Wednesday, March 30, 2016
1966 Today
Jeff Lamp, II
Anyone who's read this blog over the years know how much I've always bitched about the paucity of info about Jeff Lamp on the internet; just now I stumbled an article about him being a, wait for it, forgotten legend.
Must say, I'd never really heard about his impressive overseas career (probably because there's paucity of info about him on the internet!)
Must say, I'd never really heard about his impressive overseas career (probably because there's paucity of info about him on the internet!)
35 Years Ago Today
"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “didn't you actually meet Jeff Lamp last October?"
Sigh. YES faithful readers, yes I did. You may read all 1,508 words about the historic meeting of hardwood legends HERE.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Good Night, John Boy.
Earl Hamner, Jr is still alive, which means that theoretically, so is John Boy. Which is trippy, since it would mean that someone frozen in time in our minds, living in the sticks during the Depression, could be on a computer right now, watching Chocolate Rain or some shit. Whack, eh? - XMASTIMEEarl Hamner, Jr., aka John Boy Walton died last Thursday.
Previous Xmastime Waltons posts HERE.
I Am Not Made of Stone, People
Nobody does death like the Irish.
And if The Killers don't pull a Dave fucking Grohl and show up at this bar they deserve to be shot.
Mukluks: Op, who hopefully will do this for me one day.
And if The Killers don't pull a Dave fucking Grohl and show up at this bar they deserve to be shot.
Mukluks: Op, who hopefully will do this for me one day.
Impressive du Jour
I kept waiting for Fallon to start trying to be funny, but he never really did. Not sure if I've ever seen anyone do such an impressive note-for-not impression of a whole song before. Impressive.
Oh For Fuck's Sake
What Movies & TV Have Taught Me
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Xmastime Restaurant Review
A. Litteri
After yesterday’s cold tuna sub that was fantastic, I was excited to try the meatball on a toasted, hard roll. There was some anxiety getting there; shortly after moving onto 6th Street I was cut off by three people who were not in the same rush as I was and were happy to take their sweet time meandering down the road without a care in their pretty little heads, perfectly content in knowing that food’s gonna be there whenever they want it and there’s almost no chance of a bear mauling them to death before they get to said food. Must be a nice, if not silly, way to go through life. They were spread out along the sidewalk perfectly so I couldn’t get around them (which I decided to take the high road and not take personally, that’s just the kind of guy I am), and my normal attempts, such as coughing slightly louder than normal or saying “jesus fucking christ I really wanna kill a mother*cker right now” so they’d be alerted to my impatience, were to no avail. Of course it was then that I noticed they were flashing each other sign language and of course I felt like a complete asshole. Not enough of an asshole to stop desperately trying to get by them, of course – I knew the odds were high they too were going to A. Litteri and this meant three more sandwiches I’d be behind in line.
Finally, sunlight broke through and I was able to squeeze by and break free, getting to the line a full 30 seconds before they quietly came rolling in. Unlike yesterday when I was scared of messing up the ordering process and getting the Soup Nazi boot, I confidently filled out my order (meatball with mozzarella on a 9-inch hard bun) and almost smugly handed it to the guy behind the counter as if unlike all the knuckleheads around me, I’d been doing this for years and “got it.” He took the order, looked at it, and then repeated it to me before handing it off to the sandwich guy. So I spent the next few minutes wondering why would you have this paper ordering system if you’re just gonna ask me anyway? Wtf? I’m all for killing trees if the sandwiches are worth it but only if it’s actually necessary.
I sauntered through the aisles while waiting, if “sauntered” means “dreamt that everybody else would be thoughtful enough to drop dead so my sandwich would be up quicker”, noticing that there were about 6,000 different brands on the shelves for every item – sauce, pasta, whatever; thousands of different labels were looking back at me. “Very European”, I thought to myself (as if I can think to anybody else, I suppose). I then spent a minute or so patting myself on the back for believing I had a handle on what it took for a grocery store to seem “very European.”
I began to notice people who’d shown up after me were getting their sandwiches. This guy. That guy. The goddam deaf kids I’d nobly worked so hard to overtake in the line. The entire time the guy was handing out these sandwiches, one remained up on the shelf untouched, as if the guy didn’t see it. Naturally, it started bugging the shit out me, wondering if this was mine. I pictured my sandwich sitting their getting cold as the bun was steamed into sogginess, and thought of a million ways to approach the guy, ranging from suffocating politeness to jaw-clenched threats, without of course coming close to having the balls to simply say something in an exchange that would take at most 4 seconds.
