"El-e-vay-tor, elevator, take [microsecond-pause] me home"

Kids! This is the best song I heard this year, and I'll even type it out: "Elevator Love Letter" by Stars. Like, seriously, go to the link, navigate yourself to the heading "Album," and click on the second choice and listen to the whole thing in tinny RealPlayer-stylee. And then go find yourself a proper copy and experience the full bass and muffled whammy-bar that sounds like seagulls.

I first heard "Elevator..." Sunday, 20 July, on 6music, and I like to think that in an alternate commercial universe, it was the anthem of the summer. Although, to be fair, it's always fun to see tipsy kids get karoke-stoopid the world over to the hit parade (New York, London, Reykjavik, DC: everybody talk about "Crazy...").

But to get back to "Elevator...", I always play it on the train home if I have to stay late, and I look at the reflections in the windows of the other passengers and make up secret histories for them. It makes for a good soundtrack.

Why I Prefer Offspring Begot From the Cranium, Zeus-Athena Stylee: Reason #1,452

Similarly related, I have a couple of stories related to attitudes regarding copulation that have been expressed in the lower latitudes of the United States. However, they don't really translate well in print; it's more a of spoken-word oral-history type-thing.

But I do have an anecdote that can sort-of make the print-speech leap that relates to the original reference. My favorite response as to why a young woman should relieve her boyfriend in such a manner, and therefore making it the preferred expression of physical intimacy, came in Health class in the 11th grade: "Dang, man, last time I heard you cain't git babies in yer mouth."

1. Yes, "dang" was said.
2. Yes, that whole sentence really did exist at a certain point in the space-time continuum [spelling altered in the attempt to reflect the hybrid of Mountain Southern and Coastal Southern better known as "Hick"]. And no doubt there's a wormhole that can transport one back through the years so as to hear it again, the words fresh from the mind of a such a stellar example and champion of the gene-pool.

Anyway, speaking of secondary education, this is a supreme template. Kind of like when people thought I went to jail after high school ("How you back here right now for Christmas? Ain't you in the state pen, or sumthin'?").

*Claps Heartily*

So, back when I lived near a clutch of large grocery stores, I used to play a game with the reader-board (you know, that big sign outside that lists three or four things on sale that week, whatever-it's-called), which I called "Let's Make a Meal!" for lack of a better title. The premise would be to, yes, create a meal as dictated by the contents listed on the board. Unfortunately, this was more often a rhetorical exercise as most menus that resulted were along the lines of "12-Pk. Bud with a side of Miracle Whip and Pampers."

Anyway, one could extend "Let's Make a Meal!" to the Billboard Charts of the past year.

Belvedere Vodka with a side of Cool Whip at the Ramada Inn, y'all.

But Back to the Trans-Chreastmas Expressway:

A proper bit of Flash that incorporates birth, death, and resurrection (via the Refresh button, natch) has set up shop off the last exit.

Hurrah!

Year's Lamest (i.e., Conducted on NPR) Rap-Battle Concludes:

3 Sept 03: Al went on Terry's show, and they, like, totally made out.

8 Oct 03: And then Bill went on Terry's show and was all, like, "Ohmygosh you're such a skank," and Terry was all like, "Uh, whatever, I *heart* Al," and then Bill was all like, "Whatever, you're so not invited to my after-prom party."

20 Nov 03: And then Triumph went on Terry's show and high-fived Bill. Or maybe Al. Uh... yeah. Anyway, Kermit the Frog gets name-checked.

23 Dec 03: And then old-skool Mort went on Terry's show and was all like, "These kids suck. Especially Al." And Terry was all like, "Nuh-uh!" But Mort was all like, "Girl, please."

And Continuing on the Trans-Chreastmas Expressway:

It is fair to say that one will not see this on VH1 (courtesy b3ta mailout).

Fact! Laugh at this, and one will contract a cold. Like I did. But it's worth it.

Ah, Since It's X-Mas Week...

...here's a relatedly-themed old joke that probably works far better in the spring/Easter (given its object), but hey:

"Pietà? I thought you said 'Piñata'!"

Beware the Eighteenth of December!

Ooooo, because it's a been a habit that strange things happen on this day. For instance:

1. The Electoral College met. Nothing really strange about that, per se, just that that one was itself a bit odd.

2. It was the broadcast date of Flo winning The Amazing Race 3. Like, seriously. She really did. And it really was some painful shit. For real.

3. And... seeing a huge tsunami of grating Pier 1 Imports commercials come crashing against the Big Beach of Karma, St. Peter slapped the Grim Reaper upside the head while Charon tried to give him a swirly and said:

"As any fule kno, we said 'Kirstie Alley.'"

(GR shrugs; adjusts hood): Yeah, yeah, I know. But I got a better deal from the Scientologists.

(SP and C look incredulously at each other; they then fall into convulsive laughter):
C: Dude, you cut a deal with the Scientologists? Man, you so got ripped off.

GR: Ugh! Shut up! How do you know, anyways? (GR bobble-heads hood in defiant head-waggle.) For your information, he gave me a sweet deal, fools. Check this out. (GR conveniently opens big shopping bag full of candles and throw pillows.) My man L. Ron hooked me up with the Employee's Discount in exchange for letting the KA stay on the TV.

