NBC's Saturday mornings in 1974

Having already covered ABC's Funshine Saturday lineup from 1974, this time, we'll take a look at NBC's roster. I've always considered NBC to be the weak sack network when it comes to Saturday mornings, partly because they usually had the shortest lineups, and partly because they showed The Smurfs. Not surprisingly, NBC would be the first network to drop an official Saturday morning cartoon lineup.

But in 1974, they were plugging along with a few winners.

7 a.m. The Addams Family

While I loved the classic 60s sitcom, this 70s animated version just didn't do anything for me. Given that this was right in the middle of the whole movement to improve Saturday morning TV by eliminating anything less than wholesome, I wonder why anyone would try to make a cartoon about a macabre family in the first place.

But hey, at least Jodie Foster got some voiceover work as Pugsley.


7:30 a.m. Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch

If my son had been born when I was, aside from having some bizarre family pictures, he likely would've been obsessed with this cartoon, instead of the movie Cars, as he is now. Yet another Hanna Barbera product, this followed the adventures of Wheelie, a red VW Beetle and his vehicle pals. Honestly, it got to the point in the mid-70s that a person could tell apart half the HB shows even at gunpoint.

I should point out that despite the title, the Chopper Bunch were not Wheelie's pals; instead they were a group of tough-guy vehicles. Here's the opening:



And just because I like you, here's one of the episodes that aired on the day in the TV Guide I got these listings from. Oh, it's dubbed. In Portuguese. Enjoy!



8 a.m. Emergency +4

This show was right up my alley. I remember watching Emergency all the time and totally digging it--despite having no memory of any actual episodes. This cartoon version added four teens (hence the +4 in the title) who made up an ambulance crew who'd help out Gage and DeSoto. And because it was against federal law not to do so, the kids were saddled with a few wacky pets. If not for cartoons, I never would've known what a mynah bird was, let alone that they could help rescue me from a natural disaster.



8:30 a.m. Run, Joe, Run

Falsely accused of a crime he didn't commit, our hero is on the run from the authorities, going from town to town, helping out those in need. You'd almost think this was a cartoon version of The Fugitive but for the fact that Joe was a German shepherd, accused of attacking his master. No, I'm not kidding. Look at the credits if you don't believe me. As far as I know, Joe was not looking for a three-legged dog who was the real culprit.



9 a.m. Land of the Lost

Probably the coolest show in the lineup, LotL featured the Marshall family, who had the terrible misfortune to--wait, you know what? Watch the opening credits. That'll tell you everything you need to know:



Now that is a damn fine theme song. I miss theme songs that tell you specifically what the show is about. I still don't understand why the lyrics refer to "Marshall, Will, and Holly" if the dad is Rick Marshall. The delightfully cheesy effects made this show an afternoon favorite in syndication as well as a Saturday morning classic.

I would love to hear the Meat Puppets do a cover of this song. Don't know why, but I just would.

9:30 a.m. Sigmund and the Sea Monsters

Back for a second season, this Krofft show featuring everyone's favorite reluctant sea monster gained a new character: Sheldon the Sea Genie (sure, why not?), played by the ever-butch Rip Taylor. Sigmund was still not evil, he still looked like a walking lump of kelp, and the laugh track didn't help.



10 a.m. Star Trek

The voyages of the starship Enterprise continue in animated form for a second if incredibly brief season. With only six new episodes, that meant a lot of reruns from the previous season. But it also had the first appearance of a holodeck on Star Trek, in the episode "The Practical Joker." That's got to count for something, right?

This was a fun show to watch, though it always seemed so serious because of the sparse musical score--compare with the Spock-Kirk fight music in "Amok Time", for example. And you can now buy the DVDs and make a drinking game out of it. Every time there's a close-up shot of a character half framed with another in the background, take a shot. Every time Jimmy Doohan does a voice for a character other than Scotty, wet your finger with the drink of your choice and let it evaporate. Any more than that, and it could mean a hospital trip.



Well, they didn't have a lot of shows that year, but they got some fairly decent ones. Next time, it's CBS' turn to shine. And given that their lineup ran from 8 a.m. to 12:30 p.m., that's a lot of shining.

1974 Saturday morning lineups: Fanriffic!

Saturday morning TV was a big part of my childhood. Getting up far earlier than I would on a school day, I settled in for a full morning of programming. Add to that a bowl or two of Count Chocula or Waffelos, and it's a wonder I was able to dress myself.

Those of you who also woke up early on Saturdays know what I'm talking about; for a few hours, we were in control of the TV (if we were the oldest, of course). It was like being in our own little world. I hesitate to say something schmucky like it being a magical time (especially when I remember some of those shows), but it was a small part of my week I looked forward to.

That said, I thought I'd pore through my meager collection of TV Guides to compile a look at those Saturday mornings of yesteryear. Because it's all about me, I'm starting with the fall of 1974, my first television season of existence. And no, I wasn't watching the cartoons quite yet, but I had to start somewhere, and this seemed like a good start.

With the help of my Sept. 14, 1974, San Francisco Metropolitan area TV Guide, here's the first part of our look at Saturday morning.

I developed an allegiance for ABC early on, as that's the network on which I watched Super Friends, one of my all-time favorites. As such, I'm starting with the ABC Saturday morning lineup, which they called ABC's Funshine Saturday.

ABC's Funshine Saturday



7 a.m. Yogi's Gang

On one level, it makes sense that a forest-dweller would take an interest in the environment. On the other hand, not if it's Yogi Bear, prime pilferer of pic-a-nic baskets. But that's the premise of this well-meaning but dull Hanna-Barbera effort that featured Yogi, Boo-Boo, and the H-B all-stars flying around in an ark on the lookout for somewhere untouched by pollution. They encountered Mr. Smog, Lotta Litter, and other ecology-related villains, most of which are name-checked in the opening credits.

Only 15 episodes were made, and since it started in 1973, these are just repeats. Not exactly a rousing start to a Saturday morning lineup, is it? Judge for yourself:



7:30 a.m. The Bugs Bunny Show

A perennial favorite, though I spent my formative TV-watching years catching the Bugs Bunny-Road Runner Show on CBS. But still, you can't go wrong with Warner Bros. cartoons, especially in the days where they weren't edited to remove violence.

