, old-sounding name, isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Tulsa World&lt;/em&gt;. Cute. Like a little boy wearing his dad's suit, trying to be something he isn't. (And if you've seen a copy of the Tulsa World, you'd know what I mean.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Times-Picayune &lt;/em&gt;New Orleans' historically awful newspaper. You've got to wonder what the hell a Picayune is, don't you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Polk Progress &lt;/em&gt;from Polk, Nebraska. Underneath the name it says "Slower is better" with an illustration of a cute little snail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my favorite, which I discovered during my recent author junket to Girlfriends Weekend, is the newspaper in Jefferson, Texas. It's called ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Jimplecute&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kid you not: The Jimplecute. And then, when you look closer, in little words beneath the title it says this: &lt;em&gt;Join industry, manufacturing, planting, labor, energy, capital (in) unity together everlasting.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take the first letter of each word, and you have Jimplecute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some times you can't use reality in fiction because it's so odd that no one would believe it, and fiction, to be effective, must be believable. I believe Jimplecute falls into this category, don't you?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-1929447017647444553?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/1929447017647444553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=1929447017647444553&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/1929447017647444553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/1929447017647444553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/weird-newspaper-names.html' title='Weird newspaper names'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-6984745338749062217</id><published>2010-02-12T08:14:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T08:36:30.193-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Secrets to maintaining an awesome body like mine</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;When I'm traveling, book-touring or visiting friends, I am always bothered at how hard it is to eat healthy on the road. I am one of those people who never goes a day without my minimum of five fruits and veggies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some of my secrets:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. Hop off the freeway and stop by a supermarket: Buy almonds, peanuts, carrots, apples, grapes and keep them in a cooler.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. At Chili's, the tilapia cooked on a cedar plank with veggies is good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. Nowadays, just about every town of any size has one of those huge Chinese buffets. Not healthy, you say? It is if you're picky. They all have fresh, sauteed green beans and broccoli with chicken. Because it's a buffet, you can pick out all the veggies you want: carrots, baby corn, etc. Trust me, most of the people at these buffets are NOT interested in the veggies. Oh, and though the food at these buffets tends to be bland, be sure to ask them for a bottle of Sriacha ... that hot sauce with the green lid and the rooster on the label. I call it Vietnamese ketchup.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 65px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 100px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.adhudler.com/blog/uploaded_images/hotsauce-795473.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-6984745338749062217?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/6984745338749062217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=6984745338749062217&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6984745338749062217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6984745338749062217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/secrets-to-maintaining-awesome-body.html' title='Secrets to maintaining an awesome body like mine'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-8782456761572064513</id><published>2010-02-10T19:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-10T19:21:36.475-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The smells of Childhood: Chapter 2</title><content type='html'>After my last post I felt compelled to share this one, too ... another heartfelt letter, this one from Gena in Georgia:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Thank you for sending the letter about the Old Spice. Yeah, that brings back memories. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My special scented memory is of "Evening in Paris" in the little oval cobalt blue bottle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was 10 years old--a long, long time ago.  I bought the gift set for my beloved grandmother.  It contained the parfum (not perfume) bottle, larger cobalt bottle of talc (whatever that is), and a round plastic bowl of scented powder with a pink puff - less than $5.00.  It was a very long time ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet, the same/different everlasting scent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandma didn't wear too much perfume, although she loved the powder. &lt;br /&gt;I still have the cobalt bottles of parfum and talc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I plan to dig them out of the keepsake drawer soon.  Just a whiff and I’m there again.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-8782456761572064513?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/8782456761572064513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=8782456761572064513&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/8782456761572064513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/8782456761572064513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/smells-of-childhood-chapter-2.html' title='The smells of Childhood: Chapter 2'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-6790855626176559399</id><published>2010-02-09T07:36:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-09T07:45:40.470-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Spice is Nice</title><content type='html'>A few years ago my dad gave me a bottle of his Old Spice after-shave lotion as a gesture of kindness. It's been sitting beneath my sink, unused. I generally don't like to add smells to anything. I don't care for air fresheners or fabric softener sheets in the dryer. Usually, I think natural smells are the way to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I recently splashed some on after I shaved, and boy oh boy did it send me back to memories of childhood. I posted my thoughts in my facebook status, asking people if they had memories of certain smells associated with their dads, and I got this poignant, beautiful comment from a childhood friend named Julie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"I lost my husband 10 years ago to Lymphoma, and my dad 8 years ago. They both wore Old Spice and I loved it. After Craig died I kept his half used bottle and stored it away. It's moved with me 2 times. I'm listing my house once again, and packed it just the other day. Even after 10 years, it smells wonderful and comforts me. I take it out from time to time, to smell, remember and be held by two of the most wonderful men who have ever touched my life."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-6790855626176559399?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/6790855626176559399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=6790855626176559399&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6790855626176559399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6790855626176559399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/old-spice-is-nice.html' title='Old Spice is Nice'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-4349294991218929940</id><published>2010-02-07T06:32:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-07T06:39:26.