I only snack on it at work to fill the void with something non-processed. But you wouldn’t catch my buddy Paul doing that if it was the last food on Earth. Seriously – I think he would accept his fate and expire before he consumed this vile stalk.

Somebody please pass the ranch.

That’s what I told my Friday lunch crew when we went out to eat a couple days ago. Yeah – that was Monday. But we missed the last few Fridays because we were on holiday break, and we had to catch up.

I suggested we go to Macaroni Grill this Friday so I can satisfy my lasagna jones. Paul and Dale said Olive Garden is the way to go. And Paul and I both agree that Carrabba’s does a pretty decent job as well. But it became a moot point this morning when I saw a Facebook post from Juan, who runs the cafe in the lobby of my office building.

Roma’s Quick Cafe is serving lasagna today. I put in my order immediately.

NOTE: Ordering lunch through social networking is pretty sweet!

Now I’ve had my lasagna, and we are free to eat something other than Italian on Friday.

By the way, we used to have a fourth member of the lunch party. Our friend Josh was part of the group for many years until he pulled stakes and moved to South Canada about a year-and-a-half ago. I’m pretty sure he would vote for Fuddrucker’s.

Those encounters are both amusing and a little frustrating for Donovan, because he never stopped recording and touring with Blue Meridian — he just switched coasts. The band’s sixth studio album, “Skint & Shattered,” was recently released online and is physically available this week.

If you were a fan of original music in Orlando during the ‘90s, you had your choice of great bands to see on most nights of the week at The Sapphire, Go Lounge, Barbarella, Scruffy Murphy’s, Skinny’s, The Copper Rocket or House of Blues. And Blue Meridian was one of the most active, prolific bands on the circuit.

As the quartet’s founder and frontman, Donovan was a relentless promo machine. In addition to being a musician, he was a freelance graphic designer who churned out unique posters for every gig.

Donovan Lyman

The band maintained an aggressive performance schedule, released a couple of well-received indie albums and won numerous awards. At the same time, consistent airplay on Real Radio 104.1 turned “Sideways Silverjet” and “The Way I Feel” into regional hits.

And then the band disappeared.

Well, not really. That’s a common misconception among a lot of East Coast fans.

Blue Meridian has been alive and well in Los Angeles for almost 10 years now. After the band’s first West Coast tour in the early part of the last decade, Donovan decided California was the place he ought to be. So he came home, tied up some loose ends, held a fire sale at his Bumby Avenue house / rehearsal space / headquarters and headed west.

I still miss the Bumby house, which was only a few minutes from Beefy King. I frequently met Donovan at the classic Orlando lunch spot whenever I could break free from being an Internet Pioneer at “The Orlando Sentinel.” Some of the best times were when we grabbed our Beefy sammiches and spuds, and then took them back to his place. That’s when I got to hear the latest songs and new mixes before they made it onto a stage or CD.

Luckily I’ve been able to continue the experience virtually since Donovan settled in LA and formed a West Coast version of Blue Meridian. And we still have lunch at Beefy King whenever he’s in town.

To those of us who faithfully show up a few times a year at Donovan’s Orlando shows, Blue Meridian never went away. Actually, the band is more popular than ever. There is a strong fan base not only in Southern California, but also in Europe and the UK, where the band is a big draw on international tours.

Orlando album-release party

Now that you know Blue Meridian is still around, it’s time to get a beer in one hand and a copy of the new record in the other.

Come out to The Back Booth in Orlando this Wednesday at 8:30 p.m. for the Orlando release of “Skint & Shattered.” Donovan will perform an acoustic set full of old favorites and selections from the new album, which will be available at the show.

I bet he will even explain the album title. And if you’re really nice, he’ll let you buy him a Red Bull and Vodka!

If you absolutely can’t make it to the show on Wednesday, then head over to CD Baby, Amazon or the iTunes Store and buy a copy of “Skint & Shattered.”

Donovan spent four years perfecting the performances on this record, but it was worth the wait.

The first finished track I heard was “Heaven’s Heavy.” I loved it right away because it sounded familiar and fresh at the same time. It has a classic Blue Meridian feel, but stands apart from anything on previous releases.

What is consistent across every Blue Meridian record, however, is the lyrical imagery from Donovan.

Oh love, on a string. It makes you jump so high like you’re bounding about on springs.
Is that all the heaven we’ll find? Don’t be scared of what our powers will be combined.

