If it's a whiny ranting post, it must be Monday

I just don't get it.

I live in Modesto, the city of "American Graffiti" fame. During the summer, it seems like you can't go more than a few hours without there being a classic car show of some sort. Driving is really popular here.

So why do so many people here suck so badly at it?

Honestly, is a four-way stop so hard to figure out? I've almost been nailed more than once because some rolling brain trust isn't paying attention to whose turn it is, looks at me as I pull into the intersection after waiting for my turn, and then -- while looking directly at me, mind you -- pulls out about halfway before stopping abruptly when their synapses fire enough to remind them that the laws of physics preclude the possibility of our cars occupying the same space at the same time.

And I'd like to throw out a special shout-out of love to the giant truck-driving moron who not only parked so close to my car that oxygen couldn't reach the driver's-side door but also did so in a spot clearly marked "Compact." You could just barely see it under the back end of the truck that was sticking out into the road.

Modesto may be the car theft capital of the country, but I'm hoping it isn't the moron motorist capital as well. I'm guessing it just seems that way because I'm boring and don't get out much.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go yell at those damn kids on my lawn.

Your purple prose just gives you away

I thought I'd hallucinated it, but apparently not, because I've seen it a half-dozen times in the last week, once in the presence of another person.

I remember people of my parents' generation bemoaning the use of songs from their youth for cheesy commercials. I rolled my eyes and thought that I'd be mildly pleased to hear certain songs in conjunction with selling products. It was going to happen, but surely the next generation would find a way to do it in a way that wasn't so blisteringly stupid.

Yeah.

So now we have a commercial for Kraft Crumbles, which, if the commercial is to be believed, are "crumbelievable."

Ostensibly creative ad person 1: Dude, remember that EMF song from high school? We totally got a good deal on using it!

Ostensibly creative ad person 2: Sweet, but I'm trying to think of something for these Kraft Crumbles. It's due tomorrow.

Ostensibly creative ad person 1: Well, use the song.

Ostensibly creative ad person 2: It's cheese. How is cheese unbelievable?

Ostensibly creative ad person 1: We already paid for it.

Ostensibly creative ad person 2: Crap.

Ostensibly creative ad person 1: Yeah. Oh, wait, I've got it! They're "crumbelievable!"

Ostensibly creative ad person 2: What the hell does that mean? Crumbelievable.

Ostensibly creative ad person 1: It means, I don't know, crumbelievable. What do you want?

Ostensibly creative ad person 2: Something that doesn't suck would be nice.

Ostensibly creative ad person 1: Well, we'll have to settle for something that's done.

Ostensibly creative ad person 2, muttering: Crumbelievable, rassen-frassen...

That's how I like to think it happened, anyway. I could've also lived without hearing faux-Go-Gos singing "We Got the Meat" for whatever pizza place that was.

I'm just worried that this trend will continue, using songs with only the most tenuous connection to the products. Could these examples be too far behind?

Ring of Fire -- Preparation H

Boogie Oogie Oogie -- Kleenex tissues

Wind Beneath My Wings -- Beano

Don't Worry Be Happy -- Prozac

Having My Baby -- EPT

I Just Wanna Stop -- Pepto-Bismol

Pump Up The Jam -- Smucker's (in a new pump dispenser)

Release Me -- Ex-Lax

Smells Like Teen Spirit -- Teen Spirit deodorant

Check Yo Self -- Self-examination health public service announcement

Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm -- Campbell's Soup

Push th' Little Daisies -- Victoria's Secret (from my friend Ken)

Straight Up -- Viagra

Feel free to add your own.

Can't find my way home

When I explained it later, it sounded like I was making it up, or at the very least, pilfering it from a sitcom or something.

I left my parents' house in Tracy recently after a brief visit to claim a computer my dad was working on for me.

Before I left for home, I stopped at Sonic to grab a drink and some tater tots. I hadn't eaten all day, but I didn't want to buy a whole meal because I'd be home in about a half-hour.

After getting my snack, I saw that traffic on 205 was moving at a brisk -3 mph, so I figured I'd take surface streets and catch the freeway farther down. This usually shaves a good few minutes off.

