From Frozen Buckets to Culinary Memories: My Kentucky Fried Chicken Story

Today I couldn't really think of much to write about, some days are like that so in the spirit of putting something out, I'm going to talk about whatever runs through my fingers....Kentucky Fried Chicken.

If you’re from the South like me, you know fried chicken isn’t just food—it’s woven into the very fabric of our culture. It brings families together, sparks cherished memories and carries flavors that tell stories. My own fried chicken journey began at home, with recipes my my mama, granny and Aunt Joan. But everything changed when my sister Becki got a job at Kentucky Fried Chicken. What followed wasn’t just convenience—it was the start of a freezer full of crispy chicken and fast dinners, perfect for our busy family.

Let’s go back to the late 1980s. Becki, my sister who’s six years older than me, was the kind of hard worker who didn’t stop until the job was done, no shortcuts, no complaints. Her first job was at Kentucky Fried Chicken in Pensacola, Florida and she took it seriously. Starting at the Davis Highway location, she eventually split her time between that spot and the Milton location on Highway 90, finally settling in Milton full-time until after she finished high school and moved onto higher paying jobs. Man, does she have some incredible stories from her time at the KFC...those are hers to tell, not mine.

What stood out to me most wasn’t her dedication—it was her generosity. While Becki never sought attention for her hard work, she quietly turned her job into a gift for our family. Her manager allowed her to bring home bags of leftover chicken at the end of the night—perfectly cooked pieces that were just unsold and destined for the dumpster otherwise. Night after night, she’d walk through the door with buckets of crispy chicken, buttery biscuits, and those little bucket parfaits almost ready to expire. Our family’s deep freeze became a treasure trove of KFC delights.

Microwaved leftovers rarely rival the original meal, but with KFC, it felt different. Somehow, the crispy skin stayed intact and the flavors deepened. To me, reheated KFC tasted even better than home-cooked meals. It was our go-to dinner during busy times—a symbol of convenience wrapped in golden fried goodness.

I wasn’t always a fan of restaurant fried chicken. My only previous experience as a little kid had been with Church’s Fried Chicken and it left me unimpressed. Their mashed potato gravy? Amazing. Their chicken? Bland and uninspiring. So when Becki brought home KFC, I was skeptical at first. But one bite was all it took to change my mind. The chicken was perfectly seasoned, the biscuits were tasty and those parfaits (even the expired ones!) were sweet and satisfying.

Later in life, I moved to New York and Atlanta and fried chicken became harder to come by. Yet my love for KFC never waned. Over the years, Terry and I tried other chains—Mrs. Winner’s was our favorite until it closed, Church’s stayed bland and Popeyes had potential but the one near us often leaves us disappointed with skimpy side portions. Even the Circle K near our house surprised us with good chicken tenders and potato wedges, though the lack of side item variety keeps it from being a true contender.

Despite the rollercoaster of options, KFC remained a constant. Its quality could be hit-or-miss, but its staples never failed—cole slaw, mashed potatoes and that magical gravy. Let me tell you, KFC gravy is unlike anything else. Rich and savory, it has the power to turn biscuits into a meal all on their own.

What’s your fried chicken story? Do you have a favorite chain or a memory tied to crispy drumsticks and buttery biscuits? I’d love to hear your tales and connect over the shared love for this Southern staple. My uninspiring story brought a smile to your face or reminded you of a memory, your comments mean the world. And if you’re feeling inspired to support my journey, any small contribution helps me keep sharing stories that celebrate life’s little joys.

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Hormonally Yours: The Legacy of Shakespears Sister's Groundbreaking Album, A Masterpiece That Stays With You

Some albums define a moment in your life. Others transcend it, weaving themselves into the fabric of your experiences and becoming a cornerstone of who you are. For me, Shakespears Sister's Hormonally Yours is both—a timeless masterpiece that has followed me through countless adventures and personal milestones.

I first stumbled across Shakespears Sister in July of 1992 while browsing at Camelot Music in Lenox Mall. "Stay" was playing in the store and I remember being completely captivated by its unique blend of haunting beauty and theatrical drama. Marcella Detroit’s stunning soprano paired with Siobhan Fahey’s sultry, gothic growl was unlike anything I had ever heard. Intrigued, I purchased the cassette single, which was backed by "Catwoman" and quickly fell in love. Little did I know that this single would become a doorway to something much larger.

Before I left Atlanta that summer, the roommate of one of my hustler friends made a copy of his Hormonally Yours cassette for me. That tape was a prized possession and a partial soundtrack to an unforgettable road trip. Andrew Wilder and I piled into "his" white convertible Chrysler LeBaron and headed for New York. The album blasted as we sang along to every track, the wind whipping through the open car. It wasn’t until we were a few hundred miles from New York that I found out the car was stolen—a revelation that added another layer of chaos and excitement to the journey. That wild trip is a story I've told many times and will be sharing in my book, but Hormonally Yours fit perfectly as a partial backdrop.

Fast forward a couple of years and my boyfriend at the time, Richie, rekindled my love for the album. Richie was obsessed with anything alternative and goth and while I never fully categorized Shakespears Sister in either of those genres, their music certainly carried that moody edge he adored. His enthusiasm pulled me deeper into the album, taking me beyond casual listening into a full-on appreciation for every lyric, harmony and production choice. Richie also had a VHS tape of their music videos, which we watched over and over again. Even now, I occasionally pull up the videos on YouTube and they transport me back to those moments of shared admiration for the artistry of Siobhan and Marcella.
But this album hasn’t just stayed as a memory; it’s been part of my personal expression, too. Over the years, I’ve sung "Stay" at auditions for The Voice and America’s Got Talent, pouring everything into every note to channel its emotional intensity. When I was still on top of my vocal game, both parts sat comfortably in my range. The song has always held a special place at the top of my favorites, a timeless masterpiece that resonates deeply with me—both whenever I performed it and even now, each time I hear it.

