Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Old Posts: Where Are They Now Edition

Given what I did on July Fourth (stayed in the house, saw no fireworks, learned a schtckle of Yiddish), and given what my summer plans are (concert next week, then a great expanse of nothing), I am reduced to updating old reports.

Rock Band- I was momentarily interested in getting Rock Band, or at least Guitar Hero, then I realized that I already play a similar game called Guitar Pro. Have you heard of it? You sit on the side of the bed with your guitar, and rock song tabs scroll past you on the screen like the bouncing ball, and you try to keep up. I suck at it. I honestly contented myself yesterday by playing only the notes on the low E with my acoustic.

Metal Dog- Mac continues to seek and destroy all our zipper pulls. We are going to rent him out to the TSA so he can search out box cutters and knives.

Moneymoneymoney, Money- It's easy to want stuff when you can't afford it. Let's say you want a huge flat screen TV. The thought process is: "Want! Can't afford." and it ends there. I have found that when you can afford it, the process is: "Want! Won't fit in entertainment center. Still want! Buy new furniture! What to do with old furniture? Move old furniture! Will expose dog pee stains on hardwood floor! Refinish floor! Move all existing furniture! Pain in the ass! Don't want big screen tv!" I've talked myself out of everything I want.

Butterflies - You raise monarch butterflies on milkweed plants. This monarch company makes you grow a milkweed plant first. I can't. I am going to have to buy a milkweed plant. I CAN'T GROW A WEED.

What Is It About Minature Food?

God, I love tiny food almost as much as I love food disguised as other food.

Look at the eensy Ben and Jerry's! I added the spoon for scale.

Ironically, just last year I developed the ability to eat just the one half-cup serving out of the pint container. I don't know, maybe it's a gift you get when you reach a certain weight.

Three Unrelated Things

Three of these things are not like the other. And there are only three. Usually I would tie these together with a theme, but I don't think it will happen.

Wave
I was telling Marcia (Prius Owner) about the Curb You Enthusiasm episode in which Larry becomes enraged when a fellow Priusian doesn't return his wave. She tried giving the peace sign to another Prius on the way back to work but go no sign of peace in return. I have always had good luck getting the return wave from fellow Mini-owners. In fact, a green Mini just waved at me on the way home tonight. Of course, sometimes it goes south. Usually Gary and I find ourselves waving at a Mini when we're in the Fit, or better yet when we're on the parking lot walking in to the mall.

Sad
I was at work waiting for a document to publish. It took long enough for me to think about my to-do list, then the Mom items on that list, then Mom, then Mom in the hospital, then Mom crying in the hospital, then I started crying, then I tried to focus, then it got worse. Then, my document published and I was back to work again. I thought I'd give up the tears tonight, but it hasn't happened.

Everyones New Friend
There's a new woman in our area at TeddyJ. She's hysterical. Very subversive no prisoners sense of humor. Expect to hear a lot about the Friend to Be Numbered Later.

Butterflies are Free to Fly

If you find yourself with five butterflies, here's what will happen.

1. They will all emerge from the chrysalis while you are sleeping or looking away just for a moment.
2. Then, they will sit apathetically for a day.
3. Then, you will feed them sugar-dipped universalis flowers, which they will shun.
4. After the wings are formed, the extra color is excreted from the tail of the butterfly. Essentially, your butterfly menstruates all over its mesh habitat. A lot. Peri-menopausal amounts.
5. In a desperate attempt to make them eat, you buy mandarin oranges and throw them to the creatures.
6. Butterflies love mandarin oranges. They get high and fly against the mesh walls.
7. Then, you open the door and only two butterflies make a break for it.
8. The next day, two more decide to leave and go to butterfly college.
9. Finally, the runt extrudes an ocean of extra color all over the habitat. Ten times more than the others combined.

So, the runt remains. It's been an interesting experiment. Who would think butterflies would be so dramatic?

Tiebreaker

I am taking a poll at work. The poll is tied. You all get to be Florida. Or the Rules Committee, whoever.

Here's what happened: Friends #2 (Marcia) and #3 (Hot Mom / Libby) and I went to lunch at Pei Wei (cheap P.F. Changs). My chopped Chinese salad came out a bit late, so I was still eating when the Friends finished up.

#2 was talking about her genius twins, and #3 reached into her purse and pulled out a little bobbin of something. "Huh," I thought, as she began unspooling some thread off the bobbin. Then she snapped the thread ... and began WINDING the ends of the thread around the index fingers OF BOTH HANDS in the manner of someone who was about to floss her teeth.

"Is she about to daintily garrote Friend #2?" I thought with alarm. And then Friend #3 opened her maw. And flossed.
At.
The.
Table.

My jaw dropped, and thankfully I didn't have any food in my mouth, because it would have spilled out, and I suppose that would have been disgusting.

Friend #3 didn't notice my look of horror at first, then abruptly interrupted her flossing to mouth "Bite Me." Friend #2 knows what it is to be polite and didn't want to make #3 uncomfortable, so she didn't make a fuss.

I made a fuss. On my white-board at work I have posted the question:

"Is it acceptable for MARCIA to floss her teeth at the table at Pei Wei? _____Yes      No_____"

Marcia appended, "*If there is broccoli and MARCIA is among friends and she doesn't want to interrupt Libby's story so that MARCIA can floss in the bathroom?"

Still, the score stands at five (ONLY five!) tally marks to five (GOD! Five!) tally marks.

The anti-floss faction feels very strongly. I keep having to urge them to only vote once. (Marcia, so you know, your mentor feels this is a reflection on his mentoring.)

On the other hand, the pro-flossing faction tends to respond, "Well, you know sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, and depending on the company ... Whatever."

Debate.

An Open Letter

Dear staff of Seattle Grace Hospital,

It has come to my attention that your mortality rate is higher than the normal television-based hospital drama.  I would like to posit that perhaps you might not kill so many people in the operating room if you turned the music down. Because it seems that every time things become critical in the OR, the music swells to the same decibel level the doctors use to converse.

You can go on drowning out Meredith, though, because I'm sick of her.

Still, I'm sure in the future television critics will look back at your show as the seminal hour-long music-video-drama.


Sincerely,


Ellen S_____ and Gary "What did they say? Is it just me? I can't hear what's going on!" S_______

Me At Fifty

In the Dillard's shoe department, I handed the fifty-year old saleswoman back her little tiny nylon footies that had become completely shredded by my untended toenails and crusty heels. She said,

"I hope they make condoms better than that."

All I can imagine is she calls them "foot condoms" in her mind.