The key word there is "usually." Construction crews had essentially erased the path I'd intended to take, so I sat there. In stopped traffic.

I wasn't going to let it get to me, though. I surmised that though the mile-long construction zone wasn't quite as speedy as I'd've liked, it was still quicker than the freeway once I'd passed the roadwork.

My tater tots were a memory by the time I hit the freeway, but I was practically halfway home.

I approached the 120 bypass and spied a hazard sign that warned of an accident ahead. "Expect long delay," it said. No joke. It was backed up almost all the way to the turnoff to even get on the bypass.

Not a problem. My first thought was that I could swing up to Stockton, catch Highway 4 four a bit and then hop onto 99 south from there.

After driving a little, I realized that I didn't need to go so far. I could catch 99 from Manteca. This epiphany hit me just after I passed Manteca.

I turned around and decided to try the Lathrop exit, as it looked considerably less packed with people rerouted by the accident. I knew I could go down a ways and then cut across into Manteca.

At least, I could've if traffic hadn't ground to a halt because of -- everybody sing along -- construction.

Back onto the freeway and down to the next exit, where, much to my surprise, I was greeted by a long line of cars because of more roadwork.

Normally by this point, I'd be lamenting that there aren't more effective swear words, but I'm making an effort to not let things bug me so much.

All I had to do was just be patient and everything would be okay.

Finally, I made it through the last of the yellow tape and orange cones.

Just in time for the train.

After the train, I made my way through Manteca and caught Highway 99, which looked eerily like a slightly mobile parking lot.

The trip that should've taken just a little over a half-hour ended up taking two full hours.

And my wife wonders why I don't like to drive.

Journey into Jeff's Brain II

Big Trak



I don't think I had this toy, but I sure wanted it. Big Trak was one of the first toys I can remember that you actually programmed. It still looks pretty neat in the commercial, but I know I would have gotten mad at the toy because I would have been trying to make it do things outside its programming parameters (bully stun ray, flying car, etc.). You can read a bit more about this (and other cool toys like the Micronauts) here

Chicken McNuggets



This commercial isn't interesting because it showcases the then-new Chicken McNuggets, a neat-o contest or the old-school dipping sauce containers. No, if you pay close attention, when they show you the McDonald's food you could win, they pan across a whole bunch of stuff, and there on the left, is my beloved fried apple pie in its keen cardboard container.

Sigh.

Pinball song



I didn't watch as much Sesame Street as some of my peers, but there are a handful of things from the show that I love dearly -- this song being one of them. This runs through my head on a daily basis. No, I'm not kidding. After you watch it, you'll find yourself humming it for at least a fortnight.

Journey into Jeff's Brain!

Trying something a little different this week. It's time to Journey into Jeff's Brain!

If you were somehow able to visit my brain, this is the kind of stuff you'd find there. I'll try my best to explain it, but in the end, there's really no good reason why this stuff occupies space in my brain instead of phone numbers, people's names and remembering to eat lunch.

These clips are from YouTube, so they may or may not still be there if you read this in a few weeks. Also, most of the people who uploaded them also have tons more interesting material, so be sure to check them out. You can end up spending way too much time watching these...

Mousercise



My brother and I had to wake up at the buttcrack of dawn on school days, and the biggest problem with that is that there wasn't much in the way of interesting stuff on at like 6-6:30 in the morning. We opted for Mousercise, the Disney Channel's kid-friendly exercise show. We never actually exercised along with the show, but we had a choice between watching this or boring old news, so we endured a half-hour of Kellyn, her headband and leotard as well as perkiness that made Katie Couric look like a mopey emo kid.

I felt bad for the people who had to exercise in the character costumes. That had to be hot in there.

The Edison Twins



Another offering from the Disney Channel by way of Canada, "The Edison Twins" featured twins Tom and Annie Edison, who used science to solve problems. They had a younger prother, Paul. The weird thing is that I know I watched this show a lot, but about all I remember is the theme song and Tom talking "aboat" things.