Released on February 17, 1992, under London Records, Hormonally Yours was the product of the creative genius of Siobhan Fahey and Marcella Detroit. Produced by the duo themselves, alongside Alan Moulder and Chris Thomas, the album pushed boundaries with its adventurous blend of pop, goth and rock. Songwriting credits include Fahey, Detroit, and contributors like Ed Shearmur and Jean Guiot.
The impact of the album wasn’t just sonic—it was visual as well. The music videos, particularly for tracks like "Stay" and "I Don’t Care" were theatrical and unforgettable, amplifying the drama and artistry of the songs.

The lead single, "Goodbye Cruel World," was released ahead of the album but failed to make a commercial splash. Its upbeat, campy production—complete with irresistible “ooh la la la” harmonies—contrasts delightfully with its melancholic lyrics, making it a hidden gem. Then came "Stay" released in the UK on January 13, 1992 and in the US on April 21, 1992. This iconic single redefined Shakespears Sister’s legacy. From Marcella’s emotional verses to Siobhan’s haunting delivery, "Stay" is a pop masterpiece. It spent a record-breaking eight weeks at number one in the UK and remains the duo’s most iconic track. Other singles like "I Don’t Care" with its fiery opening scream and the poignant ballad "Hello (Turn Your Radio On)" rounded out the album’s commercial success, each showcasing a different facet of the duo’s versatility.

Beyond the singles, the album is full of standout moments. "Black Sky" takes on a darker, experimental tone, with Marcella’s opera-like, backward-sung vocals adding an eerie brilliance. "The Trouble With Andre" pairs Siobhan’s sultry vocals with an atmospheric production that feels delightfully moody.
"Moonchild" offers a calmer, soothing sound, its introspective lyrics contrasting with the epic swells of its chorus. "Catwoman" with its T-Rex-inspired quirkiness is a fun and eccentric addition. Even "My 16th Apology" with its reggae-inspired melody and "Let Me Entertain You" the album’s least exciting track, contribute to the album’s eclectic charm. The closing ballad, "Hello (Turn Your Radio On)," is a poignant plea for connection. Siobhan’s emotive delivery, paired with Marcella’s harmonies, brings the album to a hauntingly beautiful conclusion.

From its original release on cassette and CD to its digital availability, vinyl pressings and expanded special editions, Hormonally Yours has been preserved across generations of music formats. The CD I’ve treasured since 1994 has traveled with me from Florida to Alabama and countless other places—including Kentucky, New York, Las Vegas, Bochum and Atlanta. It’s comforting to know that this masterpiece continues to be accessible to fans both old and new.

For me, Hormonally Yours isn’t just an album—it’s a journey, a connection to moments that have shaped me and a source of inspiration that continues to give. Its bold mix of sounds, clever lyrics and emotional depth make it an enduring classic that still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up at times.

What about you? Have you listened to Hormonally Yours? Does it hold a special place in your heart like it does in mine? I’d love to hear your thoughts—drop a comment below and let’s celebrate this incredible album together! And if you’d like to show some love for this blog or support my work, any token of appreciation would mean the world to me. Thank you for coming along on this musical journey!

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Happy Birthday, Becki Manning Dannelly: A Taurus, a Diamond and a Lifetime of Memories!

Today is a day unlike any other—it’s a celebration of my sister, one of my childhood heroes, my partner in countless adventures. Becki Manning Dannelly turns 55 today and I can’t let this milestone pass without honoring the incredible person she is.

Let’s start with the obvious: Becki doesn’t look a day over 35. Maybe 36. Our youthful appearance must be genetic—though I think it also comes from the way we live our lives. We embrace what we love, refuse to stress over the uncontrollable and share plenty of laughs along the way.
Her birthstone, the diamond, is a perfect metaphor for Becki: a symbol of love, strength and timeless beauty. And as a Taurus, she’s every bit as loyal, determined and yes, stubborn as you might expect, just like our daddy. She cherishes security, stability and her connection to the physical world—qualities that ground and inspire everyone around her.

Becki’s impact on my life goes far beyond her stellar horoscope. Growing up, she was my protector, my teacher and my co-conspirator. When I was just a little boy, she stood up to a bully who was stealing my lunch money on the bus. The school gave her a choice—three days of bus suspension or paddling. Ever practical, my parents made the call (no way were they driving her to school for three days) and Becki bravely took the paddling in my defense.

And then there’s the time she gave four-year-old me my first taste of Jack Daniels. Realizing the smell might give her away, she had me mask it with Lemon Joy dish soap. Naturally, this led to me foaming at the mouth with an attempt at covering the effects of giving me milk to absorb the dishwashing liquid after a frantic call to poison control. Becki’s quick thinking may not have been foolproof, but it certainly made for a story we’ll never forget.

Becki also taught me to ride a bike after my first attempt ended in me crashing into a tree when Dad “let go” of the seat. She patiently held onto my bike until I was ready to ride on my own—though that newfound freedom was short-lived after Becki convinced me to break Mama’s rules and ride around the block. I came home to a very upset Mama and while I got a beating for breaking the rules, Becki got one too for putting me up to it.

Our sibling adventures were as unpredictable as they were unforgettable. When my mom went into labor with me, Becki’s legendary Taurus stubbornness showed up in full force—she refused to leave the house until her Mickey Mouse Club episode ended. Upon meeting me for the first time, she declared she would’ve preferred a goat. To be fair, I did develop some unusual habits as a child—like chewing on glass, Lincoln Logs and the Tupperware tumblers I was given after the family realized I could not be trusted with glassware. But Becki took it all in stride, balancing her role as a sibling with patience, humor and the occasional tattling session.

