Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Groan. A couple days off and I revert to my inner 13-year-old boy! Honestly, I left the USB cable for my camera in a hotel room, so I have no choice but to recycle stuff from my Facebook photo albums until I get a replacement. Which is actually perfect timing because I have a feeling there may be a few more posts like this in the upcoming weeks. I'm equal parts supremely pissed off/ignited and excited in an explosive, adolescent sort of way. There will be sobbing, throbbing, foul language and kicks in the balls. No fart jokes, though. I hate fart jokes. So gauche!
P.S. Photo taken at the M16 bus stop at Waterside Plaza.
I never realized until I started this blog how many Ramones LPs are on my inner turntable. Phew, good deal!
Monday, August 29, 2011
I envy Derrick and Bing sometimes. They don't have to worry about what to wear every day (though Bing does have a set of devil horns, a top hat and a baby blue hoodie with skulls from the Martha Stewart Collection), and they aren't weighed down by the desire for material possessions.
To some degree we're all addicted to buying stuff, to getting that bag and carrying around what's in it, even if it's just some crappy hair gel and gummy worms. Why, that's what makes us good Americans after all! Like, the stores all closed early on Saturday 'cause of Hurricane Irene, and on Sunday I saw people forlornly walking the streets, all sad-sack and jonesing cause there was nothing to BUY. I watched a family sprint to CVS when they saw it had opened, practically gasping for air as they set their sights on Pringles and Blistex (random items to be sure, but they kinda go together, don't they? Especially if we're talking pizza-flavored Pringles).
At least with cats, their thrills are relatively cheap. Derrick loves his rainbow catnip cigar, but I don't think he thinks about it when it's not there. Nor does he need to get it in multiple colors and styles, or worry that they'll stop making the rainbow stripe kind and life will never be the same again.
The Q, as interpreted by anthropomorphized sea life, remindin' us what it's really all about:
And all the world is biscuit-shaped…
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
I unfairly blamed this magnificent spider for the lil' bites I got on the tops of my feet in Kennebunkport last month. I snapped this photo after I found him/her lounging around my bed. My coworkers told me it was probably 'skeeters biting me, dining and whining like AM radio waves. That may be, but I really wanted to know why the bites got crazy-maddeningly-clawingly itchy days after I got back, and remained as such for a week?
I dedicate this post to delayed reactions of all kinds. Sure, some people are great at witty retorts and badinage--these types can make lots of money doing, say, consulting work. I myself need a few hours minimum to come up with a good response, though a day or two of ruminating brings best results. Kinda like a spider, you know, with her built-in silk factory. You think she's hanging out doing nothing, and then boom… here comes a silken string-thought that launches her into the sky and outta there like a balloon.
OF COURSE I like Count Five's the best, but this video is so...quaint!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
I heart you. Not just because you're a classically trained violinist with an IQ of 163, but because you had 'em, and you flaunted 'em.
You're the standard poodle of the Hollywood pantheon. (Dyed petal pink, of course.) I know how smart they are, but I'm not telling.
I like this version:
He censors himself here, but OK, I'll take it : ) ....
Monday, August 15, 2011
Touch me in the morning and then just walk away...
Seriously, have you listened to that song lately? Well, I have--81 times in the last week, actually, because I just can't seem to grok it, and I can't get over how vulnerable and sad and romantic and really, well, lame the heroine--I'm calling her "Touch Me"--seems to be. It makes me mad that she's giving the guy all this power, you know? And is it just one night she's hoping for, or an actual series of booty calls?
I can't say for sure what Jayne Mansfield would do, but I'd make a bet that she would NOT lie there and think about the last time he touched her in the morning… No siree, she'd probably have kicked his ass to the curb long ago--better to lounge around your 40-room Pink Palace with your meezer in a leopard-print bullet bra than be somebody's sloppy seconds…
P.S. The heart, such strange things happen to it when it opens up.
I know, I know, this is like the Poseidon Adventure version of the song, but what it's lacking in subtlety and strength it makes up for in crazy sequined hats. And what is up with the dedication?!
Here's the male counterpart to "Touch Me." You'd think she and "Sun Shines" would hook up, but it never works like that:
Guitar courtesy of Jimi Hendrix (Yes. Really!!!):
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
I call this one "Birthplace of Chewbacca," and the great irony here is that I was the only kid in my class not to have seen Star Wars. I mean, totally lame, right? What was I doing? Eating Mallomars and listening to "Cat Scratch Fever" or something...
This is the product of one of those "set your poem to music" ads they'd run in the back of magazines, and "the nearest thing to true ding-a-ling" you've heard in a long time:
Chris Bell's version of this next one is like standing on the shore when the ship is leaving, just horribly, beautifully, gnashingly, crashingly stab-in-the-heart painful. Norman from Teenage Fanclub is pretty freakin' awesome here, though, yes?!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Oh. Em. Gee. I was so proud of this photo I took last week in Kennebunkport--complete with pretentious arty-farty title, "The Little Whorl That Lives Down the Lane"--until I looked closely at the bottom right-hand corner! See that swoosh?! We're all just pushing product, people, and I subliminally want YOU to buy cloven-toed devil shoes that are super cool but will eventually smell really bad if you don't wear socks with them. Which I don't.
Is it me, or is this just too freakin' brilliant:
I came in here for the special offer...a guaranteed personality
P.S. They're called Air Rifts. You know you want some!
Monday, August 1, 2011
I know some cats enjoy watching TV, but do you think that includes, say, Eight Is Enough? I, for one, was greatly irritated and just plain flummoxed by this series. Dick Van Patten as Tom Bradford was childish, uptight and a poor decision-maker (though he made up for it with his great line of cat food!). Add to that a heinous theme song, sneakily weaving in enough of an ersatz disco beat to squash any old-tyme Little House on the Prairie vibes created by all the hotel carpet-colored calico and plaid they wore. And the worst offender, in my eyes, the little bratty, ratty one with the bowl cut. You know he was the type of child to be unkind to his not-as-cute classmates, naturally good at making fun of the chubby girls and the gawkward boys.
Oh my, I never realized the depth of my disdain for this program!
True, I am being a little over the top (well, it WAS a drama/comedy), but probably what bothered me the most, and I didn't realize it until I read this on Wikipedia, was one of the things that made the show unique: it was one of the few hour-long television series to use a laugh track. You know you're doing something wrong if you have to tell the audience when to laugh. Or did they think we were too slow to get the jokes?
To be fair, I do have to say that Willie Aames, shown here with a teeny meezer who's displaying the classic feline body language known as steer ear, was the least offensive of the Bradfords. Great job, Willie, and if that's not your real last name, that's pretty smart to start it with not only one A, but two. That ensures you're always on the top of the list when things are organized in alphabetical order. Assuming you want to be first.