In Which We are Bossed About

 In-Law Bossing
The day began with Gary and I in bed planning our day. We wove together the requirements (Gary haircut, Cowboy Mouth concert) with the options (breakfast at First Watch, buying new jeans that fit, summer suits).

Then the in-laws called: the Estate is settled! Gift checks are written! Must come over and get money. Gary actually said we had plans. NO MUST COME OVER NOW.

In-laws were giddy. Giddy, I tell you. We were cleaning up after lunch and asked Wilma where the kitchen wastebasket was. She whirled around with a new wastebasket. "Here! It's new! We have money now!"  Not to suggest they were below the New Wastebasket Poverty Line, it's just that Ken has the purse strings and Wilma has to ask beg negotiate justify every purchase. I'd hate that. Which is why Gary and I have separate bank accounts. Which is why that check went in to Gary's account. Wait. What was I thinking?

Cowboy Mouth Bossing
Gary and I met up with Friends #2 and #3 at Ribfest, where I was ridiculed for not knowing the differences  between all grassy areas off Market Street downtown. I call them all Keiner Plaza. It would seem I am wrong.

Cowboy Mouth performed as they did at the first concert I saw: they bossed the crowd. However, when the lead singer/drummer Fred screamed at the audience to GET ON THE GROUND AND THEN JUMP UP LIKE A FIVE YEAR OLD NOW CROUCH CROUCH DOWN GET DOWN LOW LOWER Friend #2 / Libby /Hot Mom stood proud in her pointy-toe boots with a crossed-arm "fuck you" stance. I stared up in awe at her. I was surprised Fred didn't call her out; she was the only one downtown not crouching.

KC and the Sunshine Band Bossing
First of all I saw four separate women smoking Virginia Slims before the concert even started. Not my crowd. Gary's crowd, though. Somehow, I  was convinced the big KC and the Sunshine Band song was Afternoon Delight. I was wrong. Gary was convinced KC was a short black man. He was wrong.

I was wondering why Gary was so insistent that we stay and see KC and the Sunshine Band, and then I saw the horn section come out. THEN the hot Solid Gold Dangers came out and booty popped. I am working on my lower body dance moves and now I am committed to perfecting the booty pop. Then KC came out and insisted I do a little dance, make a little love, and get down tonight. After that he politely asked that I turn him on, since he is my boogie man (he's my boogie man, he's my boogie man) and that afterward I may do what I want. Afterward, KC implored me to keep it coming (love), don't stop it now, don't stop it, no, don't stop it now, don't stop.

At this point I became a little annoyed. To be honest, I like my songs to have plots and foreshadowing. That is evidently not the way KC and the Sunshine Band like it, uh-huh, uh-huh. They would like me to shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake my booty. (Shake my booty.) Which I did after studiously watching the dancers.

Weird Stuff in My Head

• I want to thank whoever did a Google Search on "Leonard Cohen" + "Kevin Barry." I had no idea Leonard Cohen covered one of my favorite songs. Wow ... that would be like hearing that Steven Page was going to cover songs by Leonard Cohen or The Weakerthans. Oh, wait.

• I know that the media keeps telling me that the Obama and Clinton campaigns hate each other and this is one of the most divisive primary seasons ever. I'm not seeing that. I'm watching Obama's speech in Iowa and he and Hillary should just make out already. I don't call this division. Did the media just not see the Bush vs McCain fight a few seasons ago? With the flat-out lying and the bogus phone calls ostensibly from the opponent? And no one was fired the next day. MSNBC keeps saying Mom and Dad hate each other! It scares my inner child.

• I think now that Mom's final resting place will be the Carribean somewhere. Sorry, it's just hard to ship her through the mail.

• Oh, speaking of Mom, do you remember that Gary was all nervous that I would burst into tears during the hospital-based My Name Is Earl episodes? Well, fans of House, he listened to me become almost dehydrated from the tears and mucus pouring out of my face during the season finale and just sat there and ate pretzels.

• I would like to state that the Norwegian Cruise Line has a cunning marketing scheme to get travelers on the Norwegian Jewel to upgrade by putting this bedspread ...

... in every cabin except penthouse and luxury suites.

Secret Christian Elbow Signal

I went out for drinks with the Formerly Heartless Cows, whom I have MISSED since half of them have been in another kennel, and had a delightful time, but it unearthed a mystery.

Okay. Friend #4 says she was introduced to someone who not only considers herself a Christian, but she cups her elbows in her palms every time she says the word "Christian."  As if she were crossing her arms and protecting her elbows for good measure. And evidently she says the word Christian frequently in casual conversation.

Another person who uses the word Christian? Hot Mom (Friend #2). Hot Dad (Sting Lover) is named "Christian." So now Friends #2 and #4 have an inside joke and shield their elbows compulsively when they talk about Hot Dad. "So, what did Christian" (elbow palm) "have to say about Happy Hour?"

But, why does this Christian Acquaintance cup her elbows when she says "Christian?"

Perhaps she wanted something like the Catholics have with the Sign of the Cross.
Perhaps she thought her elbows were a temptation to men.
Perhaps all the praying has made her elbows sore.
Perhaps she's hinting to the Lord that she want soft, smooth elbows.
Perhaps it's a Masonic thing, like a code.

At any rate, we began to speculate, if Catholic is the Sign of the Cross, and Fundamentalist Christian is evidently the Elbow Squeeze, what would be the Secret Code Signal for other religions?

Caroline volunteered the Protective Vagina Palms as an alternate Catholic sign.
Marcia put the back of her hand to her brow in an Oy Vey Jewish gesture.
Libby made the Jazz Hands of Agnosticism. (Not the Spirit Fingers of Agnosticism. That was right out.)

I went with the Armpit Fart for the Baptists, just to be vulgar and crass, but I suppose the Baptists would Nose Pinch as if they were doing the swim.

It's Wee Idda Bidda Bebe Woses Time of Year

I have the sweetest rose bush out in the back. Made sweeter the year it died all the way back, and I discovered you don't grow plants, you grow roots. It came entirely back in that one year.

I always mean to prune it, and I never the heart. It needs it, but I can never remember if roses grow on old wood or new wood.

And I love it, because it has the teensiest tiniest roses ever:

Tiny. The size of my thumbnail. Which needs a manicure.

(I was holding it gently, but still it seems like I'm a giant trying to tear the head off a long-stemmed rose.)

Oh, and since you asked: Graves you say? Resting place of Mom and Dad? Here they are under the Rock Mom gave me that says Laugh.