What's funny is that Marnie McPhail, who played Annie, is also in one of the shows my son watches on the Disney Channel, "JoJo's Circus." She does the voice for JoJo Tickle's mom, Peaches. I could have sworn that JoJo's mom was named Tess, but once I thought about that for more than I second, I realized how horribly wrong I was.

Moving right along...

Donald Duck Presents



One of my favorite shows on the Disney Channel. Partly because of its vaguely "My Sharona" theme song, but mostly because I loved Donald Duck. To me, he was one of the only Disney characters who had a discernible personality. I practiced doing the Donald Duck voice, planning to make it my job someday. I actually wrote that down in my baby book under "My Ambitions."

"30 Years -- To do the voice of Donald Duck or work at DC Comics as an artist for Superman and Action."

I'm 31 now, and the closest I ever got was doing Donald's voice during a performance in elementary school. In our music class, we were learning a song called "Digital Duck." It was from the Disney record "Splashdance," which contained some catchy innocuous tunes about the various characters. This song revolved around Don's bad luck with gadgets. It was a snap for me to pick up because I already had the record at home.

This, our music teacher informed us, was the song we were going to sing for some parent-teacher dinner function. Lame city. I really didn't want to sing in front of teachers and parents, but there wasn't really a way to get out of it.

Somehow, the topic came up that I could do a fairly decent Donald Duck voice. He punctuates the song with typically Donald comments. If I did the voice parts, I wouldn't have to sing. And when my teacher mentioned the possibility of getting a Donald Duck costume, I couldn't believe my luck. I wouldn't have to sing and nobody would know that I was even there.

The day before our performance, my teacher told me that alas, she couldn't secure a costume. I'd just have to stand at the front of the stage with my classmates singing behind me. And since I was going to be up front, I should be sure to wear something nice.

Much to my amazement, my performance didn't elicit tossed tomatoes, but compliments in the parking lot. I remember thinking that the parents were just being polite and trying to make me feel better about looking like a dork, but I suppose they really meant it.

But after that, I decided to keep my bill shut.

The apple pie of my eye

Oh my.

One of my favoritest junk foods in the whole world is/was the old-school apple pies that they used to sell at McDonald's.

You know, the deep-fried, ought-to-come-with-defib-paddles little bundles of appley goodness.

A few years ago, I could still find them at one or two McDonald's restaurants, and when I happened to be nearby, I'd buy a good 5 or 6 of them. This was apparently unusual, judging from the reactions of the people manning the counters.

But in recent years, my supply has been cut off. Kentucky Fried Chicken has something pretty similar with its apple turnovers, which are nice if you can ignore the slight hints of salty chicken.

The picture here was from McD's U.K. site, which I guess gives me yet another reason to travel abroad.

But lo and behold, the Internet lives up to its potential and BAM, recipes for the industrious DIYer, including my beloved (and healthy) apple pies and Shamrock Shakes.

Methinks there will be some food experimentation here in the Siftin' Test Kitchen. And I can work off those extra calories by taking a quick jog to say, Alpha Centauri.

(via the ever-fascinating The J-Walk Blog)

A shoutout to my boy Clark Kent

Superman means different things to different people -- besides the whole "truth, justice and the American way" thing.

To some, he's just a musclebound goober who wears his underwear over his pants. To others, he's a fondly remembered part of childhood. To me, Superman represents hope. This was the case as a kid, and I think even a bit now.

Not surprisingly, I was a lot more like Clark Kent than Superman, even ignoring the issue of super powers. Clumsy, awkward, bespectacled -- the whole shebang.

But that little bit of identification with Kent helped me out in junior high school. I don't think junior high is much fun for anybody, but it sucked beyond suckitude for me. You know the one kid in class who everyone else teases, picks on and generally treats like crap?

Me.

There were a few others who got in on it, but the brunt of it went on me. And I didn't really help matters much, either. I was the youngest in the class, and consequently always behind everyone else. I didn't dress like everyone else, and the mid-1980s was a really bad time to not be wearing clothes with fancy labels.

