December 2004 Archives

Pie, explained

| No Comments
There are things that you say to each other when you've been married since long before the Berlin Wall fell, things that certain situations call for. These may be quotes from movies, TV, or friends, and often I'm astonished to find that I've completely forgotten where the original quote came from. Sometimes we'll watch a movie that I haven't seen in 20 years and I'll realize, "That's where that line comes from!" (This was especially true of Meatballs, by the way.)

One of these things involves pie. When pie is served, we are required by our common memories to exclaim, "Just because I'm loaded doesn't mean I can't have pie!" The origin is fairly obscure -- it came from a very short-lived attempt by PBS to create a half-hour comedy anthology, back in 1987. It was called "Trying Times," and I don't recall how many episodes were produced, but if it turned out to only be three, I wouldn't be surprised. One episode was by Spalding Gray, called "Bedtime Story." I don't remember this at all, even though at the time I was in the full throes of Spalding Gray Fever. I thought he was brilliant, I thought what he was doing was refreshing, innovative, and, like most true innovations, so obvious it's a wonder no one had done it before. Yet, I remember nothing about this story and couldn't have come up with its title without IMDB.

Another was Terri Garr in "Drive, She Said," which probably got the most notice of all the shows, and featured Terri taking driving lessons. I remember that it was hilarious, but, again, like most of us in the '80s, I was also enamored of Terri Garr, and had been ever since I'd heard her say, "Quick! Suck it before the venom reaches my heart!"

The line about pie comes from an episode called "A Family Tree" that featured David Byrne and Rosanna Arquette. It was directed by Jonathan Demme, written by Beth Henley, who had also worked with Byrne on "True Stories," which bears another look some 18 years later. I remember none of the particulars of this episode (was this the one with the piano moving, where the mover says, "Don't worry, lady, I ain't lost a piano yet!"?), except David Byrne getting up drunk in the middle of the night, coming into the kitchen and demanding pie. "Just because I'm loaded doesn't mean I can't have pie!"

Some things are better left unexplained, don't ya think? The really odd thing is that we've passed these phrases on to our children, who in most cases have NO IDEA where they came from, so sometime, perhaps after we're gone, they're going to be watching a holodisc of "Sunset Boulevard" and have an amazing a-ha! moment: "So that's where 'I'm ready for my nap now, Mr. DeMille'" comes from!"

Dylan explains it all

| No Comments
Best link of the day comes courtesy of Steve Garfield, who has provided a link to this great video of 11-year-old Dylan, who just got an old-school record player for Christmas and is playing her parents' LPs that have been out in the garage. She explains how to use a record player for those not in the know. Dylan rocks! (Click on the picture of her holding "Never Mind The Bollocks".)

The Revolt O' The Appliances

| No Comments
Every Christmas, it seems, with frightening regularity, we suffer massive, multiple appliance failure. We may as well stop buying presents and just accept that our money will need to be spent replacing the devices that keep our lives going. I don't know why it happens around Christmas -- my theories involving Jesus Robots calling the appliances to join them are probably, I think, far-fetched, though the possibility of the Remote Control Destruct Chip isn't. And I'm not talking about minor appliances like coffeemakers, of which we have none (I'm a grind-and-press guy). In past years it has involved the washer, the dryer, the microwave, the refrigerator, the VCR. Etcetera.