Suddenly mine appeared! I happily grabbed it and hustled down the aisle to pay. In the process I rather purposefully cut off some guy on his way to the register as well so I could hurry up and eat my what felt like an amazing sandwich in my hand. I was first in line with him behind me…and the cashier was busy filling out an order from over the phone. As she held up her “in a sec, dangerously handsome fella” finger I rather cleverly disguised my outrage over her making me stand there like a dope when I had in fact taken the trouble to show up and order like a human being by smiling with an “oh please, take your time I’m just lucky to be here!” wave. As I was doing this of course the guy behind me that I’d cut off simply moved over to the other cashier and was out the door by the time my cashier hung up and let me pay and gtf outta there.
On the way back I considered “hey, it’s a sunny day, it’s not hot, why not for once in your pathetic life you not eat while hovering over your laptop watching yesterday’s clips from Mike Francesa’s radio show and instead sit outside at one of the tables at Union Market, soaking in some fresh air & sunshine?” Also, it would get my sandwich to my mouth about 3 minutes earlier. Coming upon Union Market I noticed for the first time there was some big patch of grass, on which a couple of younger people (i.e., “people”) were happily sitting down eating, with a bunch of flowers amongst them. “Who is this, Jefferson fucking Airplane?” I thought and decided to skip the sunshine and go back to my desk (side note – this clip is, in a word, delightful)
Long story short: it was amazing. The bun had stayed hard, the meatballs were perfect and the cheese stretched and clung to its subject like my dreams of one day having an 8-slice toaster. I barreled through the first half and then thought about doing the adult thing and saving the second half for dinner. While considering this, I chowed through most of it before packing the rest, i.e. maybe three bites that will probably have been eaten by the time you read this.
After yesterday’s cold tuna sub that was fantastic, I was excited to try the meatball on a toasted, hard roll. There was some anxiety getting there; shortly after moving onto 6th Street I was cut off by three people who were not in the same rush as I was and were happy to take their sweet time meandering down the road without a care in their pretty little heads, perfectly content in knowing that food’s gonna be there whenever they want it and there’s almost no chance of a bear mauling them to death before they get to said food. Must be a nice, if not silly, way to go through life. They were spread out along the sidewalk perfectly so I couldn’t get around them (which I decided to take the high road and not take personally, that’s just the kind of guy I am), and my normal attempts, such as coughing slightly louder than normal or saying “jesus fucking christ I really wanna kill a mother*cker right now” so they’d be alerted to my impatience, were to no avail. Of course it was then that I noticed they were flashing each other sign language and of course I felt like a complete asshole. Not enough of an asshole to stop desperately trying to get by them, of course – I knew the odds were high they too were going to A. Litteri and this meant three more sandwiches I’d be behind in line.
Finally, sunlight broke through and I was able to squeeze by and break free, getting to the line a full 30 seconds before they quietly came rolling in. Unlike yesterday when I was scared of messing up the ordering process and getting the Soup Nazi boot, I confidently filled out my order (meatball with mozzarella on a 9-inch hard bun) and almost smugly handed it to the guy behind the counter as if unlike all the knuckleheads around me, I’d been doing this for years and “got it.” He took the order, looked at it, and then repeated it to me before handing it off to the sandwich guy. So I spent the next few minutes wondering why would you have this paper ordering system if you’re just gonna ask me anyway? Wtf? I’m all for killing trees if the sandwiches are worth it but only if it’s actually necessary.
I sauntered through the aisles while waiting, if “sauntered” means “dreamt that everybody else would be thoughtful enough to drop dead so my sandwich would be up quicker”, noticing that there were about 6,000 different brands on the shelves for every item – sauce, pasta, whatever; thousands of different labels were looking back at me. “Very European”, I thought to myself (as if I can think to anybody else, I suppose). I then spent a minute or so patting myself on the back for believing I had a handle on what it took for a grocery store to seem “very European.”
I began to notice people who’d shown up after me were getting their sandwiches. This guy. That guy. The goddam deaf kids I’d nobly worked so hard to overtake in the line. The entire time the guy was handing out these sandwiches, one remained up on the shelf untouched, as if the guy didn’t see it. Naturally, it started bugging the shit out me, wondering if this was mine. I pictured my sandwich sitting their getting cold as the bun was steamed into sogginess, and thought of a million ways to approach the guy, ranging from suffocating politeness to jaw-clenched threats, without of course coming close to having the balls to simply say something in an exchange that would take at most 4 seconds.