Plus, in all honesty, I was a dork. Not the cute dorks that are fashionable these days, but an old-fashioned dork -- the social pariah. Between the hormonal hijinks puberty was playing on me and interests that didn't match others' (no sports, etc.), I was an easy target. As you can imagine, I was pretty miserable; the prospect of going to school every day to face yet another barrage of torment did wonders for my stomach. Once in a while, I just stayed home sick. I wasn't faking, either.

Clark Kent (in the comics of my early youth, anyway) didn't get a lot of respect. And while I don't remember him being teased with such bon mots as being so poor he had to use sticks of butter as deodorant, I did notice that he took these things in stride. Sure, he rarely stood up for himself -- just like me -- but he endured.

Thus, so did I. I went to school, knowing that there was the possibility if not the absolute certainty that kids would give me crap. In the back of my mind, there was always the hope that there would be a day that I wouldn't have to deal with that kind of thing. Until that happened, I just pushed up my glasses, Clark Kent-style, and slouched my way through another day.

So even now, Superman still holds a special place for me. I wore Superman S-shield cufflinks on my wedding day. It was a happy and sad coincidence that one of the medical problems my son Harry had when we was born was a genetic condition also referred to as "Superman syndrome." And when Harry died, I got an S-shield tattoo in his honor.

When I saw "Superman Returns," I smiled when I saw the name of Bryan Singer's production company, Bad Hat Harry Productions. And as the familiar strains of John Williams' Superman theme began to play, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little excited.

Just yesterday, Brody asked to watch "Superman cartoons," so I put on the DVD of the first Superman movie. As the music played, he beamed brightly.

"Superman!" he said, bouncing happily on the couch and absently humming the music. It was one of those proud-dad moments. A super one.

Superman Returns

So I saw "Superman Returns" last night. Not bad. I think I need to see it again to decide for sure anyway. Some really cool scenes, and some others that were a bit meh for me.

I thought it was funny that Lois Lane wins a Pulitzer, and on the award it says she won for an article entitled "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman." It should have said titled. I'd think those Pulitzer people would know that...

The theater I went to offered T-shirts to the first 500 people to buy tickets for "Superman Returns." I bought mine on Monday, and yet didn't get a shirt, so I was a bit bummed. I did end up with a free T-shirt from Cold Stone Creamery. It says "Friends don't let friends eat grocery store ice cream."

Or something like that. I'm too lazy to get up and check.

So, as promised, here are the answers to the questions I posted yesterday from "The Official Superman Quiz Book."

1. Kal-El
2. "Star child"
3. True
4. February 29
5. 29
6. June 18, the day Superman landed on Earth
7. Blue
8. 6'2
9. Superman slouches as Clark Kent
10. 200 lbs.

How many did you get right?

More Superman stuff tomorrow, I think. We'll see.

Here's a quiz. Quiz for Doug.

Well, today marks one whole year since I started this here blog, so to celebrate, I'm treating myself to a sneak preview of "Superman Returns" tonight.

To get you in the proper mood for tomorrow's Superman-centric content, here are some questions from "The Official Superman Quiz Book" by Bruce Nash, the book that shifted my interest in Superman into full-blown obsession.

This is the section called "Vital Statistics."

1. What is Superman's birth given name?

2. What is the English translation of his Kryptonian name?

3. True or false: Superman is an only child.

4. When is Superman's birthday?

5. How old is Superman?

6. When does his alter-ego Clark Kent celebrate his birthday?

7. What color are Superman's eyes?

8. How tall is he?

9. Why does Superman stand three inches taller than Clark Kent?

10. How much does Superman weigh?

Now keep in mind this is asking about Superman as he was in 1978. My dad brought it home for me when I was about 4 because he knew I liked Superman and I was a spaz about reading stuff. That was the year I got my first library card, so I was eager to read what looked like a grown-up book.

I read this so much that the only way it could be more in my system is if I liquefied it and injected it straight into my bloodstream. But it's been quite a while since I tried answering these questions? How would I do?

I answered them without looking at the answers, and out of those 10, I got 9 right. I missed the last one by 25 pounds. I was surprised/sad to discovered that I knew the answer to question 6 without having to think very hard about it, and that's probably the most difficult question.

