Gummed up

Wait a minute – was this just a very elaborate toothpaste ad?

Word of the day for Monday, July 20th

Talk Like A Pirate Day is less than two months away, and I’m already dreading it. People just walking around saying, “Arrrrrr” and “Avast, matey” … and that’s about it. Did pirates really not say anything other than “Arrr” and “Avast, matey”?

I bet they said a lot more than that, but it seems that modern wannabe pirates are exceptionally lazy. Even the official Talk Like A Pirate Day website only provides twelve pirate phrases, and that’s when you count “aye” and “aye aye” as two separate phrases. I would say that this holiday has jumped the shark, but that implies jumping, and that seems like something much too strenuous for these boobs.

Maybe we should open this up. Forget just pirates. How about Talk Like A Sailor Day? You could get a group of old salts in a rap battle with a gang of tiny coxswains. Christopher Cross in a dance-off with Gene Kelly from On The Town. I like this idea.

If you’re on board with this concept, you’ll want to start studying up. This holiday is not going to accept any old yahoo going, “Grog this, grog that.” Here, I’ll start you off with a good one:

Kidleywink. It’s not a juvenile game of tiddleywinks (which seems redundant anyway). It’s an unlicensed beer bar frequented by low individuals. And in my book that’s as good a place as any to spend Talk Like A Sailor Day.

via a tweet from WFMU

It’s a blast

Benny and I met a girl last night who had some really interesting phobias. One was grooves. I don’t think she and Betty Brant would get along.

Part two is here.


Etiquette & superstition: opals

This post is not about the makers of the Doktorwagen, the Puppchen and the Bedford Blitz. That’s Opel.

ETIQUETTE: Perhaps surprising to any girl who lived through the ’70s-’80s opalescent nail polish and lipstick craze, noted etiquette authority George Routledge states, “Of all precious stones, the opal is one of the most lovely and least commonplace. No vulgar woman purchases an opal.” A fair man, if perhaps a lazy one, Routledge states elsewhere, “Of all precious stones, the opal is one of the most lovely and least commonplace. No vulgar man purchases an opal.” So whatever sex you are, if you don’t want people calling you vulgar, go buy yourself an opal.

SUPERSTITION: Volondr/Wieland, smithy to the Norse/Teutonic Gods, made opals out of children’s eyes. Opals either cause one to go blind, improve one’s eyesight or make one invisible to others. Seems a little chancy. I might stick with being called vulgar.

Photo by Mauro Luna via Flickr

You’ve been running and hiding too much

Normally I’m not too hep on viral marketing disguised as lost pet notices, but in this case I’m happy this is fake because it means little Laila doesn’t really exist.

You see, if little Laila did exist, I’d be compelled to scour the streets trying to find her so that I could buy her a Big Mac and a large Mountain Dew and I just don’t have the time to do that right now.

Borscht biriyani

Thoughts on today’s cartoon:

    • I’m not sure why all the Indians sound like they’re working the dinner show at a Catskills resort.
    • Where is Marie?
    • If I had a magic lamp, I think I would wish for something more than an ice cream sundae.

Published in: on July 11, 2015 at 11:08 am  Leave a Comment  
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Sweet feet

I’ve always considered myself more of a pie person than a cake person, but Chris Campbell‘s wedges

cakewedgesand flats

cakeflatsare making me rethink matters. The cherry pie shoes I’ve seen online are clever

but they seem a little dangerous. I could actually run around town in Chris’s Jimmy Chews and not impale anybody.  Maybe a soft lemon meringue would work better…

Get along, li’l’ hot doggies

You may be expecting me to post a vintage technicolor cartoon with a bunch of rainbows in it today, and I would like to, but I think I’ve already posted all of those through the years.

Instead, I’m posting a black and white cartoon depicting a time not that very long ago when a gay duck couldn’t walk into a dog bar and sing a drunken song without getting a bottle broken over his head, let alone get married. We’ve come a long way, baby.

Fork queue

Benny found these large brass utensils on the sidewalk today.

He didn’t take them, because they weren’t ours. Also they seemed flimsy. “They wouldn’t hold a bean,” says Benny.

