Recovery effort.

I think it's not Monday, but I'm not sure.

Who cares! It's Peanut-Butter Jelly Kitten Time!

Recovery effort.

Ho-ho-ho!

Greetz from holiday central, where it's a balmy 45° outside, there is only a small pile of snow left in the corner of the yard where the sun doesn't reach in winter, and the log of Pillsbury sugar cookie dough made 12 cookies. Boy, things seemed bigger when I was littler.

Wigwam Jones' tale of what God wants for Christmas made me want to tell an anecdote about something that I said this week that made me feel funny in a strange way.

I have a nativity set that belonged to my great-grandmother...I think. I was always quite attached to the figures--in a non-idol-worship kinda way, really--and a few years back I bought a new manger, because the cardboard one I made to replace the original carboard manger looked like it had been made by a ten-year-old on loads of Benedryl. Turns out I can't put the manger out because it tastes good, so for the past two years the figures have sat on the television, because they're less likely to get knocked over or lost that way.

I picked up the weird habit of hiding baby Jesus until midnight on Christmas Eve. I realize I just made that look like a dirty game, but no, I just don't display baby Jesus--who is molded into a cushy straw crib that I guess Joseph cobbled together--until the big day. So Mary--who has redder lips painted on her than most of my Princess Leia dolls--along with Joseph and the Wise Men--two of which are painted in 1950s lawn jockey black skintones--stand, kneel and gaze adoringly upon the little empty spot in the center of the television.

I'm getting older, and I forget things, so I like to tell everyone where I've put baby Jesus, so in case I forget, I have two backups. When I decorated the other day, I told my mother, "Okay, Jesus is in the drawer under the tv, next to the catnip."

I meant well, I really did.

Ho-ho-ho!

But, enough about me.

I'm decorating a large tree that's sprung up in my house, as that seems to be the most sensible thing to do, and so I leave you with this news from The Onion.

FCC: All Programming To Be Broadcast In ADHDTV By 2007

To recap: I've posted a link and--OOH, SHINY!

But, enough about me.

Updates.

That moldy certificate I got still smells; I've given up on the newspaper to pull the smell out, and I put the whole thing into a ziploc bag, where it will most likely stay for the rest of my life. God help the unsuspecting ancestor that finds it.

Three years ago, I tried Crest White Strips. They made my teeth hurt--for three years. This week, I picked up some toothpaste that claims to have the technology to rebuild teeth, and so far, I've had luck with it. Just yesterday, I ate an orange and no one in the immediate area died by my hand.

I felt guilty that I didn't list every single DJ I have enjoyed in my last post, but then I realized that I was mainly trying to make the point that the new era of "Jockless" stations is dangerous, because all future little geeks in training will have even less contact with people if all they listen to on radio is music and commercials about anxiety and On Star. This next generation needs to know that long-distance attachments to people you will probably never meet can be okay, as long as you don't steal their underwear, they don't try to take yours, and you don't offer your underwear to them.

Updates.

I was out here listening all the time.

I once told myself I needed to stop forming attachments to radio personalities. I didn't realize at the time that many kids like me do end up considering the voice coming out of the radio a friend that always has the best taste in music. I should have realized, of course, because my grandfather had pictures and postcards of DJs from WNEW-AM from before I was born, that I wasn't alone in the radio-love. He listened to that station from the day the Make-Believe Ballroom began to the day he died...and maybe beyond that.

Ted Brown used to play songs for my grandfather, he even made an announcement on the day I was born, so I guess it was my destiny to become a radio geek. I got my first radio for Christmas, 1983, and not only did it stay tuned to Z-100 for years, I took the advice of the station ID and removed the tuning knob from the radio. I thought I was rebelling by listening to Prince and all the new music that's now played on nearly every station in New York as "classics" or part of their retro weekends, but I could have listened to my tapes if I just wanted music. Back then, I listened for Hollywood Hamilton. He was out of his mind, and I loved it.

Two years later, I learned that DJs sometimes disappeared for no good reason. Hollywood was replaced, and Z-100 was never the same for me. Took me a while, but I found another station down the dial, on 92.7, called WLIR. Every one of their DJs was funny, even their intros cracked me up. Every day, I use to wait to hear Larry The Duck's Nick Danger intro. WLIR turned into WDRE and one night in 1993, I heard Loscalzo and Peter Puberty for the first time. Despising telephones, I had never actually contacted any of my heroes until I got the fax number for WDRE, and between sending comments to Mrs. Gyrtlebaumer, asking about fatalities in Mortal Kombat, and voting 9 billion times for songs that no one really knows to this day (if you know Hobo-Humpin' Slobo Babe by Whale, I love you), I earned the title Gumby, the Mad Faxer. Nothing will ever replace those days, and for me to try to explain why would be impossible. When Peter Puberty had to leave because he set fire to his science lab, and Loscalzo just wasn't on the air anymore one day in late 1995, I realized being a fan of radio hurts.