I'll post the answers tomorrow.

Thanks to everyone for reading over this past year, and especially to those of you who have resisted the urge to tell me what a weirdo I am.

My son, the critic.

Generally speaking, Brody likes it when I play guitar. I'll play something, and if he doesn't recognizes it immediately, he asks, "What song is it?" He's actually better than most people at figuring out the songs.

I was noodling around, not playing anything in particular, and he asked what song I was playing. I told him, "It's called 'Brody's Song.'" So I kept playing it, improvising a melody. This, he liked.

When I played it for Jen later, he was still enthusiastic about it. Then I played an Elliott Smith song, "Son of Sam." Brody loves him some Elliott Smith.

I got about halfway through, and Brody looked at me.

"Stop, Daddy, stop, stop, stop! That's terrible!"

So, after waiting for my wife's copious laughter to stop, I switched to "Older" by They Might Be Giants (Brody also loves him some TMBG), and I guess that's what he wanted to hear, because he started squealing with joy again.

President Lincoln ... George Washington ... Martin Sheen ...

A recent trek to some antique stores yielded a happy find for me: five TV Guides from 1983, a prime TV watching year for me. Marked down to 2 bucks each from 10, I couldn't pass them up.

In one of them, I saw this:

My wife's favorite movie is "The Goonies," so I had to show it to her.

looks like Mouth was right. Martin Sheen did play Kennedy once. Now what if Mikey was right about One-Eyed Willie's treasure?

Shirt happens

It's a fact of life: You can't have too many T-shirts.

There are quite a few shirts I wouldn't mind picking up at 80sTees.com, but this one just jumps out at me.

Or maybe this one.

Definitely this one.

Yup.

Things that make you go HNNNNNNNH!

It's Father's Day, and though this is my third opportunity to celebrate my fatheritudosity, it's still a little weird for me.

Mother's Day doesn't freak me out, most likely because I'm not a mother, though I am a bad mother--

(shut your mouth!)

Father's Day is like someone coming up to me and telling me that it's my birthday, even though I know it's not.

Have I really done enough to warrant celebration for my performance as a father? I spend a lot of time with Brody, which is cool, but am I doing okay? Lemme check.

He knows his superheroes.

He recognizes the themes to "Star Wars," "Superman" and "The Price is Right."

He knows "Guess what? Chicken butt" but doesn't abuse it.

So far, so good.

---

My own dad is a tremendously good sport with a great sense of humor. I say this not because I'm planning on telling a funny story about him but because he put up with my brother and me making merciless fun of him while we were growing up. It wasn't malicious; it was always out of love.

Even when we, ignoring the dynamics of regional dialects, teased him for saying "warsh" instead of "wash," which he has since stopped.

I'm ignoring the time we were in a Burger King parking lot and the bubbles from the first sip of soda tickled my dad's nose, and he, trying to fight the impulse to sneeze, emitted a strangely loud "HNNNNNNNH!" noise. No need to recount that tale.

One of the funniest things -- and the first to give me an image of what I'd likely be like as a dad -- happened here in Modesto.

It was summer day in Modesto, which in the words of Eugene Jerome was "Africa hot." We were going to a store, and our car didn't have air conditioning. So after our shopping trip, we could look forward to bursting into flame once we got back in the hot car.

To reduce the heat a little, my dad would often park by a tree for shade. And every time we parked by a tree, he'd tell us that it wouldn't be as hot when we got back in.

"Look," he said as he pulled into a parking place, "right by a tree. Pretty sly, huh?"

As he said the word "sly," the end of the parking spot came a little quicker than he'd anticipated, and he had to stop abruptly, which caused his Big Gulp to fly forward, splashing on the floorboards. Much laughter and Flintstonian grumbling ensued.

That was, oh jeez, like probably 20 years ago, and we still can't mention the word "sly" without laughing.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

He's a very nifty guy

I think it's funny that the two songs Harry Nilsson is probably best known for are two that he didn't write: "Everybody's Talkin'" and "Without You."

Nilsson would have celebrated his 65th birthday today. Alas, he died in 1994.