8 a.m. Hong Kong Phooey

There are two things that keep this show about Penrod Pooch, a mild-mannered janitor who is also a martial-arts-wielding canine superhero, from totally sucking: Scatman Crothers, who voiced the title character, and the kickass theme song, also performed by Mr. Crothers. It also tried to introduce the word "fanriffic" into kids' vocabularies, but I never remembered hearing anyone use it.



8:30 a.m. The New Adventures of Gilligan

Even in 1974, everyone had seen Gilligan's Island reruns a bajillion times, so why not make a cartoon of it? Aside from a cartoon version of this particular show being, well, redundant. Jane Webb (a Filmation studios voice staple) provided voices for Mary Ann and Ginger in this incarnation.

The best I could find was this clip of the closing credits, alas.



9 a.m. Devlin

Not only was kung-fu popular in the 70s, but so were motorcycles. Evel Knievel, stuff like that. So naturally, kids were treated to a motorcycle daredevil of our own: Ernie Devlin. Looking at the animation in the intro, I can't say I feel like I really miss seeing it. Eesh. Apparently no one else particularly dug it, as it only ran a few months.

Here's an interesting fact: Devlin's brother was voiced by Micky Dolenz.



9:30 a.m. Super Friends

While I profess a great love for this show, 1974 brought repeats of the first season: the hour-long, incredibly preachy, boring episodes with Wendy, Marvin, and Wonder Dog. But still, without these cartoons (featuring the first and only cartoon appearance of Green Arrow for decades), we wouldn't have had Challenge of the Super Friends a few years later.

Plus, I thought Wendy was cuter than Jayna anyway.

Moving on...



2 p.m. Korg: 70,000 B.C.

Sadly, I don't think I ever caught this live-action show that showed family life circa 70,000 B.C., only a few years after George Burns had hit the vaudeville stages. But hey, it was narrated by Burgess "Time Enough at Last" Meredith, so that gives it a few coolness points with me. And hey, it lasted longer than Cavemen.

Oh, snap.



2:30 p.m. These Are the Days

You've got your Waltons, you've got your Little House on the Prairie, and the folks at Hanna-Barbera. Put them together, and you've got the old-timey fun of These Are the Days, a show about the adventures of the Day family. I managed to miss this one as well, but I can't imagine the little kid version of me would have dug it too much.

But because I care about you, the reader, here are the opening credits. In Spanish. ¡Muy bueno!



Well, that's what ABC was peddling as of fall 1974. A fairly dismal turnout, really. But I say this as someone who missed the first two months of the season, so your mileage may vary.

Tune in next time for either the 1974 CBS or NBC lineup; whichever tickles my fancy.

What is your earliest memory?

Memory is a weird thing. I've been told most of my life that I have an unusual memory. Actually, the word "unusual" comes up an awful lot, but that's another story...

I remember dreams I had when I was a kid (just the most vivid ones), and I remember specific conversations with people. And we all know about all the useless pop culture crap that has taken up permanent residence in my brain.

But the crap of it is that I don't really have an active control over what gets stored and what doesn't. I can try, sure (phone numbers, anniversaries, children's names, etc.), but every now and then I'll see something on TV or in a book or on YouTube, and there's like an explosion of memory. Sometimes it's a little overwhelming.

But I was thinking about it, and I'm curious as to what other people's earliest memories are. With that, if you could go ahead and share your earliest memory in the comments, that would totally rock.

I'll start, since it was my idea.

My earliest memory is being about 2 years old, walking into my parents' bedroom, where their black-and-white TV had a rerun of The Brady Bunch playing. While I was watching that, I remember the distinct sensation of the back of my diaper expanding.

That's about it. Sort of a memory fragment, but that's the earliest I remember without aid from a picture.

Knowing me, there's a very good chance that my last memory will also involve filling my diaper, watching a rerun of The Brady Bunch.

All right, now it's your turn. Join in the fun!

Your daily dose of OMGWTFBBQ!?!

Don't everyone thank me all at once.

A tale of resurrection!

As much as it galls me to say so, I owe this discovery to my brother and a phone call he made to me.

At first, I thought he might be pulling a prank on his older, better-looking (and more modest) brother. This wouldn't exactly be a stretch to think he'd do something like this. But, as I reflected, he knows there are certain things that we don't joke about, and this was one of them.

So after taking care of a few errands, I went to recon the location he provided me. I walked in, trying to look nonchalant, as if I weren't on a mission of dire importance.

I peered down aisle after aisle until I found the one that could provide happiness or torment. I thought for a second that I'd been too late; that I'd missed my chance, but then I saw them. In the distance I heard trumpets and the Hallelujah chorus.

There, before my myopic eyes: Hostess Pudding Pies.


The very same pies that have prompted me to write letter after letter to Hostess, pleading and indirectly threatening (Twinkie the Kid can now walk the streets safely) for the return of my once-loved fattening pastry delight.

I grabbed all four on the shelf and made my way to the cashier, where I paid just under $6 for something I hadn't eaten in nearly two decades.

Yes, I'm that old and pathetic.

I enlisted my wife to document the occasion. Now keep in mind, in a perfect world, they would have been the vanilla pudding pies, but as evidenced by gas prices, the continued fame of Paris Hilton, and my hairline, we don't live in a perfect world.

I cautiously inspected the first Pudding Pie.


All right, so far, so good. But did they taste OK?


Huzzah! All is chocolatey and so sweet I almost needed insulin.

I have yet to see if Hostess has brought back the vanilla pie as well; I'm going to be writing them tomorrow. But this just goes to show you, kids: whine about something long enough, and you'll get it just so you'll shut up.

Nacho cheese Cheetos, anyone?

A Siftin' Easter custom

Happy Easter, yo.

Commercials, just for you

Taking a break from a project I'm working on, so this will be brief.

I know Easter is coming, but just because, here are some 80s commercials from Christmastime.

If you click on the video itself and read the user comments on the YouTube page, you will likely feel the same arrow through your heart as I did in mine when I read the one from a person amazed that ATMs existed in the 80s. In fact, they predate old codgers like myself. Damn kids!

I miss The Office

I can't wait for new episodes of The Office. Who from the show would I like to meet, you ask?



I found out a few weeks ago that Angela was IN MY WORK BUILDING a while back, possibly on a day that I was actually here. I miss everything.

If you can believe your eyes and ears

Just a few things worth checking out:

There's a funny podcast I listen to each day: The 404. Here is a recent episode--make sure you listen all the way through.

And here are a few blogs I've started making a daily habit: List of the Day, which is chock-full of hilarity, and The Aquaman Shrine. Actually, the Shrine is part of Rob's pantheon of awesome bloggitude--you should check them all out.

