Yesterday Hilly and I spent the day at Daytona Beach. And then drove around the coast a bit up A1A (Beachfront Avenue!) to see some of the more ritzy beach houses. This was my first time at Daytona — and Hilly’s first time experiencing a beach on this side of the continent.

She noticed that the Atlantic didn’t have that same blue look as the Pacific. The sky was a clear, bright blue, but the water closer in looked a grayish green. Kind of like that color people describe as “green khaki” even though it looks nothing like khaki. She asked me if I knew why the water simply appears not as crystally clear blue as it does on the left coast.

Of course, I made up some sort of answer that sounded more plausible in my head than it actually did when I spoke the words. The matter was dropped, but the question still bugged me.

I dozed off on the flight back to DC (where I’m currently typing this) and woke up to an amazing sight 35,000 feet up: below the wispy clouds I saw the deep, vibrant blue on the ocean. The white clouds were even reflecting off of a blue so powerful and pure. And there was the beach. And from what I gathered, a road parallelling it. A1A.

This was the blue Atlantic Ocean I remembered. Beautiful. Piercing even. I now had something I could take back to Hilly and report: it does exist on this side of the country. Just further up the coast.

And then I opened my eyes a bit more, becoming fully awake.

I was looking at the blue engine Of the Southwest plane this entire time. And the reflection of the yellow stripe of the body of the plane right under it.

I’m a bit of a tool when I’ve just awoken…

“List on the 3s” is a meme like no other! Instead of asking the hard hitting questions like “What car did you drive in high school?” this meme delves into the complex and intellectual realm: If there’s a three in the date, I produce a list. Except when I don’t.

Greetings from sunny Florida!  I arrived yesterday for “Shiny Happy Hillypalooza” where I’m visiting newly transplanted Floridian Hilly and have gathered with others in the area — including Avitable, Faiqa and Clown.  The beginning of our day was spent in an old-town district in central Florida shopping for doilies and stuff. Well, not exactly doilies.  But the old town district of the main drag of town nonetheless. I’m a big fan of such places — especially in a region which is less familiar to me.

And then — yesterday evening we all went out to dinner followed by a fun evening of playing games which are far more fun when inebriated. All in all, it’s been a great weekend thus far.

But through all of this wonderful weekend vacation, I’ve decided to learn a few things.  There are two reasons for this:  First, I like to think of every experience as a potential learning experience.  Where else is a better place to attain knowlegde than playground Earth? Secondly, if I document what I’ve learned on this trip, there’s a slight chance that my documented research could get a grant and funding. Which would help me pay for booze. And, apparently, a bathroom I destroyed in a drunken rage.*

So — we’re off!  Never been to Central Florida? Here’s your guide…

Top 7 Things I Have Learned on my Florida Trip

7.  You’re never too old to wear a sleeveless t-shirt. I learned this on our smalltown journey.  The look is much better when you’re sporting tattoos which which are throwbacks to the Nixon administration.

6. There’s some sort of surgical convention at Orlando International Airport. My flight left the DC area at about 7:00 yesterday morning. Everyone looked and acted normal. But then — when I arrived in Florida? I saw lots of people wearing surgical masks of some sort! It was amazing — some of these folks looked like entire families — all wearing the masks! One family had a child prodigy, no more than three years old, being pushed in a stroller yet proudly wearing the badge of surgical prowess!  I simply didn’t know that the folks in town are the gifted elite…

5. I now know how to play the game “Apples to Apples.” I even won at it my first time playing! Of course, it didn’t hurt that I convinced everyone that Rosie O’Donnell was “sensual…”

4. Nothing screams “prom season” as much as a gaggle of teenage boys looking uncomfortable in formal wear at Romano’s Macaroni Grill. The white, stretch Expedition limo blocking the parking lot entrance was a bit of a giveaway as well.

3. Small  Town USA is not Small Town USA without at least four computer repair stores on the main drag. No joke — our small town stroll was such that almost every other store was a computer store. All closed, of course. But these were not the run-of-the-mill big-box type stores. They were the ones that looked like a mom-and-pop type shop.  One of them, I kid you not, featured a “Web TV” (now “MSN TV”) in the display window. It made me feel like FAXing something.