Becki has literally saved my life more than once. My overly enthusiastic approach to water often led to risky situations, but Becki was always there to pull me out. Her swimming skills were unmatched—unlike mine, which to this day leave much to be desired.

When our parents split up, Becki stepped up in a big way and took me in. Despite my rebellious streak at the time, she showed me love, strength and stability when I needed it most. Even now, though we live 300 miles apart, I still see her as my rock and my guardian.

Becki, you’re so much more than a sister. You’ve shaped my life in immeasurable ways, from teaching me how to navigate life (and carnival thrill rides) to sharing laughs, lessons and love along the way.
On this special day, I hope you feel celebrated for the amazing person you are. To everyone reading, I’d love to hear your comments, stories and favorite memories of Becki, if you know her. And if you’d like to join in her celebration with kind words and fond recollections, your thoughtfulness would mean the world to her (and to me).

Here’s to 55 wonderful years of Becki Manning Dannelly—the rough and tough diamond of our family—and many more adventures ahead. Cheers to you, Becki!

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Would Iconic Singers of the Past Make It in Modern Times?

Something I’ve often wondered over the years is if iconic singers of the past would have a chance to be famous if they were discovered in modern times.

Think about people like Elvis Presley, Loretta Lynn, Bob Dylan, Ethel Merman, and Carol Channing. While they are all legendary in their own right, if any of them went on America’s Got Talent, American Idol, or similar shows, would they stand out in a crowd of aspiring singers or be sent home?

Back in the day, the path to fame was narrow and treacherous. You had to be discovered, and even then, you really had to make a producer or label believe in your potential before stepping into a recording studio or taking a stab at stardom.

Let’s face it, Elvis had that magical ability to captivate audiences with his voice alone—he could sing the phone book and still win hearts. Bob Dylan, on the other hand, had a distinctive style tailored to his range. I adore Loretta Lynn, but compared to other female singers of her time, her unique voice made her a fish out of water. And then there’s Ethel Merman, whose career thrived on the sheer power of her voice, even if it wasn’t conventionally beautiful. Her voice projected to the very back of the theater, ensuring every note was heard. Carol Channing’s voice, an odd mix reminiscent of adults talking to babies, set her apart in a bizarre yet memorable way. Honorable mention goes to Eartha Kitt with her gravelly, nasal tones.

Imagine hearing these iconic voices at a club, not knowing who they were. Would you be mesmerized or perplexed? What about unconventional artists like Tiny Tim or someone with a limited range like Willie Nelson?

When I was younger, my daddy told me I would never be a great singer, despite voice lessons and training. In spite of a few years of performing professionally, I eventually gave up because I didn't like how things were always on other people's terms. Now, it seems completely different. Aspiring artists today have more control over their careers. Platforms like YouTube allow singers to find a following and go viral. The landscape has shifted, offering opportunities for self-promotion and bypassing traditional gatekeepers. Would these iconic artists of the past find success in today’s digital age? Would their songs go viral, or would they face hate messages?

It’s a fascinating thought experiment, reflecting on how times have changed and what it means for talent and fame. One thing is certain: the magic of these legendary artists endures, reminding us that true artistry transcends time and trends.

Thank you for taking the time to read my musings. I'd love to hear your thoughts—do you think iconic singers from the past would find success in today's music industry? Share your opinions in the comments below!

If you enjoyed this entry and would like to support my work, feel free to contribute. Your support means the world to me and helps keep the content coming. Stay connected by following me for more stories and updates, and don’t forget to like and share if you enjoyed this post. Until next time, take care and keep the music alive.

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Dancing Through the Decades: Manuel Briano's Heartwarming GLOW Adventure

Welcome to this week’s Saturday GLOWcase. Today, I’m excited to share the story of my dear friend Manuel Briano, affectionately known as Manny. Manny is one of the sweetest people I know and remains neutral amidst the various dynamics among GLOW fans and personalities. So, let’s dive into this heartwarming tale about a true GLOW fan and an incredible friend.

Manny first discovered GLOW's first season when he was 11 years old while watching WWF on the weekends. Growing up in San Diego, he watched GLOW on XETV Channel 6 and KCOP Channel 13. Unfortunately, these stations only televised seasons 1 and 2, so Manny missed out on seasons 3 and 4 until the internet era. Thank you very much to the fans who have had the ability to record the episodes on videotape. In 1988, GLOW toured San Diego twice, and Manny’s mom took him and his brother to see the GLOW girls both times. This experience solidified his love for GLOW.

Despite collecting all the GLOW magazines and watching the GLOW girls on talk shows, Manny was unfamiliar with the new GLOW girls until he discovered episodes from seasons 3 and 4 through a well-known seller among wrestling fans named Manzerman, who sold VHS tapes. Manny eagerly purchased GLOW and POWW episodes, immersing himself in the world of GLOW.

On his 12th or 13th birthday, Manny received a special treat—a GLOW-themed birthday cake made by George’s Wonderful World Of Cakes in National City, CA. This cake was a delightful surprise that featured two women from the GLOW series, making it a memorable part of his birthday celebration.

Manny with GLOW Director, Matt Cimber

Manny's favorite wrestler is Americana, and he particularly loved the intense matches between Americana and Ninotchka. He vividly recalls screaming at the TV in excitement when Americana pinned Ninotchka in their first match. It was one of those moments that solidified his passion for GLOW.