And for all of you who have written, saying, "Wow, Sparkman, you're pretty funny, but you're not Weekend at Bernie's funny," here:

I can has supervision?

You too can be under divine observation, as long as you are allowed to have scissors.

You know, between this and The Great Rickroll Project of Earlier This Month, my cutting and taping skills are getting quite the workout. I guess you really do end up using things you learn in school later in life.

Denied!!!

Went to McDonald's at lunch and was stunned, nay, flabbergasted, to hear that they didn't have Shamrock Shakes for St. Patrick's Day.

Blasphemy!

Just in time for St. Patrick's Day

No der.

There once was a time when you got a few mustard dogs from Der Wienerschnitzel. Somewhere along the way, they lost the Der. But here's proof that it once was there.

And the winner is...

I was watching an old tape a bit ago, and after the last program (a Looney Tunes special), I let the tape keep going.

I ended up watching the last half of the American Music Awards from 1986, commercials and all.

It was weird seeing the stars they pointed out in the audience. Mr. Mister, Michael Jackson, and Julian Lennon, among others. Prince and Bruce Springsteen weren't there to accept their awards.

And at the end, everyone rushed the stage to sing "We Are the World."

Jeez, Whitney Houston looked so young then...

My favorite part was when the crowd kept applauding Stevie Wonder when we won an award, he jokingly told everyone "Shut up!"

When Brody gets a little older, I'll have to dig this out so he can watch it and wonder what the hell people were thinking with their wardrobe choices.

Woo-hulu

Well, Hulu is now open to the public, and in addition to the TV shows available to watch for free, they've got some movies, too.

So you can watch All Dogs Go to Heaven and All Dogs Go to Heaven 2, but there's also The Big Lebowski, The Jerk, and Three Amigos.

On the TV show front, you can watch The Simpsons, Family Guy, The Office, What's Happening and What's Happening Now. I've also watched a few episodes of Benson.

Not in the background while I'm at work, though. That would be wrong; multitasker or not.

It's not perfect; I can't think of very many situations where I'd want to watch clips of movies or shows rather than the whole thing, so that part is fairly useless for me, but it's another step toward my dream of on-demand TV from a giant pool of programming.

CBS is getting in on the fun, putting up all the episodes of Star Trek online, as well as a few other shows.

I'm hoping more networks get with this program; it seems like an easy way to gauge interest in various programs for DVD release. Sure, I can watch any episode of Star Trek for free on my computer now, but I still prefer watching TV on my TV. I'm weird that way.

Oh, and one more thing I just noticed. You can embed stuff, too:

Just getting this out of my system...

Headlines the NY Post rejected for their Spitzer cover story:

Ho lot of trouble!

Pimp my government

You can lead a horticulture...

New in town, ey, Guv'na?

Spitzer's in the back because he's skeezin' with a whore

Whorible news

No love, no gov

NY: We no love you long time

Upon reading that the reported prostitute in question charged a thousand bucks an hour, this immediately came to mind: What do you get from a $1,000-an-hour whore? Legal representation.


Heyooooooo!!

So I'm in a foul mood...

...partly because I feel awful (my stomach and I are not on speaking terms today), and partly because it occurred to me that it's been almost 2 years since I wrote to Parenting magazine about their no-dads policy.

I wrote to them, and I was told my letter would be published. It wasn't; and not long after I stopped looking, they introduced their tag, "What matters to moms."

Feh.

Being the ever-sensitive pissy sort, I decided I'd try again.

Here's what I wrote.

Hi --

I first wrote in May 2006 about the magazine's momcentric slant. At the time, I was working at home from 2-10 a.m. and watching my then-3-year-old son while my wife was at work.

I got a reply saying that my letter would be published, etc. I never saw it printed, and shortly after giving up on seeing it, I noticed the cover tag, "What matters to moms."

Way to go.

Granted, I presume there have been enough studies showing that your target demographic is moms, but the magazine has become even less inviting to any parent who has the apparent misfortune of having a penis.

I really find the magazine content informative--which is why I still read it--but it's very clear that it's not meant for me or any other father.

An occasional article from a dad in the back of the issue isn't exactly helping, either, especially when it's after yet another article from a mom about how nervous she was to let her husband watch the kids. Because as we all know, we dads think nothing of letting the kids play with chainsaws and rat poison.

Is there any plan to feature dads who are active parts of their children's lives? Or should I just stop my bellyaching and look elsewhere?

Sincerely,

Jeff Sparkman
Mountain House, California
http://siftin.blogspot.com/search/label/parenting
http://dorkdad.blogspot.com

I'll let you know if I hear anything.

Aside from my stomach doing its best impression of the underground pipe system in The Goonies.

A special presentation

Sometimes I see a video and it seems like it was made just for me.



And because that's kinda weak for a blog entry, here's a bonus giggle, courtesy of George "Mr. Smooth" Clooney.

Last night a DJ saved my life

It occurs to me that I may be part of the last generation to listen to AM radio for music.

My station was KFRC 610 AM. And my favorite deejay was Dr. Don Rose.

In fact, Dr. Don was the very first famous person I ever met. I found out he was going to be at the Bay Fair Mall (now the Bayfair Center) in San Leandro one weekend, and I told my parents that I had to go meet him.

True, he wasn't a superhero, but he got to make goofy jokes on the radio AS HIS JOB. For the younger me, that was a dream job.

Well, it still is, I suppose, but I digress.

It's packed away, but I still have the publicity photo he signed for me. I was nervous to meet him, partly because for so long I'd heard him as this booming voice on my radio, as well as hosting various TV shows on one of the local stations. The other part was, as I often say, I was very shy.

I remember being embarrassed at the time by my dad, who was telling him his jokes were all right, but he needed to not repeat them all the time.

I was thinking as we walked out of The Cascades into the rest of the mall, Dad, you don't tell Dr. Don how to be funny! But I didn't say anything, of course.

He struck me as a hell of a nice guy; he didn't act put out in the slightest having to talk to a little kid like me, and he made me feel like I was just as important as everyone else.

Dr. Don died a few years back, alas, but thanks to the Internet, you can still hear him, or in the case below, see him:

Sweet monkey love

You know, I'm far from one to castigate others for what they choose to spend their money on, as I buy tapes of old TV commercials and movies no one in their right mind would want to watch.

That said, my wife came across this ad the other day, and it really just made me pause.