This year, it was the dishwasher, which is just about three years old and leaks like the one it replaced never did. (Based on my experiences with the fridge, dishwasher and stove that we bought then, I won't be buying a certain company's appliances again.) If I clean the seals to the molecular level, it works fine, but the only tool for cleaning the seals is the human index finger -- nothing else really gets in there and does the job (we have hard water, which leaves some nasty mineral deposits). And, most disastrously, my two-year-old Harman Kardon CD changer, bought for their famous quality in sound and workmanship, completely bit the dust. It started making a most alarming grinding noise, which it has made 3 or 4 times before, but this time it wasn't stopping. Took it all apart to see what was what, and found that the gears on the CD reader are of the cheapest plastic, and have worn away after two years of the lightest use I have ever put on any CD player. I had my first Denon for 9 years; the player that followed that lasted about 7. So now I'm thrown into the world of figuring out what CD player I want -- and just try to find a mid-range CD player these days. The consumer market is all about the DVD, which is cute and everything, but neither of my DVD players has had the sound quality of a CD player. I was never an insane high-end audiophile, but I can certainly tell the difference between crappy DVD sound and a modest quality CD player. Plus, DVD players are SLOW, SLOW, SLOW. (Not slower than the Harman Kardon, mind you, which changed discs at a glacial pace and recognized just about every other one -- I should have sent it back when I got it.). As someone with less interest in a home theater than I'd have in a home bowling alley or home landing strip, I'm finding this all a little daunting.

So, for now, my great new Christmas CDs are being played on my computer and broadcast through the cordless phone's interference to the stereo in something approaching FM quality, the excruciating mediocrity of which really shines through on my beautiful Acoustimass speakers.

Enough! But if you find that those Jesus Robots have anything to do with this, let me know . . . .

Excellent Christmas

| No Comments
Well, it just was. Don't know why. I was especially in the mood this year (although I wasn't any more diligent about decorating and so on than usual . . . one string of stars in the porch windows, and we barely got the tree decorated.) But the idea of gathering among friends and family in the darkest days of the year appealed this year, and where I had expected her to become somewhat blasé about the whole thing, my 11-year-old was actually uncontrollably excited. It was as if she were running around happily chanting "Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!" under her breath for several days. It didn't hurt that the space under the tree was more stuffed with presents than I've ever seen it, even after we'd mailed off the out-of-town stuff.

Christmas for us begins at my mother's, where we've had a big Christmas Eve lasagna festival for the past 34 years or so. That's a long time. The cast of characters has changed dramatically over that time, and I still feel melancholy over some of those no longer with us on Christmas Eve, but that's the nature of time. All we can do is remember. How it became lasagna, I'm not sure anyone knows, but one year my mother tried to serve something else and there was a major revolt, so it's always lasagna. The girls were good with their cousins, I got to chat with some folks, and since it was an early start we closed the place at 8 o'clock. Unfortunately, Hannah enjoyed just a few too many of Christine's delicious espresso squares, a flourless chocolate espresso concoction that was as caffeinated as it was delicious, so there wasn't much sleep for her on Christmas Eve.

Christmas morning was wonderful -- the girls waited until 7 to wake us (as ordered), and then we came down and oohed and aahed over the Santa presents, but the best presents this year were from Mom and Dad (because we thought we should get most of the credit). Of course they already knew they had season passees to Mount Snow, and that was the bulk of Christmas, but they both got new American Girl accessories they wanted, a couple of new games, and little things like that. Rebekah gave me the new Lennon Acoustic disc, which I'm sure will be wonderful -- but to tell more, I'd have to get into a rant about the Revolt O' The Appliances, which I won't do just yet. Oddly, nobody got any new PlayStation games -- none of the ones we wanted could be found, anywhere.

Then the families came over, and all the peaceful pleasantness turned into Grand Central Christmas. It was, as my mother puts it, as if Santa threw up. There is just no way with that many people, especially children, to have any semblance of order to the gift opening, so it devolves into an orgy of paper-tearing and shouted thank-you's for about an hour. It's a shameful consumerist orgy, but we call it our Christmas, and it's a little bit of a rush. My mother fuels it, mostly, because the rest of us pretty much stick to one or two gifts per person, but she goes overboard. I asked for new pots and pans for Christmas -- the ones we have are her leftovers from 10 years ago, and the handles are all cracking or gone -- and I should have expected that she would supply us with all the pots and pans in the world. We haven't a clue where we're going to put them.