One of Manny's favorite sketches was "Asking Ashley," even though he didn't always understand the adult humor as a kid. The comedic elements and quirky characters made it a memorable part of his GLOW experience. Like many GLOW fans, Manny also feared the Heavy Metal Sisters. Their fierce personas and intimidating presence left a lasting impression on him, a sentiment shared by many in the GLOW community.

A group shot of GLOW fans with Manny representing his favorite, Americana

In his eagerness to connect with the GLOW girls, Manny used to call GLOW’s 900 number without parental permission. Much like myself, he made those calls from his grandparent's home, though I made calls pretty much anywhere I could dial the number. When his uncle discovered the phone bill, Manny never admitted it was him who made the calls, even though it was probably obvious who the culprit was. This little secret added a mischievous twist to his GLOW fan journey.

Manny has been on multiple GLOW cruises, forging lasting friendships with the GLOW girls and fellow fans. He’s met many original GLOW personalities, including his favorite, Americana, and has even purchased four of her paintings, which are proudly displayed in his living room.

Much like myself, Manny has always been curious about the fans in the televised audience from the Riviera Hotel, wondering about their stories. During my time working and living in Las Vegas, I walked through the Riviera Hotel and asked a few employees about GLOW. Despite its iconic status in television history, I only found one person who worked at the hotel during that time. She mentioned that it wasn’t there long and she barely remembered it.

I would love for anyone who sat in the audience to contact me so I could add their stories to our GLOW stories. Their experiences would be a valuable addition to our shared history and memories.
Back in the 1980s, Manny was disappointed that no official GLOW girl action figures were created—a sentiment shared by many fans, including myself. However, a couple of years ago, a talented individual named Wanda Maness began creating GLOW action figures and even made custom figures of Americana and David McLane for Manny, fulfilling one of his long-held wishes.

Like most original GLOW fans, Manny hopes that all four seasons of GLOW will be released, along with the unaired matches that Matt Cimber and others have mentioned are still in existence. The anticipation of seeing these unaired matches keeps the GLOW spirit alive among devoted fans.
Manny loves Netflix’s GLOW series and was disappointed when the fourth season was canceled during production. He has always enjoyed seeing strong and empowering women on television, which is why GLOW holds a special place in his heart.

I met Manny in Long Beach, California, on the night of a party featuring the ladies of GLOW. David McLane was also there, not to meet fans or attend the party, but by chance, on the beautiful Queen Mary before setting sail on the Carnival Imagination in 2016. Since then, Manny and I have cruised together with the ladies of GLOW in 2017 on the Norwegian Dawn from New Orleans, in 2018 on the Norwegian Breakaway from New York, and again in 2024 on the Norwegian Encore from Miami. Manny is one of the most fun people to hang out with, and he absolutely loves to dance. We share a mutual love for Paula Abdul, whom we’ve both had the pleasure of meeting at different times in our lives.

I hope you enjoyed getting to know Manny and his incredible GLOW journey. Manny is active on Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube, and you can find him at:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/manuel.briano
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mannyb175
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/MannyB175

If you have similar stories or memories of your own, please share them in the comments below. Your feedback and shared experiences help build a wonderful community. If you'd like to support this effort, your contributions are greatly appreciated. Even small gestures of support mean a lot as we continue this journey of storytelling and connection. Thank you! ❤️

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The Trailblazing Women of Classic TV Comedy: Icons, Laughs and Legacy

Growing up in a small town without much excitement, TV became my escape, my companion and my source of laughter. Summers were my favorite—endless reruns of classic shows that predated my birth played on obscure channels, waiting for me to discover them. Shows like Lassie, My Three Sons and even Get Smart became familiar friends. But nothing thrilled me more than the ones starring strong, captivating women. My all-time favorite? Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman. She was the epitome of strength and charm.

Yet, comedy was where I found my greatest joy—especially when leading ladies took center stage. These women were pioneers, setting the tone for generations of television comedy, inspiring laughter and showing that women could own the screen. Even now, when I’m flipping through channels, if I spot one of these classics, I pause, smile and take a moment to indulge until the credits roll or binge watch multiple episodes.

Let’s start with Donna Reed, who played the quintessential 1950s housewife on The Donna Reed Show. Donna Stone was more than a homemaker; she was a symbol of strength wrapped in kindness, navigating family life with warmth and grace. At a time when sitcoms revolved around fathers, Donna broke the mold, showing viewers how empowering it was to be a woman who loved and managed her family. Her show didn’t just entertain—it left a legacy that defined family sitcoms for decades.

Then, there’s Carol Burnett, the queen of variety television. Her groundbreaking show, The Carol Burnett Show, wasn’t just funny—it was revolutionary. The first variety show hosted by a woman, it showcased Carol's unmatched comedic brilliance alongside her incredible supporting cast. Who could forget her iconic ear tug or the laughter that spilled over during Tim Conway’s skits? For over a decade, Carol led audiences into an unforgettable world of humor, earning Emmy nominations every step of the way.

Of course, Lucille Ball deserves her spot in comedy royalty. With I Love Lucy and The Lucy Show, she gave us belly laughs and relatable chaos. As Lucy Ricardo, she taught us how to find humor in everyday life’s absurdities. Then she showed a widow raising kids with her roommate’s help—a situation that was both bold for its time and hysterically charming. Lucy’s energy, comedic timing, and boundless creativity cemented her as one of television’s greatest female stars.

Mary Tyler Moore took the 1970s by storm with The Mary Tyler Moore Show. As Mary Richards, she redefined what it meant to be a single career woman with an independent spirit. Her fashionable flair and determination inspired viewers while making them laugh. Then there was Rhoda, the spinoff that gave us Valerie Harper’s artistic energy and relentless optimism. Mary wasn’t just a character—she was a cultural movement.