2.  The classic novelty song “Splish Splash” lasts for approximately 8 seconds. This was a “humdinger” challenge I had when we were playing “Cranium.”  I had to hum “Splish Splash” so that my teammates would be able to identify the song and win that round.  The problem is that my only experience with the song has been hearing the initial snippet of it on televised ads for K-Tel type compliations which include the song. And they all only use the first two lines!

I think it’s a conspiracy; the song was never really recorded in full.  Just to make us lose. Curse you, Bobby Darin!

1. Need a tattoo or body piercing? Simple — head towards the airport. After I was picked up, we drove to a really nice place called “Mimi’s” to get brunch. And on the road leading from the airport (I forget was it was called, but it probably had an original name like “State Road 687”) we passed lots of places which advertised body piercings and tattoos. I still haven’t figured out the ink correlation, but I think I know why the proximity of the piercing places would be relevant: with TSA standards the way they are, it’s probably easier to fly without any embarassingly placed body jewelry due to the deterrent of “secondary screening.” So — once you get to Orlando and want to get your stainless steel on — you need to head no further than a half mile down the road from the airport. Simple as that.

And that’s it! I hope to learn more during the rest of my stay down here…

____

* The events at Avitable’s home last night are still a bit fuzzy — but everyone has been kind enough to allay my fears by saying that the bathroom looked like that before I even arrived to the house. Thanks guys — that’s very sweet.

We have a pretty good pharmacy in our 24-hour supermarket. We’ve used it ever since we moved into our home eight years ago.

The personnel might change from time to time, but on the most part we have good service. We can call in refills by phone most of the time through their automated system. There usually isn’t a long line and, when there is, it moves quite quickly. And we’ve gotten to know the employees quite well. Like Lisa, who is very cool and who has helped to get adhesive eye-patches for Av which are rare to stock.

And then there’s Ned. (No. It’s not his real name. But if it were, the ressemblence to Ned Ryerson in Groundhog Day would simply be uncanny. Ned has always struck us as slightly off, but he’s always been helpful and friendly enough. And even that’s not the most important factor: Ned does his job adequately and quickly enough.

This past Friday I had an interesting interaction with Ned.

It was Friday afternoon. K had called in two prescriptions that morning, and the recorded message advised that they would be ready by 11:00 am. Since I was picking them up at 6:00 pm, it gave a pretty sizable window in case things were running behind.  I didn’t have to wait more than two minutes in line before Ned waved me over to his register.

I mentioned that I was picking up.  He aksed me for the last name; I told it to him and spelled it out. He went over to the “T” drawer* and rummaged around a bit, looking for these two prescriptions that had been called in. He kept looking — but couldn’t find the two bags.

He then looked on the shelf above — to see if maybe the medication hadn’t yet been bagged and shelved — Nada.

He then asked the spelling of the last name again — which I provided to him.  I told him what types of medication were requested when he asked me. I even called K up to confirm that she had called the refills in earlier that morning.

Ned was getting flustered. It seemed pretty apparent as one of the pharamcists from her perch behind the wall behind the counter — about four steps up — looked up from her work. My eyes met hers and I smiled, not being able to do much else. She was nice from our few previous experiences. She wore a headscarf and dressed modestly — not an uncommon sight in our neighborhood.

She decided to help. As she descended the stairs, she asked Ned if he had tried looking under my wife’s first name, as the prescription might have been mis-categorized. He looked with no success. Then she offered to look herself. About forty seconds later she found them — in the “T” section. Where Ned had been looking this entire time.

The whole ordeal took slightly less than five minutes. I was happy that I could get this done and over with and could pay and get out of there.  Ned was apologetic, but I smiled and said that the important thing was that we found the prescriptions and all was right with the world.

Ned, however, was dissatisfied.

“Yeah,” he said, “but I should have been able to find them without you having to wait all this time! I should have found them…”

“Hey — you’ve found countless prescriptions for us over the past few years. These things happen. Don’t worry about it.” I tried to calm him down so I could pay and get out of there.