OK, a monkey dressed as a baby is creepy enough, but on a giant phallic banana, too? Eeesh.

Tag, I'm it.

I was tagged by Dorf!

The rules:

1) Link to the person who tagged you (see above).

2) Post the rules.

3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.

4) Tag at least three people.

5) Make sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.

Six weird things about me (it was hard narrowing it down):

1) I anagram signs while in stopped traffic.

2) I'm colorblind and left-handed.

3) I own Xanadu, Blood Freak, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Gong Show Movie, Zapped, and Black Devil Doll From Hell, among other movies.

4) My collection of old TV commercials is large enough that I could watch nothing but commercials for a 3-day weekend without repeating.

5) I play a right-handed guitar upside-down rather than restringing it for a lefty.

6) I've never seen a full episode of Lost, Survivor, or Heroes.

I’m going to tag Ken, Karyne, and Genevieve. Sucks to be them.

Stop laughing, you insensitive jerks...

Comedy is sometimes like an equation. Two things that may or may not be funny by themselves are hysterical when added together.

Click play on both of these videos at the same time:

I wasn't hallucinating after all...

While poking around the Intarwebs, I found proof of something that, outside of my brother, I've never heard anyone else know of it.

I watched a lot of Disney Channel programming when it debuted way back in the days of stone knives and bear skins. There was Good Morning, Mickey, Mousercise, and Donald Duck Presents, among other shows.

But a show that I had only the faintest memory of--presumably because it didn't last very long--was a Disney game show called Contraption.

Looking back, it was sorta like a weak Disney Double Dare (only before DD existed): there were two teams of kids, questions (about Disney movies, with video clips) and semi-physical challenges.

For answering questions and winning events, teams were awarded "contraptiles," translucent plastic tiles that I presume were supposed to look futuristic. I always had a feeling that there should've been some kind of Mouse Trap-like end game, but no, the tiles just got stacked to see which team earned more.

It seems kinda cheesy now, but it is a nice reminder of when the Disney Channel actually had programming for the whole family, not just the tweens who seem to be their sole demographic target these days. Aside from like 2 hours in the morning, devoted to preschoolers.

The best part is the prize package: record albums, LED Tron tabletop game, tickets to Disneyland (when they still had A through E tickets, from the looks of it, and the grand prize, a TI-99 home computer system.

Here is one episode in four parts. My thanks to the uploader, and as always with YouTube videos, check em out while they're still up.

Phase One: In which we rickroll a desk

I am, by nature, a mischievous sort.

The little jackass kid who, out of sight, bends the garden hose, cutting off the water until you look into it to see why the water's not flowing? Me.

One of a pair of doofuses who hide the teacher's podium? Guilty.

So it really shouldn't come as a surprise that I like messing with people from time to time. Because it's been run into the ground, I've been rickrolling my cohorts at work.

If you aren't 12 and haven't done this, it's a barely updated version of "Made You Look!"

If you want a detailed explanation of the phenomenon, you can go here.

Right, so even though we all know about how annoying and lame rickrolling is, we like to see how many times we can catch each other with it.

It's hard for me to rickroll my pal Karyne, since she sits right next to me at work. This isn't to say that I haven't done so a number of times, as has she.

We're not that bright sometimes.

But my pal Bonnie works a floor below me, so she can't see me giggling furiously as I send her a link via IM. It goes a little something like this (hit it!):

Me: Did you ever watch the Monchichis?

Bonnie: I think so.

Me: Here's the opening: http://youtube.com/watch?v=oHg5SJYRHA0

Bonnie: You suck!

So after a few weeks of this, I realized that I'd pretty much taken it as far as I could.

Until I found out that she was going to be off for a few days.



This looks like it took a long time, but I assure you, I am far too lazy; my kindergarten craft/MacGyver skills helped get this done in mere minutes.

And Karyne helped with the scissors.

With our supplies ready, we headed down to her desk and redecorated. Like Extreme Makeover Home Edition without the malady of the week. (I talk smack about it, but I watch it and get misty when they help a sick kid. I am a big wuss.)



Not too shabby, eh?

Our work finished on a Friday, I had the whole weekend to bask in my awesomositinessitude. On Saturday morning, I put XM 80s on the TV in the living room to listen to some choice tunes with the kids. I usually listen on Sundays (for American Top 40, natch), but I just got the impulse to do it.

Yes.

That song was on.

Rickrolled by God.

I took it as a sign that even God thought rickrolling someone's desk was funny. I already know God is a prankster; it's the only thing that explains my hair.

So I just had to wait until this morning till Bonnie returned.

Me: Welcome back!

Bonnie: SPARKMAN!

Bonnie: May I have a word with you?

She was a good sport about her desk being transformed into a Rick Astley shrine.

Here, she thanks me for my effort:



But, as she reminded me, in the words of William Shakespeare, "revenge is a biznatch."

Truedat.

You heard it here first

While I haven't had a chance to see Will Ferrell's Semi-Pro just yet, I decided to get ready for his next sports-related movie.

It doesn't actually exist, but dammit, it should.

The premise: Will Ferrell plays a former badminton pro who comes out of retirement to coach the U.S. Olympic team so they can beat the Chinese team and prove badminton isn't just a backyard barbecue sport.

The title: Shuttlecocks.

The horror... the horror...

Isn't it ironic...

So on May 2 (my brother's birthday, as he incessantly reminds me), there's this movie coming out.

Iron Man Exclusive Trailer

Add to My Profile | More Videos

Iron Man is one of those superheroes that I tend to enjoy as a concept more than in actual practice. I couldn't tell you the last time I bought an Iron Man comic book.

But I have to say, I'm really looking forward to seeing this. Like a lot.

Facepalm.

Just a quick question: Exactly what did they think was going to happen? I've seen better plans from Wile E. Coyote.

Leap Day! Oh, boy!

Technically, it's not until tomorrow, but since I post so late at night, it's usually the next day by the time anyone sees it, so...

Another February 29th. Wow. Um...

Let's see. Historically, Superman's birthday is said to be on this day.

But since we're talking about leaps, I thought I'd be original and talk about one of my favorite shows, Parker Lewis Can't Lose.

Just kidding.

Next year will mark the 20th anniversary of Quantum Leap's premiere, which makes me feel pretty damn old.

I liked the show a lot, even though it was a crapshoot just trying to find what day it was on at any given point during the season. I've always been interested in time travel, so I'm a sucker for a TV based around it.

