FRIDAY RANDOM TEN - INDEPENDENCE DAY EDITION

It’s Friday. Not just any Friday, either: it’s July 4, celebrated in the United States of America as Independence Day, the nominal Birthday of our Nation. And later, we’ll mark the occasion by joining our friends Barry and Malka for that quintessential American holiday observance, the Cookout.

For me, this day conjures up childhood memories of the huge July 4 clambakes we used to go to at my Dad’s partner’s home in Old Westbury, New York. He had a two-acre spread - the most immense chunk of real estate I had ever seen - complete with swimming pool. I’m not sure I ever saw a clam there, but there was an entire bank of grills, upon which enough hot dogs and hamburgers would be roasted to feed the Mongol Hordes. As the day wore on, we would look forward with mounting eagerness to the (strictly illegal) fireworks we would set off after sundown.

The activities today will be less drawn out, but no less enjoyable thanks to the presence of good friends...and, no doubt, good food.

But meanwhile, here I am blithering about my Snot-Nose Days while you’re waiting for the Main Event: the weekly Scattershot Selection from the iPod d’Elisson. What’s playing today?

1. You And Whose Army? - Radiohead
   
   
2. Bookends Theme - Simon & Garfunkel
   
   
3. A Salty Dog - Procol Harum
   
   “All hands on deck! We’ve run afloat!”
   I heard the captain cry
   “Explore the ship! Replace the cook!
   Let no one leave alive!”
   Across the straits, around the horn
   How far can sailors fly?
   A twisted path, our tortured course
   And no one left alive
   
   We sailed for parts unknown to man
   Where ships come home to die
   No lofty peak, nor fortress bold
   Could match our captain’s eye
   Upon the seventh sea-sick day
   We made our port of call
   A sand so white, and sea so blue
   No mortal place at all
   
   We fired the guns and burned the mast
   And rowed from ship to shore
   The captain cried, we sailors wept
   Our tears were tears of joy
   Now many moons and many Junes
   Have passed since we made land
   A salty dog, the seaman’s log
   Your witness, my own hand
   
   
4. Act III: I Have No Offspring - John Adams, Nixon in China
   
   
5. Theme from “Lumpy Gravy” - Frank Zappa
   
   A live version from the Best Band You Never Heard In Your Life album. Lumpy Gravy was the first Zappa album I ever bought, back in 1968. I haven’t been the same since...
   
   
6. L’enfant - Vangelis
   
   This was the haunting theme from the movie The Year Of Living Dangerously.
   
   
7. Light My Fire - Dread Zeppelin
   
   
8. Cabasa - Max Tundra
   
   
9. Baby It’s You - The Beatles
   
   
10. Ballet Mécanique - George Antheil
    
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

FUZZY (AND INDEPENDENT) FRIDAY

The Friday Ark’s asail once more,
Departing from the Bloggy Shore
With animals aboard.

The Modulator helms the ship
On this (almost) two-hundredth trip
And rules the Linky Horde.

Today, on Independence Day,
Shout “Freedom!” as you go your way
With one resounding chord!

The Friday Ark sets forth on its 198th voyage today at the Modulator, with Hakuna and Neighbor in the Crow’s Nest.

Sunday, be sure to stop by the Carnival of the Cats, to be hosted by House Panthers.

Update: CotC #225 is up. What is that, the sesquisesquibicentennial edition? Whatever. Go visit.

I AM A BAD INFLUENCE

It’s bad enough that I will, on occasion, don Perforated Metallic Headgear. But, at least in my case, I have the excuse that I have a reputation to maintain.

What sort of reputation is best left to the imagination.

But now things are spiraling out of control. Other people are horning in on my act.

Stephan Pastis, for example...


Pearls Before Swine. [Click to embiggen.]

The Rathbun brothers...


©2007 Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

The lovely (but apparently slightly unstable) Boudicca...



And now this...

Holder, very fetching in her Perforated Headgear.