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Showdown at the supermarket</title><content type='html'>Ad: Excuse me, ma'am, but you are way over the limit of groceries for the express lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Petulant woman: I am not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ad: I count ... twenty-something items there. Maybe thirty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Petulant woman: I'm in a big hurry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ad: We're all in a big hurry. You're supposed to reserve this lane for times when you just need to run in and run out and get a few items.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Petulant woman: You're a man. You wouldn't understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ad: On the contrary. I'm a stat-at-home dad and trophy husband. I multi-task just like you to survive the day. I understand completely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND SHE IGNORES ME AND STAYS IN THE LANE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I ask you, dear readers: How much is too much in the supermarket express lane?  Should I be allowed to use the express lane if I have 11 items? 20? 16?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-4349294991218929940?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/4349294991218929940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=4349294991218929940&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/4349294991218929940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/4349294991218929940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/showdown-at-supermarket.html' title='Showdown at the supermarket'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-7522193545126855860</id><published>2010-02-05T08:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-05T08:46:15.794-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Imposter on Coconut Drive</title><content type='html'>So I leave town for three weeks, and this is what happens:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.adhudler.com/blog/uploaded_images/Absent_friends_-788227.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Yes, my best friends and neighbors -- we'll call them Betty and Barney because they're very private people -- were so accustomed to me living at their house during happy hour that they made a prop of me, complete with my requisite kerchief, t-shirt, boots and, of course, the Tervis tumbler containing a gin and tonic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record, however, they did get something wrong: I DO wear underwear.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-7522193545126855860?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/7522193545126855860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=7522193545126855860&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7522193545126855860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/7522193545126855860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/imposter-on-coconut-drive.html' title='Imposter on Coconut Drive'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-315757469758308704</id><published>2010-02-03T05:28:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-03T05:48:53.277-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Secret #756TM3</title><content type='html'>I was a quasi gigolo for old ladies in Nebraska at one time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXPLANATION: I went to the University of Nebraska in Lincoln, where my Great Aunt Flo lived. Occasionally, she would invite me over for dinners with her "lady friends," as she called them. Incidentally, it was Aunt Flo who taught me how to use a corkscrew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I always had a blast with these ladies ... and they proceeded to ask me to be their escorts at black-tie functions. I really liked them, so I always said yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RETROACTIVE GUILT: Two of them would buy me gift certificates to Ben Simon's, my favorite men's clothing store. And I would accept the gifts. (Mom, did I ever tell you about this?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't THINK this makes me a whore. I mean, I didn't do the nasty with them ... just drove them to and from the events and escorted them around their cocktail parties. It was a hoot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Years later someone told me this: "They all thought you were gay. Gay guys do this sort of thing all the time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sad ending: My final act of senior-escorting was with Aunt Flo herself; I was a pall bearer at her funeral my junior year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheers to Aunt Flo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-315757469758308704?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/315757469758308704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=315757469758308704&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/315757469758308704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/315757469758308704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/secret-756tm3.html' title='Secret #756TM3'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-2939763483632496493</id><published>2010-02-01T06:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T06:39:30.086-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What I'm reading</title><content type='html'>Just finished a funny memoir by Jenny Gardiner titled, &lt;em&gt;Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who's Determined to Kill Me. &lt;/em&gt;Very funny but also a parable in human tolerance and patience. I read an advance copy; the title publishes in March.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NEXT:&lt;br /&gt;-An advance copy of Kristy Kiernan's newest offering, &lt;em&gt;Between Friends, &lt;/em&gt;which hits bookstores in April. Though she's one of the funniest people I know, Kristy writes books that seriously explore family relationships better, in my opinion, than even Anita Shreeve can do. This girl is a rising star. Watch her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite magazines these days: The Week, The Economist, Entertainment Weekly. I've given up on The New Yorker: yaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnn&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Website I enjoy: TheDailyBeast.com ... the brainchild of Tina Brown, former editor of Vanity Fair and, for awhile, The New Yorker.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-2939763483632496493?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/2939763483632496493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=2939763483632496493&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2939763483632496493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/2939763483632496493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/02/what-im-reading.html' title='What I&apos;m reading'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-8901005144479328276</id><published>2010-01-30T09:44:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-30T09:54:12.765-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wi-Fi on the road</title><content type='html'>I don't know if y'all know this, but McDonalds restaurants nationwide have started offering free Wi-Fi, and this makes traveling much easier. I have always used McDonalds for my bathroom breaks, peeing and dashing without buying any of their nasty food. But now it's a twofer: Bladder relief and facebook fix. You know how all McDonalds are designed in that L shape? You just enter in the side door and walk back to the bathrooms, then settle into a booth and log on, out of sight of the counter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Problem: Some of the more savvy managers are starting to look out for cyber moochers like myself. I was at a McDonalds somewhere in north Texas, checking my email, when a manager looked behind the corner and saw me, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sans&lt;/span&gt; food, typing away. I smiled sheepishly, nodded at him, closed my laptop, and walked up to the counter to order a Big Mac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We appreciate your business," he said to me. "Glad you like the new Wi-Fi."