Once that was over, dinner -- half-catered, half put together in a panic when the grill suddenly stopped working. I went out to check on the two whole chickens I was supposed to be grilling and found they had reached a summery 80 degrees. Still not sure what was wrong, but it meant I had to put them in the oven inside, which meant the stuff that was going to go in the oven had to be dealt with otherwise -- big domino effect that left us eating exactly when I had said we would, but which was about an hour later than we would have had the grill worked. Tasty chicken, though. And pie. I had made two Norwegian Apple pies, and when I thought that wasn't going to be enough, made a pumpkin as well. Then I ended up with most of three leftover pies from my mother's the night before. So man, did we have pie. Just because I'm loaded doesn't mean I can't have pie! (I could explain, but I won't.)

Then, miraculously, everybody cleared out by 6:30, and we slumped in exhaustion in the living room and used toothpicks to keep our eyes open through the mandatory (but much enjoyed) viewing of "It's a Wonderful Life."

All in all, the perfect Christmas!

Merry Christmas

| No Comments
There's a pretty good chance that even if you're on my Christmas card list, you didn't get a Christmas card this year. Nothing personal. Or rather, everything personal, in the sense that apparently I didn't care enough about others this year to get the damn things done and out. I couldn't settle on a picture -- none of the family photos this year were any good, and most of my great shots of the girls were individual, which kinda doesn't speak of the spirit of family and Christmas, so at some point in November I just gave up on the idea.
It's Christmas in July!
by carljohnson
.
Then the cards started rolling in from all kinds of people I've probably guilt-tripped into sending me cards over the past couple of years, shamed by my uncharacteristic consistency in getting my cards out to my entire list, three years in a row, for the first time since the birth of Christ. Now I had a stack of cards (arranged in a convenient stack-like display), and feared that my now-faithful annual correspondents would feel slighted, insulted, forgotten, or worse. As some of them hold dangerous knowledge that I don't want in the hands of Page Six, I thought I'd better get with the Christmas program. Quickly printed out the picture you see here, as Christmas-y as a picture of the Ausable River in July can be, ran off a meagre sufficiency to deal with my guilt, and popped them in the mail just a few short days later, so that they'll arrive sometime after the eggnog has all worn off. So, if you've gotten a card in the past, don't give up hope . . . but I wouldn't hound the mailman, either. Merry Christmas!

Holiday season

| No Comments
Spouse has been super-sick this week, just in time for the holidays, picking up where Rebekah left off. As a result, I've been sleeping on the couch all week (not that I wouldn't have been anyway, had she seen what I was up to with Lisa Bonet in the dream I just woke up from) in order to avoid picking up an extremely nasty virus. We're hosting on Christmas and the house is nowhere near ready, and tomorrow is going to be a loss because of places we have to be, so it looks like today's the day. Of course, deep cleaning is never just cleaning but also involves unneeded rearranging, and I got into rearranging TV and stereo stuff yesterday in such a way as would give me back an entire bookshelf, but it would require new cables and wires and so on -- which I got because our doctor's office is located right next to a Radio Shack (and a Panera Bread, so there's a somewhat much pleasant place to wait while desperately ill spouse has her lungs poked). And at the same time my brand new (well, only two-year-old) Harmon Kardon CD changer has completely given up the ghost, which has completely pissed me off. That's the last time I pay for "quality" in a CD player -- I've got $75 pieces of junk that have been bounced around the basement, garage and yard that are still working, but this thing was apparently too delicate for the environs of the living room. Tried to get a very similar replacement cheap on eBay, but I got outbid, so now I'm forced to think about what CD player I want. Kill me now.

I did get to the gym last night, where I found that I'm only up three pounds, not the 20 that it felt like, as a result of this inactive season, so I hit the track and did some swimming and it felt fantastic. Ran into someone I know a little bit and asked the stupid standard question, "Ya ready for the holidays?" To which the poor guy had to say, as he's probably had to say a million times this month, that in fact his family was Jewish. Well, I didn't know. But he then went on to say that they had a German foreign exchange student living with them, and they were trying hard to find Christmas-y things to do with him so that he felt a little more at home. (I guess all must really be forgiven.)

