Dearest Timmy,

Your mother and I have done all we could, but we now fear that we have been taking the wrong direction in getting you treatment for your cancer. It has been 7 years now, and still our chain emails haven’t been sent to enough people.

I want you to know that we have never given up. Many tired nights, your mother and I have spent in the den- your mother cutting out greeting card messages about friendship or charity, and myself at the computer looking for people who just got email accounts. But sadly, son, something must have gone wrong.

Perhaps it was competition from that Bill Gates fellow; it’s hard to beat free money from Microsoft. It could have been those kidney stealing emails, too; people tend to be rather protective of their kidneys. Whatever it was, Timmy, we are sorry that we have failed you.

I hope that this letter reaches you in your hospital in Texas. We only wanted the best for you son. I now realize that our efforts may have been better spent on getting you medical treatment, but hindsight is always 20/20.

We love you and hope you understand. If you would like, feel free to forward this to 10 people, for old time’s sake.

Love,

Mother and Father.

Dudes, looking for a quick & easy shortcut to looking like a total fruit? Go see Finding Neverland. Serious. I cried all my mascara off. All of it. Like I told Shugs, it’s not that it’s the best movie you’ve ever seen, it’s just that it finds a way to touch the boy inside you. That’s horrible- I know.

Not many of us can point to the exact moment we grew up. That’s reserved for special people lucky enough to experience horrible trauma. But most of us can recall a time or two we were confronted with the death of our inner child. The first time you cought yourself telling kids to stop enjoying themselves. The fist time you heard yourself saying, “what is that crap the kids listen to these days,” or perhaps the first time you killed a cuddly little animal just for sport.

Finding Neverland is about a misunderstood celebrity and artistic genius whose longing to reconnect to his lost childhood leads him to spend abnormal amounts of time with little boys, and have trouble relating to most adults. Some amount of scandal ensues. And Michael Jackson always thinks he’s soooo ahead of his time. Silly.

Anyway, go see the movie. I’m gonna go head to the bath with a bunch of candles and a trashy novel. Hellooooo! *snaps overhead in an exaggerated arch*

ED: When you were paying, this guy in a grey sweater was totally checking you out

HEIDI: No.

ED: Totally. He looked you up & down several times.

HEIDI: I hate that.

ED: He seemed rather fixated on your butt. At one point he mouthed the words, “oh yeah.”

HEIDI: Holy crap. That’s sick.

ED: Yeah.

HEIDI: Well what did you do?

ED: Kept staring.

HEIDI: Oh hun.

I have so much tryptophan in me right now I feel like I’m going to collapse outside the Viper room.

Come now. Don’t we all agree turkeys got screwed royally with the whole tryptophan deal. Other animals get claws, fangs, even the occasional stink spray- but turkeys evolved with a tranquilizer in their blood? Not fair. Plus they taste great.

Some predator is barreling down on a gaggle of turkeys, how sad is it that the best some brave turkey can do is take a step forward, stick his chest out and tell the group to run along- he’ll handle this. The wolf takes him down, starts tearing into him and he’s all, “Oh yeah- jokes on him. He’s gonna be sooooooo tired soon.”

Oh well. I’m grateful for sure. Heidi made this turkey that’s so good you’ll name your firstborn after me for sharing the recipe with you. We hung out with great friends and family, drank some good discount priced wine suggested by this guy, and ate far better than I deserve to. You’ll find the recipe for the turkey in the extended entry. By the by, it requires spruce- which I had to procure after dark behind a couple local businesses. Enjoy.
(more…)

You’ve seen those bracelets, right? The yellow ones that EVERYone is wearing? I’m sure you have. They say “What Would Lance Armstrong Do” or something.

This morning in the breakroom, as everyone was pouring their coffee, etc…

KAM: Hey Brett, what is with that yellow bracelet?

BRETT: Oh this? (starts explaining)

ME: (piping up from my office) You’re such a poser, Brett. You don’t even have cancer!

Some times I make myself so proud.