What I am Posting Instead of Oh, Say, Cooking Brownies

• It's Gary's fault; if he hadn't bought new stamps I would have been at the grocery and picked up necessary brownie stuff.

• I also haven't used the glue gun to do minor shipping repairs on Judith's whimsical sculpture, either. (It's mine now! I scored! You can get your own! At http://judibleu.etsy.com.) I love it - the photo doesn't do it justice.

• I appear to be loosening up at my new job. I had this conversation today, with Oy-jay and Ott-scay, who sit across the cube wall from me:
  
  Oy-jay: (coughs violently, as she has been doing for two months)
  Me: Hey, when you went to the hospital with pneumonia, was it bacterial pneumonia?
  Oy-jay: (perkily) Yes! It was!
  Ott-scay: Yeah and then she came to work and coughed all over us.
  
  Then I paused, and blandly said ...
  Me: You probably killed my Mom.
  
  Heh. It was great. Poor woman.
  

Hitler is On the History Channel! No Way!

Here it is, Blogging Against Disability Day, and ... and ... I got nothing to say. Aren't healthy people a minority? There are in my world. Mom, Dad, Gary, Me, Dave, all disabled.

Well, two disability-related things happened to me today:

1. I was all tickled that TeddyJ offered me Long-Term Care insurance without asking me pesky questions ... and then they asked me pesky questions.  Feh. So I stuck my neck out and emailed HR, "Is there something I don't understand?" Sneaky bastids. Now they suspect.

2. I suppose lip-reading is disability-related. I just watched the tail-end of a remarkable documentary on the History Channel. They took old silent newsreels and silent films of Hitler, just hanging out in the mountains with Eva, and then used "Lip-reading software" to work out what he's saying. (Get this: Hitler is a dick!   I KNOW!) But I have to ask, why couldn't they have done this decades ago with a living walking talking lip-reader? And what about all the other newsreels?

FDR at Yalta?

See? FDR. Another disabled person. We're everywhere. And the History Channel says Hitler had Parkinson's. I just blew your mind on Blogging Against Disability Day.

New Town

We were interrogating the new co-worker.

"Where do you live?"
"Oh, off of Elm, by the river."
(Gasps of horror.)
"Oh my God. You live in New Town."
"NO! NO, I don't!"

Whew, all said, and then commenced a group review of New Town.

"Freaky."
"Weird. Just creeped me out."
"Like Stepford."
"Yeah."
"Like Stepford in the cornfields."
"Yeah. You don't live there, do you?"
"God, no."

I'd heard of New Town. It's a planned community down by the river. I thought I might wikipedia it, so you could see some photos. First I looked up Celebration Florida, the first planned community I'd ever heard of. Then, hey, maybe New Town is on Wikipedia. Guess what? They don't call them planned communities anymore. They call them New Towns.

I had heard Mom describe it years ago, and the image I had in my head was of a collection of Georgian row houses. Down by the river, instead of Regent's Park. Everything was said to be in walking distance. "Cool," I thought. "I need to take that New Town exit sometime. That sounds pretty."

The work conversation piqued my interest, so sometime came 'round on Sunday. So we motored to New Town.

It's wrong. It's so, so, wrong. First, it is no longer in the cornfield, it is a disease spreading across the cornfield. You know how DisneyWorld is "in" Florida, while DisneyLand is "IN" Anaheim? This is DisneyLand. Not so isolated anymore at all.

The first thing you see when you drive in are the display homes.  "Ew," I said, "It isn't all Georgian. It's a row house next to a bungalow next to a French Quarter home next to a brownstone."

You know what's worse? Driving past the display homes. To the "Brownstone" block, then a few blocks later the "French Quarter" block, then the Town Square. Main Street. I looked for that store where you can get ice cream cones for a nickel, like at DisneyWorld.  Then you pass Futureworld, then you pass the church (THE church), then you pass the giant sign titled "The Colors of New Town" -- the colors you are allowed to select for your New Town home. Which had better coordinate with the home next door, because there's about ten inches of side yard separating you and your neighbor.

It was such false diversity. "Be unique, as long as you conform!" I smell trouble in New Town.
I can see the Great New Town Riots of 2115.

Does anyone out there live in New Town, or in a New Town? What's it really like? 'Cause Gary wants to move there.

From Latin miscellneus, from miscre: "to mix"

• I wasted a good deal of my day today watching VH1's top 100 Songs of the 80's. I didn't listen to music in the 80's.*  That's probably why I didn't recognize the #1 song: Living On a Prayer by Bon Jovi. Kind of pissed me off since I waited four hours for it. I was at least familiar with most of the other songs. Still,  now I understand the "Tommy and Gina" reference in that one Bowling for Soup song.
  
  *And I don't want grief about missing 80's pop music. I listened to NPR. I learned about apartheid. It was all apartheid all the time at NPR in the 80's.

• The ophthalmologist  told me two interesting things Thursday. First, I have the beginnings of a cataract. I am only forty-five! Maybe I'm going senile too. Maybe I have heard Living On a Prayer. Second, the doctor who told Mom she need cataract surgery was probably defrauding Medicare. Evidently Medicare is to the point of telling some eye doctors they can't do cataract surgery unless the patient has had a second opinion.

• I asked the optician which pair of frames she preferred, and she said neither. I said I appreciated her honesty, and ~~Silk, I took your stand that no one looks good in tiny horizontal glasses. You are right. They are one step away from horn-rims and cats-eyes. Who needs a horizontal line across the face? Probably some tween who wears those layered t-shirts so there's a horizontal butt-line. So, watch out, in a week I'll be covering my face with a pair of glasses that are tortoise-shell to match my dyed hair and round to match my round face, and the optician can suckmahballz.
  

A Good Philosophy of Marriage

So, my social whirl this weekend so far has been GNO at the house of Friend #6, and oh, Mom's Remembrance Party. I need to absorb the Mom thing for a while, so let me tell you my favorite part of GNO.

Friend #6, you will recall, is the friend who "can switch from 'Oreo' to 'Sistah' at the drop of a hat," and it would appear drinking buckets of wine really facilitates that transfer. By the end of the night she was explaining her marriage philosophy to us. It is largely based on her experiences with her first husband, who was a crackhead. She explained, "Like, my new husband and I will have a fight, and he'll say, 'I'm sorry,' and I'll be all, 'What? Sorry for what? I was married to a crackhead.'"

That would have been funny enough, even though I don't have words sufficient to express the attitude she threw into it. (Marcia and I played with the idea of expressing it in dialect, i.e. "Ah wuz marr'd. To uh craick-heyah." But I realized that's offensive, or at least it was when I taught Huckleberry Finn to high school students.)