Ned had different plans.

“Yeah, well — you know how when you play a sport or something? Like baseball? And it’s okay when you lose if you’re playing against someone better than you. But when you play against someone who isn’t so good? You beat yourself up over it.”

I smiled and tried to change the subject by providing commentary to my debit card shwooooping through the card reader. He decided to provide some commentary of his own by leaning into me a bit, as if to secure a more familiar relationship. After all — he theoretically knows about all of those hypothetical remedies I may or may not had prescribed to me. Maybe he thought of me as someone in whom he could confide?

“I mean — it’s okay if I don’t find it right away. But she found it. She did. I mean, shit. She found it.” This didn’t sound pretty. He had an axe to grind with headscarved lady. Was it because she wore a headscarf? Because she was a woman?  Because she got to stand four steps above him every day?  I didn’t know. All I could gather was that Ned did not like that this woman could find a prescription that he could not. In the “T” section where it was supposed to be.

I’m totally okay with him liking or not liking whom he chooses. But it’s rather unprofessional to discuss this with a customer. Even if you know what kind of inner thigh salve he may or may not use.  The pharmacy — even the supermarket as a whole — should have a united, professional front of customer-facing representatives whose job it is to help the customer and work as a team doing so.

I didn’t want to give him a lesson on work and customer service ethics, so I forced a smile once again and came back with something like “Well, the important thing is that I have the medicine now.”  While he was waiting for my electronic transaction to go through, he decided to go further into detail with his dsiappointment in himself.

“I’m so mad at myself. I get so mad sometimes…”

I wondered quietly to myself if I should try to analyze him. I had, after all, caught up with most of the current season of In Treatment…

“… One time I took my stapler, and… and banged it against the counter I was so mad. I even broke the stapler!” He seemed proud of the destructive force of the anger.

I was proud of the fact that my receipt was printing and I would be out of there in a matter of seconds.

He stapled the receipt to the bag and I thanked him with a grin.  And escaped quickly into frozen foods while I processed this a bit in my own head.

Look — Ned is a good guy. Works hard day in and day out. I certainly don’t want to get the guy fired or anything. But what he said to me, a customer, was unquestionably inappropriate.  He expressed a dislike for one of his co-workers who had been able to succeed where he hadn’t. He expressed feelings of rage to me (although towards himself). He mentioned an inappropriate channeling of his anger to a customer.

I don’t know Ned’s schedule. But I’m thinking it might be a good idea to talk to the pharmacy supervisor and report my observations about the interaction I had with Ned on Friday. Again, I don’t want there to be repercussions here.  I just want to make sure that the manager is aware that the work environment may be affected by similar statements to that which Ned spoke to me. Besides — I’d feel it more catastrophic if he enters in the same banter as a customer who might not be as understanding as I and with whom the interaction might become more volatile.

So I’m going to have a chat with that manager over the phone. Preferably tomorrow.

What do you all think? Am I going about this the right way? Any suggestons?

______

* As many of you may be aware, “Shiny’s Takeout” is just a pseudonym to which I’ve clutched in order to shield my audience from my true last name which is often spelled and pronnounced incorrectly due to the ethnicity of such a surname. But yes — it is, indeed, Taekoweiczotski.  It’s a bitch to spell when you’re waiting for medication — and sometimes that wait is reason for that medication in the first place.

“List on the 3s:” Still going strong. Today is the 23rd. There’s a 3 in it. Hence — list.

I love you all. Really. I do. And I love reading what you fine folks write on your blog. Or say in conversation. But there are some phrases which simply seem to irk me. It doesn’t mean you should stop using these phrases; it’s… well…

Okay. I’m going to invoke a Yiddish term — Mishegaas. (The spelling can vary.)  It literally means “craziness.”  And it’s my “craziness” that simply makes me shirk to myself when I hear the following words or phrases. Basically, it’s a way of me saying “It’s not you; it’s me.” Except, in this case, it really is me.  Mishegaas. All the cool kids are using the term, and now you can, too.