I don’t know what they were drinking out there at the Blown-Star Blodgemeet at Toad Hall...that’s out somewhere WSW of Kerrville, Texas...but whatever the hell it was, it had Holder channeling the Spirit of Colander Borg-Man.

Who will be the next to don the Headgear of Wisdom...and Well-Drained Pasta?

MEAT THE FLINTSTONES

Serious eating, caveman-style.

Remember the scene from the opening sequence of The Flintstones in which Fred and Wilma are at the drive-in and the waitress brings out an order of mammoth ribs - ribs so stupendously huge that they capsize Fred’s car?

That was our dinner this evening.

We had ribs. Not those pee-waddly chazzer ribs. None of those dinky Baby Backs, no, no. We had beef ribs. Texas-style.

Not short ribs, either. These were the Real Deal, enormous chunks of meat on the bone, slow-cooked in our smoker after a thorough coating with Billie Bob’s Magickal Mystickal Rub. I’d share the recipe with you, but then I would have to whois your IP address, hunt you down like a rabid dog, and terminate you with Extreme Prejudice.

I can tell you that we sauced those babies with Goode Company’s excellent BBQ sauce. Goode Company is a Houston institution, and their sauce is the best I’ve ever tasted. True to the Billie Bob tradition, we applied the sauce at table, not during the cooking process. Lip-smacking good, it was.

One of these ribs is a meal. Two is an orgy. Three? It simply isn’t done, Esteemed Reader...especially after a few slices of Texas-style barbecued beef brisket as an appetizer.

Eat your heart out. (But be sure to barbecue it first.)

THE HALOSCAN, YOU SAY

Haloscan comments appear to be down for the time being.

I know you’re just burning to lob a chunk o’ feedback, but it will just have to wait. Crap!

Update: Haloscan is back up. Feel free to comment your brains out.

KCC #31

Got a jones for kosher food? Sure you do. And you can satisfy it by heading over to West Bank Mama’s place, home of this month’s Kosher Cooking Carnival.

What? You’re not Jewish? No matter. These recipes work no matter what belief system you subscribe to. Enjoy!

DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN

The Missus and I are relaxing at home, a home that seems strangely quiet and cavernous without the patter of Offspringly Feet. And we’re watching what has to be one of the dopiest Reality Shows ever to hit the airwaves: I Survived a Japanese Game Show.

The premise is familiar to any of the unfortunate damned souls that watch reality programming - shows like The Apprentice, The Fattest Ass Biggest Loser, and other similar tripe - on a semi-regular basis. Two teams compete in any number of tasks; every week, a person is eliminated from the losing team. At the end of the season, the last contestant standing wins a huge monetary prize. And to cap matters off, the winning team gets some sort of reward, while the losers get punished with some unsavory task.

In this case, the two teams serve as contestants on a mock Japanese game show. “Mock,” in this case, means that the show is not currently being shown on Japanese TV. But it’s a fairly accurate rendition of the over-the-top character of Japanese television...and nutty Japanese game shows in particular. And it’s really filmed in Tokyo, at the Toho Studios, thus adding a certain strange verisimilitude to the proceedings.

The show is worth watching - for a few minutes, anyway - if you’ve never seen a Japanese game show. Then, boil your eyeballs in bleach and you’ll be fine.

What caught my attention was the “reward” earned by the winning team this week. They got a visit to what was billed as “the finest spa in Tokyo,” none other than Oedo Onsen Monogatari.

I was a little envious. These dudes (and dudettes) got to experience the sand baths and Doctor Fish, attractions that were closed in the dead of night when Elder Daughter and I were there. But I got a boot out of seeing the place on my very own TV.

It was like having déjà vu...all over again.

GETTING TO KNOW YOU

Who’s that sneaking ’round the corner?