Entire stations started to be removed after that, and it all went to hell. I still had a few DJs I enjoyed listening to, mostly people that I'd first heard on WLIR/WDRE. Thanks to the Internet, I was able to see what some of my old friends were up to, and was able to hear their voices again.

This past week, the station I listened to for "modern rock" after 92.7 was taken away let go of its DJs, and basically changed format. K-Rock's still playing music until January, but it's not about the music...it's never just about the music to the radio geeks. Jake Fogelnest and Dead Air Dave, the night guys, had their last shows this week, and the way FM radio goes, I don't know where I'll hear them next. Lazlow--who I knew from 92.7 way before Grand Theft Auto III--is doing his last show on K-Rock right now. I thought he might have stayed on in the new format, because his show is mainly talk, but no. On tonight's show, like all of last week, they've been taking calls from people that wanted to wish them well, people that want the station to stay as it was. Again, the listeners don't get to decide what stays. We're called geeks with agendas by people who decide formats and live by rating books. Even worse, I'm not not a white male aged 18-35, who apparently make up the majority of those ratings. Rock doesn't sell to them, I hear. American Idiot alone can't save a format, I suppose.

Who knows, people who stay at home at night, listening to the radio to keep their minds from going places they don't belong, may very well outlive the rest of the world. Then again, I think that happened on The Twilight Zone, and it wasn't pretty.

Last year, during the all-Christmas radio onslaught, I did my whole FM-transmitter-through-the-computer hook-up so I could hear the Sirius stations that come with Dish Network on my little FM headset as I wandered around the house. I went to Sirius looking for music, and ended up liking the DJs on First Wave. I even found Larry the Duck again. I'm not 12, or even 20 anymore, so I tell myself that if they "move on to better things," I'll take it much better. I'm not completely mad yet, either, and so I'm sure I'm lying to myself. Look for a long-ass post like this if anything ever happens to CD 101.9.

Dar Williams wrote a song called Are You Out There, and it's about pretty much everything I've just said here, but she says it better, and to a catchy tune. There's only one station in my area that plays Dar Williams, and it isn't corporate...yet. After this week, I'm down to two FM radio stations to listen to, here, guys. It's making me feel old. That's not what radio is meant to do, is it?

I was out here listening all the time.

Because I never let go of certain things...

I happened to find Earth Wind & Fire: a Tribute on Ice tonight on TV. I watched ice dancers dance to September, and then gave my verdict:

"Earth Wind & Fire were in Sgt. Pepper's, this show is nothing compared to that."

It's true, no one tried to kidnap Shae-Lynn Bourne while she was making Shae dip for the band, and Brian Boitano and Brian Orser didn't team up to rescue her from Josef Sabovcik or anything.

Holy crap, I think I just created Disney's next ice show.

Because I never let go of certain things...

Because I can't think of anything original at the moment....

Your Birthdate: June 23

You're not good at any one thing, and that's the problem. You're good at so much - you never know what to do. Change is in your blood, and you don't stick to much for long. You are destined for a life of travel and fun. Your strength: Your likeability Your weakness: You never feel satisfied Your power color: Bright yellow Your power symbol: Asterisk Your power month: May

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Because I can't think of anything original at the moment....

I predict...

That when the Howard Stern show ends on Friday, 92.3FM will start playing Christmas music in a final insult to the listeners. All the regular jocks who aren't going to be part of the new format have been saying their last day is Thursday, and Infinity just seems to be so full of great ideas, that I think replacing Nine Inch Nails and Green Day with Bing Crosby and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra will be the perfect way to lose anyone that might have stuck around for the transition any other way.

(This post brought to you by my bitterness over the loss of K-Rock.)

I predict...

Being pathetic can be fun at times.

As you probably know, smells get to me. Dryer sheets of doom, cigarettes, neurotoxins posing as perfume, wet ink, all these things like to try to stop me from breathing, but then there are other smells that just don't belong in some places, and those just confuse me.