Top 6 Phrases or Terms Which Irk Me

6. Speaking the letters “LOL” in verbal conversation. There are some acronyms which have become more commonplace since texting has come about.  BFF is one of them.  I can cautiously tolerate that. But a term like LOL or ROFL or LMAO is so contrived and fake when typed out — why even bother using it in conversation? A related gripe of mine are people who say “I heart you” as a synonym for love.  I suppose I should be thankful that it’s not “I three greater than sign you.”

5. Well, the truth is… Anyone who says this is about to lie.

4. Be that as it may… I’m guilty of using this one myself. It means nothing. But it’s a great stall tactic.

3. Meh. It just feels like it’s something a person says or writes because there’s simply no energy to say or write anything else.  Perhaps my opinion is clouded in the fact that, in Hebrew, “Meh” is the sound a sheep makes.  Which, I suppose, is a bit ironic….

2. People who use the term “ironic” where it doesn’t belong. Alanis Morrisette was the most famous offender here, but she’s certainly not the first nor last.  Irony has nothing to do with rain on one’s wedding day.  However, irony can now be defined as actually having ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife. Which is fascinating because it’s only ironic because of the song “Ironic.” Which, in itself, is ironic.

1. Whatnot. I know I’m not alone with this one.

Which other ones have I forgotten?

Wow! First and foremost — thank you all for your wonderful birthday wishes.  You all rock. Even Miss Britt who made a crack about me being old.  I can’t wait until I get a cane just so I can thank you properly…

So — my original post sans hint was a bit… shall we say, improbable.  Who could simply guess a name in my head?  I did, however, get some pretty good guesses.

I decided to give you all a hint — one which I felt might likely give it all away rather quickly. And I was correct — it took someone all of three minutes to guess the correct answer from my hint.

So – what was the name in question? What did the hints mean? For at least one of you, the hints were a type of quaero totus lacuna, which is Latin for “copy what I put on the blog to help people out into Google and look for something remotely relevant.”  But for those of you who got it right off the bat, you knew that these three “hints” were actually the first few lines of dialogue of the repressed peasant in Monty Python and the Holy Grail:

Direct YouTube Link

The first among you commoners to guess “Dennis” was Avitable.  He gets the t-shirt expressly made for the crew of The Wolfman. Coming to theaters this November.  Kudos to LeSombre, whall, Finn, and Janelle for also coming up with the correct name.

I must, however, give honorable mentions to the following individuals for some dreat guesses:

• B. E. Earl guessed that I would be named Romulu He cleverly took into consideration the Wolfman movie flair I was giving away. He chose Romulus over Remus because Romulus is the name of the town where the Detroit airport happens to be. Or something like that.
• LeSombre guessed “Joseph” for a variety of reasons, most of which escape me aside from that it means “he will enlarge.”  Oh really… ::whistles::
• NYCWD and Cissa Fireheart both chose the name “Sam.”  Cissa cited a fact that, on this day in history, Sam Houston led a Texan army to independence in San Jacinto. And Samuel Clemmens (aka Mark Twain) died in 1910 on this day. Dawg just chose it because he knows that I don’t eat ham. (Jury is still out on the green eggs.)
• Dave2 was close: taking a page out of one of the best TV sitcoms of all time, he decided to delve into the quintissential hottest supporting character from that show.  And he guessed Skippy — based on Alex’s buddy and Mallory’s geeky somewhat stalker Skippy Handelman on “Family Ties.”
• Hilly just thinks that I should be called “Dick.”
• Iron Fist thought that my name might have to do with the Jewish holiday which falls today called Yom HaShoah. Which is Holocaust Remembrance Day. Way to keep it light…
• MySpaceBarBroke and Miss Britt both decided on “Sir.”  Both of these lovely ladies are younger than I am; SpaceBar is incredibly sweet and respectful towards me. She always has been. Britt, on the other hand… well, she’s also been very nice to me, I suppose.  But she called me old.

• Finally, another tip of the hat to Dawg who took the “37” reference to the other movie which references it: a wonderful film called Clerks. Kudos to you on this one; yes, I’ve aged all 37 years in a row.  I’ve decided that I will bestow NYCWD with a package of snowballs (yes, the confectioned donut treat and not the other stuff) the next time we meet in person.