"I was married to a crackhead" was funny, but, even better, we had to keep bringing it up.

She drunkenly cooed, "My new puppy is the cutest thing!"

"Yeah, but your last dog was a crackhead."

File Under Misc.

So, at 4:30 I woke up and thought my hard drive on the laptop was really thrashing a lot. So much it was shaking the eyeglasses on the lid. Of course, other than that, I slept through the earthquake.

But I really enjoyed the aftershock that came when I was at the lawyer's office. I like natural disasters. A little part of me roots for the levee to break or the tornado to hit next door.

Oh, and this morning I put Mom's only jewelry onto my pinkies: a great-grandmother's engagement ring and Mom's wedding ring from Jerry. Which is now gone. Fell off my hand at the in-laws, probably in the grass. Oh, well, it was from Jerry, no even symbolic value. Only that Mom lives in my head and is very disapproving right now.

Time to head off for GNO, where I will drink the Mom Inheritance liquor of Scotch and Apricot brandy.

A Post With Hair On It

The Gods were with me today.

First, I got this fine award from KC at All The World's a Stage. And I would give you one, but you might have one already. Ajooja does, and RachelSkirts does. However, Becs is highly deserving, as is ~~Silk, because they write faithfully, without enough praise. And I have to give one to Stephen and Connie at Planet of the Blind, for the writing and because it looks like a tipsy eye chart.

Second, I slept through one meeting and walked in late to another. But the Gods took pity and TeddyJ canceled the first meeting. I walked into the second one, five minutes late, yet two minutes before the speaker said "Let's introduce the new employees! Where is Ellen S_____?" I was so jazzed I stood up with the Steve Holt gesture.

Third, our speaker used a new phrase: "It's got hair on it!" Is your project moving along according to predetermined timetables? It would appear "it's got hair on it." Gary says he's heard this before. I think he might just think he's heard it before, just like "we are totally in the tank for Obama" from SNL. Had anyone heard "totally in the tank for" before that SNL skit? No. But still, we know what it means.

Fourth, I got an orchid from my friend Lea, who may have commented here as The Orchid Lady a few days ago.

Oh, and fifth, Friend #3 gave me a bite of the tuna casserole she made me and then ended up keeping for herself.

 

Bumper Sticker

Hey guy, driving in front of me on Hwy 40 today -

Your bumper sticker:

Made me smile. Then I noticed this:

and I decided we were meant to be together, but tragically, we met too late.

March Memeness

Here is a meme from Candy, for which I am grateful because I'm spending the night at Mom's and I Am Freezing. I think her typing problems have been because her hands are shaking from the cold.

1. List three books you’ve always meant to read, but haven’t got around to them

The Kite Runner - stuck  on page 35, I think. I don't know why.
The Time Traveler's Wife - didn't get past the prologue.
The Qur'an - I should read it. I just noticed it up on my religion shelf. Didn't get past page 2231.

2. Share the two books that changed your life.

Two? Two? See, this is why I had to think about this one. I've been thinking, and I can't think of any books that changed my life. I have no recall of dropping a book and saying "Yes! That is so true. I will think that way now."

Plenty of books made me think "Yes! This person thinks the way I do." Mainly, I've had books that echo my life. Like Jane Eyre, which I could open today and find a passage relevant to middle-age. Or at least one relevant to being married to a brooding temperamental older man.

If you count short stories, I've had whatever anthology "To Room 19" was in. That made me question my devotion to reason.

The only other one I can think of is War and Peace. War and Peace did change the way I thought about politics. I don't give any politicians credit for anything anymore. Carter/Reagan/Clinton/Bush is just the conductor of the train. Destiny gets all the "credit." Or, the neo-cons.

3. Recommend the one book you’ve been talking about since the very first day you’ve read it.

Oh, well, the Amazing Adventures of Kavilier and Clay. That's easy.

4. Link to this post so we can read all about them when you’re done. (BBBBRBRRRRrrrr, okay.) Off to bed. (By the way, Mom's fine, Gary's fine, I'm just spending the night so Mom has a chance to see me on a Sunday before noon (or as some call it, 3:00 pm), when her strength lags.)

The Cask of TeddyJ

My lover TeddyJ fed me Boston Cream pie, Krispy Kreme donuts and cookies for Saint Pat's day. While I'm enjoying the food, the ambiance ... well, let's just say my new office looks like the set of Brazil, what with the conduits hanging down from the ceiling.

("Brazil" was Gary's take. My first reaction was it was like the Awakening scene in Matrix, below.)

(Again with the tubes. Even the new buildings have the tubes. I don't get it.)

So there's a little creepiness factor, but it's offset by the warmth of the people. I was walking out the front double doors and two men opened the door for me. One on each door. Trumpets did not sound, sadly enough.

But to add to the creepiness, I was talking with a co-worker, Robert, when I was interrupted by a faint "Yeeeeoooiiiiaaaaa...ahhhhhh."

My head snapped toward the wall with the muffled howl.

"Yeah," Robert yawned. "We don't know what that is. The building makes that noise sometimes."

Next I'll hear heartbeats under the floor.

MPGNO

Gone are the days of the Girl's Sabbath Out and the Mormon Inquisition Night, now are the days of Multi-Purpose Girl's Night Out: MPGNO. These GNO's are more spontaneous and there is less menu-planning. As it turned out, "out" was the operative word.

First off, we started ...

out. Usually, we've been celebrating in the safety of Marcia's beautifully appointed condominium, but instead we met at Madison's Cafe, where they make mixed drinks that made me wonder why I brought my Breathalyzer. We discussed our lives after Elliot, primarily, and caught up with old friends, until the hideous song stylings of the live music drove us ...

out. It was just a one-man show with a guitar. Then at some point I heard a secondary guitar, and I thought, "Hey, he's playing the chords and the melody. I wonder if he's using the Carter Family Fingering method. I just bought a DVD to learn how to do that." I stared hard at him until I noticed he had a whole backup band tucked away in a boom box. Then I noticed he did stuff like wiping his nose during the guitar solos, and yet the solo continued. It was awful, and it was loud, and it drove us ...

out of our minds. And then, someone suggested we carry on at Marcia's. That someone was not Marcia. This did not matter. We drove to Marcia's anyway. In honor of Cowboy Mouth deciding to come to Ribfest on Memorial Day, I blasted "The Love of My Life" very loud with the speakers down on the way there. The Conversation at Marcia's centered on the story of the woman would wouldn't come ...

out of the bathroom for two years. That story distresses me so much. In short, a woman went in the bathroom and wouldn't come for for two years. (I read elsewhere there were two bathrooms.) Every day her boyfriend asked her to come out, every day she said "Maybe tomorrow." She didn't stay seated all the time, except for the last month when something went wrong with her legs, and she ended up with an infection, and couldn't get off the toilet seat, so it somehow integrated with her skin and had to be pried up and go with her to the hospital. Now they're flapping about prosecuting the boyfriend. I have to wonder, if she'd spent two years lying in bed with depression, then got bedsores, would anyone be up in arms? So, we talked about that, but more interesting were Friend #0.5's tales of being ...

out on the lesbian scene in Saint Louis. I feel for her. All those girls want to do is cuddle! And have a relationship! And taaaaaaaaalk. It made me quite happy I wasn't made a lesbian. I would have no patience. Of course, I have no patience for typical guys, either.  She needs a lesbian version of Gary, I think.