Suddenly mine appeared! I happily grabbed it and hustled down the aisle to pay. In the process I rather purposefully cut off some guy on his way to the register as well so I could hurry up and eat my what felt like an amazing sandwich in my hand. I was first in line with him behind me…and the cashier was busy filling out an order from over the phone. As she held up her “in a sec, dangerously handsome fella” finger I rather cleverly disguised my outrage over her making me stand there like a dope when I had in fact taken the trouble to show up and order like a human being by smiling with an “oh please, take your time I’m just lucky to be here!” wave. As I was doing this of course the guy behind me that I’d cut off simply moved over to the other cashier and was out the door by the time my cashier hung up and let me pay and gtf outta there.
On the way back I considered “hey, it’s a sunny day, it’s not hot, why not for once in your pathetic life you not eat while hovering over your laptop watching yesterday’s clips from Mike Francesa’s radio show and instead sit outside at one of the tables at Union Market, soaking in some fresh air & sunshine?” Also, it would get my sandwich to my mouth about 3 minutes earlier. Coming upon Union Market I noticed for the first time there was some big patch of grass, on which a couple of younger people (i.e., “people”) were happily sitting down eating, with a bunch of flowers amongst them. “Who is this, Jefferson fucking Airplane?” I thought and decided to skip the sunshine and go back to my desk (side note – this clip is, in a word, delightful)
Long story short: it was amazing. The bun had stayed hard, the meatballs were perfect and the cheese stretched and clung to its subject like my dreams of one day having an 8-slice toaster. I barreled through the first half and then thought about doing the adult thing and saving the second half for dinner. While considering this, I chowed through most of it before packing the rest, i.e. maybe three bites that will probably have been eaten by the time you read this.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Monday, March 21, 2016
Happy 10th
Goals. I Have Them.
At this point, I aspire to have a girlfriend just so I can lead her into yelling "oh don't you DARE tell me I'm acting fucking crazy!!" during a fight. #goals
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Broooooooooooooooooooooooooooce!!!!
Bruce Springsteen writes note for kid to give his teacher for being late to school after attending a Springsteen show because Bruce:
A nine-year-old Bruce Springsteen fan had the best excuse for being late to school the day after watching his idol in concert - a handwritten note from the rocker himself.
Joining his dad at Springsteen's old out Los Angeles show on Tuesday with his dad, Xabi brought along a sign to the concert which read: “Bruce, I will be late to school tomorrow. Please sign my note :),” and luckily it caught the musicians eye.
Explaining that despite a celeb-packed crowd, Springsteen had made sure to come straight over to the father and son duo, dad Scott told the Claremont Courier:“Although there were many musicians and celebrities at the concert, we were the first people to see him after the show."
“He asked him for the name of his teacher, and how he spelled his name. He then pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. As Xabi sat next to him on the couch, Bruce thoughtfully created this beautiful note.”
Thoughts. I Have Them.
Between those chompers and her having written My Blue Heaven I think it's safe to say I would've had a thing for Nora Ephron back in the day.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Trouble Boyz
Another review of the fantastic Replacements book Trouble Boys which may have hit things on the head:
Westerberg, in particular, seemed temperamentally unable to stomach coexistence when he felt there was even a tinge of inauthenticity. During a tour opening for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, after coming off stage following yet another lackluster performance, a roadie asks him, "I don't get it, man. You guys are, like, brilliant if you want to be. Why don't you want to be?" He can't come up with an answer.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Holy Crap du Jour
I've loved The Kinks' great Come Dancing ever since it came out 30+ years ago but I never knew this about it:
Great video too.
Davies drew on memories of his older sister going on dates to the local dance hall in ‘Come Dancing,’ which ends with her all grown up and worrying about her own teenage daughters. Real life didn’t turn out so well: Davies’ sister died of a heart attack at age 31 while dancing at a ballroom. Earlier that day, she had given her 13-year-old brother his first guitar. This is Davies’ imagined happy ending.Damn.
Great video too.
Funny Every Time
A bottle of Guinness was split on the floor
When the pub was shut for the night
Out crept a mouse from his little hole
And sat in the pale moonlight
He lapped at the frothy brew
Then back on his haunches he sat
And all night you could hear him roar
"Bring on the fucking cat!"