Rebekah

| No Comments
Is she something else, or what? This is between dress rehearsal and the final performance of The Nutcracker at The Egg on Sunday. She was a polchinelle, which explains the braids and the ribbons, or "clown hair" as we know it.

Inflation

| No Comments
It was cold in the car and I had my hat over my ears (it's up to 1 degree fahrenheit), but I'm pretty sure the radio just said that "natural gas, heating oil and cocaine prices are up dramatically."

Maybe they said "propane." Never mind!

Christmas music

| No Comments
Know that great Waitresses Christmas song, "Christmas Wrapping"? Know that line, "Most of '81 passed along those lines"? Oh my god did that make me feel old this morning. 'Cause baby I was there when The Waitresses were the hottest new thing, and they were the first to make an exciting new Christmas song in ages -- and now that was 23 years ago. Zoiks!

Christmas music when I was growing up in the '60s was a depressing mix of:

  • Rat Pack Cool Crap -- Dino and Frankie wheezing through old chestnuts, drink and cigarette in hand, naughty winks at women in scanty Santa outfits
  • The remnants of the "chorale" industry, whose maudlin efforts were only made the more creepy by a tendency toward bizarre pre-claymation album cover art, and which can never be forgiven for bringing us the most horrible Christmas earworm ever, "The Little Drummer Boy." Harry Simeone has much to answer for. And listening to "chorale" records can only lead to Sandler & Young.
  • Burl F'ing Ives
That was it.

These nightmarish musical memories set me to thinking how little good new Christmas music there is. There are definitely some exceptions -- Brian Setzer swinging the chestnuts, and Los Straitjackets straightening out of The Ventures' approach are both modern Christmas classics. Rock has a hard time with Christmas anyway, and Fiona Apple singing "Frosty the Snowman" isn't exactly what I'm thinking of. I mean new songs about Christmas. John Lennon and The Kinks are hardly new. Let's keep it to the last 15 years -- here are my favorite newish kick-ass Christmas songs:

  • Merry Christmas Emily – Cracker
  • Christmastime – Aimee Mann
  • Rudy – The Be Good Tonyas
  • Sock It To Me Santa – Marshall Crenshaw
  • The Christmas Twist – Syd Straw
  • St. Stephen's Day Murders – Elvis Costello and The Chieftains

Your faves? Tell me!

'Tis the season, baby!

| No Comments
I really do wonder why it is our cultural imperative to cram as many life-affirming events as possible into the month of December. Perhaps it's because it's cold and gray, not enough snow on the ground, it's been winter for a while and we just need something to do. And perhaps for those without children, it's not like this at all, though even just the parade of office Christmas obligations is enough to mess the month up. (By the way, kudos to the Albany Bloggers for putting together a Secret Santa system -- if I ever did Secret Santa, I'd do yours. But I don't.)

In addition to The Nutcracker Factory, which comes to an end this weekend, this has been a busy week. Last night, the Sixth Grade Concert, a concerted effort featuring the orchestra, the chorus, and three bands. My recollection of school days, admittedly biased, is that strings were the thing, but today it appears that brass rules, and the sixth grade has so many heavy metal instruments that they've had to break them up by houses. Hannah was first violin, and they sounded great. But it went well and quickly, all one can ask of a school concert -- though I will say that some of the teachers could stand a little refresher in public presentation. Then, this morning, the middle school Principal's Breakfast to honor the top six students in each grade, in each house. Three times three times six, all individually named and honored, a very sweet ceremony. I was surprised by how many of the kids and parents I knew. (I want to write about all this community and connection, what it all means, but right now I haven't the time or the head for it.) My daughters triple-dog-dared me to tell the principal that I knew her from when she taught at my high school, and so I did. I never had her for a teacher, but I told her I had been one of the "Jean Rose Crowd," and she said that she and Jean still see each other all the time, and that she's still teaching part-time. Mrs. Rose was the English teacher who made it all click somehow. It wasn't that she introduced me to the wonders of literature -- that I already had. It was more that she got it, too, and so many of the other teachers didn't. If a teacher gets that what he or she is teaching is cool -- that's 80 percent of it. And yet, most of them don't.