What with the Mistress of Sarcasm sojourning here while she prepares to relocate to Nashville, one of the concerns we had was how well her cat Neighbor would get along with the delicate-spirited Hakuna, who is only now learning to adapt to life as a Solo Cat.

Should we keep them separated? Give them time to get acquainted? Throw them together right away? Would they kill each other? Love each other? Or just ignore each other?

When Neighbor first arrived, we kept her closed up in the Mistress’s room, a large enough space to keep her from getting bored right away...but eventually, we had to let her go out and explore the house.

Hakuna was very obliging. She merely stayed out of sight, making occasional forays to the litterbox and her food dish, but otherwise remaining unengaged.

Over the next few days, Neighbor got more and more comfortable with her new surroundings. And finally, this morning, Hakuna decided to spend some Quality Time downstairs.

That’s when we noticed the subtle signs that the process of Mutual Accommodation was only in a very preliminary stage. For even though there was none of that low-pitched Ominous Yowling you hear when cats can’t stand each other, both were wary of each other, carefully stepping around whilst all fluffed out in full Big Tail mode...




...and as Hakuna slinked slowly and deliberately around the den, Neighbor stalked her, always keeping a discreet distance.




Finally, Neighbor decided she had had enough Fun and Games, and went to seek comfort from the Mistress.



“Mommy! That other cat scared me!”

Shyeah, right.

Update: The Ominous Yowling has begun. I guess “Plays Well With Others” does not apply to either of these ladies. Neighbor’s back behind closed doors for now.

BEST BIRTHDAY EVER

Or among the best, anyway, according to the Mistress of Sarcasm, who celebrated her 26th birthday yesterday.

The day started off with a Pancake Breakfast, courtesy of She Who Must Be Obeyed. SWMBO is a dab hand at making flapjacks, and while she rarely trots out her Mad Pancake Making Skillz these days, they are as sharp as ever.

When the girls were little, SWMBO would top off their plates with special pancakes made in the shape of their initials. I was delighted, therefore, to see that she had resurrected the old tradition, making Initial Pancakes for both Elder Daughter and the Mistress...and Gilad as well. Some butter, warm maple syrup, and a medley of fresh berries completed the picture. Wotta meal.

As breakfast wound down, Elder Daughter presented the Mistress with several gifts she had purchased in Japan and kept stashed away for the occasion. Among them was this box of candies, each a tiny sculptural artwork in sugar. That’s Japan for you: They create miniature masterpieces, we create Milk Duds.



Artistic confections from Japan.

We chowed down on Texas-style barbecued beef brisket, lovingly smoked by Yours Truly the evening before using our new smoker, a liberal dose of mesquite, and Billie Bob’s Top Secret Beef Rub. Bill - SWMBO’s late Daddy - was a brisketeer par excellence, and I’m happy to report that the aroma and taste of the Mistress’s Birthday Brisket brought back some sweet memories.

The ladies, accompanied by Gilad (the Mistress’s Very Significant Other), ran off to spend a few hours in Roswell. When they returned, they did so with a few armloads of Accumulated Swag.

Dinner consisted of a night out at Seasons 52, one of our favorite local eateries...and site of my infamous Lamborghini Lust. We had an excellent time, with Gilad and I basking in the luminous presence of all three of my Ladies.



The Mistress of Sarcasm and Gilad.



Me and my girls.

As we drove home, bellies full and spirits high (but not DUI!), the Mistress pronounced it the Best Birthday Ever. And I could do naught but agree.

FAREWELL TO A PRETTY GOOD GUY

No, it’s not a case of damning with faint praise. It’s how Winston Rand, author of nobody asked..., wanted to be remembered: as a Pretty Good Guy.

I was saddened today to hear of Winston’s unexpected passing after his having suffered a brief illness.

Winston was an occasional poet, an engineer, and a sharp-eyed observer of life. I had hoped to meet him on one of my soon-to-be-more-frequent trips to central Tennessee, but that opportunity will now forever be denied me.