Today was really amazing for me.  I began this blog slightly over a year ago and was new to this specific blogging community.  Since then I’ve become close to many of you.  Thanks for all of the birthday wishes and for being such a great community.

But wait — there’s more! While I’m revealing answers about stuff, why the heck not give you the answers to that 80s music quiz on my blog about three weeks back?  Here were the snippets; see if you can hear them now that you know what they are:

[audio:80s-mix-c.mp3] Download: MP3 OGG

“Head Over Heels” by the Go-Gos and “We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel.  Nat and Hilly identified the Go-Gos, but the Billy Joel intro was a bit tough for you all. Don’t the two intros go quite well together, though?

[audio:80s-mix-d.mp3] Download: MP3 OGG

Many of you (Faiqa, Janelle, Hilly, B.E. Earl, Sybil and my brother) got The Fixx’s “One Thing Leads To Another.”  Nobody got that the eerie piano chords belonged to the intro for the Boomtown Rats’ “I Don’t Like Mondays.”

[audio:80s-mix-e.mp3] Download: MP3 OGG

Yes. “Obsession” by Anomotion. Practically everyone had that one.  The other? “Oh Sherry” by Journey frontman Steve Perry. Yankeebird got that in the round before the last one in which four songs were on top of each other. Go Yankee!

[audio:80s-mix-f.mp3] Download: MP3 OGG

A few of you got “Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats. Nobody figured out the opening organ slide to “Hip to Be Square” by Huey Lewis and the News.

Okay — let’s hear them all together one last time!

[audio:80s-mix.mp3]    Download: MP3 OGG

Now do you hear each of these eight song?  No? Only me?  Okay…

A quick tip of the hat to my brother who calls himself, affectionately, Shiny’s Brother. I prefer the name I’ve given him in the blogosphere, Captain Awesome. I especially like it because I can almost feel him cringe at the thought of me calling him that. And imagining him in a tight superhero suit with tights and a bright orange codpiece and all.  Yes, he continues to be an inspiration for me, and he really had a lot to do with my obsession for 80s music.  Thanks, CA. Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the sky.

And now, for no good reason whatsoever, here is a picture of someone’s butt. With a full color tattoo on one of the cheeks. Of a unicorn. A very special unicorn. One with rainbows. And a swastika armband. Spreading the rainbow-clad, unicornial message of white power.

On the other hand, you’re probably not interested. Tell you what — if you’re reading this in your feed reader and you actually want to see it, click through for the full blog post.  If you’re not, I certainly don’t blame you.

continue reading "What’s in a Name – Birthday Contest Winner Revealed!"

I’m officially going to be proactive about this:

It’s my birthday today.

So — yay!

But this year I’m going to involve a bit of a twist: I have a contest in mind.

You see — now that it is April 21, 2009, I can be called by a different name. In fact, I have a name in mind. It’s a relatively common English male name.

Guess it. And tell me specifically why I chose this name to suit me today.

Winner gets a fantastic prize:  Benicio del Toro and Anthony Hopkins are starring in The Wolfman, slated to come out this November. If you’re the first to correctly guess the name I’m thinking of — including, in full, the explanation of why I’m thinking of this name today — you’ll get an official Wolfman crew shirt. It’s a long sleeved black T-shirt.  You can request any size you wish, but all I have is an adult medium.

Good luck!

EDIT: I realized this morning that guessing a name from thin air is pretty much close to impossible. What was I thinking? So I’ve decided to provide you with not one, not two, but five three clues. The name corresponds to these following qualities:

• Man.
• I’m 37.
• I’m not old.

Hopefully this will help a bit. Good luck!

As I’ve mentioned, there are many boxes of stuff that have accumulated over the years.  My mom would save anything and everything — and I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.  I also saved quite a bit.  And during my college years, I was moving back and forth between different dorm rooms and my parents’ home. Inevitably certain things would get left behind.

Which, I suppose, was one of the elements which led up to my mom finding this big-ass grocery bag full of condoms in the summer of 1993 amongst my stuff.