“Godspeed” is a driving anthem that will probably be a favorite of fans who like the heavier material from the self-titled first album and “Brave Angel.” Donovan even lets loose with a powerful “C’MON!” during the song’s opening. That little element made me flash back to the “Blue Meridian” album, where he did the same thing going into the second verse of “Dream Breathe Scream.”

“Lina Los Angeles” is chock full of SoCal references. This chorus makes me smile every time I hear it:

Lina Los Angeles, give me a slow kiss, pour me a Grey Goose, put me in show biz.
Lina Los Angeles, queen of the Wild West, you’re kind of a big deal, and I’m sort of impressed.

The record lightens up a bit sonically with “Never Grow Old,” “King of Hearts” and “God’s Daughter,” all of which are in the vein of the quieter, more ethereal material on “Avalon & Babylon & Me.”

When the song “Crystal Clear” first appeared on “Avalon.” It was all finger-picked guitar, mandolin and violin. It had a bluegrass and Irish folk vibe the first time around. Donovan recast the song for “Skint & Shattered” with electric guitars, a heavy bass part mixed right up front, and a lockstep rhythm that brings to mind “(I’m Gonna Be) 500 Miles” by the Proclaimers.

If you are an old Blue Meridian fan who didn’t realize the band is still making music – you should buy this record. And if you’re in Orlando, please come out to The Back Booth Wednesday night.

If you’ve never heard of Blue Meridian before, but you’re a fan of good rock ‘n’ roll with well-crafted lyrics – you should buy this record.

I’ll even make you a deal. And by “you,” I mean the FIRST person who wants to take me up on the offer. Not EVERY person. If you buy “Skint & Shattered” and decide it’s not your cup of tea, contact me and I’ll personally refund your money.

There ya go. Nothing to lose.

And now — the videos.

Bug them about wearing a helmet when they get on a bike or skateboard. Teach them about stranger danger and how to dial 9-1-1. Keep them away from Jerry Sandusky.

But it wasn’t until this week that I realized a classic piece of Americana is actually a tool of the unified forces that are hell-bent on corrupting our youth with the systematic introduction of drugs, disrespect, dalliance and dependence.

I’m talking about …

… “Frosty the Snowman.”

This has nothing to do with political affiliation or religious preference. The song is an equal-opportunity offender. To prove the point, I hereby submit my analysis of the lyrics:

Frosty the Snowman was a jolly, happy soul
With a corncob pipe and a button nose
And two eyes made out of coal

Right off the bat, the song urges our children to use tobacco and fossil fuels. “Hey, kids. Coat your lungs with tar, and use coal for everything possible instead of choosing an eco-friendly alternative.”

Frosty the Snowman is a fairy tale they say
He was made out of snow
But the children know how he came to life one day

What’s that? One moment there was no life, and then POOF there was life? I see … so now we’re teaching creationism in our holiday ditties. Got it.

There must have been some magic in
That ol’ silk cap they found

So much wrong here. In two short lines, the songwriters managed to introduce the concepts of occult and welfare. The kids in the song “found” the hat, and then gave it away. Just like the government finds tax money and gives it away to people who sit around hitting the pipe all day while the rest of us work. Obviously that hat belonged to someone! Maybe an old person who will catch his death of cold if his head isn’t covered. The kids should have turned it in to Lost and Found.

For when they placed it on his head
He began to dance around

Dancing? Hello! You let kids dance and it’s a slippery slope straight downhill to drinking, making out, car wrecks and a Kenny Loggins song.

Frosty the Snowman was alive as he could be
And the children say he could laugh and play
Just the same as you and me

Sure, kids, head on outside and play with every drifter and hobo who come through town. Traipse around with these ne’re-do-wells, then see how quickly you end up chained to a tent stake out in the woods while your captor writes ransom notes using pus from his open sores. The good news, is you’ll get your 15 minutes of fame on the side of a milk carton.

Frosty the Snowman knew the sun was hot that day
So he said let’s run and have some fun before I melt away

The sun is hot. But this Frosty character doesn’t even stop for a moment to suggest that the kids lather on a little SPF 30 to protect their delicate epidermis. Once again proving himself irresponsible. You know damn well that Obamacare won’t pay for skin-cancer treatment.