Finally, Penny Marshall and Cindy Williams brought their charm to Laverne & Shirley. These best friends navigated Milwaukee and Burbank, showing us that single life could be hilariously relatable. Their chemistry was palpable, their antics unforgettable and their friendship pure gold. Thanks to them, Milwaukee had a spot on the TV map.

These trailblazing women weren’t just actresses—they were role models for future comedic actresses, I'm talking about you Amy Sedaris. They showed us how humor could tackle serious themes, inspire change and bring people together. Decades later, their shows remind us of the timeless charm of comedy, the importance of strong female characters and the enduring power of laughter.

Which classic comedienne tops your list? Are there any shows you still hold close to your heart? Share your thoughts in the comments—I love hearing personal stories and reflections! Oh, and if you enjoyed this trip down TV memory lane, feel free to support the blog in whichever way feels right for you. Even a small gesture means the world! Thanks for stopping by—let’s keep the laughter alive!

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Flipping the Script: Mark Manson’s “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*” Hits You With the Truth You Didn’t Know You Needed

If I’m being honest, self-help books aren’t really my thing. I’ve always considered myself pretty comfortable in my own skin and have no big regrets about the choices I’ve made in life. So when it came to The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*, my role was strictly that of a seller. I order the book pretty regularly for my stores because, no matter where I place it, it sells out quickly—which is unusual for a self-help title that’s been around for a while. That bright orange cover? It practically yells at you to pick it up.

At first, I skimmed through the book just to get a sense of what all the fuss was about. I wanted to know how to pitch it to customers and help my booksellers answer questions, especially since the title alone either pulls people in or makes them think it’s going to be a total downer. But then something unexpected happened. As I flipped through the pages, I started nodding along, finding myself intrigued enough to go back to the very beginning. By the time I hit the first chapter, “Don’t Try,” I was hooked—and, ironically, I didn’t have to try to finish it. The stories Mark Manson shared struck a chord with me in ways I didn’t see coming. Turns out, this wasn’t your typical self-help fluff.

In The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F, Mark Manson flips traditional self-help advice on its head with his brutally honest take on personal growth and happiness. Forget constant positivity and endless affirmations—instead, Manson urges us to accept life’s imperfections, confront our limitations, and, most importantly, focus on what really deserves our energy. It’s not about not caring at all; it’s about being selective with your time, attention, and—yes—your f**s.

Manson’s style is bold, relatable, and often laugh-out-loud funny (poop jokes included). He pairs real-life anecdotes with academic research, tackling topics like resilience, responsibility, and finding meaning in the messiness of life. The message is simple but profound: stop avoiding discomfort, embrace your flaws, and figure out what truly matters to you. It’s a wake-up call, a slap-in-the-face reality check, and an unexpectedly uplifting guide to living a more authentic and grounded life.
What I loved most about this book is that it doesn’t try to sugarcoat anything. Manson’s writing feels like having a brutally honest chat with your no-nonsense friend who tells it like it is, yet somehow still leaves you inspired. His approach isn’t about fixing yourself or becoming perfect—it’s about accepting your imperfect, messy self and learning to focus your energy where it counts. The rawness and relatability of his stories made me think back on my own experiences and how they shaped my priorities.

And let’s talk about the humor. It’s one thing to deliver life-changing advice; it’s another to do it with perfectly timed wit and a hefty dose of self-awareness. Manson doesn’t preach—he levels with you, balancing moments of hilarity with deeply thought-provoking insights. It’s a refreshing departure from the overly saccharine advice that saturates a lot of self-help books. Instead of offering easy fixes, he challenges you to sit with life’s discomfort and find value in it.

As someone who doesn’t usually gravitate toward this genre, I can wholeheartedly say that *The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F**** is worth the hype. It’s thought-provoking, engaging, and, dare I say, life-changing—not in a “transform yourself in five easy steps” kind of way, but in a “rethink what truly matters” kind of way.

So, what about you? Have you read The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*, or do you have thoughts about embracing life’s messiness? I’d love to hear your take in the comments—let’s chat about how this no-nonsense approach resonated with you (or didn’t). And hey, if you found this review helpful, any small contribution to fuel more late-night reads and thoughtful reviews would mean the world. 😉
Here’s to caring less about the fluff and more about what truly matters. Cheers!

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Rocket Fizz: Reliving Childhood One Nostalgic Treat at a Time

 

A few years ago, I stumbled across a little slice of heaven tucked away in Newnan, Georgia. The store was called Rocket Fizz—it was an experience that has stayed with me. My friend Ernie and I were on one of our usual outings, but what started as a casual stop quickly turned into a journey back to my childhood. Rocket Fizz isn’t just a store; it’s a trip down memory lane and it hit me like the sweetest sugar rush.

As someone who loves all things retro and vintage, walking through Rocket Fizz was like unwrapping a gift filled with surprises from decades past. Brands I hadn't seen since I was a kid—like Goo Goo Clusters and Black Jack Chewing Gum—lined the tables and shelves. But the real kicker? Ernie and I spotted the soda we used to drink back when we lived in Kentucky. We couldn’t help but feel like kids in a candy store (pun absolutely intended).

Rocket Fizz is the brainchild of childhood friends Rob Powells and Ryan Morgan, who took their shared love for nostalgic goodies and turned it into a booming business. They opened the first Rocket Fizz store in Camarillo, California, back in 2009. Since then, they've expanded their empire, with over 150 stores expected across the country this year. Pretty impressive, right?

And while Rocket Fizz is famous for its sodas, it's far from just a soda shop. Rob Powells put it best: "We have thousands and thousands of candies—old-fashioned candies, hard-to-find candy, vintage posters, tin signs, toys, gag gifts and soda! We now carry over 550 different bottles of soda." Talk about a treasure trove.