And today, just to grind the week down a little more, I have to fly down to DC (it's our nation's capital, you know), do a meeting, then hang out for many hours waiting for my flight back. Doesn't that sound glamorous?

Skiing and more

| No Comments
Skiing. So good. Just such a great way to spend a winter's day. Sunday was our first day out. Not the most beautiful of days, but warm enough , the snow was good, and we just had a great time. It was Mount Snow's 50th birthday, which they most notably celebrated by having their "ambassadors" wandering around offering cake and mulled cider -- a great aprés-ski treat! The girls were good, really good for their first day back out. My quads were in great shape from all the biking, but my calves took a beating, and are very sore today. But it feels good.

I just want to say to all the people who have adopted the stance of hating SUV's and SUV owners, and who take every opportunity to advise that four-wheel drive just isn't necessary, and doesn't make any difference when you're driving in snow, sleet, or freezing rain -- shut the hell-damn up. Make your own choices, live with them, and leave me alone. Also, you're wrong, and if you can't tell the difference in control between driving in two-wheel and driving in four-wheel on a slick surface, then perhaps you should get off the road entirely. (Just thought we'd get that out of the way before we get too far into another winter.)

Want to see something truly disturbing? From my old stomping grounds of Syracuse (well, actually, North Syracuse, where I stomped infrequently), I give you . . . the funeral home webcam. Please, don't thank me.

By the way, shame on you!

| No Comments
All you sick puppies who came to one of my photo sites hoping to find pictures of naked Bennington co-eds, shame on you. And I don't have any. And if I did, do you think I'd have them posted at a family website? (Seriously, I got HUNDREDS of hits for "Bennington College photos." And it wasn't because prospective students are sorting through their choices. Or maybe that's exactly what it was.)

A weekload of "arrgh!"

| No Comments
The universe can be cruel to those of us with too much old pop music in our brains. The simple mention, days ago, of an otherwise long-forgotten band unleashed an entire week of Three Dog Night earworms on me. Earlier in the week it was "One," whose suckage was diminished by the fact that Harry Nilsson wrote it and I could get the Aimee Mann version stuck into my head -- Aimee could sing "Muskrat Love" and I'd think it was amazing, so that wasn't so bad. Moved through some of the rest of their hits catalog, and yesterday and today I've been under the weight of "Shambala," a real piece of crap with good hooks and backup singing that really sticks in the craws of the brain. Tragically, I can even remember the label (ABC/Dunhill), as it was -- I swear this -- the only Three Dog Night single I ever bought. Now that I've confessed all this, I'm hoping the spell will be broken before I find myself buying any of these monstrosities at the Apple Music Store, which was ultimately what I had to do in order to get "Clap for The Wolfman" out of my head, lo those many months ago.

Searching

| No Comments
Fascinating searches that brought people to my site this week:
  • "Please Come for Christmas real audio" -- HOME! Please Come HOME for Christmas!
  • "Christy Mathewson's jersey number" -- I don't know. I DO know he was the first pitcher of the 20th century to win 30 games in 3 consecutive years. (Thanks to http://www.mlb.com, I've learned that the last to do that was Grover Alexander of the Phillies, 1915-1917, and that Dizzy Dean was the last to win 30 games in a season, in 1934.)
  • "Sidewalk chalk on asphalt pavement" -- God, I love that song.
  • "Marlon Brando Wally Cox" -- I get this search EVERY day.
  • "Burl Ives Norelco" -- I get this one every day, too. Honestly.
  • "Linda Ronstadt plastic surgery" -- Definitely don't get that one every day.
  • "Alplaus Indians" -- now that's a refreshing change. However, there were no Alplaus indians. Well, there were probably Mohawks hanging around the creek, but "Alplaus" is Dutch -- "the place of the eels," don'tcha know.
  • "What makes life from the rural different from the urban" -- God, where to start?
  • "Goodbye Pop" National Lampoon -- given that I've been hit for this about 12 times in a week, you would think somebody somewhere would have a scan of this album cover!
  • "Vaughn Meader MP3" -- may he, uhh, rest in, rest in peace.
  • "Joan Cusack speech impediment" -- well, what more can I say?