Peace out.

Things That Make You Say "@*&%#!"

Just today, these things made me exclaim, "Damn!"

• Mom's nurse visits might really be paid for by the Long Term Coverage at my new job. That was a happy "Day-umn!"
• This was a worried "Damn."
• The governor of New York hooked up with a hooker. That was a wryly superior "Damn."
• The hooker cost thousands of dollars. That was a hushed-tone respectful "Damn."
• This was a happy, horrified "Jammies! Damn!" -
  ______________________________________________________

  

  ______________________________________________________________

Look at that skewed bar graph, Jammies. You sent 650 Lushies over. Damn, girl! You rock.

Bad Start to the Day

I got out of the shower this morning and noticed the phone message light blinking.

Message: "Hi, this is Tammy at Blahblah Technologies. I'm calling to see if we can resolve this invoice for sixteen thousand -- (embarrassed laugh) -- oh, I'm sorry, sixteen hundred dollars. Call me back at ###-####, extension ###."

I called her back and left her a message.

My message: "I am freaked out. Please call me back and tell me you have the wrong number. Please."

We had a good laugh when she called me back. "Hi, I'm the woman who called demanding money..."

She never said she had mis-dialed, though, what she said was, "Well I wonder where we came up with this number! Huh."

I think I know. DoppleGary is back.

Bob Kuban Comeback

Does anyone except Saint Louisans remember the song "The Cheater" by Bob Kuban? "Look out for the Cheater, something something something..."

I ask because I noticed that a place by my house seems to have a marquee that says "Bob Kuban." Gary thinks it's a ticket outlet (because Highway 94, yeah, that's a great place for a ticket outlet) and I say it's a bar. But, we must find out, because: Bob Kuban!

I have an early memory of being on the river on the SS Admiral (back when it was mobile) and seeing Bob Kuban and the In-Men. I was perplexed that Bob Kuban wasn't the lead singer. Walter Scott, the lead singer for the band, "entertained" us in the eighties by being murdered by his wife. As Wikipedia says,

"Scott disappeared shortly after Christmas, 1983. In April, 1987 Scott's body, having been hog-tied and shot in the back, was found floating face-down in a cistern. Scott's second wife, JoAnn (Calceterra), pled guilty to hindering prosecution in his murder. She received a five year sentence. Her boyfriend (whom she married in 1986), James H. Williams Sr., was found guilty of two counts of capital murder in the deaths of his previous wife, Sharon Williams, and Walter Scott."

I don't recall this accurately, but I think the best part of the story was that James H. Williams Junior turned his father in by alerting the police that if they were to look in the cistern at Walter Scott's house they might find the body. I might be wrong, of course.

Of course, we have to go see Bob Kuban, because he's a Saint Louis fixture. I don't know who the lead singer is now, of course, but the drums will be good.

Hey! Memes Are Supposed to be Easy!

Where have I been? Recovering from the Waterslide Flu. (I'm not suggesting I caught it at a waterslide. If you had this flu, I think you know what I mean.) Well, and trying to do this meme I got from Katie, the Hardest Meme Ever.

I'm supposed to list 5 material wishes and 5 spiritual wishes.  I tried, and all I could come up with were these:

5 Material Wishes

THIS was HARD! Hard when you've trained yourself to think that one secret to happiness is, "Don't Want What You Can't Have." This widespread belief is what caused the Nordstrom's in Saint Louis to shut down. We don't want to see $1,000 skirts while window-shopping; all it does is make us avoid your store.

1. Ok, after this afternoon I want a shaved ice machine. Gary got coffee at Hot Lava Java, and I got what I thought was a Sno-Cone. Back in MY day we had Sno-Cones, which was flavored hail that didn't melt in your mouth like shaved ice. You couldn't eat Sno-Cone ice, you could only suck out the juice until you pulled the ice pale. But I could eat this ice sans juice, all day.
2. Instead of feeling like a fourteen-year old and looking like a forty-five year old, I'd like the opposite for a while. I've noticed that concentrating draws my lips into a ridiculous frown. Is that material? I say it is.
3. I want them to make the Arrested Development movie. This really doesn't count as a wish, I suppose, because they are supposedly doing it. So, I want them to release the Arrested Development movie to me, in my house, privately.
4. Hm. You know I hadn't thought about it before, but I'd like to visit a foreign country this year. See? This is what happens when you start wishing.
5. I wish Chinese food was less disruptive to my digestion. There.

5 Spiritual Wishes

THIS was also HARD! Then I stopped thinking of them as wishes. Making wishes: HARD. Fantasies, that's a different story.

1. I wish the jackass I saw at the First Watch at lunch dies. Well, no, because then his long-suffering wife might be hit with debts. This man was having a two-year-old temper fit. He didn't raise his voice, but he slammed his fist on the table, he violently OPENED his menu, he slapped it shut, he angrily hurled himself in his seat, he grabbed the Equal, he tore it open so hard it went everywhere, it went on. He was so awful I warned the waitress.
2. Oh, and since I am raining down retribution, I wish the jackass I saw an hour later at the store dies. He cussed out his kid on the phone, then yelled at his wife when she reproved him. So, death to him.
3. World Peace, already. And Billions spent on health instead. Well, except for the assholes above.
   
4. I wish Gary all the happiness in the world. Mainly because he's easier on me when he's happy.
5. To continue with the theme that seems to be developing here, I wish everybody would just chill. Universal chillage. Especially the guy at First Watch, he was a total ass.
   

Puppies

As you know, my new company, TeddyJ, has been cuckolding my old company, Elliot, at the rate of one employee a week. During this "difficult transition period," we disloyal employees were forced to speak in code so our infidelities weren't discovered. One of the codes we adopted was the Puppy Code.

