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-from deep in the HackFester Archives-

Alayna...the embarrassing early days.

The Birthday Girl, shown here during her brief tenure (9 minutes, in all) as a

 advertising product model.  This job ended shortly after the above photo was

taken when, suddenly coming to her senses, she disgustedly flung down the

offending (and highly suggestive) pen, leaped off the table (snapping both stiletto

heels in the process), and hobbled straight from the room, nearly knocking over Don

Draper who, late as usual, was just arriving for the meeting.  The next day, she purchased

a copy of The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan, The Female Eunich by Germaine Greer, and

anything she could get her hands on by Gloria Steinem, including all back issues of Ms.

Magazine, and the rest, as they say, is history....

All the Best on your Big Day, Alayna!

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Another Januschian Special Event.

Somewhere in New Mexico, not too long ago -  Jason -- the oldest and easily the 

most manly of the next-gen offspring -- is shown here practicing his favorite

 song in preparation for April 4th:  "Happy Birthday to me.  Happy Birthday to me. 

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to me.  Hell yeah."

(Second verse, same as the first.)

We fully concur:  All the best on your Big Day, J!

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HB, Marcos!

 Although he's now enjoying his retirement years, Marcos hasn't lost his edge in the carving department....

Here he is slicing through St. Paddy's corned beef as if he were wielding a chain saw.

(Of course, it helps that the brisket was as tender as a stick of room-temperature butter, having been slow-roasted to absolute

perfection in the O'Janusch kitchen hearth.)

 Still, it was a treat to watch the master in action, as attired in his color-coordinated carving shirt (reserved exclusively

 for this cut of meat to conceal inadvertent splatters), he gritted his teeth and bore down with much-practiced pressure on his

recently-sharpened, 40-year-old chef's knife (a wedding present from -- how appropriate for this Irish gathering -- John & Eleanor O'Brien).

I observed him employing quality control by pulling out his trusty protractor and carefully measuring the width of each slice

 to ensure uniformity. And now and again, he would pause, step back, mop his gently perspiring brow with his lightly starched

Irish linen handkerchief, and admire the results of his unparalleled bladework.

 Alas, it was a fleeting masterpiece:  In short order, dinner guests were marching past the buffet where they

 hungrily speared one portion of brisket after another, oblivious of the spectacular presentation

of ideally-sliced-and-ready-to-serve-succulent-deep-roasted corned beef providing a savory contrast to the glistening white platter.

It was more along the lines of quickly fill one's plate, wolf it all down, and hustle back for seconds, all the while giving proper acclaim to the modest cook.

Such is life:  The kudos always go to the chef, not the chef's carver, but on this, his birthday, we salute the carver: All the Best on your Big Day, Marcos.