I suppose this warrants an explanation: The previous two summers were spent on campus at the University of Maryland as an orientation advisor. This was a combination paid job (albeit not very much — but it did come with some free room and board) and academic experience (there was a three-credit course as a prerequisite) which had me doing more than just giving tours of campus: we were assisting as academic advisors and peer leaders in many different aspects of student life.  We also talked to the incoming students about certain resources on campus which could help them out in a bind. And made them aware of some of the aspects of independent living that might require them, to, um…

Oh, screw it. We showed them a movie about AIDS and HIV and talked about safer sex. And then passed out free condoms, courtesy of the University Health Center.

I already had a standing relationship with the Health Center coming into this — as I was already a peer educator regarding issues of sexual health, sexual communication and sexual assault awareness.  And because of this, I was good friends with Mary, the gatekeeper of the free condoms. Instead of just going to the Health Center to pick them up for each subsequent orientation program, Mary just gave me an industrial sized box and had me divvy them up for the other orientation advisors during their “let’s pass out free condoms to anyone who wants them” sessions.  Which I did.  There were always plenty; this was a very, very big box.  And it turned out that there were a good several hundred extras at the end of the summer.

So I kept them. Passed them out to friends during the school year. Hell — used a few myself. (Yes, they were in bulk packaging, but they had a recognized name brand.)  And in moving my stuff back home at the end of the school year (as I would be out of the country all summer), a bag of them happened to come home with me.

… and was found by Mom a few weeks later.  Who brought them up in conversation with me at that time.

You see, my Mom and I had a truly wonderful relationship — one where we could have possibly talked about anything and it would all be okay.  Or at least both of us felt that we were progressive enough that there would be no subject taboo enough to bring up.  But it was more of an understanding rather than one which was actually used in practice, as we discovered on an eerily awkward car trip one fateful August day.  She brought up the condoms. I laughed and told her about the peer education stuff I had been doing with them. She laughed. We were laughing. It was very casual, care-free. And then I made some comment about how having this supply saved me some money in the long run. She laughed. I laughed. We were laughing some more. And then we spent a good thirty-five minutes in the car not saying word one to each other.

I suppose she was cool talking about such things with anyone. And I was cool talking about such things with anyone.  We both had no problem with the subject matter.  We just didn’t feel like continuing the conversation.  The conversation between us was kind of like getting store-brand ice cream: there’s really nothing wrong with it. In fact, it’s all good. But after partaking of it, in hindsight, you realize that maybe it would have been better if you went in a different direction.

I brought up the conversation with my mom about the bag of condoms when I was chatting with my dad’s girlfriend. I was going through some of the old boxes — this one happened to have old emails and pictures of women with whom I had relationships during my college years.  It was weird seeing a box of my past — memories of who I was in my late teens and early 20s. How I looked, how I acted, and how I treated other people was still a work in progress towards where I went with it a decade and a half later.  There were certainly memories in that box that I wasn’t proud of, and others which I wish I had brought with me along the journey to the present day.

Much of this I choose not to share with others — whether on this blog or in person.  I don’t think anyone would have a problem hearing or reading it.  Perhaps I don’t want it to cloud what people think of me in the here-and-now. Either way — it’s a choice I have made on a case-by-case basis: some things I share, some things I don’t.

I’ve been wrestling with this recently as I’ve gathered more people who are closer to me in real life who follow my blog and/or Twitter.  In my blog’s  previous incarnation I kept things carefully guarded so my identity remained a bit of a mystery. But now? Things are a bit more open. My Dad follows me on Twitter and has read my blog. So have other relatives who have known me since I was an infant, as well as others who have known me on a far less intimate level.  Can I share everything here? Do these people really want to hear about my big bag of condoms and my prophylactic usage in the early ’90s?

Probably not.

But I’m going to post this stuff anyway.  Some of it may cloud your already pre-conceived constructs of me.  It may make for awkward periods of silence. That’s fine. Besides — most of the stuff I write will still (hopefully) be funny, and it’s always okay to laugh at something which may be rather inappropriate.  Please read (or refrain from reading) what you’d like. I’m totally cool with that.

