Two hundred and fifty-six. Gee, I wish there were an easier way to say that. Two times two times two times two times two times two times two times two? That’s ridiculous. I have it: zenzizenzizenzic two.
Zenzizenzizenzic means “to the eighth power.” Rolls off the tongue smoother than “Lynn Swann.”
I guess we don’t have live stage shows featuring monkeys acting like humans anymore because it would be kind of boring to watch a monkey wearing skinny jeans constantly checking his iPhone. The resurgence of spats would improve things greatly, I think.
A larger version featuring very droll copy can be found on the WFMU blog here.
Does everybody really love Judd Apatow as much as they are saying these days? I just don’t understand it. I have this feeling that he’s been riding on peoples’ love of his legendary TV show “Freaks & Geeks” for some time now rather than the actual quality of his films.
I also have this feeling that he didn’t have as much to do with “Freaks & Geeks” as we’ve been led to believe. I don’t know; it’s just that I feel that the person who created the characters of Bill Haverchuck and Millie Kentner would be embarrassed by the hamhanded sentimentality of Knocked Up and Superbad.
I’m not even going to approach this latest movie. Maybe he’s just one of those people like Orson Welles who never did anything as good as the first thing he did. I can’t believe I just compared Judd Apatow to Orson Welles. Anyway, I’d like to present you with a scene from Apatow’s Citizen Kane so you can make your own decision.
I cannot look at the Rubik’s Cube sandwich without comment:
The moral ambiguity of this cartoon is a little troubling to me when watching it today, but maybe things weren’t so black and white in the Great Depression. What happened to the children? Didn’t Mariutch have a gang of children she was with? And why is her husband happy when she finds out she’s actually a stripper? I won’t even comment on the Italian organ grinder with a monkey stereotype. Oh, wait; I just did. Still, I have to love any cartoon with a good giraffe gag. Take it away, plucky immigrant fellow:
The time has come for me to start getting serious about eating better and exercising more. Serious. Really. This time for sure. Relying on my incredible willpower alone has gotten me where I am today, where I only attend social events where caftan-wearing is encouraged, so I think I need to look into some alternative behavior modification techniques. Positive reinforcement may be the way to go, but if I need to go the aversion/punishment therapy route, I think I’ve found a webpage that could really help me out – all ’80s saxophone solos, conveniently separated from their respective songs and rated accordingly.
I think the ratings are actually a little soft on that page, but that’s beside the point; just listening to the clips is much more painful to me than a poke in the nose or electric shock. If Quarterflash started playing every time I ate a piece of pizza, I have a feeling I would think twice about putting that call in to Tomato Pie for delivery of a Large, Hot Grandma. It’s worth further study.
Photo by buck82 on flickr
Nothing gets my attention better than a Muppet with a guillotine. I have no idea if Wilkins coffee was any good, but this campaign would have convinced me to try it. Eat your heart out, Don Draper.
The moon is sure being an attention hog this week, isn’t it? Right about now on the other side of the world the moon is busy eclipsing the sun. Calm down, moon. Celebrity is both a blessing and a curse.
ETIQUETTE: When viewing an eclipse in a public space, be considerate of other people and their photographic and/or astronomical apparatus. Aim to stay at least a full body’s length away from any equipment.
SUPERSTITION: A solar eclipse is what happens when a giant snake or dragon eats the sun, and it is a portent of great doom and tragedy. It’s best not to undertake any new task in the period three days prior to and three days after an eclipse. Pregnant women should stay indoors and not touch their bellies during both solar and lunar eclipses to prevent cleft palate and dramatic birthmarks on their children. And nobody should eat or drink during the solar eclipse, as food and water is poison during that time. Oh, this is terrible; we’re going to be starving and thirsty and shivering in the dark and our pregnant women can’t touch their bellies, which everybody knows is impossible if they’ve ever spent any time around pregnant women. It’s been said that if you make a lot of noise during the eclipse, the dragon will get scared and barf up the sun, so if you happen to have a tuba handy you might want to help us all out. Otherwise, I don’t know how we are going to survive this six minutes and thirty-nine seconds of utter hell.
A youngish co-worker got upset yesterday when she looked up the meaning of “whippersnapper,” which is what my freakishly ageless boss and I frequently call this youngish co-worker. I always thought “whippersnapper” meant something along the lines of “brash and thoughtless brilliant youth,” but apparently it’s not as nice as that. All the references I (and said whippersnapper) have found say that it is the name one gives to “an unimportant but offensively presumptuous person, especially a young one.” Ouch! Zing!
But “whippersnapper” is not the Word of the Day today. I choose instead to give the crown to one of its root words from way back in the 17th century:
Isn’t it more satisfying somehow to call someone a snippersnapper than a mere whippersnapper? What? You say it is? Sure it is. You think you know everything with your smart words. Get off my lawn.
Sorry for three moon posts in a row, but I love the moon. I want to have a vacation house on the moon. I want to have a vacation house on the moon, and I want Walter Cronkite to tell me the way it is every night. Maybe that’s a lot to ask for.
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