(SP and C are now doubled-over with laughter; eventually, they regain their composure.)

SP: And that's it?

GR: Huh?

C: No souls, no first-borns? Just an employee-discount?

(The cogs begin to turn underneath the hood; GR's eye sockets grow fluorescent-red.)

GR: Yeah. That's it.

SP: So, you still actually had to pay for all that crap, right?

(GR's eye sockets are now, like, way pissed-off fluorescent-red.)

GR (voice dropped, almost growling): Yes.

(A thick silence falls over the three, but it's soon broken by the resumed laughter of SP and C.)

SP: Dude, that is so weak!

(GR storms off muttering something about puppies and crib-death; he does take the big shopping bag with him, though.)


(Oh, and FYI: Thom is the new Pier Whore.)

Remember the "?-Bound Round-Up"?

Well, it's given way to the "Please, Your Voice Was Not Made for Radio" gong.

As with "?-Bound" in its latter stages, this will be an irregular feature. It'll only show up when I simply can't stand to hear the spit-clicking and mucus-churning of an offending radio personality anymore.

This first PYVWNMFR (which, incidentally, looks like the spelling of the sound of blowing one's nose) is split between WNYC's Andrea Bernstein and NPR's Peter Overby. Now, they both seem like very intelligent people who write cogent copy; they should just never, ever report on air. Ever. Again. Even as a back-up on a weekend graveyard shift.

(As a disclaimer, PYVWNMFR is not affiliated, nor does it serve to abate, my general disgust for the voice of Neda Ulaby and her half-baked reportage.)

Some Call It "The Sight"

Others just call it common sense.

Although, to be fair, if I had small children demanding to be dragged to the movies next Thursday, far be it that than this. *Shudder*

Hey! Now That You Mention It...

...one would think this particular gem would be quite apropos today, too.

"Huh? Who?" ask the kids.

Way Better Than Musak

Wing has a new CD of carols. Not really sure why "Vision of Love" is on there (although, yes, it's true: I did get a cassette copy for Christmas 1990), but I'm quite impressed by her improvement in pitch on "Joy to the World." She manages to stay in the green, for the most part.

(cut/splice) "Oooo!"

Behold! For I now bring you the Julie Burchill Random Recycler.

Actually, I've been knocking around an idea for a one-person play based on the premise that Julie and Kirsty MacColl are yin and yang, or like a bad twin/good twin. They were born the same year, physically resembled each other, could drink most under the table, and even had fathers noted for their leftist politics (Julie's being a Communist trade union activist in Bristol, Kirsty's being folky windbag Ewan MacColl). But whereas Kirsty made music and had a knack for a concise and clever lyric and making rockstar friends, Julie wrote about it and knew how to piss people off while being, shall we say, a tad ranty. Regardless, how cool would it be to have someone on stage yell at herself only to get all Dorothy Parker-style on her own ass, and then be all like, "Right, let's go get us a drink, then"? I'm totally seeing "Bad" as the breakout hit of the show.

Anyway, I'd take Julie Burchill any day over somebody like Alan Light. Not only does he get points against him for having edited Spin, someone should also inform him to never again be interviewed on radio. Ever. My ears are still bleeding.

Awww...

I *heart* Netjetters Jim. After all, he doth declare, "The builders of the Ice Hotel are guys after my own heart." Furthermore, he's on my ideal route: circa 60N at -20F.

Sometimes, when I am a tad nostalgic and a shade curious, I check out what the famed Hus Fyra looks like in winter. Many a foul-mouthed card game under the midnight sun took place in the kitchen and deck.

I'd also imagine the light in Torps Kyrka would be almost inverted this time of year and the lake surely frozen.

*Drumroll* ..."i am one of Klostermans friendster friends mind you i have never met the man and i live in ohio"

Yep. That pretty much sums it up.

For the record, we were on to hating on ol' Chucky K. way back in the day, in, like, August.

Word!

*flashes piss-poor gang sign; gets laughed at by room full of 3rd-graders*

*Bangs Head Against Wall*

It appears I've again missed the memo regarding the Beatification of Ronnie of the Jingoistic B-Movies.

Just for the related record, I continue steadfastly refer to a certain airport by the moniker "National" since by all accounts, the guy hasn't techincally checked-out yet. And that's usually how these kinds of christenings work.

Too bad we're not referring to a boat today, as I'd gladly smash my head with a bottle of champagne for the occasion, both literally and figuratively.

And Speaking of TV...

...no, while I did watch THAT show (if you're a TWoPper or a Gawker, you need no primer; if not, there's surely many a mag at the dentist's office to fill in gaps you probably never knew or cared of to begin with as you wait for your bi-annual teeth-cleaning), it has nothing to do with today's pressing question:

Uh, since when was Richmond, VA, considered a hotbed of fictional underworld crime?

More Clockswatching

Oooops, looks like this movie also is going to, ahem, suck balls, judging by the presence of a certain tune in its TV commercials.

Funny. Seeing as its parent company is, like, broke-ass and stuff, you'd think Universal would root around their own labels and pick out something equally mawkish and cloying to splice for a few seconds of ZZZZzzzzzzz.