On second thought, maybe you might not want all that mess. Anyway, the point here is I once thought that the Turducken (chicken shoved in a duck shoved in a turkey) was the highest peak that food could ever aspire to. Then, gentle readers, I came across a greater dish…

The 1832 diaries of John B. Grimball refer to a Charleston preserve of fowl: a dove stuffed into a quail, a quail into a guinea hen, a hen into a duck, a duck into a capon, a capon into a goose, and the goose into a peacock or a turkey. The whole thing was then roasted … It makes Turducken seem like the lazy way out (link).

But they all are ecplipsed by one meal. The one dish to rule them all, and in the gravy bind them. And this dish goes by the simple moniker,

…Whole Stuffed Camel.

Oh hell yes. 60 eggs, 12 kilos rice, 110 gallons of water, all kinds of crap… and then salt to taste. Top that. AND, I believe it’s an option on the South Beach Diet.

Thanks Joz. All you guys tell her happy birthday.

Jerz and I headed over to Berkeley on Friday nite to see Dane Cook. If you know who he is than right now you are probably feeling a little jealous and inadequate. That’s natural. Seeing him perform makes me better than you. If you don’t know who he is, then don’t worry. Life just got better. Go pick up his DVD and ruin your couch in a piss-drenched laugh-fest.

I’m not gay, but I am in love with the guy.

So if you ever travel to Berkeley, use a helicopter or parachute in. You. Will. Not. Find. Parking. Anywhere. I got pretty nervous thinking that we’d miss part of the show, since you have to wait for someone to die or carjack someone for a parking space. Finally we made it. It’s a good thing I got my tickets online- and paid to be up front, right? right??!?

Here is where I would spend several paragraphs ranting and raving about how the awesome 5th row seats I bought didn’t exist, and how after sitting through the opening act we got booted back so far he was smaller than on TV… but thanks to the SUPERB staff I got a full refund. It’s almost a pity ’cause it would have been really funny stuff.

As for the show, it rocked. Dane Cook has a style you just can’t imitate. His jokes come from some alternate universe where the stupid stuff you and I say is really really funny. I had those nasty, crusty tear trails on my face as we left.

He did stuff from his CD, stuff I’ve seen on the clips on his site, and around 50% of the material I didn’t recognize. The set went for a while, too. Over an hour. Needless to say I left pleased. tho choking down anger over the aforementioned story-which-must-not-be-told.

Now I sit a happy boy- money refunded, laughs laughed and maybe just a smidgen confused about my orientation. Now isn’t that what we’re all after?

Dane Cook @ Berkeley Community Theater
Nov 19th 2004
Price: $30.00

So last night Heidi and I were getting all snuggly, as we often do (we’re so sickeningly affectionate people have to think it’s a front) and- as often does- the snuggletalk began.

ED: Der’s a baby in the ubben.

Heidi: Yet dere id. Der id a baby indere.

ED: And soon id gonna pop out when id done.

Heidi: *Ding*

ED: No, from the videos I think it’s going to sound more like “*gurgle* ggaaAAAAHHHHH AAAAAHHKK!!! DRUGS! I NEED DRUGS!!!! I HATE YOU FOR DOING THIS TO ME! RRRRRUUUUUUURRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!”

HEIDI: thanks.

ED: I wub my widdle bunnybear.

Yes, gentle readers, this is yet another EADC exclusive. Much ado has been brewing over the melee that broke out at Friday’s game between the Indiana Pacers and the Detroit Pistons. Punches were landed, fingers pointed and suspensions dolled out- but could it be that the REAL reason Ron Artest stormed the crowd after being hit by a beer has taken a back seat in favor of media sensationalism? Oh yes, oh yes it has.

Most news agencies have given you their take on the brawl. Most have shown pictures. But none of them was brave enough to give the truth behind it. None, that is, until now.

In an exclusive, tell-all interview directly after the game, Ron Artest told me exactly why he lunged into the stands, taking down the wrong fan. Artest didn’t tell a tale of anger, of vengeance, nor of malice. He told me, and I will now relay it to you in all honesty, a brave account of a quest to save the honor, neh the reverence, that should be given to one of the nation’s greatest treasures.

ED: So you’re telling me that you din’t go into the stands to pummel that fan?

ARTEST: Hell no. I’m a professional, and professionals know how to contain themselves.

ED: Then what in tarnation caused you to run into the stands?

ARTEST: Beer, man.

ED: BEER!?!?!?

ARTEST: Damn straight. You know how much those things cost at the game? Like $21.50 or something. You DON’T throw something like that. You could buy a case for that much. I had to go up there and see what was up.

ED: What?

ARTEST: Yeah. Somehing was obviously wrong with someone who would waste a 22 dollar beer.

ED: Agreed.

ARTEST: SO I figured I’d lend a little star power to his plight, you know. Figured maybe some psychiatrist would see it on TV and lend his services.

ED: Wow, man. You deserve a medal.

ARTEST: Plus, you gotta stand up for beer. It makes the world go round. One guy launches one and gets away with it, everybody might start tossing them all willy nilly. Then we’re thrown into a beer crisis.

ED: Dear lord. Don’t make me imagine that again.

ARTEST: See? I had to go into the stands. People just reacted wrong.

ED: Totally. Like so many humanitarianists- misunderstood in your time.

ARTEST: Well, it feels good knowing I stood up for what’s right.

ED: I’ll do my best to get the story out, brother. Don’t give up the struggle.

ARTEST: For beer and my country!

ED: For beer and my country! This has been an EDADKINS.com exclusive.

Spread the word, people. If we don’t stand up for beer now, we’ll have no one to blame when they take it away.

You know those dumps that remind you just how good dumps can get?

The kind that raise the bar on morning dumps?

What should we call those?

My guess is none of the major news sources will pick up on this angle, but here goes…

Marine Stands By Wife Who Attempted to Kill Him With Grenade

This guy has got to be some kind of horrible bastard.

Think about it. How bad must have been the stuff he pulled to turn around and forgive her for a murder attempt. What did you do pal? Eat her dog? Sell her parents for crack? You had to do something horrible. No one says anything good about the cheating spouse who tried to brutally kill them. That’s unnatural.

“Oh well, yeah- she tossed me a grenade, shredding me with a blast of hot shrapnel, but you know- some times couples have fights. she didn’t mean anything of it.”

Oh yeah. He’s pure evil. And you can be there’s some red hot discipline waiting her at home if she’s ever paroled.

You haven’t lived until you’ve had king crablegs, oysters, prime rib and an omelet for breakfast, washed down with endless mimosas.

All you can eat, too.

Damn I love Reno.

I don’t miss my hometown. I’m glad I got away while it was still a cozy rural beach/party town. Now it’s outlets and traffic.

But there’s one thing that makes me second-guess moving away 10 years ago in the middle of the night after my roommate was put in the hospital after failing to pay a hefty crack debt.

And that, gentle reader, is Dogfish Head Brewery. We went to their brewpub this last week and I had beer that was so good I nearly soiled myself.

• 120 Minute IPA: 21% alcohol. Tasty. My sister caught me trying to sell her kid for a case. Some one please explain to her the concept of “take one for the team.”

• Worldwide Stout: This stuff walks over to Guinness, pats him on the head and then takes his girlfriend home. 18% ABV. I started drinking it and went blind with ecstasy.
• Raison D’Extra: It’s this one’s 20% older brother. They actually give this to suicidal people and they regain a reason to live.

Serious. After my first glass of beer, it started raining in there. And the music got all dramatic and the camera swirled above me as I stared up, crying tears of redemption. It was that good.

If you EVER ever ever get anywhere near Rehoboth Beach, DE you owe it to yourself and this great nation to experience Dogfish Head.

My work is done here.

Last night was our second night of birthing class. Men, listen up. Birthing class is the most loving, wonderful, sensitive thing you will ever do that will scare the ever-loving crap out of you.

The movies they show you I believe were produced by the company that made the “bloody asphalt” video from Moving Violations.

Naturally, they are having the same effect that Dawn of the Dead had on me. Little sleep. Lucid, terrifying dreams. Let’s recap last night’s tour down OMG-what-have-I-done-to-my-wife-lane.

Dream One: In an effort to relieve Heidi of the horrible things I witnessed on the video, I have assumed the responsibility of carying the baby to term myself. It rests comfortably in a womb I constructed out of paper mache and had inserted into my abdomen, to be removed thru C-section.

Dream Two: Things reach a new level of terror when Leonardo DiCaprio calls to congratulate me on my decision to give birth.

Dream Three: I am attacked by Killer Bees.

I seriously think they should just tell us men the whole stork thing. Then, when we show up for delivery whip out a picture of some horrible birth in progress. Later, when we’d stopped our fetal sobbing we’d thank the Doc for sparing the months of terror. And I wouldn’t have to keep popping No-Doz to fend off a chummy Leonardo DiCaprio.

Three flights. Each way. That’s 6 sets of achingly small seats with absolutely no legroom for my 6′4″ frame. Of course it’s only 2 chances to take off my shoes, watch, keys, phone, jacket, pull my laptop out and put all my change in a basket and STILL get luggage-raped by the baliff from night court.

My back and neck have let me know that they are going to secede and move to Canada as a result of the trip. That’s going to suck, because then I’ll be shorter but still have no more legroom.

Except for having to do some rather impressive ninja flips to make it to the bathroom for frequent potty brakes, Heidi fared rather well. Bebbeh Adkins seems to be in good shape.

HEIDI: Did you know the baby can tell the difference between our voices?

ED: From in there? Huh.

HEIDI: Yeah.

ED: That’s nuts.

HEIDI: I wonder what she thinks we look like.

ED: I dunno… organs?

We’re traveling to the east for my mom-mom’s funeral. Let me tell you, if you haven’t spent 19 hours traveling lately- please do.

We got to add another missed flight in our distinguished collection. We got up at the crack of OMG-please-kill-me and staggered to the airport. BTW, don’t believe that just because you’re buying tickets for bereavement that the airlines will take a break from screwing you.

Got to the aiport an hour before the flight, but then experienced something I’d like to call “the great burrito place waiting to open debacle” and somehow when we got to our flight it was gone. No, we are not fielding questions on that.

BUT, if you haven’t spent 16 hours hopping the country on standby- you must. Does wonders for the bowels.

Today is the funeral. My old black blazer was looking like roadkill. I didn’t really buy it anyway as much as find it on someone’s floor in college. So I decided to go with just a shirt and tie. Then someone tells me that now you can dress in any dark color at funerals. Apparently, they said, brown is the new black. That’s funny, because I thought white trash was. Go figure.

Time to head down in a minute. Seeing family has been great. I’ll have to continue this heartfelt honesty and openness later.

You can now leave comments right on the video page. I integrated it with MT.

This should be fun.

This one went the best yet. The crowd laughed consistantly during the whole set & I had the most fun ever (don’t mind the noise- the camera is in a bad spot). I was tredding some dangerous ground but luckily it worked out. I definately have the best hobby ever.

I know, I know. Emo is for queerbots. Whatever. I’d rather that after the apocalypse, when archeologists come back to Earth to dig up info on our primitive civilization, that they come across some Emo in my music collection than your Candlebox.

So stick it.

It was a lot of fun. We ran into a friend of mine from school, Jim, and his girlfriend in the bar section and hung out all nite. The bartender quickly noticed I rewarded good performance and proceeded to make my drinks stronger each time I came up. Therefore I was convinced I’d like the opener.

Actually, they rocked. Rogue Wave. They’re either out of SF or SD. Interesting note- the band came together off of craigslist.

Death Cab played well, the venue is perfect- kind of a “your parent’s basement” meets an abandoned western clothing warehouse. The band played all my favorites, I’m really only familiar with Transatlanticism and a few singles Shugs has given me.

They were perfect for the mood I was in. Kind of deep, thinking of the loss in the family, and really wanting to be close to Heidi. It ended up being a great, great evening.

Pics are in the photo gallery- along with the (oozing with dorky goodness) Dono-Kun hat I made.