I’ve spent today thankful to have gotten to visit New Orleans this year, even if I spent most of it holed up in a convention center. I did get to spend an afternoon wandering around the Quarter, so it was useful, especially since some say the place might not be the same after today. I saw a picture of the quarter on the wire today, and it made me a little sad. That’s a special place, and I’d hate to see it ruined like that.
Anyway. Did anyone else see season finale of The 4400? Oh. Mah. Gah.
SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS AHEAD! DON’T READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU TIVO’D IT AND HAVEN’T WATCHED!
The doc is shooting himself up some magic powers. Richard, whose only previously discernible 4400 power was “scoring with white chicks,” now has the Force, man! Isabelle was all about the instant puberty, and, WAH? Rip Van Winkle? No, it’s Jordan Collier, baby!
A few questions: Can Kyle actually GO to prison now? Or, can he go, but get time off since his victim was supernaturally revived? And, will the returned Jordan be good or EEEEE-VILL? Hell, I don’t know what I’m looking forward to television-wise more, this or Los Sopranos.
I like pie.
Today, I recorded two hours of XM radio at home to MP3 format while I was at work, then had it automatically uploaded to an FTP account so I could download it at work and install it to my iPod just in time for the commute home.
Just getting ready for Sept. 1, when XM radio starts broadcasting Randi Rhodes from 3 – 7 p.m. (presently, XM bastardizes her sweet, sweet broadcast in the first two hours with that lunkhead Ed Schultz). I’ve set this up because I cannot count on the AAR stream to be up and running and therefore can’t record it at my desk each and every day. And, because, I’m a nerd who wants Randi on his home commute no matter what.
The Arlington County Fair is an interesting event. It is held at my gym, the Thomas Jefferson Center, or rather, the gym I intend to join again that’s on this side of the river as soon as it’s open again in September. My other gym is the National Press Club.
Last night, Ms. Jessica and I headed to the fair. I wanted to meet the folks at the Board of Elections booth because I was going to be volunteering there tonight, and I also wanted to pick up my t-shirt. We walked the inside floor and then headed outside for the attraction she was most interested in: The petting zoo. I had as much fun watching her enjoy the aminals, which included a myriad pack of llamas, goats, alpacas, ducks, and piggies, as I did watching them. I especially enjoyed this little black piggie they had set off in a cage who wagged his tail. Almost makes me feel bad about the bacon I had with breakfast. Almost.
So today at five-ish, I donned my “register to vote” t-shirt and drove up to the garage, where there’s a shuttle, and took the shuttle to the fair. Parking there’s a bitch, so taking the free shuttle just makes sense even though it’s ten minutes from the Big House. And so, I joined a lovely group of volunteers and spent three hours demonstrating the voting machines to people. It reminded me of my job in a way because it’s like standing for seveal hours on the exhibition floor. It’s exhausting. But I had an experience to draw from. And, it was gratifying to know that we signed up at least a half dozen folks to vote in November. In fact, I was this close to signing up to work the polls, but I realized I would be out of town or just returning on Nov. 8. I might just have to put in an absentee ballot, which would be a first for me. It is a gubernatorial election, after all.
I like the idea of helping out at the board of elections. I often wonder, when I go vote, all the people who person the polls are old and stuff, and who will do their jobs when they can’t anymore? I know that’s not the most progressive of thinking, but I also have always had a great respect for the office that actually administers the elections, having spent several long nights in board of elections offices waiting for voting returns as a news reporter. It’s just plain cool, and I like it.
So does Tom Cruise’s dog eat Scientology Diet brand?
I just got done watching the Pamela Anderson Roast on Comedy Central. And, I think, this is what happens when you take a comics’ tradition and set it loose on the general public.
If you are on the dais of a comedy roast, you are not supposed to heckle. You don’t flip the roaster off, you don’t make the “FU” gesture by placing your fist at your elbow and pumping, you don’t roll your eyes and call the roaster a “bitch”, and you don’t attempt to yell him down. You’re supposed to clap and laugh because you’re on the dais, which is an honor.
The greatest performance of the evening was Bea Arthur. All she did was read from one of Pamela Anderson’s novels. The excerpts she read should have graced the Bulwer-Lytton Awards. It was ballbusting, and funny, and smart all at the same time.
I’ve been asking for quite some time now what the hell Huey Lewis had against double-reeded woodwinds.
It turns out that I am the victim of a misheard lyric.
For years, I thought he was saying, “now the oboe may be barely breathing,” and I wondered what his first lyrics looked like: “Now, the bassoon is just a motherfucker…and don’t get me started on the didgeridoo…”
It turns out that it’s not “oboe,” it’s “ol’ boy,” though I think the third interpretation listed at amiright.com is even better: “Now the elbow may be bad at breathing…” Either way, not a great song to have tootling away in the old psychic jukebox.
Speaking of horrible music, did anyone see that Marc Cohn got shot in the head, and the bullet didn’t even touch his skull? Jesus, carjacker guy, I hated Walking in Memphis as much as the next guy, but I think spraying his van with bullets is a tad much. Watch out, Michael Bolton. Seriously, though, Marc, you’re a Michael McDonald wannabe who wrote and performed one of the worst songs ever, but many happy returns anyways, big guy.
You walk into your uncle’s cat-doored house where you’re popping in from time to time to look after his cats while he’s out of town for the weekend, and you find the dry cat food container overturned and empty, and the food dish empty, and the water dish empty, and dog biscuits on the floor, and water everywhere, and parts of a bird who appears to be pining for the Fjords. Lovely. The cats probably encountered a raccoon during the night and opted to go all lord-of-the-flies about it. What a mess.
I had nice weekend, nothing new to report. I cooked a lot for my date. The news is that I still can’t cook a meatloaf. This one was better for consistency but was not cooked when I pulled it out. Blush. I did better with dessert, the gingerbread with peaches and blueberries, and much better with breakfast, scrambled eggicles with hash browns and a croissant. Still working to get her caught up on Los Sopranos.
Is it worth explaining to my coworkers that asking me to put up a “hotlink” is not the same thing as asking me to put up a “hyperlink,” and that, actually, a “hotlink” is a bad thing?