Except it wasn't really a hard sci-fi show; aside from the premise of a guy going back in time to fix things that had gone wrong, it was a pretty normal drama.

By the last season, things went "a little caca," and Dr. Sam Beckett found himself inhabiting the bodies of famous people, something we'd been assured up to that point, wouldn't happen. But ratings being the factor they are, it wouldn't have surprised me to see him leap into space or something.

The last episode is one of my favorites, because it doesn't wrap everything up with a happy anding and a nice little bow. At least, not for everyone.

Al's Place has more QL information than you can shake a stick at, and I've been known to just hang out there and read, wondering what could've been.

Not surprisingly, The Sci-Fi Channel has again dropped the ball; according to their schedule, you can expect to watch a metric buttload of Stargate shows, even though Leap Day would make sense to show Quantum Leap. But I also see that there's an episode of Chuck that day, too.

Seriously, Sci-Fi, what the hell?

If you want to destroy my sweater...

My buddy Ken just passed this along to me, and I thought I'd share. Write March 20 on your calendar. It's Sweater Day, in honor of Fred Rogers on what would've been his 80th birthday.

It's actually part of a bigger celebration, as outlined by everyone's favorite postal carrier, Mr. McFeely in the video below:



I've been itching to get a new green cardigan, and now I've got an excuse. Won't you be my neighbor?

Apparently, there is a wrong way to eat a Reese's

I came across Natalie Dee's site a while back, and then I stumbled it today, and I just had to share something that made me giggle a little too much.


nataliedee.com

Go look at the rest of her comics; they're awesome.

Photographic evidence from WonderCon

As promised, here are some pictures from WonderCon.

Me and Karyne outside Moscone Center South, waiting in line to get in.

This line, which wrapped around the side of the building, was for the people who already had tickets and needed to sign in. It was only drizzly at this point, thankfully.


Here's Karyne with two guys who had my favorite costumes at the convention. There were really a lot of displays of cleavage costumes to be found on the showroom floor.



You got used to all the costumes after a while, unless you went outside the convention center to get lunch, and then it was a bit jarring to be behind Black Canary in line to get a steak sandwich.

One of the cool things about having so many people in costume was that when they stopped to talk to each other, it looked like they were just co-workers chatting around the watercooler.



And here's a teeny bit of video. It was hard finding footage of Anne Hathaway where she wasn't distracted by my awesomeness, so be gentle.

Never mind the bollocks...

Some of my memories are more fragments than actual narratives. And every now and then, something will remind me of them.

Doubly weird, it's like I had absolutely no recollection until the memory itself was triggered.

Like when we were in elementary school and at the end of the day, we had to put our chairs up on the tables. I think this was so it was easier for the custodians to clean the classroom after school, but I don't know for sure.

And other things I remember making complete sense at the time, but when I think of it now, it's completely bizarre.

I never understood why they made paste smell like wintergreen if they didn't want kids to eat it. That said, I never actually tasted it, thanks to the admonishments of much older kids (second-graders).

"Don't eat the paste," they told me.

"Why?"

They looked around, making sure the teacher wasn't lurking about. Finally, they told me.

"It'll stick your balls together."

Even as a first-grader, it made no sense to me how the paste would get from your stomach to your, um, ballular area, but I didn't want to take a chance, because I worried that if I ate paste, and my testimonials did get stuck together, I'd go to the doctor, who would look up from his clipboard with a disapproving look because with my luck, the only way in the whole world that would happen is if I did, in fact, eat paste.

Better safe than sorry, I say.

I'm a nut that way.

Don't get testy.

Back from WonderCon

Had a great time at WonderCon.

Anne Hathaway seems very sweet, and to her credit, she managed to restrain herself in my presence. Being three billion rows away probably helped her out on that.

Steve Carell seems really nice, too, and he said that, having served 2 weeks in jury duty, he's thinking of writing an episode of The Office next season in which Michael Scott gets called for jury duty.

There were tons and tons of people, some of whom we got our pictures with. Once we get all the pics sorted out, I'll post a few here.

Right now, my feet are killing me, and I'm very tired.

Time for Nerd Prom!

Tomorrow, I will be up to my eyeballs in pop culture at WonderCon in San Francisco.

Aside from the usual comic book-related stuff, there's also sci-fi stuff, other movie stuff, animation, people in costumes--a whole bunch of stuff.

And Peter (Chewbacca) Mayhew is going to be there again! Yay!

This year, since my brother is supposed to be helping with his newborn son, I am going with my friend, Karyne, who is as socially retarded as I am. But being socially retarded at a comic book convention is akin to being a clown at a circus--no one notices too much because you are one of many.

Now don't get me wrong; most of the attendees are perfectly normal-looking, well-balanced people who like this stuff. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with dressing up in costume either, as far as I'm concerned. It's pretty much the same as painting yourself various colors and rooting for your favorite team.

I like meeting the talented people who are responsible for the pop culture artifacts I absorb. While I'm still shy, I usually manage to work up to a "hi" by the time I get up to them.

This year, I'm keen on attending a feature on two upcoming Warner Bros. movies, 10,000 B.C. and Get Smart. It's the latter that I'm looking forward to, as two of its stars will be in attendance to pimp promote the flick. One is Steve Carell, which is awesome enough. But the other? Anne Hathaway.

Sigh.

Hopefully she can hold herself back if she happens to gaze into my eyes. Cross those fingers, kids.

Retrogaming: Space Taxi

Today's game du jour of the day, Space Taxi, is another favorite from my Commodore 64 days.

In it, you operate a (wait for it) space taxi, taking passengers on presumably interplanetary journeys. There are various landing pads from which you pick up and drop off your fares; some are wide, and others are barely wide enough to land on without smooshing your prospective customer.

Once you pick up your last passenger in a level, he'll say (in passable voice synthesis), "Up, please." Make sure you navigate that portal at the top of the screen, or you will die in a mangled fiery heap.

And you won't get paid.

As the levels progress, it gets harder, with various gimmicks trying to keep you from making an honest space cabbie's salary, such as moving platforms, those pesky block holes, and the bane of many a driver's experience, a giant ping-pong game.

While it seems pretty simple, it can be a pain in the ass when you finally navigate through an 8-bit representation of Godzilla's lower intestine only to forget to drop your landing gear at the pad, and dying in aforementioned mangled fiery heap.

This game taught me to swear more effectively.