Unwanted flashbacks

| No Comments
They warned me that listening to Top 40 radio would produce unwanted flashbacks years later, but did I listen? No, not me. So, there have been two or three undesired musical intrusions into my consciousness in the past two days. Tonight, it was a one-two punch from the complete set of "Sports Night," Aaron Sorkin's brilliant sitcom that he gave up in order to devote himself to preachy idealism on "West Wing." To my way of thinking, "Sports Night" -- tightly written, sexy, almost balletic -- is one of the best TV shows ever. But he closed out two episodes in a row with truly terrible songs -- one, the Beach Boys' "Sloop John B," and I don't care where you come down on the Beach Boys, that's a song the world could have done without. It was perhaps the least of Brian Wilson's songs. The second was "Eli's Coming," by Three Dog Night, a song I would never have remembered if it hadn't first been quoted in the script and then played at the closing. I mean, to even reference a Three Dog Night song -- it's just unnecessary. Yes, Laura Nyro wrote it, but here's the point: I don't need to ever again hear anything sung by the band that brought us "Joy to the World," that brought us "Easy to Be Hard," that brought us "An Old Fashioned Love Song." Do I have to go on? (God, do you remember how HUGE Three Dog Night were? It boggles the mind).

And starting off this festival of musical suckage, yesterday at the pool I heard perhaps the most unexpected oldie I could even imagine: "Blinded By the Light" by Manfred Mann's Earth Band. Perhaps there are some of you who listen to oldies radio who could tell me that this is in fact tops in the rotation these days -- I simply wouldn't know. I only had to hear the first half bar to know I was going to be sucked right back to 1977, when in fact I owned the album. I'm pretty sure I got it free for doing something down at the radio station. That's my story and I'm sticking with it. As ridiculous as Springsteen's lyrics can be when he's singing them (and for my previous snit about Bruuuuuuce, click here and check out 7/6), they're much more ridiculous when sung by a former rhythm 'n' blues band that has morphed into a pretentious art-rock outfit. I owned that album for years (in fact, it's one of the few I've ever gotten rid of), but until I looked at the songlist tonight, couldn't have remembered a single other song on it. Now that I've seen the list, some of them are coming back to me, zombie-like, and feeding on my delicious brrraaaaaaaiiinnnnssssss. How did the same team -- Manfred Mann and Mike Hugg -- that wrote "Mister You're A Better Man Than I" (an angry-young-man hit for the Yardbirds that still sounds good nearly 40 years later) move from thumping, organ-based covers of "Smokestack Lightnin'" to "Singing the Dolphin Through" and "Waiter There's a Yawn in My Ear"? I can't explain it. Perhaps the website can.

There's just so much suck when rock loses its way.

Please, no

| No Comments
Please tell me that the pet carrier that has suddenly appeared among the junk in the neighbor's yard does NOT mean they are acquiring a dog. Please tell me that. She can barely attend to her kids, who are allowed to wander free throughout town and are regularly allowed up past midnight, playing in the yard on the world's most dangerous trampoline. (These are grade-schoolers.) And I'm accustomed to odd pieces of crap showing up in the yard (like the on-again off-again father's beloved section of stockade fence, which he would pop in and out of his truck as fashion suited). But the good-sized pet carrier is ominous, and they already have cats they don't take care of (who spend most of their time trying to get into my garage so they can piss all over it -- I like cats, but I don't even know if these have had their shots, and there's rabies all over around here, so I tell my kids to give these animals wide berth). So please tell me they haven't acquired a dog. Please.