I'd listened to his work since I was little, either listening to songs from his "Nilsson Schmilsson" album or hearing others sing songs that he wrote, such as Three Dog Night's cover of "One."

You know, the loneliest number that you'll ever do.

There are two artists that prompted me to become obsessed with all things Nilsson: The Monkees and the Muppets.

No, really.

I loved the Monkees as a kid, and in high school, I plunked down my hard-earned funds (I begged my parents) and bought Listen to the Band, the 4-disc box set Rhino Records put out.

Turned out that some of the songs I liked the most were written by Harry Nilsson. That was weird, but it wasn't until I rediscovered the old Muppet Show record I had as a youngster.

There was a song on there -- a duet with Scooter and Fozzie Bear -- called "Simon Smith and the Amazing Dancing Bear." I wanted to know who had written it. The album was a little help; it listed the writer as Newman.

A few clicks on the Internet and I found that not only was it written by Randy Newman, but Harry Nilsson had covered it as well. Newman also wrote "Mama Told Me Not to Come," which was a big hit for -- yes, Three Dog Night.

And then it really hit me. He'd always been around.

As a kid, I loved the movie "Popeye" with Robin Williams and was happy when my cousin supplied me with a tape of the film soundtrack. Guess who did all the music?

He wrote the theme song to "The Courtship of Eddie's Father," which I'd singled out as one of the best on my battered copy of "Television's Greatest Hits."

He showed up in biographies of John Lennon and Micky Dolenz. It was in his London apartment that Cass Elliot, my favorite member of The Mamas and the Papas, died of heart failure in 1974; a few year later, in the same room, the Who's Keith Moon would also die.

So I set out to get all the Nilsson stuff I could find.

There aren't many celebrities I wish I could have met; Jack Benny is one that comes to mind. I wish I'd had the chance to meet Harry if only to thank him for his music. His voice is simply amazing, and his lyrics showed a devilish sense of humor at work.

Go buy a Nilsson album. If you can't pick which one, get one of the greatest hits compilations. That'll give you an idea of where to go from there.

I had to convince my wife that our son, Brody Alexander, didn't owe his name to Nilsson's favorite drink, the Brandy Alexander.

It's true. That didn't even occur to me until later.

Honest.

Random observations and ponderings

I'm probably the last to notice this, but Camry is an anagram of "My car."

How do my shoelaces come undone while I'm sitting?

Why does "The Da Vinci Code" remind me of "Midnight Madness"?

Having fun on the beach

I sat down to write and -- this happens from time to time -- I spaced out. When I zoned back in and looked at my screen, it was filled over and over with "All work and no play makes Jeff a dull boy."

A-ha, I thought, maybe a vacation wouldn't be a bad idea.

Going to a hotel with a topiary maze didn't seem like a very good idea, so we headed for Santa Cruz for a little relaxation. Much to my surprise, I had a good time. I wasn't expecting Santa Cruz to be a drag or anything; just the opposite. I am practically physically incapable of having a good time.

Ask anyone who knows me and is forced to be around me.

My son flew solo on a ride for the very first time, which was kind of nice. I wasn't sure he'd go for it, but after the first few times around the car carousel, he started getting into it and playing with the steering wheel. He liked it so much he wanted to go on the boat ride right next to it.

And despite the crowds, there wasn't a huge wait for rides. Heck, I practically walked right on to the Giant Dipper. Score!

I wasn't mobbed on the beach by adoring women even though it's a well-known fact that chicks dig guys who wear shirts on the beach, even when they go in the water. It's just as well; it's embarrassing to have to disappoint them and tell them I'm already taken.

Aside from the aftermath of defective sunblock, it was a good time all around. I think we need to do that more often.

Next on Sci-Fi: New Zoo Revue

As seen here, the Sci-Fi Channel is now adding Extreme Championship Wrestling to their lineup.

Apparently, says the Sci-Fi prez, "Research tells us that there's a healthy appetite for wrestling among Sci Fi viewers."

I'm sure there's also a healthy appetite for all kinds of things, such as bikini models, puppy dogs and pants that don't tent out embarrasingly in the zipper region.