The basic gameplay can be found in the more recent Crazy Taxi. Now I'm thinking, here are two games begging for a mashup: Crazy Space Taxi!

Tell me that wouldn't rock out with your wok out.

Instead of traveling from screen to screen, you'd drive in various immersive space sectors, starting in our own solar system. Not only would it have proven gameplay potential, but awesome space graphics, too.

And you could get a passenger to ask you to "Take me to Uranus," thus promoting much puerile giggling. Just be sure, as my pal Karyne observed, not to ram the car upon reaching your destination.

Yes, we're both 12-year-old boys.

You can play an updated version, Space Taxi 2, or, if you're looking for that old-school thrill, there's some gameplay video below.

Oooo, scary!

My wife showed me this video, and I have to say, it's pretty convincing. You be the judge:

Retrogaming: Hard Hat Mack

In sixth grade, I got to be the unofficial teacher's assistant in my computer class.

Partly because I'm just that cool, but mostly because I took the same computer class during summer school.

We had Apple IIes in our class, all with those crappy monochrome screens that were shades of amber or green. I only make note of that because they were impossible for me to see half the time, depending on the light. We did have one or two with full-color monitors, but we generally didn't use those.


So while I was the mad pimp Print Shop designer of the class, I never had much fun playing games in class (with the exception of Oregon Trail, despite the fact that my damn oxen and wagon floated away EVERY SINGLE TIME I tried to ford a river).

Until I showed up one day after school when two kids were using the color monitor to play a game, that to me, looked a lot like Donkey Kong, except different.

The kid playing lost his last man in the game, and it went back to the title screen.


Hard Hat Mack, published by some company called Electronic Arts.

It looked like a fun little game. You were a construction worker who had to achieve various goals -- welding, jumping, collecting lunch boxes -- while avoiding bad guys.

After taking a turn playing it -- and sucking mightily -- I was hooked. I had to beat this game.

Shortly after that, we got it for our computer at home, the Commodore 64. Well, technically, it was the 128, but we almost always ran it in 64 mode.

I was so excited to beat the third level, until I found out that the game just started over at the first level, but faster. But by then, I'd conned my parents into buying a good handful of games in addition to Hard Hat Mack, among them, Skyfox, Space Taxi, and Impossible Mission.

Below is some sample gameplay. Dig the sound effects and music. I can still hear it all even with the speakers turned off.

Fight for your right to party

I was on top of the world.

In a few short days, I'd forever be away from Monte Vista Middle School, and I'd be going into high school.

Even better than that, the big graduation trip to Great America was the next day, and this school day couldn't end soon enough.

As it is, I only had a few classes to go. I went to my locker and got my books. Or tried to, anyway. Once I'd opened my locker door, someone slammed it shut. This was fairly common in middle school; at least it was to me.

I didn't know my tormentor; he was a tall kid with a shock of carroty hair and beady Scut Farkas eyes. After the third time he shut my locker, I figured, ah, to hell with it, I'll just get my stuff later since this moron obviously had some kind of problem.

His problem persisted. As I walked away, Carrothead started kicking the backs of my feet, you know, like when you try to trip a guy? You kick his foot while he's walking, hope it locks in the back of his knee joint, causing him to fall, and hilarity ensues.

Alas, he was kicking my foot only when it was firmly on the ground. Taller than me or not, he was pissing me off.

"You know, that works better when my foot is off the ground, ass," I said without looking behind me.

I made it almost around the corner when he shoved me. Hard.

"What the hell?" I asked, trying to keep my Jiminy Cricket voice as deep as it could go.

"What's your problem?" he asked me, shoving me in the chest.

Ever the diplomat, I replied, "I'm just trying to go to class, and some stupid moron asshole is trying to trip me. That's my problem."

"You think you're tough?" he asked, giving me another shove.

In point of fact, no, I didn't, but this hardly seemed the time to bring it up.

"I don't even know who the hell you are!"

"C'mon, pussy!"

Saying that I'm not good with conflict or confrontation is like saying Amy Winehouse is an occasional social drinker. Though I didn't know who this guy was or why he had this problem with me, I did know that I didn't want to get into a fight the day before the Great America trip; I'd already paid for it, and it be in double trouble if I couldn't go because I got caught fighting at school.

I was looking over his shoulder, expecting to see a teacher or school security type show up and break things up before they got to involved; that's how it usually went. You almost never saw an actual full-blown fight.

So the one time in my life I was in the situation, there was no one to be seen. Except for the flocks of kids gathering around to see what was going to happen next.

In this case, it was him repeating himself with various insults, punctuating each one with a shove. I shoved him back.

"Just leave me the hell alone! What the hell is your problem?" I spat.

"Oh, are you gonna cry?" he asked, shoving me yet again. Still there were no authority figures around. Time seemed to stretch. Everything stopped. I had an open shot. His arms were down; he obviously wasn't expecting me to do anything.

But with everyone looking at me, I knew I had to do something in my defense. I watched as my arm shot out reflexively toward his head, at which point I --

-- gave him the Vulcan nerve pinch.

Sigh.

While my instinctive attack did not render my opponent unconscious, it did give me a second to brace myself for the next few seconds while he asked, "What the hell?"

Capitalizing on his size difference, he grabbed my leg to flip me backward. But since I weighed all of 90 pounds with a loaded backpack, I kept my balance, watching as he pretty much lifted me straight up.

For about two seconds, and then we both collapsed. More catcalls from the crowd, mixed with laughter.

I turned around to get up, thinking that I should get up before him just in case he tries something else.

I'd almost gotten to one knee when I saw the word NIKE briefly before the bottom of his shoe connected with my face. The left lens of my glasses fell to the ground, partially from the impact, and partially because the screw had been loose for the last few weeks.

Either way, it looked dramatic as all hell, based on the gasps from the crowd. One of my classmates, Miguel, pushed his way in between us.

"What are you doing, Brian?" he asked. "He's littler than you!"

"But he's older than me," he said. Insult to injury: I got kicked in the face by a seventh-grader. I suck.

"Yeah," Miguel agreed, "but...look at him..."

Blindsided by this tremendous logic, the douche that walked like a boy was distracted long enough to forget why he was bothering with me in the first place. He backed off, and the crowd dispersed.

Fuming with anger that was probably radiating in visible lines from my head, I picked up my backpack, slung it over my shoulder, trying to ignore the stares I felt from all angles.

The bell rang, and I trudged to class, launching my backpack at my seat once I entered the classroom. My teacher looked up to say something, but she apparently saw the look in my eyes and went back to her gradebook.