But I must warn you: if hearing about the bag of condoms made you a bit skittish, you’re probably going to be queasy once I blog about the cabhinet full of dildos…

You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t blogged for a while. I mean — “List on the 3s” notwithstanding, you haven’t really seen any new material from me. This is because I’ve been busy.

And constipated. Tonight marks the end of the eight-day holiday of Passover — one whose dietary restrictions react with the colon like a bunch of “Tea Party” attendees who accidentally got lost and found their way to a Phish concert: there could possibly be some synergy and sweet music, but it eventually gets painfully confrontational and people ultimately plead for a peaceful evacuation.

(Now that I’ve got the biological humor out of the way…)

Life has been busy on many different fronts: As I mentioned last week, my Dad just sold his house. (Yay!) And this being one of the major Jewish holidays, we’ve been spending a lot of time with family. Av’s Spring Break coincides with Passover — a departure from the daily grind. We celebrated the first evening of Passsover with my Dad and his girlfriend at their place. It was quite nice.

And then my brother and sister-in-law were in town! It was great seeing them. As well as my aunt (Mom’s sister) and uncle. Always a pleasure. It’s just nice to be able to step away from the computer for a while and partake of family. I’m happy that I’ve got a great one.

Part of my trip to my Dad’s, however, had another motive. There were still quite a few boxes of stuff that we had to go through and claim. My Mom was known to save absolutely everything and anything — papers, report cards, birthday cards and notes. She was also quite organized about everything: It was interesting seeing a shoebox of personal checks from the 1970s and 80s that were still in pristine shape.  I didn’t take those. But I took many boxes of books, my old schoolwork, and credit card solicitations from my college years that I never got around to “processing.”

I found a note I had written my parents one evening when my brother was babysitting. I suppose I had to write it as a proactive measure for not getting all of my homework done or something. It was the best way to address when I was in trouble — and, believe me, I was an expert at that.  But it would serve as a measure to (a) address the issue before they had a chance to do so; and (b) carefully divert blame to my brother.  I was clever. I was a genius.  I already knew how to beat the system nearly three decades ago. It was the early 1980s and nothing could stop me.

And thus, dear readers, I’m applying this same strategy now. I know I haven’t blogged lately, but I’m presenting a proactive excuse note for your consideration.

(I just don’t have the time to craft a new one; the following is an encore presentation of a note from 1981 to my parents.)

List on the 3s — you know the drill. On a day which has the number 3 in it, I produce a list.

But first — a public service announcement:  It’s Passover. (Happy Passover!) I haven’t blogged in forever.   (Happy forever!) Life has really been a whirlwind over the past week and-a-half, and I simply haven’t had time to blog about stuff. And there really is a lot I want to blog about — including answers to that whole “name the 80s song” thing that I did last month. I will get to it soon. I promise.

To make up for it, I’ve decided to give you a list which will make your stomachs turn and ensure that you’ll think of me on a far lower standard than ever before.

Top 8 Children’s Show Characters That I’ve Wanted to Get With

It was tough to determine: what, specifically, constitutes a children’s show?  I decided to define it as:

• appearing on a children’s network or children’s programming block  (e.g. Playhouse Disney, PBS Kids)
• appearing in a time-slot reserved for children’s programming (Saturday morning, after school)
• not necessarily animated, but it helps.

Note: not all of the characters listed below are/were over the age of 18.  Then again — neither was I close to twenty years ago. If such a list offends you, you might want to stop reading now.

Okay? Good? Here we go:

8. Melody of “Josie and the Pussycats”

Everybody knew Josie.  Most everyone knew Valerie, one of the first African-American women immortalized in an integrated comic.  But usually the ditzy Melody was forgotten behind the drum kit.  True, she was a bit air-headed and her few speaking parts were annoying and trying, but she had a voice like an angel.

For me — the show was all about exposed thighs.  Need I say more?