When the pub was shut for the night
Out crept a mouse from his little hole
And sat in the pale moonlight
He lapped at the frothy brew
Then back on his haunches he sat
And all night you could hear him roar
"Bring on the fucking cat!"
Happy St. Patrick's Day
(reprinted yearly)
When I was a kid my dad always tried to make a big deal out of us being Irish (the only ones in town), but who gives a shit what your dad says when you’re young? Certainly not me. When we got a little older my dad came up with the idea that on St. Patrick’s Day, he would administer a quiz to my brother and me on the history of Irish saints; the winner would get a pizza from TA-DA! Roma’s. A week or so before the 17th he’d give us some big, over-the-top dry book to read on the subject. My brother would actually read it; I’d get to page 3 and then start wondering if I’d rather be in Def Leppard or Duran Duran (trick question – I’d be better off being a dead Irish saint.) So guess who would win the “competition”? But the thing is, I’d still get the pizza – the pizza would come, and I’d hafta toast to Brothatime!!’s Irish brilliance, but I’d do it with a mouthful of cheese and grease on my face. To this day, I live by that creed: "I will not read for pizza."
When I was a kid my dad always tried to make a big deal out of us being Irish (the only ones in town), but who gives a shit what your dad says when you’re young? Certainly not me. When we got a little older my dad came up with the idea that on St. Patrick’s Day, he would administer a quiz to my brother and me on the history of Irish saints; the winner would get a pizza from TA-DA! Roma’s. A week or so before the 17th he’d give us some big, over-the-top dry book to read on the subject. My brother would actually read it; I’d get to page 3 and then start wondering if I’d rather be in Def Leppard or Duran Duran (trick question – I’d be better off being a dead Irish saint.) So guess who would win the “competition”? But the thing is, I’d still get the pizza – the pizza would come, and I’d hafta toast to Brothatime!!’s Irish brilliance, but I’d do it with a mouthful of cheese and grease on my face. To this day, I live by that creed: "I will not read for pizza."
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Thoughts. I Have Them.
Spy was a great show but could've used a LOT more of the always-great Robert Lindsay.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
All Apologies
Now THIS is some serious dramz:
Is Ted Cruz so desperate to be president he'll now bow and scrape to fellow Republicans on his hands and knees?Cruz has increasingly called for Republicans to unify behind his candidacy in order to take down front-runner Donald Trump. But in interviews Tuesday with CNN, it's clear Cruz's fellow GOP senators are not willing to do that, at least not yet.Republican senators said that Cruz must return to Capitol Hill and make the case directly to his colleagues to help ease long-festering tensions. And a large number of Republicans said the fence-mending starts with this: Apologizing to McConnell for calling him a liar last year on the floor of the Senate.
Must Say...
Monday, March 14, 2016
Trouble Boys
I reviewed Trouble Boys HERE; today at Salon a writer points out how scarily accurate the book is and how it's not just another "they rocked!" nonsense thing:
By the book’s end, though, your heart will be broken. You’ll be furious at the band’s inability to play it straight, to grab the gold ring, to step into the spotlight. You’ll understand exactly why the band’s career played out the way it did, but that won’t make you less angry about the lost opportunity, the songs left unfinished, the gigs we never got to see. The epilogue, usually the place in a biography for some ray of sunshine, will either make you weep or turn you catatonic, page after page, waiting for the roller coaster to come to a stop.Also, fantastic short interview on NPR with Trouble Boys author Bob Mehr:
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Happy Birfday Big Bear!
One of my all-time favorite memories, going to Build-a-Bear :)
For his second birthday, I got Big Bear a gift certificate to Build-a-Bear. Saturday being 3 weeks from his THIRD birthday, I figured it was time to go and, you know, let him finally get his present. So me, Mamalizza and Cherry Bomb headed with him into the big city to get his new best friend - after a quick stop for ice cream, some of which almost made it into his mouth (the hair term "frosted hi-lites" now makes sense to me), we found ourselves at Build-a-Bear. On a Saturday. Seeing the crowd I immediately wanted to run out into the street to kiss a moving bus, but luckily I knew he'd want a dinosaur stuffed animal, and the dinosaurs were all downstairs, which was virtually empty.