I waited for the inevitable taunts, but aside from a few questions (Oh, that tall guy? He's an ass. Are you okay?), no one said anything, which made me feel better and worse about it.

At least I got to go to Great America, and that schmuck didn't. Petty? I suppose, but ultimately satisfying.

Vulcan nerve pinch.

Sigh.

Taking a small break

I was going to write about this epic childhood tale, but Jen and I are watching a movie, and I'm laughing too much to really focus on writing.

Later.

I love classic commercials

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I love old TV commercials. One of the places I buy the commercials in my collection is TvDays.com. Archivist Ira Gallen is my hero! Thanks to him, there's a treasure trove of television that I otherwise would never have been able to see.

I usually get a tape or two for either my birthday or Christmas. If you are at all interested in seeing how things were sold in the 50s and 60s, you should buy a tape or DVD from TVDays. I highly recommend them.

I could watch the commercials all day long. Maybe that makes me weird. It sure is weird when I have jingles stuck in my head and they're for products that don't exist anymore.

400!

Well, much to my surprise, this is the 400th post on Siftin'. I will use the occasion to tell one of my favorite jokes:

A guy walks into a bar--and he says, "Ow!"

Thanks, folks, I'll be here all week.

Festive festivities! Huzzah!

First, there's the teaser trailer that came out today for the new Indiana Jones movie (W00t!):



In other exciting news, the Siftin' family of blog entertainment (Our motto: More than just crap) has expanded. Yep, now you can double your pleasure by coming here first, and then going to The Dynamic Adventures of Dork Dad, where I am migrating my parenting-related content.

Tell a friend!

The best export from the Garden State

Slightly more uplifting than yesterday's post, I promise.

One day in high school, I complained to my friend Ken about the paucity of dates occupying my spare time. Seriously. Michael Jackson got more baby-sitting offers than I got dates.

Already used to my near-daily lament, Ken, ever the optimist, would tell me, "There's someone out there for everybody."

"Yeah," I said, "and with my luck, she's on the other side of the country now."

"Could be."

"I scarcely see how that's helping me now."

And while I went on to recite the usual litany of gripes to my pal in sunny California, my wife-to-be was attending high school in South Jersey.

Okay, technically, she was probably already home, what with the time difference, but that's not really important.

What matters is that, despite my pessimism, I was right.

I just had to wait another 7 or 8 years to meet her. Had I known that then, I might not have been so damned moody.

All right, maybe not all the time.

Putting the 'hopeless' in 'hopeless romantic'

I don't know what the hell I was thinking.

Having bailed on the Halloween dance after getting slammed at the door by a wave of heat and too much perfume and cologne, I decided I'd try the whole school dance thing again.

On Valentine's Day.

Lost to the mists of time is any logical reason 11-year-old me thought this was a good idea.

Let me draw you a quick sketch:

It's 1986, and I've only been 11 for a few months. I'm short, have shaggy brown hair that tends to get greasy within a few hours of washing it (thanks so much, puberty), and though I know I wanted to dance in theory -- I had a mental list of songs that I'd hear on the radio and think that someday, I'd dance to them with a pretty girl -- I'd never actually danced. I had no idea how.

On top of that, I'm socially retarded, and I don't mean that in a pejorative sense. I can't read body language that well, and to make matters worse, I'm completely uncoordinated even when I know what I want to do.

And the pickle on the crap sandwich that was preteen alienation: Given the chance, I'd rather draw superheroes or read than play football. As you can imagine, living in a small football-centric town, this didn't make me the slightest bit popular with my peers, except as an easy target.

Maybe it was nothing but morbid curiosity; wanting to see what "normal" kids did. I'd become increasingly aware that I was different from my classmates -- or was at least perceived as such. Maybe I could mimic normal behavior enough to not stick out so much. Who knows?

While I was still blasted by a tangible wave of heat at the multipurpose room door, this time I paid my money, waved off my mom, who had dropped me off, and attended my first school dance.

I was given a slip of paper with a number -- 17 -- on it. This, the chaperon explained, was one of two like numbers. The other belonged to one of the girls attending. Over the course of the dance, I had to try to find my counterpart, which meant I'd have to mingle and ask girls I didn't know (pretty much all of them, really) to dance.

I frowned. I'm shy. Like really shy. Best-case scenario, I got a mad case of the stuttering duhs trying to make small talk. Keep in mind, I hadn't been in town quite a year yet, and I didn't know hardly anyone my age, let alone the older kids, let alone pretty girls with their makeup, their perfume, and in some cases, their boobs.

How was I going to interrupt their good time to make them talk to a short, dorky kid wearing floods?

I immediately needed a drink. I spied a table on the other side of the multipurpose room that had a giant orange jug with a haphazard assortment of cups next to it.

Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was the mystical McDonald's-sponsored orange drink of victory. Devoid of carbonation and watered down more than a cocktail at a cheap casino, it was barely a step above Bug Juice.

Still, it was wet, and it kept me from having to interact with anyone.

"Hey."

I looked up from my drink, wiped the orange moustache off my lip, and saw an eighth-grade couple.

"Huh?"

Had I taken his drink? Was I standing in the wrong place? Ohcrapohcrapohcrap.

"What number do you have?"

"17."

They looked at each other and smiled.

"That's my girlfriend's number. Trade with me."

"Um," I said, taking another sip of Orange Death to buy time to think of a response. The chaperon said we weren't allowed to swap numbers with anyone. Why he couldn't just dance with her anyway, I didn't know, but he was adamant about wanting to trade.

"Well, who has your number?"

"I don't know; I've just been asking about both of our numbers. C'mon, buddy, help us out, wouldja?"

"Okay," I said, forking over my paper. I didn't want to stand in the way of true love, and I certainly didn't want to get my ass kicked. I got a 9 in place of my 17. The happy couple mumbled thank you and disappeared into the ocean of people.

Meanwhile, I had to find the other number 9.

I wandered among the groups of people while The Beastie Boys' "Brass Monkey" played, knocking the crap out of the auditorium's feeble speakers. I tried thinking of ways to find Miss 9 without having to, you know, actually talk to anyone.

I got a tap on the shoulder. I turned around; it was the new Mr. 17, and I had no idea what he wanted.

"Hey, little dude, I found the other 9. I think she's your age."

"Oh yeah?" That sounded promising.

"She's over there," he said, hefting a thumb at the area behind him.

