WHEREAS your host has very little upon which he should like to comment at the moment; and WHEREAS he and the family are preparing to make the annual Pilgrimage of Fun down to Sesame Place* tomorrow morning in the wife’s new soccer-mom-uber-ride during which time we’ll endure the visuals-free sound of some as-yet-undecided Disney flick playing directly behind our heads; and WHEREAS this lame idea of making the opening to this post seem like some sort of formal announcement is wearing thin, it’s time to put 30 minutes on the clock this fine Saturday morning and see how much pseudo-entertaining drivel I can spill. We begin.
This is a late-to-the-party recommendation, but Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One is a fantastic novel. Especially if you’re an old geek like me who spent way too much time in arcades and playing D&D. Whole bunch of fun.
Let’s have a musical open-mind moment together, shall we? Set aside what you think music is and listen to this example of throat singing by Soriah. Keep in mind that this is one guy, one voice, no augmentation. Listen to what the voice can do. It’s an ancient technique of creating tone and overtone in the same breath. Next, if you want be dismayed by how small-minded people are, click the link to his America’s Got Talent audition from 2010, which (among so many other reasons) makes me not want to watch it ever again, and makes me want to taser Piers Morgan right in his junk. If you kind of dig what you hear, check Soriah out in full band mode here, and read my review of his excellent CD, Eztica, here.
If Pussy Riot were a bunch of guys in a band that didn’t have “Pussy” in the name, would anyone really give a shit?
My Twitter followers, of which there are few, may know that I just started following legendary food writer Ruth Reichl (@ruthreichl). Her feed is like a combination of gorgeous haiku and food porn at once.
Welcome, new readers whose Google search on the word “porn” inexplicably and disappointingly brought you here!
My favorite recent search term that brought someone here: “what rides can fat people fit on at canobie lake park.” Let me give you a tip from the voice of experience, friend: most of them. But then I guess it depends on your definition of fat. If you’re north of 260, my opinion becomes invalid.
This morning’s coffee is black because I had the good sense to sniff the milk first.
My son is very impressed with himself for “creating” barbecued bacon. Fries it up then gives it a dose of barbecue sauce. I have to remember to let him help me more in the kitchen when he’s here. Shows signs of becoming an interesting cook. In a couple of years I’ll advise him that this is a very good way to get laid.
Ladies, we both know that last statement is true. Men cook to get women to sleep with them; women let men cook for them as a benchmark on whether or not to sleep with them. Everybody wins!
When men cook, it gives the impression that we are good providers and caretakers. But really, we just hate to screw on an empty stomach.
Hang on, I’m pausing the clock to get more coffee. I promise it’s not to think of more clever lines.
And we’re back.
My play, Bob’s Date, which started life as a play for adults (and one kid) and took on a life of its own as a high school piece,** is being performed this month by a group at a senior’s center in Canada. I kind of wish I could see that. I’ve seen it done straight in its casting wheelhouse, and I’ve seen it done by kids, but never like this. Break a leg, friends!
In senior drama circles, is it considered good luck to say “Break a hip”?
I babble like this because during the rest of the week I make puns about women’s frigging clothes for headlines. Even I know there’s nothing brilliant about putting something like “Tee Party!” on a spread of soft, versatile pima cotton tees in misses’, petite and women’s sizes. (Fishing for hits. Hi, ladies!)
My company does not say “Women” in their sizing. They say “Woman.” Having grown up in the 70s, I can only hear this word, on its own, in the voice of Animal the Muppet. Try it: “Misses’, petite and WOMAN! WOMAN!“
Holy crap, I just went back to the paragraph before the last one and added the apostrophe to misses’. Leave it alone, Johnny! Work done! Vacation now! WOMAN!
In case they ever come here, I work with some madly talented writers who get me through the day.
I plan to be eating a fair number of hot dogs next week. It is traditional for us, on our Sesame Place foray, to stop for lunch at Super Duper Weenie in Connecticut. On the following weekend my boy and I will be scoping out hot dog joints in Jersey on our way down to pinball mecca, and hitting Coney Island on the way back. Sorry, those of you in the “it’s all lips and assholes”+ crowd, I love me a good all-beef hot dog. Whatever you do, never read the FDA’s list of allowable foreign substances in food. You’ll never eat again. Right now the contenders for the Jersey run are Jersey Joe’s (because they boast of their “Italian style hot dogs”) or a place called Max’s, which is closer to the pinball. Last year we hit the legendary Rutt’s, which was just okay. Boy liked it better than I did.
Two motorcycles just drove past. It’s pouring out. That has to suck.
Same for the jogger just coming up the street now. I mean, it’s comin’ down out there. I appreciate their dedication as I sit on my fat, unexercised ass and down another round of java.
Remember that post about corned beef? I’m way overdue for another round.
Weekend, rain, coffee, Jason Sloan’s new release Fall of the Fifth Sun playing, sharing my thoughts with what I imagine to be an appreciative audience, and a visit from the most beautiful Lorax ever. Nice way to spend the morning. And that’s my time, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for playing.
*Newcomers can relive the soggy joy of last year’s trek by reading this lovely post right here.
**I don’t encourage the high school productions, but neither do I turn them down because royalties are royalties. But as an older person, I watch kids doing a show about getting over deep (and theoretically real) heartbreak and I think, Oh, you have no idea. No idea at all.
+Honestly, I cannot wait to see how many hits come in as a result of that phrase.