For those unfamiliar, the process is you pick out what animal you want (bear, dog, whatever), which is as yet unstuffed. Then you pick out whatever clothes/accoutrements you want your new buddy to have, and then you have it "come to life!" ie stuffed with stuffing. Now, this place has EVERYTHING POSSIBLE you can think of for you animal - shirts, pants, suits, every sports team jersey home and away, whatever. Astronaut, cop etc. Mamalizza and I were on top of Big Bear, excitedly trying to shove things on him for his new T-Rex - "Fireman?!?!? ooooh, look, Yankees uni! Rock star/guitar leather jacket!!" But he'd have none of it - about 9 seconds in he had already picked out a shirt (a natty, short-sleeve knit polo) and a pair of sensible, multi-seasonal canvas sneakers. We kept after him to "jazz things up" but he had what he wanted; I almost teared up when finally he looked at me and says quietly, as if with hurt feelings, "he already HAS a shirt." So that was that, and we went upstairs to "give birth!"
Here we are - Big Bear is stepping on the pedal to stuff his T-Rex, while apparently I am desperately trying to get his attention that I am having a heart attack.
T-Rex now stuffed, Big Bear is now "giving him a bath," while I apparently have stuck my finger into a light socket.
Here we are at the computer, entering info for the birth certificate. Big Bear is the one on the left.
Here's me & Big Bear leaving, with his new best buddy safe & snug in his new "condo." I know what you're thinking - "Condo? Grrreeeeeeeaaaat, one MORE motherfucker to bail out!!!"
On the way to T-Rex' new home!!!! And before you even ask, YES I did, and NO theirs don't go sideways.
HERE HE IS!!! With a nice, cotton underpant thrown in for modesty. Big Bear wants his name to be "Dartucheetoo." I'm gonna try to persuade him to go with "Samuel."
Whoops, forgot the best part - as if he wasn't enuff of a nerd, our new guy is a bird watcher!!!! :)
Xmastime, Big Bear and Samuel - look out NYC ladies!!!!!
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Happy Birfday Big Bear!
From 2008! :)
Ohoh. Shark!!! I don’t appear as concerned as I would’ve thought. Well. The shark does have blond hair. And of course my nonchalance is all an act. “Christ,” I remember thinking “if they can get to Seacrest, they sure as shit can get my big ass…”
Here’s me waiting patiently for the attack while the shark does his stomach crunches and leg lifts. The fluffing part of the shark attack business, I guess.
Now the shark has lost a contact lens. This attack is going very slowly…ironically, I’m getting hungry.
Me & Lil Bear set to pose for the camera; I’ve shown him how to do the patented Xmastime “I’m #1!” finger. He does not look impressed.
“Hey asshole!! Around here, we do the two fingers!! Get it right!!!!”
Lil Bear wins, we do the two fingers. Apparently while I try to look like Fozzie Bear.
Ohoh. Shark!!! I don’t appear as concerned as I would’ve thought. Well. The shark does have blond hair. And of course my nonchalance is all an act. “Christ,” I remember thinking “if they can get to Seacrest, they sure as shit can get my big ass…”
Here’s me waiting patiently for the attack while the shark does his stomach crunches and leg lifts. The fluffing part of the shark attack business, I guess.
Now the shark has lost a contact lens. This attack is going very slowly…ironically, I’m getting hungry.
Me & Lil Bear set to pose for the camera; I’ve shown him how to do the patented Xmastime “I’m #1!” finger. He does not look impressed.
“Hey asshole!! Around here, we do the two fingers!! Get it right!!!!”
Lil Bear wins, we do the two fingers. Apparently while I try to look like Fozzie Bear.
Happy Birfday, Big Bear!
From.
I'm rarely right about anything. I mean, I'm the guy that had a kiniption fit when the Cowboys traded away Herschel Walker, and it ended up giving the Cowboys 3 Super Bowl rings and a mini Hall-of-Fame roster. So. I probably would've fought Dylan going electric, I'm such a fucking idiot.A superhero, indeed.
But the one thing I've gotten right is to put a poster of Big Bear on my door. No matter how fucking angry I get about everything - oh I hate this, I hate that, I hate you, why does the world suck etc etc - what separates me from the world is this ridiculous poster of Big Bear as Dragon Boy. It is LITERALLY impossible to open the door without seeing it and cracking up. Hell, I'll be honest, sometimes I give his fist a pound. By the time I'm on the other side of the door I've forgotten why I was so angry or depressed, and am just laughing, thinking about Big Bear and cracking up.
Happy Birfday Big Bear!