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I'm wondering: Will the Wi-Fi reach the bathroom, where I can go undetected? Maybe I'll just facebook from the toilet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-8901005144479328276?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/8901005144479328276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=8901005144479328276&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/8901005144479328276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/8901005144479328276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/01/wi-fi-on-road.html' title='Wi-Fi on the road'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-8979976581661036267</id><published>2010-01-26T11:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T11:09:19.634-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Scary Moment in the Men's Room</title><content type='html'>This just happened in the Columbus airport: I was standing at the urinal, doing my business, when a man walked up to the urinal next to me and, as he unbuckled his pants, asked, "So, are you excited?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was just about to tell him "no" when I noticed he had a bluetooth headset on his opposite ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crisis averted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-8979976581661036267?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/8979976581661036267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=8979976581661036267&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/8979976581661036267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/8979976581661036267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/01/scary-moment-in-mens-room.html' title='Scary Moment in the Men&apos;s Room'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-6108866400898633087</id><published>2010-01-24T07:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T07:39:48.745-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Oklahoma City Public Works Director ...</title><content type='html'>I recently spent three days in your city, and while I enjoyed the pigeon museum, the western-wear stores and the barbecue I was bothered by a multitude of things that need addressed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Please fix your roads, and pass this message on to your counterpart at the state level. I have never driven on worse roads anywhere. I repeat: ANYWHERE. Dirt roads in Kansas provide a smoother ride than your freeways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Include in your driver's manual something about MERGING. Never have I encountered so many people who choose to run you down rather than move over to an empty spot in the next lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Straighten those telephone poles. They give your city the appearance of having been through a bad fight at the bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. A few sidewalks, perhaps? I was forced to jog in a circle in a Wal-mart parking lot, feeling very much like a greyhound or gerbil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Perhaps some zoning laws? Electrical sub-station next to daycare next to Burger King next to apartment complex?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can find more at my new website: ABetterOklahomaCity.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With deepest regards and sincerity,&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Fussy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-6108866400898633087?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/6108866400898633087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=6108866400898633087&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6108866400898633087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/6108866400898633087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/01/dear-oklahoma-city-public-works.html' title='Dear Oklahoma City Public Works Director ...'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4245574032048287751.post-876083845128099450</id><published>2010-01-22T06:30:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-22T06:45:24.327-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Report from Oklahoma City: Pigeon Capital of the World</title><content type='html'>Now, I can find interesting things just about every place I go, and Oklahoma City is no exception.&lt;br /&gt;After perusing the map, my writer friend and I decided that the World of Wings Pigeon Museum was a definite must-see. Apparently, OKC is the world headquarters and hotbed of homing pigeon activity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drove out to a run-down old mansion on the edge of town and helped ourselves into the building, which didn't hold much more than some pigeon cages and a curious collection of porcelain pigeons. Disappointed, we headed out to snoop around the pigeon coops. That's when Duane, whom I'm calling Crazy Pigeon Guy (related to Crazy Cat Lady), started talking with us and telling us fascinating things about pigeons.&lt;br /&gt;1. They mate for life.&lt;br /&gt;2. Male sits on the eggs during the day while mom takes a break.&lt;br /&gt;3. When pigeons en route to their home encounter fierce headwinds, they fly just a few feet from the ground. (Unfortunately, this means they sometimes smack into semi-trucks on the highways.)&lt;br /&gt;4. Also when flying, they normally use the sun as their navigational aid, but if there are clouds, they fly close to the ground and navigate using the magnetic pulls emanating from the earth.&lt;br /&gt;5. There's a dedicated group of people who race these pigeons. They send the pigeons to a starting point, hundreds of miles away, where someone releases them at the same time. The pigeons have a computer chip on their foot. When they finally return home, they know to land and hop back into their home coop, and a computer notes their arrival. One time the winner won a brand new pickup truck. (For those of you too young to know: pigeons were used extensively to send clandestine messages during World War I. There's even a roster of pigeon war heroes in the museum.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other very cool thing about Oklahoma City is the airport's official name: Will Rogers World Airport. The logo is a drawing of the famous cowboy lassoing the globe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4245574032048287751-876083845128099450?l=www.adhudler.com%2Fblog%2Fblog.asp' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/876083845128099450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4245574032048287751&amp;postID=876083845128099450&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/876083845128099450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4245574032048287751/posts/default/876083845128099450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.adhudler.com/blog/2010/01/report-from-oklahoma-city-pigeon.html' title='Report from Oklahoma City: Pigeon Capital of the World'/><author><name>Ad Hudler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15850465665409397123</uri><email>AdHudler@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='04835966275033663452'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
