Moira wants me to pick up a little something for a niece of hers who’s starting middle school… but I really don’t want to go to the mall and buy anything. I always get funny looks when I tell them I’m looking for something for a preteen girl (I’ve been banned for life from Sanrio and Rave Girl). I’m thinking I can just cull something from my junk drawer that the kid would like, y’know? Tell me, what’s more appropriate for an 11-year-old school girl: a VHS copy of When Animals Attack II! or a complete set of the Time-Life Dictators of the Third World series? Moira thinks we should go with a gift certificate to the Piercing Pagoda, but I honestly can’t say that with a straight face.
Archive for August, 2009
A pal sent me this spot for the LA County Fair. (Yeah, who’da thought? LA has a county fair!) Speaks for itself.
I read somewhere that when CBS cancelled Green Acres, the cast and crew killed and ate the pig that played Arnold Ziffel. The same source I got this information from admitted that it was probably erroneous, but I just can’t get that blasted image out of my head – poor, little Arnold, apple in his mouth, being roasted on a spit over an open fire. Mr. Haney, Eb, Mr. Kimball, Alf and Ralph hoisting back a few cold ones while they wait for their co-star’s flesh to cook. All the while, Eddie Albert banging his chest and exclaiming, “Fresh air!”
No, I cry! Some things are just wrong.
I found this wrapped gift in the back of my closet, a gift with no name on it, about the size of a grapefruit. When I opened it I found something inside called “Egg Art.” It’s this kit which allows you to hand decorate an egg in various colors, designs and such. And get this – it’s NOT for Easter! It’s for the type of people who just find themselves sitting around the house and, bang, get the urge to make some poultry ova look pretty! It’s billed as “the perfect gift for home, office or the beach!” Anyway, I vaguely remember that someone had given it to me a few years ago at a birthday party. The tag must have fallen off, so I don’t know who exactly. So, whoever gave me the Egg Art … um, thanks. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.
My doctor said that a healthy person’s urine is clear enough to read a newspaper through. I tried it out and the good news is my urine is clear enough I can read the paper through it. The bad news is I’ve now been banned from Barnes & Noble.
I was talking with a friend the other day about how squirrels seem to be a near perfect comedic vehicle since you can always, no matter how juvenile it seems, fall back on a good nuts gag. This spot fails to do that but delivers still on the limitless potential of our bushy-tailed brethren.
I admit, as apologies go, it’s a bit of a stretch, but I’m feeling a bit conciliatory.
Back in 1991, some chums and I were in DC for the weekend. We were walking to the Lincoln Memorial and we heard the beginnings of a concert off in the distance. Someone got on a mic and introduced a singer by the name of Billy Ray Cyrus. Of course, at that time, Cyrus was an unknown and we’d never heard of him. The name sounded funny, so we took odds on whether he’d be a country singer or a blues singer. He launched into what may have been Achy Breaky Heart and my friends and I moved on down the mall, mercifully out of range.
And that’s why I’m really, really, sorry. I’m really, really, really, sorry. Because if I’d known then what I know now I could have gone over to that stage and kicked Billy Ray right square in the chumblies … kicked him hard enough to ensure that there would be no more Cyruses (Cyri?) and mercifully spared the world from all this Hannah Montana crap.
I know hindsight’s 20/20 but it’ll be one of those great regrets I take to the grave. And, for that missed opportunity, I’m really, really, really, really very and truly sorry.
Once I was sad because I had no shoes, but then I met a man who had no feet. Because … uh, because he used the metric system apparently. And, funny how I never did find where I left my Reeboks.
When I was a really young kid, around 4 or 5, I was witness to a bizarre supernatural happening that I’ve rarely spoken about.
It just so happens that my bedroom was next to the bathroom and sometimes, very late at night, in those early morning hours when the whole house was asleep, I would wake to a strange, unearthly sound and the sight of what can only be described as – a ghost wheel. Yes, a ghost wheel. A tire, unattached to an axle or auto, spinning in place, there in the doorway of that bathroom. Amazingly, I would wake up and see this ghost tire spinning in place, never getting nearer, never moving forward or backward, just hanging there, an apparition suspended in air, rotating on an unseen axis. All the while, a familiar melody would waft eerily through the air: Blood, Sweat and Tears 1969 #2 hit, Spinning Wheel.
I swear I wasn’t asleep, yet I was never scared of the ghost tire. And to my knowledge no one else ever saw this otherworldly white wheel. It was an event that recurred with an odd regularity for several months when I was in kindergarten and yet it ceased as quickly as it began.
As an adult, I have no idea what the hell it all was – a waking dream or hallucination or – something else. Perhaps I never will. But I’d like to think that the truth is out there somewhere. That’s why I now work with the FBI’s X-Files.
Who’ll take care of your pets when you’re gone? Well, who’ll take care of your pets when you’re gone to Heaven in the Second Coming? ETERNAL EARTHBOUND PETS, that’s who. Yes, it’s a service for Christians by Atheists to take care of their pets after the Rapture. It appears legit and, whether or not you believe in anything this organization stands for, I have to say that I think this is bloody brilliant.
They say that a successful business model fills a niche where others have not. That being the case, if this company ever goes public, I’m investing heavily!