However, if you have a channel called the "Sci-Fi Channel," you might want to stick with things that are even tangentially science fiction.

I'm just saying.

I've been known to check out wrestling from time to time; I have nothing against it. I miss the old days of Hulkamania, when Hulk Hogan punctuated every sentence with a hearty "brother!" I still do this from time to time, brother!

But what's the point of niche networks if you stray out of the niche you staked for yourself (often to the point of excluding others from showing certain programs)?

That would be like an all-music-video channel suddenly showing cartoons and game shows.

Oh, wait.

This, of course, follows reruns of "Saved by the Bell" being shown on Cartoon Network, so in the coming months I'm sure we'll see some of the following:

Motorsports on Lifetime -- Because research indicates that women drive cars.

Reruns of "Vega$" on GSN -- Because they play games in Las Vegas.

Reruns of "Jackass" on C-SPAN.

If you have vast libraries of science-fiction television programming at your disposal and the best you can come up with is wrestling (I'm not even getting into the Sci-Fi Original Movies), then you have serious problems, brother!

Holy shirt!

Have I mentioned how cool my wife is?

"Oh, I got you something," she said casually one day when I was kinda bummed out.

She could've just told me to wait for it to arrive, but she knows that I can guess just about any gift, even without any clues. So she showed me a picture.

When I was going through pictures, I saw 3-year-old me wearing a shirt with a picture of Darth Vader. On it, it said "Darth Vadar Lives." Since it was spelled wrong, I assumed it was a bootleg shirt or something. Apparently not.

So Jen found a place that carries old store stock T-shirt transfers and got me an adult-sized version of my old shirt.

Through the magic of the Siftin' Temporal Studies department, my younger self and I are modeling our respective shirts.

So in case I haven't mentioned it, yes, my wife is quite cool. Why she hangs around me, I don't know.

Rejected commercials, No. 37

"Bad cholesterol, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

"Crestor. Down with the bad cholesterol. Up with the good."

What day is it?

The more I think about being a kid, the more I really think kids are a little bit nuts. Things that made perfect sense to me as a kid now strike me as bizarre.

Even with as many rules as there are for grown-ups, I think kids had more. Everything had specific ways to be done, from picking teams (Ink-a-Bink or Bubblegum, bubblegum in a dish) to requesting kickball pitches (slow with baby bouncies).

There were even guidelines for the specific days of the week. I don't know what they were at other schools, but this is what we had at ours:

Monday Marriage Day: If you held a girl's hand (or vice-versa), you were instantly bound in permanent matrimony. Until recess was over.

Tuesday Toes-Day: Beware the kids going around stomping on your toes when you're not paying attention. The only way to ward off the attack is by walking on your heels with your toes up. While it protects you from getting stomped, it doesn't protect you from looking like a moron.

Wednesday Wedding Day: I couldn't figure out how this was much different from Monday Marriage Day.

Thursday Throw-Up Day: I don't know that anyone actually did this, at least intentionally. Not a bunch of pukers at my school, I guess.

Friday Flip-Up (or Flip-Off) Day: To kick off the weekend, Fridays were the days that boys would theoretically flip up girls' dresses on the playground. I say theoretically, because, thanks to different growth rates, girls were sometimes taller than boys and would either pound you with their metal lunchboxes or gouge you with the one pinky fingernail they keep long for just such an occasion. I only heard about one kid flipping up a girl's dress, and that was when the days of the week were being explained to me on my first or second day after transferring to the school.

Friday Flip-Off Day was slightly more prevalent, if only for the fact that your can be a little more subtle about flipping people off. Of course, not everyone had the manual dexterity to really flip the bird that well, but we tried as hard as we could, even if we had to hold the other fingers down.

I did not participate in Friday Flip-Off Day because of an incident at my old school in which I, having seen Clyde the Orangutan get many laughs doing so in "Every Which Way But Loose" but not understanding why, flipped off my friend Jimmy, who was standing in line to get lunch. I was immediately disciplined by a passing teacher and had sworn off giving people the bird.

In plain view of teachers or yard duty supervisors, at least.