A week ago Sunday, in one of those bizarre flashes of Cosmic Irony, Winston had written a post entitled “Fears Of My Demise...” But no, it was not a prescient vision of things to come; it was the story of a blog platform upgrade that (as it happens) proceeded without a hitch...a situation where any fear that might have manifested itself turned out to be unwarranted.

At the end of that post, Winston thanked his readers “...for giving me a reason to do this in the first place.”

It may be a little late, but we readers maybe ought to thank Winston for sharing that little part of himself that compelled him to keep his Online Journal, a journal that now must serve as a legacy. I hope Roomie and Winston’s other loved ones can take comfort in that legacy, along with the knowledge that he was a daily presence in the lives of so many of us.

Ave atque vale, Winston. Godspeed.

THE LOOMING CLOUD

As we made ready to head off to the airport to pick up Elder Daughter Friday evening, we saw this dramatically-lit thunderhead looming over the northern horizon.

It was impressive, all right, but it was all show and no performance.

Our drive home was lit by sporadic flashes of lightning, but we had nary a drop of rain...until Sunday afternoon, when the deluge came.

A NEW ADULT BEVERAGE

We picked up Elder Daughter last night at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport With The Name That Goes On and On and On.

She was still pretty worn out, having returned from her ten-day trip to Uganda Wednesday afternoon...and then putting in a full day of work on Thursday. That’d be “work” in quotation marks, accomplishing whatever could be accomplished in a jet-laggy haze. But once she arrived here, she seemed to get a second wind, probably due to the energizing presence of her kid sister, the Mistress of Sarcasm.

I love seeing my girls together.

As we sat around the kitchen table, Elder Daughter and I nibbled on some gravlax and crackers as we all looked at photos from her trip. But the ice-cold akvavit I was enjoying as an accompaniment to the fish was not to Elder Daughter’s liking. So she invented - on the spot! - her own Adult Beverage.

Inspired by the Ba-Tampte garlic dill she was munching on, she had the bright idea of a Dirty Martini made with vodka...and pickle juice instead of olive juice. A Pickletini!



Pickletini.

I used the garlic dill pickle juice I had handy. [Personally, I would have preferred the juice of the Half-Sour, but that is an experiment I'll reserve for a future time.] A teaspoon or two, and a couple of shots of vodka, shaken with ice and strained into a Martini glass. The garnish? A chunk of pickle, of course.

Skål!

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN - MISTRESS OF SARCASM EDITION

The Mistress of Sarcasm.

What with the Mistress of Sarcasm’s birthday coming up Monday, She Who Must Be Obeyed had the bright idea of posting this week’s Friday Random Ten using the music from the Mistress’s iPod.

Why not, I thought. My Esteemed Readers are probably sick to death of seeing the same stuff here, week after week. Frank Zappa. Ben Folds. The Beatles. Hookalakah Meshobbab. This way, they’ll finally be exposed to some quality music.

Thus, here followeth a Scattershot Selection from the Mistress’s very own Little White Choon Box. Let’s see what’s playing today:

1. Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Jeff Buckley
   
   
2. King Kong - Daniel Johnston
   
   Daniel Johnston is living proof that insanity and talent can coexist in the same individual. His music has an offbeat charm...and he’s pretty much a complete whacko. Check out the documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston for more about this exceptional musician.
   
   
3. Alone Down There - Modest Mouse
   
   
4. He Keeps Me Alive - Sally Shapiro
   
   
5. Lucky Ball and Chain - They Might Be Giants
   
   
6. Shampoo Suicide - Broken Social Scene
   
   
7. Not If You Were The Last Dandy On Earth - The Brian Jonestown Massacre
   
   
8. Picture Book - The Kinks
   
   
9. Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Your Grievances - Daniel Johnston
   
   
10. Gnossienne #1 - Erik Satie
    
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

FUZZY FRIDAY

If you like animals, then sooner or later
You should make the acquaintance of the Modulator.
He pilots the Ark on its weekly voyage
A Floating Zoo for all girlage and boyage.