Down to the village with a broom stick in his hand
Runnin’ here and there all around the square
Sayin’ catch me if you can

I’ll tell you why he’s running here and there. Forgive me for getting all street on you bitches, but “snow” is another term for cocaine. The “snowman” is selling drugs to your children. He himself is all hopped up on the devil’s dandruff and can’t stop running around the square.

He led them down the streets of town
Right to the traffic cop
And he only paused a moment when he heard him holler stop

Frosty only paused a moment. That’s it. Then he continued on his merry way, even though the local constable had to holler at him. This drifter has no respect for law enforcement, and you’re letting your sunscreenless children run around town snorting cocaine with him.

Frosty the Snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye sayin’ please don’t cry
I’ll be back again some day

Just another good-time Charlie who destroys a few lives then moves on down the road, leaving a trail of empty promises about coming back one day to make all your dreams come true. This is the stuff of Lifetime movies.

It’s time to thumppity-thump-thump Frosty’s ass for good.

Hazard lights flashed on a small pickup truck. The driver was trying to push it off the road — and by “off the road,” I mean to the entrance of a shopping center more than 100 yards away.

I stopped at the light and glanced back, assuming someone would stop to help the guy. Apparently everyone who was eastbound on University Boulevard at 6:45 a.m. had a very important appointment they couldn’t be late for. Or maybe they were afraid that the Dunkin’ Donuts a few blocks away would run out of pumpkin muffins or Munchkins. Because no one stopped.

It was a small truck. A Ford Ranger, I believe. But it’s not easy to push and steer at the same time. So the poor guy’s forward pace was somewhere between post-op heart patient using a walker, and me at the end of a 5k.

He was on track to reach the McDonald’s parking lot by Black Friday.

Click on the image to enlarge it and see where I was when I spotted the truck.

So when the light turned green, I did a U-turn, parked in the right lane behind the powerless pickup, snapped on my hazards, and hopped out to help push. By working together, we picked up the pace and quickly made it to the parking lot. That’s when I became aware of a road-grading characteristic that’s not typically a factor when you’re behind the wheel of a fully functioning vehicle.

That little swale at the entrance to a parking lot turns into the Snake River Canyon when you try to push a truck full of roofing material across it. After some rocking (my suggestion, thank you very much), we gathered enough momentum to get past our obstacle.

Take THAT, Evel Knievel!

We pushed on for the final 50 feet into a parking spot and took a well-deserved breather. That’s when Roofer Guy told me his transmission was shot. All this time I assumed he was out of gas, but that wasn’t it at all.

RG knew the transmission was about to go. He already bought a rebuilt unit, and planned on taking the truck to his transmission guy after work on this very day. English is not RG’s first language, so I missed some of what he said. I caught something about how he already called The Boss to let him know what happened. And there was another bit about a tow truck that would take his truck to the transmission place if necessary.

I was a little distracted by that point because I remembered that my van was 150 yards down the road … unlocked … with my laptop backpack on the back seat.

I’m not much of a worrier, and I really wasn’t very concerned about anyone walking off with my laptop. The bigger issue was that some hungry soul barreling down University toward her pumpkin muffin might slam into the sexy Caravan if she didn’t notice my hazard lights. It would suck to kill one driver while trying to help another.

As I was about to walk away, RG “God blessed” me a couple times and then reached into his pocket.

“Here, here. Let me …”

Right away I put up my hand in protest.

“No. I can’t take anything from you. I was glad to help. Seriously. You don’t owe me a thing.”

But RG continued.

“Here, here. Let me show you.”

He pulled a business card out of his pocket.

“See. I even have a card for the tow truck. I was ready for this.”

RG looked pretty confused by that point. I’m sure he was bewildered by the gringo who had an aversion to looking at a business card. Probably figured it was some odd phobia exclusive to middle-aged white guys.

Yes, RG. You were ready for this. And now I’m ready to crawl under a rock.

I already forget a lot of shit, or just don’t pay attention. It can only get worse.

There was plenty of time to reflect on my forgetfulness after I spotted an unread newspaper while on my way to work a few days ago. I assume the paper was unread because it was still rolled up snugly in its protective condom.

