If a hardhat-wearing ape, an effeminate robot, and a gaggle of sexy nurses stop you on the street one day and ask you to tell them a story about a time you got injured, you should do it. Your story might be immortalized in paper dolls.
(Warning: video NSFW because of puppet nudity)
If I live to be 100, I will never be able to visit all of the historical markers placed in the West by the crackpot preservationist/html abusing fraternal order E Clampus Vitus. I probably will never even make it to all of the ECV plaques in Southern California. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.
This weekend I went to Burro Schmidt’s Tunnel. The tunnel was really good – it’s not every day that you get to walk through a nearly half mile long granite tunnel dug by a tubercular native of Rhode Island. The thing I liked best, however, was Burro Schmidt’s outhouse.
There were a lot of pictures of Shirley Temple in there too, but I didn’t get any good pictures of those – it was still pretty stinky in there.
As for the actual living quarters, they weren’t too shabby either in terms of printed ephemera, if you’re into that sort of thing.
The last photo here is kind of a mystery to me. Burro Schmidt lived and worked alone for about fifty years, and most of his immediate family died before he even set off to California. So who sent him that Christmas card? Could it have been his donkey companions Jack and Jenny?
Today’s word doesn’t need a glittery animated font. It’s glittery enough on its own, and was sent to me by a great poet. My favorite part is the pronunciation key. Haw, Great Poet! Thanks for sharing.
Nephelokokkugia
cloud-cuckoo-land or cloud cuckoo land
PRONUNCIATION:
(KLOUD-koo-koo-land)
MEANING:
noun: An idealized, unrealistic state; a place out of touch with reality.
ETYMOLOGY:
Loan translation of Greek Nephelokokkugia, from nephele (cloud) + kokkux (cuckoo). The word was coined in The Birds, a comedy by Athenian playwright Aristophanes (c. 450-388 BCE). Nephelokokkugia was the name of a city in the sky, built by the birds in collaboration with some Athenians.
The baboons in South Africa are now coming after the grapes for our wine. Our wine, people. According to Discovery and the AP,
‘”They choose the nicest bunches, and you will see the ones they leave on the ground. If you taste them, they are sour,’ said Francois van Vuuren, farm manager at La Terra de Luc vineyards, 50 miles (80 kilometers) east of Cape Town. ‘They eat the sweetest ones and leave the rest.’…
One farm, La Petite Ferme, was hit particularly hard after fires in the Franschhoek wine-producing region devastated large swaths of land, burning up the baboons’ normal foraging areas. The primates then descended on its chardonnay crop, eating or destroying up to three tons of grapes.”
Okay, okay. I’m really trying to keep out of this human vs. primate war (mainly because I think we’ll lose, but…). Maybe we can reach some sort of detente, baboons. Keep to the chardonnay grapes and keep your mitts off the pinot noir, and I have no issue with you. Let’s talk about this.
Benny’s daughter went to Rock Camp recently, and this weekend they had a big concert. The band names were pretty good; not as good as the soccer team names, but pretty good. Here are some of them:
Here are The Last Grapefruits:
I had no idea people kept pheasants as pets until I saw this flyer today:
In my further research on the topic, I found a gadget on Wikipedia that I think will help these people find their lost pet. It involves what looks like a gold coin, a wooden pyramid, and some lotus blossoms, which sounds like something you would need to catch a wizard. I’ll bet this is a tricky pet to deal with.
I have never understood the zen koan “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” You learn the answer by clapping with one hand. Who can’t clap with one hand?
ETIQUETTE: In a recent Royal Philharmonic Society lecture, New Yorker classical writer Alex Ross put forth the idea that the “rule” of not clapping between movements of a classical piece should be put out to pasture. The transcript of his speech is a whole six pages long, and with the internet and stuff that’s just a lot of reading for me to do these days, but basically he says that people used to clap between movements, people like to clap between movements, and the idea of being humiliated for not knowing “the right time to clap” turns a lot of people off from going to classical concerts. It’s killing classical music. Also, the whole clapping between movements is for barbarians” is an idea that has been around for about 100 years, and its main proponents were anti-Semites. I think he has something here. Clap your hands, people. It’s nice to show appreciation.
SUPERSTITION: If you see a blob of soot hanging off of the fireplace grate, it means a stranger is coming to visit. To find out when the stranger is coming, clap your hands near the blob. If the blob flies off from the air force of the first clap, it means the stranger is coming today. If the blob flies after the second clap, the stranger is coming tomorrow. If the blob doesn’t fly off until the fifth clap, you probably have enough time to clean the house before the stranger shows up. And you probably should; that’s some tough soot you have there.
We don’t usually have a lot of weather here in Los Angeles, but this past winter was a doozy. Rain, cold, crying baby deer…. What a relief that Spring is finally here.
I used to work with this girl who wore a different monochromatic outfit every day. No prints, no stripes, no polka dots. Just one solid color per day. I don’t think she had a favorite color (though she did dye her hair blue at one point); she had really cute yellow outfits, and really cute pink outfits, and really cute green outfits.
I was always kind of impressed by her dedication, because coincidentally I had tried doing monochromatic outfits myself one time in high school and didn’t even last a week before I was reduced to gold fleece. One day, however, she told me that she didn’t do it because she wanted to do it; she did it because she had to do it. It was a problem she had. If she had a blue outfit all set for the day but the only clean underpants she had was green, she would have a panic attack. Nobody would see the green underpants if she wore them, but she would know they were there. I think she must have gone without wearing underpants a lot of the time, or else she was extremely organized.
As I recall, the only exception she had to the solid monochrome look was plaid. I don’t know what that means.
You know what disappoints me? Well, lots of things disappoint me, but do you know what disappoints me this very moment in regards to what I am thinking about this very moment?
There is going to be a movie based on the game for kindergarten babies beloved childhood board game Candy Land, and I’m pretty sure that the whole goddamned thing is going to be CGI. I realize that Universal Studios, the studio producing this epic pile of crap is in Universal City and not Burbank, but Burbank is a mere 5.6 miles away from Universal City. And Burbank already has real-life Candy Land houses, brought to my attention by my friend Wag. Behold the Otter Pop house:
and the Bomb Pop house:
And it appears from the looks of their matching windmills and shared AstroTurf™ front yard that these houses are owned by the same person,
so the location permit would be a snap to get. Bring on the Molasses Swamp!
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