The Friday Ark has set sail on its 197th trip across the Bloggy Sea, ably captained (as usual) by Steve, the Modulator.

If that’s not enough Fuzzy Fun for you, remember to stop by Sunday evening to visit the Carnival of the Cats, hosted by Victor Tabbycat.

Now, what are you waiting for? Go! Look at alla them cats and dogs!

Update: CotC #224 is up and running.

IMAGES OF DESTIN

A few photos I took during our week at the beach.



Umbrellas at Sandestin. I like the way the bright yellow contrasts with the deep blue of the sky; the red pennant adds a nice accent.



The texture of this bamboo cutting board fascinated me. But unlike a colander, you cannot wear a cutting board on your head.



Crape myrtles. This is a tonemapped high dynamic range image created by compositing three different exposures.



The Missus shows off her red-painted toenails. Much more attractive than my Monkey Shit Feet.

HAI, THERE

Given my regular forays into the realm of Vile Doggerel, and given my affection for things Japanese, one might suppose that I am a fan of the quintessentially Japanese verse form known as Haiku.

And one would suppose correctly, although it is a form on which I don’t spend much time. Don’t need to. Haiku are short and sweet; as a bonus, they can be pithy and (sometimes) elegant. Further, they must follow a strict format: three lines, the first having five syllables, the second seven, the last five.

Kinda like a limerick, but without the dick jokes. Mostly.

I first learned about haiku back in...could it have been grade school? One of those English classes in which they attempted to teach us about the concept of blank verse. Poetry without rhyme. Haiku is a great format for teaching the concept of blank verse, because it has a rigidly prescribed structure...so you know it ain’t prose, unlike some more esoteric forms of vers libre.

Sparrow, of All Atwitter, runs a weekly Haiku Wednesday contest, in which she posts a theme and solicits submissions in the Comments. I’ve had a lot of fun with it...and perhaps you can, too!

Meanwhile, here are a few of my haiku, presented in no particular order...

Home

Some people say that
Home is where the heart is. No.
It’s in your ribcage.

All my possessions
Fit neatly in a knapsack.
My home? The wide world.

Love

Oh, how romantic...
My hand entwined in yours, love.
Now, take off your pants.

Heat

I moved to Texas
In ’seventy-four. It was
Hot as a bastard.

Want to imagine
Houston, depopulated?
Think: No More A/C.

Temptation

Rich foods, fast women,
And strong drink, all Satan’s tools.
Get thee behind me!

Temptation tests me
Ev’ry moment of the day.
It’s the Human Way.

Christmas

Glorious quiet!
Christmas brings a hush to town.
Let’s catch a movie!

Now that the goyim
Have discovered our secret,
The theatre is packed.

Trolls

There’s a small café
Where the Georgia bloggers go -
The Troll, in Helen!

My blog is my home.
You, who come to visit me,
Don’t crap on the floor!

Although it’s the ‘Net,
Manners are not optional.
Were you raised by wolves?

And here are a few older ones, previously posted here, on the Odd Topic...

On Science Fiction Movies

“Go to him and say,
‘Klaatu barada nikto.’
Or we are all fucked.”

On Jerry Falwell

Jerry Falwell’s dead.
Now he gets to see Jesus
And, boy, is he pissed.

On Timothy Treadwell, Nature Lover (and Grizzly Bear Dinner)

Oh, Mr. Choc’lit -
Hold me in your warm embrace.
Nibble on my face.

Bears are so cuddly.
Look at that one, cuddling Tim
In his intestines.

Bears shit in the woods.
It’s their nature - what they do.
Tim Treadwell: Bear Shit!

On Pamela Anderson

She has big titties.
They’re her only claim to fame.
It sure ain’t her brain.

Watch the tape: you’ll see
Tommy Lee look at her. A
“Penetrating” stare.