Examples

Getting a new job = Getting a puppy. As in: "Puppies sure are expensive when you first get them, with all the new shiny play toys they need."

Puppy mill = the new employer, TeddyJ. As in: "I had to drop by the puppy mill and visit with the breeders" (fellow former employees who tempted us with the new puppies).

Still, only friends #2 (Libby), #4 (Caroline) and I joined Friend #6 (Gracquel) as we lined up for our new puppies.

That's why I was glad to see this recent email from Marcia, Friend #3.

----------------------------------------------------------

Subject: Just thought you should know.

- Marcia

------------------------------------------------------------

Happily, Marcia's puppy is from the same litter (department - see, this is fun!) as mine. We were all very concerned because her puppy took the longest to wean. (Her approval process took twice as long as everyone else's.) Nonetheless, her patience was rewarded when she wound up with the pick of the litter, the International Travel puppy.

This whole new-employment campaign was cooked up by Marcia, so while she was waiting it was ironic that, like Moses, she led the Exodus but was not allowed to view the Promised Land.  We could have had as much fun with that as we did with the Puppy Code, but none of us knew Jewish history, particularly Marcia. Well, she did compare Libby to Joshua, as she led the way into Israel. There is a friend (#0.5 - she's really short) who went to a company other than TeddyJ, I suppose she could be one of the Lost Tribes.

Brain Lint

• First of all, do you think I can't see you?  Do you think you are invisible, scanning through all the categories trying to find a wattlicious photo of my chins? Oh, aren't you secretive? And you too, Scroogle user. Humph.
  

• Oh, and, thanks for teaching me about Scroogle.

• TeddyJ has seduced another of my friends. I will be working alongside Friends #2, #4, and #6. If Friend #8 drank the corporate Kool-aid we could have a run of all the odd numbers. The latest seductee is Friend #4, also known as International Guest Blogger of Mystery, who explains:
  
  "You ever get to the 'screw it' point?  That happened to me Wednesday at 6 am.  No, my cell phone bill isn't resolved.  But so what?  I've been shopping.  I have new clothes.  I have new shoes.  I can walk in heels.  Why should $230 stop me from enjoying them?
  
  So at 6am I wrote my resignation letter.  At 3pm I ducked into my boss's office.  On March 7 I will leave the company where I met the Queen, Friend 2, and Friend 3.  And on March 17 I will join the Queen and Friend 2 at Teddy J's, while wearing a new charcoal pantsuit and red patent leather heels.

• Of course, that meant I had to buy these shoes for myself:
  

  

• I don't know how I'm doing it, but one day into the Six-Bite Diet I've had to start taking in my pants with safety pins.  Perhaps all the new shoes have made me aware that my pants crotch is grazing my knees now.

• Mom is going to the physical therapist tomorrow to build strength in her legs, then next week she gets her first cataract removed. So she's offsetting decline in one area with improvement in another.

• See, you didn't have to hunt for it:
  

  

MemeMeme

Tagged for two memes! Oh, thankthankyouthankyou, Connie K and Aunt Sabine. I am so tired from this  job I'm doing for Teddy J.

So, first Connie K's meme:

I. You have to look up page 123 in the nearest book around you.
II. Look for the fifth sentence.
III. Then post the three sentences that follow that fifth sentence on page 123.
IV. And then tag five people, just like you were tagged. (Neh. I believe in self-tagging. Or comment tagging for those without blogs.)

"For example, if you want to indicate a first inversion of a C major chord (normally C E G, but E C G in the first inversion) you'd write this: C/E. This tells the musician to play a C major chord, but to put a E in the bass --  which just happens to be the first inversion of the chord."

I know it hasn't been three sentences yet, but, two quick things:

1. I know it should be "an E in the bass."
2. The delight with which the author wrote that sentence makes me laugh. "...Which just HAPPENS to be the first! inversion! of the CHORD!" (Author claps happily.)

"If you wanted to indicate a second inversion (G C E), you'd write this: C/G."

If this made no sense to you, don't worry, this made no sense to me. I stopped back on page seven of  The Complete Idiot's Guide to Music Theory when I was learning about staffs and clefs. I told you I was serious about figuring out why I like some songs. So far I've figured out all the songs I like have staffs and clefs.

We cross into other continents for Surreal Georgia/Aunt Sabine's meme.

It's long, so I put it after the jump. It reminds me of the balloon launch we did in sixth grade. Do kids still do that? Launch balloons and see how far away they go? The directions say:

"You do not have to be tagged to play along. This game is simple and so are the rules.
Copy from *Start Copy Here* through *End Copy Here* Add your site(s) to the list. Just be sure to post at each site you add.

Tag or don’t tag, your choice, however, the more tags you create the bigger the list will grow. Come back and copy the master list back to your site, often. This process will allow late-comers to get as much link benefit as the first ones in."

Go after the jump for the master list. I'm number 539.

International Guest Blogger of Mystery

Or, In Which We Discover That Friend #4 Is a Guest Blogger.

You know how I get with secrets. Here's a secret: Friend #4 has an issue with My Ex. (My Ex-Employer. Lets call my ex-job ... Elliot. My sedate work-spouse of 17.5 years to whom I was faithful until I was wooed away by hot young new employer with the tongue stud. Let's call him Teddy J.)

We had Friend #2's (n*10)th birthday GNO on Friday night. We all pledged GNO secrecy, spat into our palms, and swore that what is discussed at GNO stays at GNO.

Still, Friend #4 sent me this Guest Post! She is telling the Internet her business! Here's the guest post:
-------------------------------------------
Ellen and I spoke Friday night at a gathering where all is to remain confidential. Without breaking said confidentiality, I can tell you that I had big plans for today and agreed to guest blog about them. Said plans did not happen, because of my cell phone bill.

Ah yes, a cell phone bill. A $293 cell phone bill to be precise. I have worked in exile for months in a conference room with two other women, five computers, and a speaker phone. I support multiple clients and continued to do so, even while working on site at one of them. Since it's not polite to discuss one client's business on a speakerphone in the middle of a conference room at another client, I used my cell phone. A lot.

My husband takes care of our bills and does a fine job at it. Unfortunately he didn't realize I had increased usage and was consistently eating into our carryover balance, and I never thought to tell him to look. We ran out of carryover minutes last month, about $230 before I was done talking. My employer does not have a good policy for reimbursing cell phone usage, so it is murky what I can be reimbursed. I have clearly shown that my personal usage is within my plan's limits. A meeting about it today indicates they will pay the difference, pending approval from someone who is on vacation until Wednesday.