7. Jessie Spano from “Saved By The Bell”

Most people remember Jessie as the “other girl.”   The one who was not Kelly Kapowski. And yes, the one who got strung out on caffeine pills and sang the Pointer Sisters’ “I’m So Excited” in a drugged out fugue state. But she was also a tough girl with her own sense of independence. She could hold her own with both Zack Morris and A.C. Slater.  You could tell that behind closed doors, Slater really knew who was boss right away. And he liked it that way.

Give me Jessie any day over Kelly.Or Lisa Tuttle. Lisa would have certainly been Jessie’s bitch in Bayside Prison…

6. Jane Jetson from “The Jetsons”

Some would bestow this honor upon daughter Judy Jetson. But I always saw Judy as a bit of a tease. And, to be perfectly honest, a dullard. Someone who gets that excited about someone kissing her? Seen it.  Jane, on the other hand, was a dirty, dirty whore. But in a good way. You know how at the last moment she sneaks off with all of George’s hard-earned cash? You know that she’s getting herself all dolled up for some younger space action. Jane Jetson invented the term cougar for the twenty-first century.

5. Daphne from “Scooby Doo”

People would often give crap to Fred about his ascot. What they didn’t realize was that Daphne was wearing one, too. But one would never need to look at that part of Daphne to notice — whether it was the hair (that headband itself was magical) or the short miniskirt with the purple fuck-me pumps, you simply let her rule your world.  And she was always nice to animals and Shaggy — a pretty big plus.

(Velma was pretty cool — but I think we’d just be better as friends.)

4. Dorothy the Dinosaur from “The Wiggles”

You know — having been subjected to torture by a child who went through a non-stop phase of absolutely loving “The Wiggles,” Australian children’s television’s version of the Fab Four,  one will often nod off to numb the pain. And when one falls asleep, some really freaky thoughts can come about.

Okay. I know. She’s a dinosaur. With a gigantic overbite. And a bit clumsy looking. But she’s got that irresistible Australian accent. And she dances.  And she loves roses. Can’t get enough of them. She’d be the kind of lady who would do lots of things for roses that would just be awkward with… well, women not in a big dinosaur costume.

And I won’t even begin with what we can do with that spiked tail…

3. Prairie Dawn from “Sesame Street”

I know what you’re thinking: Shiny? Really? A tranny?

Hey — don’t knock it. She passes quite well.  And besides — I’ve always had a thing for beautiful shemales of color. Her taste in flowing dresses is simply out of this world. And she — I don’t know how I can describe it — she  becomes a lady. Just look at her.

I bet she gets a kick out of getting her hair pulled…

2. Nina from “Imagination Movers”

“The Imagination Movers” are a quartet who happen t be in a band but also live/work in a warehouse and help solve people’s problems.  They hang out with this hip girl named Nina — who sort of takes care of her uncle who likes everything beige and boring. Nina is a bit of a groupie — you know the type. She’s always there to help out the Movers in whatever way possible.

It’s a kids’ show. And she remains quite professional when the cameras are rolling. But you just have to assume that she’d rebel against her uncle’s ultra-mundane ways and go wild.  She could stay out all night for, like, three days straight. What stamina!

1. Vanessa Doofenshmirtz from “Phineas and Ferb”

She’s a lesser known character on the show — the estranged daughter of the evil nemesis Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz.  The product of a relatively recent divorce (it seems), she’s a bit broken.  With her clueless mother and evil genius father, she simply doesn’t know her place, and she copes by going completely goth in these slinky black outfits that probably go against the school’s dress code. She’s demanding, too — always trying to get her mother to believe her when she accuses her father of truly being evil.

Sounds like Vanessa is looking for a father figure to whom she can look up. Come to papa…

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If you’ve made it this far before shaking your head in disgust, deleting this blog from your feed reader, and disposing your computer with a pair of tweezers into a hermetically sealed litter box, thanks!

The holiday of Passover begins at sundown tomorrow (Wednesday).  It’s a holiday full of interesting traditions and is rich with historical significance.

There are some of you who might want to know a bit more about the holiday — and for you I present this video. The song’s title comes from the humorous precis of the Passover Seder: They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat. The duo that sings is called Good for the Jews.

Direct YouTube Link

I hope this clarifies a couple of things…