I like reading books
That are packed full of typos.
Did someone say “titts”?

News bulletin: Flash!
A shortage of silicone!
Where did it all go?

Our sources reveal
That Pamela Anderson
Cornered the market.

Look out! She crushes
All in her path. You could say
She’s a “Jug-gernaut.”

And, just for fun, here is...

A Non-Standard Rhyming Haiku

Strippers strike poses
For drunks with ruddy noses.
Gives ’em stiff hoses.

Haiku! They’re ever so much fun. Write one today!

Update: Commenter Og points out - correctly - that pretty much all of these poems are not haiku in the strict sense; they are senryū.

What’s the difference? According to Wikipedia, “senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious.” In addition, traditional haiku generally incorporate a seasonal reference; they also include a kireji - a cutting word - at the end of one of the lines. This is only possible in Japanese (English has no kireji), so any attempt to write haiku in English involves some degree of compromise.

Since most English speakers have a vague idea what “haiku” means, whereas they are clueless about “senryū,” I’ll follow convention and call the damn things haiku.

PUTTING THE “DIE” IN “DIET”

Steve H. Graham, blogger extraordinaire (Hog On Ice), food expert, and humorist, has come out with a new Must-Read book: Eat What You Want and Die Like A Man.

“New” may be overstating it a bit. Steve released an earlier self-published version of the book several years back, featuring cover art by Day By Day’s Chris Muir. A copy currently graces our upstairs bathroom, where it provides amusement for anyone who stops by to drop the kids off at the pool.

But Steve has assured me that Version 2.0 has been more-or-less completely rewritten, which means that if you’re among the Lucky Handful of People who read the original EWYWADLAM, you’ll still find plenty of great new material in Today’s Edition.

Steve is primarily a humor writer, so perhaps it’s best to approach this book as a comedy piece rather than a straight-up cookbook. Nevertheless, the recipes have been tested to death (Steve is a relentless perfectionist when it comes to food) and can be guaranteed to be tasty, if not exactly Low-Calorie. You know you’re going to be having a Serious Meal when you’re looking at items like Chicken-Fried Rib Eye on a Huge Biscuit...especially when you’re frying that rib eye in lard and using bacon grease to make that Frisbee-size biscuit.

I was a bit disappointed that Whale Bacon didn’t make the cut until I thought about it. You eat Whale Bacon raw, so what’s the point of a cookbook?

Some of the recipes look like they’ve been put in as examples of how much Fattening Stuff can be jammed into a single dish: Hash Brown Casserole with Cheddar and Sour Cream, Yeast-Raised Fried Doughnuts With Coconut/Banana Sauce, Grease Burgers. But all of ’em sound delicious, and they range from the homegrown (Cornbread and Navy Beans) to the exotic (Rotis and Jamaican-Style Goat Curry, Doro Wat).

More importantly, they all reflect Steve’s simple philosophy. Use fresh ingredients, and don’t plug in something “healthy” in place of something authentic. If you want to eat Baklava With Cheesecake Filling, don’t make a half-assed version with skim milk and Olivio, because it’ll suck. Make it right, and it will at least taste good...and if you don’t eat big wads of it every day, your ass won’t grow to be the size of Nebraska and your arteries won’t fill up like the men’s room at halftime. Maybe.

Buy the book. You’re guaranteed a good laugh, and a few good meals to boot.

TOP OF THE WORLD, MA

Hakuna, perched at the top of the stairs.

Hakuna is in the catbird seat here, observing the world from the top of the stairs.

She has been very vocal of late. Ever since we returned from the beach, Hakuna has been talking almost non-stop. It’s as if to say, “You have a lot of nerve, you two, leaving me by myself for a week.” A far lonelier week without Matata to get in her face, alas.

The carpet cleaning people come today. I predict an Intimate Reunion: Hakuna and the box spring under Elder Daughter’s bed.