What on earth could a cell overage have to do with blog-worthy plans? Tune in later this week to find out.
-------------------------------------------
Check it out! A guest post from someone who isn't drunk. Or else she's drunk with bitterness. I think she's hinting at these secrets just so I don't follow my usual secret self-sabotage. (When asked to keep a secret I dredge up horrible information about myself and spill that.) So maybe I won't do that this time.

Later: Pig feathers tickle when pigs fly out of my ass. Today, I spent five minutes pulling on my socks and snapping them to make big clouds of dry skin billow around my feet. And I had just worn these socks one day. Uhhh ... like I always do.

What a Long Strange Day It's Been

2:45 am - Mom falls and can't get up. She hits her Lifeline button. (I don't know if she actually wailed, "I've fallen and I can't get up." The irony might have been knocked out of her.) The Lifeline people dispatched her next door neighbor to help her, and then called me so I was aware of the situation.

9:00 am - Went to check out Mom before work. Then Fallen Angel On Duty #1 did not show up at Mom's house for work. Replacement Angel On Duty shows up at 11:30. I was very, very snippy to her.

12:00 - Went to work. Immediately went to lunch for an hour and a half. Grouched because that would mean I'd be at work till 9:30, and I wanted to spend the night at Mom's, and 9:30 is late for Mom.

2:30 - HR comes by to suggest I stop surfing the net to earn my final paycheck, and that I could leave right now and not come in tomorrow! Woo hoo! She walks me out! Woo - huh? Weird. Especially since it's Hot Mom's actual last day and she has just as little to do. (By the way, Hot Mom tells HR about this blog even before I leave the building. I only just now realized they can't "dooce" me over what I put here. Hah! Hi HR! Hi Old Money President!)

5:30 - I realize it's Valentine's Day and Gary comes home with chocolates for me and his MOM. He give me his Mom's chocolates to take to my Mom.

7:30 - Gary suggests we become vegetarians. He read something that says a vegetarian diet is more environmentally friendly. I say sure, and I think, "Sure, I can be a vegetarian until you realize chicken broth is made from meat." But, he might be an ovo-lacto-brotho vegetarian. He still has to establish the rules.

8:30 - Mom reports that my blog display on her Apple Cube is one long skinny column. Something in the sidebars threw things off, so I stripped it and I'm going to gradually add things back. Perhaps the One.org banner turned on me after I deleted the last email without reading it.

Dangerous Words

There are some phrases that set off my red flashing BS indicator. These phrases are:

"I don't have a bigoted bone in my body"
This may or may not be followed by "but..." but it always means the same thing. It means, "I am about to say the most bigoted thing you have ever heard."

"That is unacceptable"
As soon as I hear a prim, "Well, that is unacceptable," the conversation is over for me. Sorry you can't accept reality. That's a shame. I know other people who are accepting.

"I'm a very spiritual person"
This is usually coupled with The Jazz Hands of Sincerity laid across the speaker's breast. Picture Mahatma Gandhi saying, "I'm a very spiritual person." You can't. Paris Hilton considers herself a very spiritual person.

What phrases trigger your BS alarm?

Kathy Griffin Review

I love Kathy Griffin. She makes me laugh until I cry. I saw her at the Fox last night. Her shtick is mockery at its finest, mockery of the rich and officious and inflated. Plus, she strikes me as genuine. And after seeing her in person, I believe she is genuine. She really did get off track and say "Oh - so, what was I talking about?"  (She also said, "Mormons are weird. It's true, we all know. They're as weird as Masons." Let's not forget who has Mormon MASONS in his family. Gary. So I laughed heartily at that.)

Oh, and my hearty laughter may have been caught on the DVD she was filming, or on My Life on the D-List, since that crew was there too.

Now, a fair number of the Heartless Cows (specifically, Friends #2 and #3) do not like Kathy Griffin. "She's mean," they complain. These people think Kathy Griffin is mean. Evidently their complaint is that Kathy Griffin is mean to people they don't know.

I must admit, there were a number of spots during last night's show when she made me pause. For example, now that we know Britney is bi-polar, Britney's antics really aren't funny. For example, Kathy joked about how Britney should be able to hold her water and not visit three bathrooms in one hour. "Oh, poor Britney," my colon, Colin, sympathized, "It isn't her water she's having trouble holding. She's got too much serotonin running through her system. That'll amp up your bowels."

But luckily Kathy let up on Britney soon after and she started mocking Oprah, who is highly mockable   "And is it just me," Kathy said, "But isn't Oprah as fat as she's ever been? And it's like  she doesn't realize it. And who's going to tell her?" I started to raise my hand and say, "Oprah has a thyroid condition. Didn't you hear? It was in Star Magazine."

"Jeez," I thought, "Kathy doesn't give sick people a pass," just as she started on the Oprah inviting the Osmonds to appear.

"Oh," she said, "Did you know the oldest Osmond has MS?"

"This will be good," I thought, "Because MS, now that's some funny shit."

But she only went on to make fun of Oprah and the Osmonds for making this guy keep working with the MS. Not terrifically funny, but a truly missed opportunity.

(Probably the best part of the act was when she laughed at herself and her new boyfriend, The Woz, and the geeks on message boards who are cautioning her not to break the heart of the Woz. As a geek, I found that particularly funny, and I will until they find that geekism is on specific chromosomes. (Like chromosomes 2, 4, 8 or16. Hahahahaha! Geeks just laughed at that.))

At any rate, I prefer Kathy when she's mocking the healthy, that's all I'm saying.

Okay. I Give UP

You know your life is boring when all you have to blog about is whether or not "barely simmering" chicken broth is enough to cook the egg in egg drop soup (and NO IT IS NOT: http://www.foodnetwork.com/food/recipes/recipe/0,,FOOD_9936_25560,00.html).

Then, your commenters outpace you in the drama category by using your blog as the place to make a Wedding Announcement.

Yes, see http://mocklog.typepad.com/queen_mediocretia/2008/02/marital-advice.html#comments

So, I would like everyone to sign the guest book of comments for

Zayrina

and

Some Nameless Guy Who Doesn't Comment

Even if you don't know her, because you know her about as well as I do, wish Zayrina best wishes in the comments. I want as many total strangers from far-flung lands to wish her well, from the Southernmost Google Analytics Dot (That means you, Big Dot in Auckland NZ) to the Northernmost (Big Dot in Edmondton, CA) and all the rest of you dots.