But the magic doesn’t stop there. Rocket Fizz owns a bottling plant in Northern California, where they create their own specialty flavors—130 varieties, to be exact. Ever heard of bacon soda? They’ve got it. How about celebrity-themed sodas for Marilyn Monroe, Kiss, King Kong, Farrah Fawcett or Rowdy Roddy Piper? Yep, those too. The creativity and dedication these guys bring to their brand is simply unmatched.

What truly sets Rocket Fizz apart, though, is the way it isn’t just a candy shop, it’s an experience for those of us who enjoy nostalgia. Powells shared a heartwarming memory about one of their earliest customers, an elderly gentleman who visited the store in 2009. The man spotted a soda called Ale-8-One (the one Ernie and I spotted) and was overcome with emotion. "Ale-8—I haven't seen this soda since I was a little boy, drinking it on my grandma's porch on her farm in Kentucky," he said. As he recounted memories of his family, tears welled up in his eyes. That moment made Rob realize Rocket Fizz was more than just a store—it was a place where people could reconnect with cherished memories and share their stories.

Rocket Fizz isn’t just retail; it’s a spark for the soul. Whether you’re on the hunt for a candy you haven’t tasted in decades or a soda that reminds you of long-lost summers, walking into one of their stores feels like catching lightning in a bottle.

If you haven’t visited Rocket Fizz yet, I can’t recommend it enough. Just stop by, wander the aisles and let your inner child take over. And hey, while you're at it, why not share your experiences? I'd love to hear about the candies and sodas that bring back your favorite memories. Drop me a comment below and let’s swap stories! To find a Rocket Fizz near you and start your own trip down memory lane, visit rocketfizz.com.

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The Original Phantom of the Opera Cast Recording: A Classic with Bright Moments

If you know me even a little, you know how deeply The Phantom of the Opera has woven itself into the fabric of my life. It’s not just a musical for me; it’s a constant companion, a source of inspiration and a gateway to some of my most cherished memories. My real love for Phantom came full circle in 1992, the first time I saw the musical on Broadway. I can still picture that evening: Karen Culliver as Christine, Hugh Panaro as Raoul and the unforgettable Mark Jacoby as the Phantom. Though I did fall asleep for a few minutes in the second act, not because I was bored but because I was super sleepy. I will share that story soon.

I’ll admit, I left the Majestic Theatre that night wishing there was a cast album featuring them—but back in the day, options were limited. Unless you wanted to hear Phantom in German, Swedish, Japanese or the Canadian cast highlights, all of which I love, you were left with the iconic Original London Cast recording as the definitive version available in the U.S. And to be honest? That wasn’t such a bad thing. The main tunes on this recording is also available in a 14 track highlighted release, though Music of the Night is presented in the form of the "single" version rather than what's heard on the complete cast recording.

Throughout the years, this recording has remained a cornerstone of my Phantom obsession. In 1992, it wasn’t unusual to catch me wandering the streets of New York City, Walkman in hand, with Michael Crawford’s Phantom accompanying my every step. Fast forward to today and it’s still on rotation. I’ve got it on CD, vinyl and digitally loaded on my phone. Sure, I’ve since collected other international cast albums (because, of course I have), but this one holds a special place in my heart. So let’s dive into why this recording is such a classic.

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s score is nothing short of a powerhouse. Romantic, haunting and undeniably grand, it made dramatic organ chords cool again and gave us melodies that are impossible to forget. Sure, sharp-eared critics have pointed out a few nods to classical composers like Puccini and Debussy, but the result is uniquely Phantom.

Listening to the Original London Cast recording feels like opening a time capsule. From the moment the overture hits, you’re transported into the sweeping drama that defined a whole generation of theatre-goers. Michael Crawford as the Phantom is absolutely mesmerizing. His voice captures every layer of the character’s heartbreak and madness. Those high notes? Chilling, in the most deliciously theatrical way.

Sarah Brightman as the original Christine Daaé is a name forever tied to the show’s legacy. Many fans regard her as the best, some have changed their minds over the years and say Sierra Boggess captured that spot for them after the 25th Anniversary performance at Royal Albert Hall was released. Let me be honest here—I’m a bigger fan of Brightman’s solo albums than her Christine. Her middle range is lovely, but when she pushes into the higher registers, it can feel a bit sharp to my ears and her vibrato is a bit, well, much. That said, I have endless respect for what she achieved as the first Christine. She paved the way for the many talented women who followed, setting a benchmark for years to come. Having seen 25 (yes, 25!) Christines since, I can’t help but draw comparisons, but Brightman’s trailblazing performance deserves its place in the Phantom hall of fame.

Steve Barton’s Raoul often gets overlooked, but his performance on this recording is stellar. His “All I Ask of You” is smooth, heartfelt and everything you’d want from the role. It’s a shame that his stint as the Phantom, alongside Rebecca Luker as Christine, never got an official release—it’s the stuff of sought-after bootleg legend.

The music on this recording is a rollercoaster of emotion. “Music of the Night” is rich and hypnotic, pulling you into the Phantom’s world, while lighter moments like “Notes”/“Prima Donna” inject wit and charm into the drama. And let’s not forget the title song—it’s practically a love letter to the 1980s, with a distinct disco undertone. Honestly? That’s part of its charm. It’s a unique product of its time, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ah, the quirks of the original CD release! If you bought it back in the day, you’ll remember the lack of individual track divisions. Lloyd Webber wanted listeners to experience it as one continuous piece. Admirable in theory, but not the easiest thing to navigate on a discman or the typical CD player at the time. Luckily, later editions fixed this, but there’s a certain nostalgia in remembering those fast-forward-and-rewind days.