From 2008:
Lil Big Bear as a monkey!! Look at the eyes! So earnest!! 100% effort!! killin me. :)
When Lil Bear was a baby, I really really wanted him to recognize me, to really connect early. Even tho he was basically, like all babies only weeks old, a sack of potatoes. Albeit not as useful. So it began that whenever I'd see him, I'd wait til nobody was looking and then stick my hand under his nose, figuring maybe he'd pick up my scent and recognize it to be me, The Godfathah!! Much like one would, of course, a dog. You can imagine how effective that was.A gift to myself: one of my all-time favorite pictures -
Then as the weeks and months went on I could at least tell he recognized me; he'd light up a little when he saw me, he'd point etc etc. One time he lent me $15, so then I definitly knew he knew me ("promise me you'll use it for food!") I reveled knowing that in a room of any number of people, I was one of a few he really recognized and liked.
Recently he started using my name, which is my favorite thing in the world right now. Number one cause even though it's one syllable, he somehow turns into Buford Pusser, stretching it out into about 15 syllables "hi garaaaaaiyyyaeeegg!" And it's awesome; if I'm within 1000 yards yard I can hear it, like the Bat signal BAM! Big Bear's there!! :)
Ironically, him saying my name now also brings hard the fact re: how unsentimental kids that age are. We'll hang out for hours, and when it's time to go I'm sad to leave him, and like an ass I start thinking "boy, this is gonna be tuff on him." We'll be at the door and his mom will say "okay Lil Bear, say goodbye to Greg!" and before she's even done with the sentence he barks out "bye garaaaaaiyyyaeeegg!!" and is already sprinting off to play with his cars. Cracks me up every time.
Wednesday, March 09, 2016
Just a Coupla Genius Producers Meeting, No Big Whoop
George Martin goes to LA to pay homage to the great Brian Wilson.
RIP George Martin
Tough to argue: without George Martin there would be no Beatles:
When he first heard the band's demo he was unimpressed. But he liked their manager Brian Epstein, he really liked the lads, and he was on the look out for a band for his Parlophone label, which at that point was mainly producing comedy LPs.
So, he needed them. But they needed him a whole lot more. They were like an orchestra without a conductor: a group of individuals, not a band greater than the sum of its parts.
Sir George sorted that out. He was their creative inspiration, the person who shaped their sound and turned what was tantamount to a skiffle group into the most famous rock-n-roll band in the world.
RIP George Martin
It's quite possible we never would have heard of The Beatles were it not for George Harrison being funny:
When the audition was all over, Martin invited them up for a chat and listen in the control room. Martin gave them a long lecture on recording and what was what at Abbey Road. "We gave them a long lecture about their equipment and what would have to be done about it if they were to become recording artists," says Norman Smith. "They didn't say a word back, not a word, they didn't even nod their heads in agreement. When he finished, George said, 'Look, I've laid into you for quite a time, you haven't responded. Is there anything you don't like?' I remember they all looked at each other for a long while, shuffling their feet, then George Harrison took a long look at George and said, 'Yeah, I don't like your tie.' That cracked the ice for us and for the next 15- 20 minutes they were pure entertainment. When they left to go home George and I just sat there saying 'Phew! What to you think of that lot then?' I had tears running down my face. " Martin was later to comment that it was their wit more than their music that sold him.
Tuesday, March 08, 2016
BHS!
Kid from Ballard High in Kentucky hits full-length shot to tie game (spoiler: they ended up losing in overtime.)
"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “didn't you meet your childhood hero, who also went to Ballard High School?"
Sigh. YES, faithful readers, yes. YOU WIN.
"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “didn't you meet your childhood hero, who also went to Ballard High School?"
Sigh. YES, faithful reader
Monday, March 07, 2016
Downton Abbey Finale
It's incomprehensible to me that we're not going to get to see a tyrannical Thomas Barrow regime downstairs, with him spreading gossip while not allowing anyone to have an afternoon off to go to the village fair and corning new footmen.
Thoughts. I Have Them.
Have a sneaking suspicion deliverymen are tricking me into tipping more by knocking on the door "shave and a haircut"-style.
Sunday, March 06, 2016
Saturday, March 05, 2016
The last 4 seconds in my head (as opposed to, I guess, my elbow):
2. Oh good, it's not him, it's some other guy
3. What do you mean, "oh good" - why, because he was an Indian?!!
4. Native American! Native American!
5. NO, I just have no idea who this person is...I'm sorry he died, but I hadn't really heard of him
5. Actually I can't really say I give too much of a shit about Robert Redford anyway
6. Back to Dawson's Creek, fat dumb & happy
Xmastime TV Revew
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