The sheathed newspaper was traveling westbound through Orlando on I-4 around Princeton Street when I made visual contact. It was hurtling toward its destination — on the trunk lid of a Toyota Corolla. This was a great discovery because it gave me a lot to think about during my 50-minute commute:

• Did the driver pick up the newspaper off her driveway and set it down on the trunk lid while loading the car or running back inside for something?
• If so, what did she go back inside for? Possibly her lunch, or the book of crossword puzzles she works during her break at the insurance company.
• Maybe the paper carrier accidently deposited that day’s collection of dated news and 12-hour-old scores in the front yard instead of the driveway. And then a kind neighbor walking his golden retriever deftly sidestepped the sprinkler to snatch the newspaper from the wet grass. The back of the car probably seemed like a sensible place to put the paper.

My speculation ended abruptly when I connected the dots and started thinking about how many times I’ve forgotten about something on the outside of a vehicle after setting it down for just a sec:

A Coke in a to-go cup. Pretty common, I suppose. So I know I’m not alone with this one. I remembered it as soon as I heard something sliding across the roof. That was right before I glanced in the mirror and watched 16-ounces of ice, high-fructose corn syrup and caramel color spread across the rear window, followed by a cartwheeling cup.

Packet of papers from the Orlando Science Center. It was a few years ago in January. I know it was January because that’s when we always renew our family membership. Among other things, the envelope contained four guest passes for friends and some IMAX CineDome passes. The envelope lifted off like a kite when I pulled out of the parking garage and onto … oddly enough … Princeton Street.

Garmin handheld GPS. We were on our way to a cabin in North Carolina for a week of hiking and canoeing, and I was excited about heading into the great outdoors with my first GPS. Everyone and everything was loaded in the van. I put the GPS on the roof next to the luggage rack while I stood outside the cockpit and checked my pockets to make sure I had my wallet, keys, phone and sunglasses. Satisfied that I was good to go, I climbed in and took off.

I planned on stopping two minutes from home at CVS for an extra pack of AA batteries. Halfway there I had a really bad feeling about my new toy that had been delivered by the UPS man less than 24 hours earlier. I patted my front pockets to see if the GPS was there. Then I checked the console and drink holders. Damn!

I pulled into CVS and decided to go through the motions of buying the batteries. Although it would be a moot point if the Garmin was already roadkill. As I stepped out of the van, I reached up to the luggage rack — and there was the GPS. My lucky day.

Samsung Blackjack. This is the one my kids still give me a hard time about. We were on our way somewhere. Probably the science center. I pulled out of our neighborhood and got up to about 35 mph when I heard an odd scraping sound on the roof. Once again, the mirror gave me a great view of the carnage as my phone launched off the back of the car.

I watched it bounce down the turn lane. The battery cover went one way, the battery dislodged and went the opposite direction, and the phone itself skidded to a stop 20 or 30 feet away. Much to my surprise, the phone actually worked after I collected and reassembled the pieces. Props to Samsung for making a tough device. The phone’s performance sucked — but it sure could take a hit.

I’m pretty sure this list should be longer. But I’ve forgotten about the other incidents.

Maybe it’s the heat. Or the bugs. Or the frustration of never striking it rich in the Lotto. But some people don’t take constructive criticism very well when they’re behind the wheel. And sometimes they respond by taking target practice on the rear window of the constructive criticizer.

I think I met him once before. Probably a year ago, because the Lutheran church near my house has their big rummage sale at this same time every year.

My youngest son is quite fond of garage sales, rummage sales, yard sales, thrift stores and anywhere else he can get a bargain. He’s a budding little entrepreneur — often thinking ahead to how he can flip an item on eBay, Craig’s List or at his own garage sale. It’s funny to see a 9-year-old meet the gaze of someone 40 years his senior and say, “Can ya do any better?”

Yesterday my wife took him to Day One of the annual sale at the church Bill attends. Among other things, Son No. 3 came home with a set of computer speakers. This brings his stable of computer speakers to around six sets.

A kid can never have enough sound reinforcement.

Turned out one of the speakers was missing its little plastic base. So this morning, I took No. 3 to the sale as soon as it opened at 7 a.m. He wanted to get there and search for the AWOL speaker base before the Electronics Department became overly rummaged.

No luck.

That’s when Bill sidled up and asked in a working-class British accent if we found what we were looking for.

Actually, I can’t say for certain that his accent is “working class.”  But I’m going with it. Partly because he just didn’t strike me as a guy who spent his working life behind a desk.

We explained the situation and showed Bill the speaker stand we brought with us from home, thinking maybe he’d seen its mate. Bill said, “Would you like me to make one for you?”

Really?

