...and Washington DC provides us with yet another example of how humor doesn't work

Jim Manley, senior aide to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, said, "Taking advice from President Bush about fiscal responsibility and getting things done for the American people is like taking hunting lessons from Dick Cheney. Neither is a very good idea."

See, the mice are hunchbacked because the apartment is too small for them to stand up! Oh, when you said "walk this way" you meant "walk in this direction"! Don't just consider my wife as an example of what I'm talking about, remove her from the premises!

Sports build character

Heaven, no longer a place where nothing ever happens, is a wicked pissah cah fiyah:

An unruly crowd flipped a pickup truck to its side near Fenway Park and at least one car fire was reported. Young people sprayed each other with beer and some climbed street signs or utility poles.

"Two World Series in four years is pure heaven," said Andrew Dumas [sic], a Boston University student from West Boylston.

Dumass then resumed punching an elderly woman in the face.

... and speaking of Robyn Hitchcock...

Here's the kid diggin' on her very own globe of frogs:

and on the 8th day Robyn Hitchcock took over

Moths drink the tears of sleeping birds.

you're like a teacher on vacation!*

Look, Bill, I don't care what you like to do in the privacy of your own home, but keep it to yourself, willya?
I'm going to write a book and call it Commas, People. They Don't Cost Extra.

*no class

go wash grandma

Childhood Myths That Are Still Acceptable For Parents To Insist Upon To Their Adult Children
This reminds me of my friend whose father always told him the sound of the ice cream truck was the devil coming to get him. Really!

what's to become of the clock?

I'm a little despondent today. I found out yesterday that my childhood is going to be demolished. I guess an explanation is in order.
I was born, and currently live, in Rochester NY and I'm nearing 40, which means I'm old enough to remember a vibrant downtown, with throngs of people who are there for reasons other than to change buses. Christmas time was particularly magical, with the mechanized window displays and Santa's Mountain, which was a big sparkly mountain in Midtown Plaza where Santa received his visitors. Santa's Mountain featured a tunnel through which a kid-sized monorail traveled. The monorail ride was always more exciting to me than meeting Santa (I don't think I ever fully bought the Santa myth-- at least I wasn't much phased by the realization that he was a hoax). Riding the monorail remained a part of my holiday ritual until they would no longer let me on.
Midtown Plaza boasts the distinction of being the first indoor shopping center in North America (or something like that). Built in the early sixties, the architecture is blocky and a bit kitschy-- too ordinary to qualify as Googie, but with enough camp to garner affection. Particularly campy was a giant clock in the middle of the plaza that had rotating dioramas of various ethnic stereotypes. It was called the Clock of the Nations, and was kind of like Disney's Small World ride in miniature. This is probably the ugliest clock in America, and we Rochesterians love it (or we love hating it).
Well, wouldn't you know it, they're tearing Midtown down. This is probably the right decision, as it has been largely vacant for decades now, and it will be replaced by a corporate headquarters that will bring several hundred jobs into the city center.
Still, I can't help but feel mopey about it. As a friend put it, "that's the closest thing to a favorite baseball stadium you have, isn't it?".
Malls of America has clipped an old chamber of commerce film to the parts about Midtown. If I'm not mistaken, that narration is by the esteemed Ken Nordine.
I have a cherished fedora made by McCurdy's, which at one time was the anchor department store in Midtown. The label inside the hat says "The Midtowner", in jaunty, I dare say swanky, lettering, and has a picture of the plaza. This is an optimistic fedora. I will wear it to the demolition.

It breaks your heart in two

I love Roy Orbison, but I hate cling film.

one look at you and I can't disguise...

I'm the first guy to shut someone down if they're talkin' smack about President Carter. He's the only US Prez of whom I am a "fan". Sorry, Taft.
Having said that, I think some of the synapses might be firing a little kooky these days. I don't blame them, they've been through a heck of a lot. I bet watching Arafat eat a salad is a jarring experience.

Anyways, I was at the dentist's office today reading Time magazine. They have a feature called 10 questions. This is where readers send in questions to ask that week's luminaries, and where I ran across this:

"Q:Did you ever envision becoming so prolific a builder of latrines? —Ricardo Fernandez, Orland Park, Ill.
A: [Laughs.] Ethiopia has one of the highest incidences of blindness on earth because of trachoma, which is caused by filthy eyes."

Oh, that's a hoot!
Incidentally, Filthy Eyes was Tip O'Neill's preferred brand of scotch.

iron butterfly?

Government Agent #1: The boss wants us to get some photos of the protesters downtown, so I'm sending those robot dragonflies we've been working on!

GA#2: I've got a better idea. Why don't I put on a Ron Paul T-shirt and go down there with my cameraphone?

GA#1: Robot dragonfly! Robot dragonfly!

I hear Speed Racer's been knocking over liquor stores

I know my mind is poisoned by an abundance of television viewing in my youth, but all I could think when I saw the headline Devlin pleads guilty in kidnapping case was "it's always sad when cartoon stunt motorcyclists go bad".

You don't even want to know where I ran into Scrambles from the Chopper Bunch.

the "time" in the name of the magazine is apparently 1960

So, being a dad who actually parents is girly.
Reading this article is like sitting next to some drunk meatball at the bar who's accosting you with "I wish I had duh guts to wear a shirt like dat. A lotta guys would be worried dat people thought they was fags. But it's great dat you feel comfortable like dat":

But what does it mean, exactly, to be a man these days? Once upon a Darwinian time, a man was the one spearing the woolly mammoth. And it wasn't so long ago that a man was that strong and silent fellow over there at the bar with the dry martini or a cold can of beer--a hardworking guy in a gray flannel suit or blue-collar work shirt. He sired children, yes, but he drew the line at diapering them. He didn't know what to expect when his wife was expecting, he didn't review bottle warmers on his daddy blog, and he most certainly didn't participate in little-girl tea parties. Today's dads plead guilty to all of the above--so what does that make them?

Um, I don't know-- not jerks?
I would argue that someone who can drink a cold beer while changing a diaper is twice the man, but I don't want to brag.

So thanks, Time Magazine, for congratulating me on being so willingly feminine as to hug my daughter and change her diapers. And I'd switch to water right about now if you're thinking about driving home.

intensity in twin cities

Titivil pointed me to the new Republican Convention Logo , which made me nearly laugh out loud from my urethra, and inspired a few thoughts:

2008: The Year That Got Humped by an Elephant!
or, that 8 should go on the other end (is he humping the year or humping using the year?).
or, every time you look at this you should sing "Jukebox Hero" ("stars in his eyes")
or,
To be perfectly honest, if I had a tail, I'd tickle my own ass while humping a year too.

he's the cat that won't cop out

Jimmy Carter is one baaaaad mother (shut your mouth!).