Sack up! As always, no need for an email or a blog name, just leave meaningless well wishes for total strangers Zayrina and ... the co-Zayrina.

UPDATED: The Last of the Cruise Photos

UPDATE: Okay, one more -

Here is this year's infamous naked photo. You can only see the top of my head, even in hi-res. However, you can see all of Gary.

Gary wants front row next year.

***********************************

Miscellaneous Pre-Cruise Miami Photos:

Our hotel room was 1/3rd kitchen, 1/3rd bed, and 1/3rd flat screen TV.  Here's Gary pointing out some of the hotel accoutrement:

The Miami Marathon took place outside our window ....

...the morning after we arrived. Gary said "Look! It's Katie Holmes!" about twenty times.

Incidentally, the heavily-accented taxi driver who took us to the hotel asked if we were there for "te maranon." I just said yes, because I had no idea what he had asked. After ten minutes of listening I realized he had said "marathon," but it was too late, because the driver was having a lively conversation with Gary about how we have "lizard brains," but at some point the aliens landed and merged with "te cromanon." I was convinced he meant "chromosomes," but it turned out he was talking about "cro-magnons." See, the aliens were the missing link. See? "Yes!" Gary said. "That could be!" THEN Taxi Driver explained how there were 16 comets that landed on Jupiter and they all hit the Eye of Jupiter. Well, when crazy people start talking about the significance of numbers I'm out of my league. I can barely do sane person math.

Come to find out that Gary had read the same issue of Discover magazine that had recently inspired our Taxi Driver.

On the Cruise:

Yeah. Does your band carefully place chips into customized bags and seal them up and give them to you as party favors on board a cruise? Neener.

I think I'll get these artist's names right:

Left to right: Boothby Graffoe, Allan from Great Big Sea, Sarah Harmer, Steve Page, Ed Robertson, Craig from the New Odds, Jason Plumb. And if that list is wrong it's Kate's fault.

Ports of Call:

This is either in Jamaica or Grand Cayman. It is a street corner waiting for a Starbucks.

When I found that the butterflies in the butterfly garden eat lemons, I greatly regretted not wearing my giant lemon slice earrings.

Oh, look! Toe Porn Goddess and Crotch-Watching Rock-Star-Super-Stalker Spunky Labia says hi! (Spunky's middle name is Sandy.)

"Ooooo," Spunky says, "The sand feels so warm on my toes."

(Seriously,  "toes" is only my 17th most frequent Google hit now. It has been outpaced by "How often should I wash my towels." Spunky might need to get some props, maybe some leather.)

I have never in my life seen such relaxed dogs as the dogs of Jamaica.

Sort of Like the Dog Story, Only It's Pink Lipstick

So, as I said, an interesting thing happened at the finale show.

The finale show is when all the bands get together and sustain an hours-long free association jam during which they string together all the old-school songs from decades past. They segue  from "Convoy" (Tyler knows all the words) to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" without taking a breath. Only, no one but Steven knew the words to "Suzanne."

I think this is Boothby Graffoe, fearlessly crowd surfing:

There was an assortment of casual / concert / costume attire.

(That's Alan from GBS, just for you Becs.)

At any rate, Steven, after a week of wearing suits (Photo by WeedMage) ...

...went in costume as his alter-ego, Bartles. I think Bartle's main function is to show off Steven's fine legs.

So I was admiring Steven's phenomenal memory for lyrics and his very small pink shorts. Small, satiny, slinky pink shorts.

"Gary?" I asked, "Look at Steven's shorts. Am I crazy? Does he have -"
"AAAAAaaaaagh!"
"So I'm not imagining it? That's his - "
"Yes! Well, there's a brisk wind, and dancing girls."
"Of course. It's a natural part of being a boy. It's healthy. Can I have the camera?"

Yeah, it's censored. You don't get to see it. What came out on the camera didn't have quite the detail that was burned into my mind. It needs a little contrast and emphasis on the mid-tones in Photoshop. But you still don't get to see it. Because I don't want to be tossed off of Typepad.

So, I think I can start calling Steven "Steve." Now that his erect penis has curved in my general direction and all.

Anyway, soon after he started dancing facing away from the crowd, then he stripped off his jacket and showed off some underwear that didn't have the shine I needed for contrast.

All the noise and joy was supposed to have  lasted until sunup, but at 4:30 am we landed in Miami and Miami had the nerve to shut us down.

Who wouldn't want a noisy cruise ship playing under their window at 4:30 am? 

Concerts

I just flew home from the cruise, and boy is my hand tired. (Sorry. I promise that's the last masturbation  joke.)

I'm dismayed. Thanks to Gary I have a monster head cold, and I wanted to do this post justice, and I can't. So, here is a feeble post about the Ships-n-Dip concerts we saw. Just wipe off the mucus.

We saw these concerts:

BNL Sail Away & Alumni Concerts
The Alumni concert was reserved for those of us who had been on Ships-n-Dip I and were returning for III. (Next year's is V. This requires no explanation.) The band pulled song requests out of a bucket and performed them, even if they didn't remember the words or music, except for a request to play "One Week." I was a bit addled since Steven was wearing a suit.

Guster
Well, almost Guster. The Guster drummer didn't sail because he is preoccupied with his nine-month pregnant wife. The BNL drummer, Tyler, filled in. Gary liked the Guster sound better with Tyler, which surprised me, but Gary's the drummer and he would know.

Great Big Sea
My mistake was listening to the GBS live CD before I came on the cruise. The live performance I saw  sounded just like the live CD, and I know this makes no sense but it killed all the spontaneity for me. Every live audience screams the same way. And that reminds me: I have found my demographic, based on the pre-concert music selections. Before the concerts they played all the artists I like - stuff I thought was arcane. Hmpf. I feel like a tween.

Sean Cullen
Mad men are funny. Sean Cullen  did us all a great service when he  sat  in on the cheesy daily schedule reading  and made it tolerable with interruptions. "Look there's Cuba! Wave at Cuba, everyone. You never know how long it will be around."

Boothby Graffoe
While BNL counters painfully sad lyrics with peppy pop music, this guy counters funny lyrics with  heartbreaking music. I would have given an example of the touching ballad, "Kittens In a Bag," but I can't find the lyrics. But that's a CD I will buy when I have money again. I will also buy a CD from...

Harvey Danger
...because it seems the luggage containing his merchandise was lost. I was forced to buy the Scooby-Doo soundtrack once just to get a copy of Flagpole Sitta, so I was looking forward to a whole CD. I am filled with such pity I will buy one, even though you can get one for free here.