Despite its dated elements and quirks, the Original London Cast recording of The Phantom of the Opera remains a classic. Michael Crawford’s Phantom is iconic, Sarah Brightman’s Christine set the stage for generations of performers and Steve Barton’s Raoul is effortlessly charming. Together, they created a recording that captures the magic of a phenomenon that’s stood the test of time.

What’s your favorite Phantom memory? Are you team Original London Cast or is there another recording that holds a special place in your heart? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below! And hey, if you enjoyed this little walk down Phantom memory lane, feel free to share it, pass it along, or drop a little support to help keep these musical musings alive. Every little bit makes a difference—and it’s always appreciated. 🎭

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Rejected by the Unknown: A Hunter’s Haunting Alien Encounter

If you’re reading this late at night, with only the soft glow of your screen lighting the room, I should warn you—this story is not for the faint of heart. It’s the kind of tale that stays with you long after the last word, creeping into your thoughts when the darkness grows too quiet. Carl Higdon never expected his hunting trip to descend into the uncanny. After hearing his account, you may find yourself looking over your shoulder the next time you’re alone in the woods. Or maybe even in your own home.

It was October 25, 1974—a crisp, golden afternoon in Wyoming's Medicine Bow Forest. Carl Higdon, a forty-year-old oil driller, was hoping for a productive hunt. The quiet rustle of leaves in the cool air was interrupted by his breath quickening as he spotted them: a magnificent bull elk surrounded by four females. Carl raised his rifle, took aim, and fired. But instead of the expected crack of the bullet finding its mark, he witnessed something impossible.

The bullet froze mid-air, suspended as if time itself had faltered. Then, as if releasing a breath, it plummeted weakly to the ground just fifty feet ahead. Confused and unnerved, Carl walked cautiously forward to retrieve the bullet. That’s when he saw it—or him.

A figure emerged from the shadows, standing in the tree line. Carl would later describe the being as vaguely humanoid, though there was something about its presence that defied explanation. Its name, as Carl would learn, was Ausso. It didn’t ask for Carl’s permission; it didn’t have to. With an unsettling authority, Ausso handed him a packet of capsules. Whether through shock, fear, or some otherworldly compulsion, Carl swallowed one without hesitation.

That’s when things took a turn from strange to surreal. With a single gesture from Ausso, Carl found himself transported into a transparent cube-shaped vessel. He didn’t remember walking inside—one moment he was in the forest; the next, he was seated next to Ausso, five caged elk eerily quiet behind them. The cube began to move, and as Carl glanced outside, his heart seized. The Earth—the only home he’d ever known—was shrinking rapidly into the distance, swallowed by the vastness of space.

He could hardly process what was happening before the vessel came to rest on a desolate, alien surface. The dark landscape felt oppressive, the air thick with gray fog. A massive tower loomed nearby, pulsating with blinding, almost unbearable light. It was a realm so foreign, so unfathomable, that Carl’s very sense of reality began to fray.

In the eerie glow of the tower, five human figures stood talking among themselves. They didn’t acknowledge Carl; they didn’t even seem to notice him. The scene was deeply unsettling, but Carl had no time to dwell on it. Ausso led him swiftly into the tower, where a cold, clinical examination awaited.

Inside, Carl was instructed to stand as Ausso scanned his body with a large, shield-like device. There was no pain, but the moment felt excruciatingly invasive, as though his very essence was being scrutinized. Ausso’s verdict came swiftly: “You’re not any good for what we need.”

Carl later speculated the rejection was due to his vasectomy—a detail that felt almost comically mundane given the circumstances. But there was nothing funny about what had just transpired. Rejected, discarded, Carl was brought back to the cube. The next thing he knew, he was back in the Medicine Bow Forest, standing alone beneath the same trees. Two hours had passed since he’d fired his gun, but nothing would ever feel the same again.

What do you think of Carl’s story? Do you believe it’s a warning, a hoax, or perhaps a glimpse into a reality we’re not ready to face? Share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear what you think. If this story gave you chills, a little support goes a long way in keeping the eerie tales alive. Let’s keep the campfire burning for the stories that make the dark just a little darker.

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Easter Memories: Chocolate Bunnies, Family Chaos and a Dash of Roman History

Growing up, Easter was never just a holiday—it was an adventure. It was like Christmas's laid-back cousin who shows up with candy instead of presents, makes you laugh until your stomach hurts and somehow always turns the family reunion into a memorable saga. My childhood Easters were a mix of egg-dying mishaps, Southern cooking and my wonderful yet delightfully chaotic redneck family. And somewhere in between the jelly beans and the bi-annual family feud, I stumbled upon an unexpected connection to history—a thread that weaves together my granny’s house and the Roman Empire itself.

Easter 1979, living at Granny's house.

Let’s start with my kid-brain understanding of Easter. Sure, we went to church and yes, I heard the story of the resurrection—front and center in the Southern Baptist sermons of my childhood. But for me, Easter was less about sermons and more about sugar highs, brightly colored baskets and that magical creature called the Easter Bunny. Forget spiritual reflection—I had candy to eat and chocolate bunnies to befriend (and eventually eat, eyes first).

Easter 1980 in the little yellow house on Easter Lane

Easter didn’t have the heavy expectations of Christmas. There were no letters to write or wish lists to hint at. No tangled lights to hang a month in advance. Easter was spontaneous, simple and magical. Unless, of course, the magic of "Easter Eve" caught you boiling and dying two dozen eggs while trying not to crack them—or your patience.