But that will be later. Meanwhile, Hakuna’s on top of the world.

DAD’S DAY

Father’s Day was a week ago Sunday, on June 15.

The following day, as I was preparing for my Semi-Annual Rubdown - a Swedish massage having become an essential part of our Beach Ritual - the Massage Therapist asked me whether I had enjoyed Father’s Day.

“Of course,” I answered. “One of my daughters - the Mistress of Sarcasm - is here at the beach with us, so my day was Extra Enjoyable.”

As indeed it was. I can’t wait for her Big Sister to return home from her trip to Uganda. Summer Kampala, as it were. Both of them will (keyn ayin hara) be here this coming weekend...which will make next Sunday the best kind of Father’s Day of all.

PLEASE SAW MY LEG OFF

George Carlin, 1937-2008.

A few weeks ago, the Missus and I were wandering the aisles at CostCo, picking up a few hundred dollars worth of “necessities.”

It’s amazing how difficult it has gotten, lately, leaving CostCo without having dropped at least a C-note or two. All those things that suddenly seem so...important to own. Like that side of beef...or the 55-gallon drum of extra-virgin olive oil...or the case of Château Cockamamie. Don’t act so damn superior. You know what I mean.

But this time, what caught our Collective Eye was a DVD boxed set: the complete first season of “Saturday Night Live.”

We couldn’t resist. Perfect to have at the beach in the event of inclement weather...and a reminder of some of our early days together. The first time either of us recalls watching SNL was on the weekend we traveled to Foat Wuth in February 1976, there to have me Meet The Family. It was the Momma d’SWMBO’s birthday, which provided the perfect excuse to invite me along.

That weekend turned out to be thoroughly enjoyable. SWMBO’s family clasped me to their bosom as if I were one of their own. Her parents were friendly without being overly intrusive; her brothers were...well, brothers. The elder of the two was sixteen at the time and was appropriately sullen, while the younger, at age nine, was mischievous, rigging up a three-foot-long straw in order to suck up my Adult Beverage while we were out to dinner.

As for SNL, it was strangely entertaining, a show that was, clearly, still struggling to define itself. Desi Arnaz, of all people, was the host that weekend. I seem to recall that Andy Kaufman put in an appearance.

Thus it was that when we saw the DVD set at CostCo, we snapped it up. A chance to relive these distant memories, oh, boy!

Watching the first show - hosted by George Carlin - it was striking how inchoate everything was. Some of the familiar elements of today’s SNL were already in place, but it had something of the feel of a variety show.


Carlin, meanwhile, was brilliant. We had already been thoroughly familiar with his material back when the show originally aired; now, it (mostly) still sounded remarkably fresh despite its age. Some of the routines were variations on older ones Carlin had been performing since he reinvented himself as a counterculture comic, riffs that had been cracking us up since the early 1970’s.

Carlin’s comedy, in later years, took on what seemed to me to be an increasingly bitter, cynical edge...but that never diminished his appeal to me. He became, in a way, the Counterculture Comedy Curmudgeon, a man with a highly refined Bullshit Detector. His various film performances (e.g., as a priest in Kevin Smith’s Dogma) weren’t so much acting as they were Being George Carlin On Screen...but that was OK, too. You knew what you were going to get.

When I found out this morning about Carlin’s death, I was shocked...and saddened. Heart failure? WTF? Having just watched his performance on the debut edition of SNL, thoughts of him and his work were still fresh in my mind, making the sudden loss all the more jarring.

Godspeed, George.

Oops. Given your well-known cynicism on the topic of religion, that’s a poor choice of words. How ’bout these, which effectively sum up my feelings when I found out you were defunct?

Shit!
Fuck!
Piss!
Cunt!
Cocksucker!
Motherfucker!
and Tits!

[The post title, in case you’re curious, is from a Carlin routine which had to do with phrases people were very unlikely to say. “Hand me that piano,” for example.]