Update: Yes, there is a puppy over there. God help it.

And now I've got The Ramones' "Pet Sematary" stuck in my head: "I don't want to be buried In a pet cemetery I don't want to live my life again."

By the way, updated listing of my iTunes library. Judge me by the music I listen to!

The '70s claim another victim

| No Comments
This actually happened several days ago, but after reading of the man who was killed by an exploding lava lamp, several of my co-workers conspired to place a lava lamp on my desk with a sign that read "Warning: Do Not Place on Stove." There are several scary things about this. First, by co-workers, I mostly mean subordinates, who certainly could be seen as threatening a superior with a lava lamp. Second, they HAD a lava lamp at the office. Third, it was a nasty one, perhaps an original, and the globules of wax looked like the fat scrapings from inside the band saw at the meat counter (trust me -- been there, cleaned that). Fourth, it smelled. Hot, nasty, possibly dangerous. But in the end, the scariest thing about this tragedy was the final line from the police, who said that they had found no evidence of alcohol or drug use. Why on earth would you be trying to heat a lava lamp unless you were high?

That said, I'm currently messing around with various visualizers for iTunes, which are nothing if not devices for turning a very expensive computer into a very expensive lava lamp. And I'm not high, either. But I'm not putting my G4 on the stove to see what happens.

Found the pain!

| No Comments
Oh yeah, my massage therapist found my injury. Turns out it was a hamstring, and it was actually in the back of the leg. She worked on my legs so hard that today I could barely walk -- not because of pain, but because it felt like they'd been dissassembled and then put back together kinda loose. Had to go very slow all day. Now, they're exhausted. But I'm on the way to healing, which is important. Must ski soon. I also had a regular physical therapy session yesterday, and they gave me an iontophoresis patch -- a little electronic device that applies an anti-flammatory through your skin through little bursts of electricity. It even had a little flashing LED on it, but looked bizarre and threatening enough that I was sure glad I didn't have to go through security at the Capitol, because I think that might have occasioned at least a cavity search.

Am I the last person to know that Tom Kenny is the voice of Spongebob Squarepants? Tom Kenny, of Tomcat and Bobcat (Goldthwait), the Generic Comics? Tom Kenny, of the band The Tearjerkers (post-Buddy Love -- "Chip 'n' Ernie all night! Chip 'n' Ernie all day!")? Tom Kenny, who used to bag groceries at the Price Chopper in Dewitt? Yes, apparently I am.

Phonak fired Tyler, and they still aren't going to be allowed on the Pro Tour next year. So what do I do with my prized (and expensive) Phonak jersey now?

If you're any kind of a Jonathan Richman fan and you don't have "Precise Modern Lovers Order," what's wrong with you?

The searchers

| No Comments
Searches that brought people to my site today:

  • Duckhunting Girls
  • They even shaved his legs this halloween (I have no idea)
  • Rollerblading death Forest Park
  • Kirsten Dunst
  • Goodbye pop album cover National Lampoon (can you believe it? Just days after my rant?)
  • Play headless Carl (again, no idea)
  • sock it to me santa crenshaw (one of my absolute favorite Christmas songs)
  • Sacramento rollerblading (finally, familiar territory)
  • Lake Champlain mosquitoes (odd time of year to worry about that)
  • Kirsten Gum photo (don't have one, though I'd like one -- she's an anchor on OLN)
  • Adirondack toboggan (finally, something wholesome)

About this Archive

This page is an archive of entries from December 2004 listed from newest to oldest.

November 2004 is the previous archive.

January 2005 is the next archive.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

Share this!

  • Subscribe to feed Subscribe to my RSS feed!

Archives

OpenID accepted here Learn more about OpenID
Powered by Movable Type 5.2.6