If I had found these utensils, I’m not sure whether I would have left them on the ground with a sign. I might have taken them home for safekeeping, taken a picture of them and put that up instead. Or… I’m not sure.

forkscuIt’s possible they’re cursed*. I mean, who leaves giant brass utensils on the sidewalk unless they’re cursed?

*Another thing leading me to believe that these utensils may be cursed is the mysterious alert I got when I tried to open photos of them in Photoshop: “This file contains file info data which cannot be read and has been ignored.” I have never seen that alert before. Have you ever seen that alert?
Published in: on June 22, 2015 at 7:11 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Inky dinks

I’m reading this book. I’m reading this book that I got from the little library kiosk a few doors down from my house, a book that I didn’t know anything about but I picked it because I recognized the name of the author. My roommate in college liked this author a lot when we were in college, but I never really got into him. I picked up this book because I just started this office job where they have an hour lunch and I don’t really know what to do with myself having an hour lunch unless I want to go walking down to see the fake shark down the way, which I have done a couple of times already. This office job is at a movie studio, and my job is clearing music that the movie studio owns for use in other projects. Sometimes I clear music related to that fake shark but mostly other stuff. A couple of weeks ago I cleared something from Conan the Barbarian for use in some time-shifty scifi TV show.

I need something to read at lunch and I also need something to listen to on the commute, and my roommate from college, who is still a very close friend, tells me that this podcast about old-time Hollywood has just started posting some new episodes. All of the new episodes are about Charles Manson. This is interesting to me because Vincent Bugliosi, the prosecutor in the Manson murder trials and author of Helter Skelter (the book about the murders) just died, but this podcast series on Charles Manson started a week before he died. It’s also interesting to me because the first words on the first page of Helter Skelter are my birthday. August 9, 1969. When Vincent Bugliosi came to my college campus to speak, I got him to autograph my copy of Helter Skelter. I don’t think I said anything about my birthday, but I might have because that’s the sort of thing I could have done back in college.

Anyway, I’ve been listening to this podcast about the Manson murders on my commute to the movie studio. I am working clearing music in a building they have called John Ford, after one of the iconic directors associated with this movie studio. This is interesting to me because one of John Ford’s most famous movies is My Darling Clementine, and Darling Clementine is the name of the first album my band put out in the mid-’90s. A band I was in with my former college roommate. Also, in the mid-’90s when I was working in a video store, this guy who had been on about nine posters in my bedroom when I was in high school came into the video store and asked where the John Ford movies were. I was totally floored to be talking to this guy who had been all over my high school bedroom but I also couldn’t understand him through his British accent so I had to keep asking him what he was asking for. Johhhhn Forrrd. Johhhhn Forrrd. I wasn’t dumb about John Ford – I had been a film major in college – but I couldn’t understand him. He clarified with a film that John Ford had directed: The Molly Maguires*. This last point I am putting in here so you know I am not lying about the rest of this.

So I am working in John Ford clearing music and on my lunch break I am starting to read this book. This book is about some guy who travels to Hollywood because he’s a film freak, and he winds up in Hollywood on August 9, 1969 and he gets picked up a few days later by the cops as a suspect in the Tate (Manson) murders. He gets out of that, and then he gets some work as a set carpenter for films, and he has a weird encounter with a burglar who winds up talking a lot about John Ford and My Darling Clementine, and then after a big earthquake he meets some bearded fat surfer guy with a lot of opinions identified in the book as the Viking.

I immediately know who this guy is, even though he is identified only as the Viking. He is John Milius. John Milius, who went on to direct Conan the Barbarian. I know this because I met John Milius in college when I was a film major, and he talked a lot about surfing and he had a beard and he was fat. I read further on in the book and now he is being referred to as John. Well, then.

I come back from reading this book at lunch back to my desk, and the guy who I share an office with starts playing a song over and over for the next couple of days. Because I signed a confidentiality agreement for this job I cannot explain why he is playing this song over and over, but I think I can say that it was for work reasons. And the song is “Helter Skelter” by the Beatles.

So now I’m expecting something else to happen to tie all of this together. Either I’m going to meet the writer of this book or there’s going to be a big earthquake very soon.

*Actually, Martin Ritt. Why did he say John Ford?
Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 1:02 pm  Leave a Comment  

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