"Okay. Um, thanks," I said.

Well that certainly solved that problem. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea to come to the dance after all. A girl my age had my matching number. Maybe it was one of the cute girls I saw in the hallway every day after lunch.

You all know where this is going, right?

Following "Brass Monkey" was Run-DMC's "You Be Illin'," which, in retrospect, was more than a little fitting. As various people got into the music, the crowds parted, just like in the movies, and without asking, I knew precisely who had the other number 9.

She was standing near the stairs to the stage area, her hands folded together in front of her at the waist: one of the girls in my homeroom class who didn't like me. Not that this distinction narrowed it down much, but still. She must have read it on my face, because she broke out into laughter.

"You have number 9?"

I felt the heat rise above my collar; I was embarrassed, mortified and pissed off like only an 11-year-old social pariah could be.

"Don't worry," I said over the booming bass, "You don't have to dance with me."

As the song ended, I walked away -- before she could say anything else -- and out the door, at which point I was reminded that there were no in-and-out privileges.

I silently nodded my head, afraid that if I tried to talk, my voice would crack.

I trudged to the pay phone, dropped in my dimes and called my mom for a ride, making sure to put on my best voice.

"Hi," I said evenly when my mom answered. "I'm ready. Yeah, it was pretty boring. Okay, thanks. Bye."

Before I parked my carcass on a cement planter to wait for my ride, I peered through the open door of the multipurpose room, seeing everyone dancing and having a good time, and hoping that someday I would fit in.

From me to you

Valentines were an important undertaking in elementary school. Teachers had gotten wise and sent home class lists to ensure that no one got left out.

But you first had to pick cool valentines, and for me, that usually meant ones that featured Superman and his pals. And then you had to worry about which superhero was on which valentine you gave to which classmate.

Seriously, you would just about get your ass kicked if you gave a Catwoman valentine to one of the tough kids.

After getting tired of having to write and rewrite envelopes because I lost my place on the class list, I eventually resorted to addressing them all like this:

To: You

From: Me

All I had to do was make sure I had enough, and I was all set. And since it was plain to see that they weren't addressed to anyone in particular, I could get away with a tough guy getting a Wonder Woman valentine. Pretty clever, no?

Oh, sure, it probably seemed impersonal, but really you just wanted to make sure you got one. Some kids would make them by hand, and some would include little candy hearts, but I didn't want anyone to notice any favoritism directed toward my female classmates, as it was, you know, not cool for boys to like girls.

Well, not cool to admit it; I didn't know many guys who didn't think at least one or two girls were cute despite our protestations. I got enough crap trying to explain how, despite being a really fast runner, girls usually managed to catch me when they chased me at recess.

Luckily, I came up with the Cootie Effect, and they agreed that science really ought to come up with a cure for that.

Because I'm a caring individual, here's a free valentine you can print out and give to your pals, cooties notwithstanding.

So happy together

Well, my wife has returned, and we got to spend a nice day together, which was nice. We all missed her, and she claims to have missed me as well.

I'm going to miss hanging out with the kids now that I'll be back at work, and I'll miss not having to commute every day, but until I hit the lottery, such is my lot in life.

Now it's back to obsessing over pop culture on the train to and from work. And at lunch. I even dug out my Totally Mad CD set that has every issue of Mad, well, up until like December 1998, but still.

I'm starting from 1974 this time to see how it has changed during my lifetime. If I come across anything interesting, I'll likely post it here.

And WonderCon is coming up in a few weeks, which is pretty cool. My pal Karyne is going with me this year (first-timer), so it'll be sorta like taking a kid to Disneyland for the first time. Except less waiting in line.

Among the scheduled guests: Steve Carell and Anne Hathaway, who will be there to promote their Get Smart movie. I promised my wife that I would do my best to dissuade Miss Hathaway from following me around the convention all day long in case she, you know, decides she just can't live without me.

Cross I have to bear, you know?

Home Alone, Day 4: The home stretch

Well, Jen gets back from her trip tomorrow, and huzzah, huzzah, I managed not to burn down the house or lose either of the kids to roving bands of gypsies or supervillains. On top of that, Ramona helped me vacuum (she hung out in the Baby Bjorn), and I got a load and a half of laundry done.

Of course, Jen does that and more while juggling various freelancing projects, but for me, it's still impressive.

So is remembering to shave both sides of my face before leaving the house, but hey, baby steps, right?

Home Alone, Day 3: Things get goofy

I have managed to heal my son, which is good, because if he was motionless much longer, I think my daughter might have tried to eat him. She likes the food.

We're currently watching Goofy cartoons, which both Brody and I enjoy quite a bit. The skiing one is probably my favorite, but just about any Goofy cartoon is better (for me, anyway) than watching There Goes a Dump Truck for the skrillionth time.

The next cartoon is starting, so I'd better get going.

Home Alone, Day 2: I'm only sleeping

Brody seems to be sleeping off the tummy bug he picked up; poor little nubbin. He's keeping hydrated and getting some rest.

In other news, you might have noticed that I've got a new header graphic up there, and now you can submit posts you love to Reddit, Digg or StumbleUpon. Handy, no? I do this for you, dear readers. Because I care.

My stupid stomach

In keeping with the practice of wanting things it can't have, my stomach is seriously craving some Cooper cheese, which, of course, I can't get out here. My parents brought some back from a trip back east, but it didn't last long. I could polish off a 5-pound block in no time.

Grrrr.

Home Alone, Day 1: He tasks me...

So natch, the first day I'm in charge of the kids, my son decides he's going to do the Technicolor yawn. Barfing kid--always a crowd-pleaser. Meh.

Ramona's not being too bad so far, although I'd like to eat at some point. Oh well. Not like I'm going to waste away to nothing...

Impending doom?

For the next 5 days, I'm going to be in charge of the kids, as my darling wife is going away on a trip. Now is the time for you all to place your bets on how I'll do.

My prediction: I will have a beard by the time I go back to work Tuesday.

The kids are pretty good, so I should be all right. Plus, I did used to be home with Brody every day, so it's not completely new.

A question for the ages

Seriously, what does "Yah Mo B There" mean?



Thanks to pal Jen at work for getting the song stuck in my head. To be fair, it was sorta in retaliation for this:

Hello, and how are you today?

I'm not suggesting that you bug your co-workers with puerile phone pranks, but if I were, I'd suggest you start with the Miss Cleo soundboard.

Just sayin'.

Watching the game