Like the other day, when I finally paid off a course I was taking and in return, got a certificate and transcript that smelled of damp basement. I realize I wasn't always ahead with the payments, but did my paperwork really need to smell like it had been stored in New Orleans? Probably not, so, I just wrote a friendly little note to my so-called educators to let them know they need to store papers in a dry area, away from substances that can create spontaneous mutation. I left that last bit of my opinion out, of course.

I expect no answer.

I will, however, let everyone know if that tip about removing smells from paper by sticking it in a newspaper for a few days works. Provided, of course, that my own basement doesn't flood and require the services of the very newspaper that currently holds the certificate. I should leave a note on the newspaper.

(I wrote this because I feel slightly guilty about not writing much lately. My other story for today could have been about the repair of my vibrating ballcock, but I'm all out of toilet humor. Ah, ha ha.)

Being pathetic can be fun at times.

For those sick of 24/7 Christmas music radio.

I give you NES versions of classic hits. I've only heard The Final Countdown so far, and I'm sad that this isn't the '80s anymore, because there totally would have been an Arrested Development video game--just like the Frankie Goes To Hollywood game, but with bananas and staircars. Instead of continues, you'd take a forget-me-now. As the "Continue -- Yes? No?" screen counted down, you would be taunted with possibly-offensive chicken sounds.

I'm still waiting for the big-ass RAR file to download.

...

Still waiting.

For those sick of 24/7 Christmas music radio.

While I'm playing TV Guide....

Sunday at 4PM (EST), NBC will be showing curling as part of its Ice 2005 pre-olympic hype. That is what I will be watching, even if they show as little as they did today, when the women's team couldn't even extend the duel into a fourth end. Personally, it sounded as if the match taking place off-camera was more exciting. Ah well, I should just be glad they're showing any curling, and they don't act as if aliens invented it so much anymore. The "Curling rocks!" ad campaign is gone, sadly. I shall miss those young punks curling the turkeys in the supermarket with the old lady, they made quite a team.

Other sports featured on Ice 2005 will have people riding a thin board with blades down icy tracks head first, and also the double luge. I think I see why all of these sports were thrown together in one show and simply titled "Ice," and I'm okay with that...as long as they show the curling.

61 days until the winter olympics...the original reality show.

While I'm playing TV Guide....

OMG! QUICK, TURN ON THE TV!

Anyone who has the Sundance Channel has 45 minutes to see why I am the way I am. On the station, right now, is Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, starring The Bee Gees and Peter Frampton.

I can say nothing more, because I'm watching Dougie sing You Never Give Me Your Money. Naughty, naughty Dougie.

OMG! QUICK, TURN ON THE TV!

I've got the winter itch!

That should be a holiday song, something about getting itchy in winter...maybe as a result of sitting outdoors two consecutive nights in 23°F weather listening to Tom Waits and then Beatles music until 12:30 in the morning. There are times I wonder what the neighbors think. Then again, the neighbors are all asleep. I have such good neighbors. Now that the guy that used to shoot at things moved away. Or shot himself, I'm not sure.

Right, so, we got lots of snow overnight, and it looks pretty when it's undisturbed by footprints and seagull poops. In between tossing salt at rogue ice patches, I've been feverishly churning out comic strips in the hopes that I can see my family occasionally during the next few weeks without having to sneak off and draw like I usually do.

Anyway, any plans I had for writing anything else here at this moment have been hijacked my this:

I got the winter itch,
Shovelin' snow is such a bitch,
The plow knocked me into a ditch,
Oh yeah, I got the winter itch.
My excema likes the cold,
Comes out to play and makes me look old,
My fashion modelin' days gotta be put on hold,
'Cause my excema likes the cold.

Okay, that's out of my system, back to drawing like I write. Ha!

I've got the winter itch!

I have returned, momentarily.

I have found that the best part of holiday eating, when a digestive disorder is involved, is that I gained one mere pound, and that is already gone. Take that, people with functioning weight/energy-producing capabilities!

The worst part of the holiday is of course searching in vain for the bulb tester I know I put somewhere. Not any place I recall at the moment, but the bulb tester is indeed located somewhere within the house. I think. Unless I was feeling like Kate Bush and buried it in the garden instead of my glow-in-the-dark yo-yo to protect it from the government.

The bits that fall in the middle of all things good and bad are that I'm really busy, Tate's back, Looney Tunes: Back In Action entertained me more than Ocean's 12, and I have found a game that may be offensive. Catholics everywhere will be pleased to know that my sheep-swinging skills are very slow.

Join me next time when I realize with sudden horror that most of the music cassettes I own are roughly twenty years old.

I have returned, momentarily.