Becki and I Easter 1980 in the little yellow house on Easter Lane

Every "Easter Eve" (a term I’ve claimed as gospel), my mom went into egg-prep overdrive. She boiled extra eggs to account for cracks and turned the rejects into her famous potato salad, chock full of onions, bell peppers and yellow mustard, for the next day's festivities. Meanwhile, my sister and I got to work dyeing the survivors. We used anything from Paas dye kits to good ol’ food coloring in vinegar-water-filled coffee cups. Fun? Sure—if you like balancing eggs with a flimsy wire dipper that bends under pressure like my attempts at folding laundry.

And then there was the cake—coconut, because I made the mistake of admitting I liked it once. After a childhood filled with coconut cakes for every Easter and birthday, let’s just say I’ve been mostly coconut-free ever since, there are times when I will buy a coconut cake just to remember my mama.

Me, Mama's Easter Cake and my sister, Becki

But the eggs, oh, the eggs! My sister and I poured our tiny hearts into perfecting them, convinced the Easter Bunny would reward our efforts with bigger, better baskets. Spoiler alert: he didn’t. By Easter morning, the eggs had been relocated to the fridge and our familiar childhood baskets took their place, brimming with candy that never changed but was always perfect. A large cream/nougat filled chocolate egg, a couple of Russell Stover eggs, small foil covered chocolate eggs, Robin's eggs, Peeps, jelly beans and Easter themed circus peanuts sitting atop Easter grass. Then those hollow Palmer chocolate bunnies were my absolute favorite—though my sister tormented me by insisting they were alive. Let me tell you, it’s hard to enjoy a bunny when you’re convinced you’re committing bunny-cide. I would usually eat all of the other chocolate over a few weeks before apologizing to the bunny, pick out his sugary yet chalky white and blue eyes so he doesn't see that I'm going to break pieces from him to consume.

Easter 1980, the yellow curtains bothered me more than the breaker box in the dining room

If we weren’t hunting eggs in our backyard, we were off to my granny’s house—where the real magic always unfolded. Picture this: my dad and uncles, beers in hand, gleefully hiding eggs in places no sane person would ever consider (cow poop, anyone?), while my cousin Missy scrambled up trees like a squirrel on a mission. The rest of us scoured the yard, determined to claim the "special" egg—a prize tucked inside a Leggs pantyhose container with a few crumpled dollars that felt like winning the lottery.

And then there was the food. Oh, the food! My dad and Uncle Gene manned the backyard grill, turning out perfectly charred, smoky chicken legs that still hold the title of my all-time favorite. Inside, Aunt Joan was a culinary wizard, whipping up fried okra, crispy fried squash, and creamy butter beans, while Granny’s ham reigned supreme in all its juicy, flavorful glory along with her amazing cornbread. Of course, no Easter feast was ever complete without my mom’s southern-style mustard potato salad. She made it just the way she liked it, and to her—it was the undisputed star of every plate.

Easter 1981, I was NOT interested in photo ops

Then, like clockwork, the family entertainment began. My cousin La Shea and Uncle Mike were the usual culprits, finding a reason—any reason—to start an argument. It didn’t matter if the topic was trivial; before long, voices would rise, and my dad and Uncle Gene would play peacemakers. I can't think of a time they managed to calm the storm, but more often than not, it would escalate until someone stormed out, tires screeching down the driveway.

Easter 1981, my cousins and sister, I was not having it

For us kids, the chaos was as much a part of Easter as the egg hunt or ham dinner. It was tradition—just like Missy climbing trees to fetch the eggs my dad always hid especially for her. If La Shea and Uncle Mike didn’t go at it, holidays felt strangely incomplete, like a bunny missing its ears. To this day, I giggle when I think of them and I love them both dearly.

Easter 1981, we almost got it right, my cousin Missy is hiding behind us all

I forgot to mention, only a fraction of the eggs were ever found. The ones that remained hidden had a way of revealing themselves weeks later—usually with a dramatic explosion of their rotten, hard-boiled innards breaking free from their once-bright neon or pastel shells.

My cousin Mikey and I on a swing my dad actually built.

Remember I mentioned a connection to Roman History? Now, here’s the twist: as I’ve gotten older, my understanding of Easter has deepened. Beneath the chocolate and chaos lies a story rooted in history—Roman history, to be exact. The Easter we celebrate today wouldn’t exist without the Roman Empire’s influence. Jesus’s crucifixion, central to the holiday, was carried out under Roman rule by Pontius Pilate. Fast forward a few centuries and it was Roman Emperor Constantine who helped shape Easter as we know it, deciding it would fall on the Sunday after the first full moon of the spring equinox. Talk about long-lasting traditions! And yet, even with all its historical weight, Easter at my granny’s house remained gloriously unpretentious—a blend of old Southern quirks and heartfelt connections.

My dad and Granny in her kitchen circa 1993

Here in 2025, things look a little different. Terry’s working while I'm off at home and we skipped the egg-dyeing ritual. But, of course, the Easter Bunny came and Palmer chocolate bunnies made their appearance because some traditions are non-negotiable. Tomorrow, we’ll most likely hit the stores for post-Easter candy sales, keeping the sugar rush alive for just a little longer.

My favorite, Biggy Ears by Palmer

Easter is still a time for reflection—whether on childhood memories, the historical roots of the holiday, or the simple joys of togetherness. And while I don’t crave coconut cake anymore, I treasure the traditions I grew up with—and the hilariously messy, love-filled family that made them unforgettable. What About You? So, how do you celebrate Easter? What are your favorite traditions—or your funniest family mishaps? When you dye eggs, do us use Pass Kits or Food Coloring? Let me know in the comments below—I’d love to hear your stories! And hey, if you enjoyed this walk down memory lane, feel free to share it, pass it along, or drop a small token of appreciation. Even a chocolate bunny will do. 😉

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