“Well I’m quite a carver of wood,” Bill said. “It’s something to keep me busy in retirement. I make all the crosses around here. I could carve a stand to match this one. It’ll be wood instead of plastic. But it will work.”

No. 3 eagerly accepted the offer. At least he was as eager as any 9-year-old will be when forced to speak with a grandfatherly stranger who talks funny. Bill told us to stop by in a couple weeks. He’ll leave the finished piece and the original plastic stand with the church secretary.

I’m not sure how much cross-making is required at a small church. Bill implied that most of the crosses he makes are small ones worn around the neck — not the life-size, behind-the-pulpit type. So something tells me he has a few openings on his shop calendar.

Sure No. 3 looks forward to having (almost) matching speaker stands. But I have a feeling that in the end, Bill gets as much out of this deal as my son.

Imagine the opening scene of The Blues Brothers without “She Caught the Katy” playing in the background as Jake and Elwood drive away from the prison.

At the end of Say Anything, when Lloyd stands outside Diane’s window and holds up the boombox blasting “In Your Eyes,” we can all feel his passion for her.

“Moving in Stereo” sets the perfect tone for the perfect teenage fantasy when Linda steps out of the pool wearing a red bikini in Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

“You Got a Friend in Me” in Toy Story … “Holiday Road” in National Lampoon’s Vacation …  “Up Where We Belong” in An Officer and a Gentleman … “Build Me Up Buttercup” in There’s Something About Mary.

And although it’s so iconic that I don’t even have to mention it. No one can ever forget “Rocky’s Theme.”

You, Peter (may I call you Peter?), are keenly aware of how important the soundtrack is for a motion picture. Filmmakers are in the emotional transportation business, and music is an essential tool in their tell. The challenge for them is finding the right music. And that’s why I want to introduce you to some talented singer-songwriters who have a lot to offer your friends in Hollywood.

Below we have “Normandy” by Donovan Lyman, “Drinker’s Hour” by Vaughan Rhea, “Seattle” by Andrea Marchant, and “Some Comfort” by Kevin Montgomery.

These are my friends, and I would love the opportunity to expose you to their music. I don’t represent them, I’m not in the business and I have nothing to gain except seeing great artists share their music with a larger audience.

There’s plenty more where this came from. Let’s chat: john@talkstoomuch.com or 407-405-7479.

Best.

– JT

Not much … chilled out … hung with the fam … went to a movie … did some chores … had a bunch of running around to do …

Yawn.

You need something better to talk about next Monday. You should go to work bubbling with excitement about the awesome, cool thing you did. Something you never did before. Hell — something you never even heard of before!

Next Monday you should tell everyone the story about the house concert you went to Saturday night.

It’s the most amazing thing. Instead of going to a club and trying to hear a performer above the pool table, the bottles being tossed into a can by the bartender, and that one drunk guy who wants everyone in the joint to hear his conversation — you hang out with 20 or 30 like-minded people in someone’s living room and listen to a singer-songwriter in a comfortable, intimate setting.

House concerts are growing in popularity because it’s a win-win: Touring artists get to connect with music fans in a way they can’t in a club, and fans get a unique experience.

So come out this Saturday and spend an evening with singer-songwriter Kevin Montgomery. Kevin played a show at my house last December as part of his “50 States in 50 Days Tour,” and this summer he’s touring for a month before heading back to Nashville to finish his forthcoming CD, Some Comfort. You’ll enjoy hanging with Kevin. He has been in the music business for more than 20 years and has a million great stories.  He’s been down the major label road, lived in LA, and now he has a successful indie career.

As a sidebar (and to give your water cooler story even more juice on Monday morning), Kevin’s dad, Bob Montgomery, grew up in Lubbock, Texas, where he performed and wrote with Buddy Holly.

We hope to have Kev back at the Terry pad for next year’s “50 States” tour. But the honor of hosting this show goes to my buddy Mike, who lives just a few minutes away from me and finally gets to realize his dream of being a concert promoter.

Let me know if you’re interested in attending Saturday night, and I’ll give you the details. Or check out the Facebook invite: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=161898557217754

EDIT: I’ve been told the above link doesn’t work for some people. So here are the deets:

Location: The Nelson’s house — 363 Brushwood Lane Winter Springs
Doors: 7 p.m.
Showtime: 8ish
Donation: $15 per person to cover Kevin’s expenses
Drink: BYOB

To get you in the mood, check out something old and something new from Kevin Montgomery: