What? Were you raised in a barn? Shut the door! (Probably was raised in a barn, along with the other primitives...)

It happened. I've become part of the blog community. I'm still not sure what (or if) my focus will be in this blog, but hopefully it will present itself as I work on this.

In case you're wondering about the title, here's a history lesson for you. In the late 1990s, fellow blogger William F. Yurasko went to Long Beach Island, a beach community island about 30 miles north of Atlantic City, and stayed at Stanwick House. On two occasions, I visited Will at Stanwick House, hung at the beach, drank Gin and Tonics, and checked out the nightlife.

Nearby Will's place was the ice cream establishment known as Dairy King. One night, we went to Dairy King for ice cream. I ordered an ice cream cone with colored sprinkles. Within 90 seconds of getting the completed cone in my hands, the ice cream was melting. And not just the normal melting. No, this was melted ice cream pouring down your hand and arm while youn desperately try to eat what little is remaining. After the cone was gone and the ice cream was all over my hand, on the floor and in my stomach, I peeked into the ice cream stand and saw the sprinkles dispenser sitting about 2-3 inches away from the hot sauce machine. The sprinkles were unintentionally (I hope, they might have just been sadistic SOBs) being heated from sitting next to the hot machine.