A giraffe walks into a bar.
"High balls are on me!"
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
I have a bad feeling about this...
UPDATED: StarWarsCrawl.com has been shut down by the Lucasfilm Buzzkill Brigade, alas. Well, it made me laugh while it was up.
(That's what she said.)
Best cookie ever?
The DoubleStuf Oreo is for wussies.
Behold:
The OctupleStuf. Snack of champions.
And guys who have to much spare time at lunch.
Behold:
The OctupleStuf. Snack of champions.
And guys who have to much spare time at lunch.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Because it's always funny
We've all killed time playing cute platform puzzle games by now. But now here's a question: how do you make one that I will play for more than 2 minutes?
If you answered "boobs," you get half credit for knowing me that well.
However, if you answered "Puzzle Farter," give yourself a prize.
No, really.
If you answered "boobs," you get half credit for knowing me that well.
However, if you answered "Puzzle Farter," give yourself a prize.
No, really.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Crossword results: Fountains of win
How did you do on the crossword challenge?
I actually had to consult two reference books--which meant I had to go all the way down into the garage--but I managed to finish it all without the use of the Internet, just like the pioneers did all those years ago.
It's somehow fitting that one of the answers in the puzzle was "ass." At least, my wife thinks so.
Here's my work, screw-ups and all:
I actually had to consult two reference books--which meant I had to go all the way down into the garage--but I managed to finish it all without the use of the Internet, just like the pioneers did all those years ago.
It's somehow fitting that one of the answers in the puzzle was "ass." At least, my wife thinks so.
Here's my work, screw-ups and all:
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Jeff's No-Internet Challenge!
Okay, technically, it's mostly a challenge for me, but if you want to join in the fun, have at it. Here's the deal:
Below, I have scanned in a TV Guide crossword from the week of Nov. 2, 1974. Yes, I'm that much of a nerd that I have a copy of the TV Guide that was current the day I was born, right down to the right regional edition. But that's not important right now.
TV Guide puzzles, by and large, are not known for their difficulty. However, how would I fare at one that demanded pop culture knowledge from 33 and a half years ago? And just to make it interesting, I can't use any Internet resources; only whatever would've been at my disposal back in 1974.
Like I said, you can give it a shot yourself. I'll be back tomorrow to see how we all did. Let me know how you did in the comments if you'd like.
Below, I have scanned in a TV Guide crossword from the week of Nov. 2, 1974. Yes, I'm that much of a nerd that I have a copy of the TV Guide that was current the day I was born, right down to the right regional edition. But that's not important right now.
TV Guide puzzles, by and large, are not known for their difficulty. However, how would I fare at one that demanded pop culture knowledge from 33 and a half years ago? And just to make it interesting, I can't use any Internet resources; only whatever would've been at my disposal back in 1974.
Like I said, you can give it a shot yourself. I'll be back tomorrow to see how we all did. Let me know how you did in the comments if you'd like.
Monday, June 16, 2008
How young is too young to be manipulative?
Kids will get into stuff no matter how much you have kidproofed your house. I stayed home with the kids today, and my daughter was trying to get into everything.
To try to express the importance of not doing such things, I raised my voice--not in an evil-sounding way.
Now keep in mind that she's 10 months old, so she's not much of a conversationalist.
After I picked her up and moved her into the living room, I told her that I didn't want her to get into that stuff because she could get hurt.
She looked at me, smiled widely and gave me a big kiss.
And then went right back where I told her not to go.
Kids.
To try to express the importance of not doing such things, I raised my voice--not in an evil-sounding way.
Now keep in mind that she's 10 months old, so she's not much of a conversationalist.
After I picked her up and moved her into the living room, I told her that I didn't want her to get into that stuff because she could get hurt.
She looked at me, smiled widely and gave me a big kiss.
And then went right back where I told her not to go.
Kids.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
E.T. the extra-functional
Of all the store catalogs I used to comb through to plan birthday and Christmas wish lists, the Best Products catalog was one of my favorites.
I loved going to that store. Whether it was testing out the keyboards by playing "Axel F" or drooling over the G.I. Joe aircraft carrier, I almost always saw something to covet.
The pneumatic tube system they used always fascinated me. You'd write down the number of the items you wanted, handed it to the person behind the counter, and they'd put it in a tube, and SHOOOP--it would get sucked up into the ceiling.
Anyway, I was looking at an old catalog--from 1983--and came across this gem.
This is the Hasbro E.T. Roommate--Product 358010HF if you're writing this down. For the low, low price of $49.97, you too could have this creepy-as-hell hamper/toy chest/cat prison.
Imagine waking up in the middle of the night and bumping into that thing, especially if you were as little as the kid in the picture. I liked E.T. as much as the next kid, but come on. And what's with the Amy Winehouse eye makeup he's got going on?
"They tried to make me go to fed lab, I said phone, phone home..."
I loved going to that store. Whether it was testing out the keyboards by playing "Axel F" or drooling over the G.I. Joe aircraft carrier, I almost always saw something to covet.
The pneumatic tube system they used always fascinated me. You'd write down the number of the items you wanted, handed it to the person behind the counter, and they'd put it in a tube, and SHOOOP--it would get sucked up into the ceiling.
Anyway, I was looking at an old catalog--from 1983--and came across this gem.
This is the Hasbro E.T. Roommate--Product 358010HF if you're writing this down. For the low, low price of $49.97, you too could have this creepy-as-hell hamper/toy chest/cat prison.
Imagine waking up in the middle of the night and bumping into that thing, especially if you were as little as the kid in the picture. I liked E.T. as much as the next kid, but come on. And what's with the Amy Winehouse eye makeup he's got going on?
"They tried to make me go to fed lab, I said phone, phone home..."
Friday, June 13, 2008
No, really. This was a movie.
I think I've mentioned before that after reading The Golden Turkey Awards, my introduction to the world of crap movies, I made it a goal to see all the movies listed in the book.
The 1970s, as I'm finding out by watching old crappy movies, was a time of high-concept cinema. Literally, no matter how brain-crackingly stupid the premise was, it didn't keep a movie from being made.
This was the era, after all, of the Bee Gees' musical wonder, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. I always wondered if the Beatles actually saw the movie, and if so, what they thought of it.
But I digress.
1972 gave us the antidrug, pro-Christian turkey vampire biker horror movie Blood Freak. 1976 unleashed Chatterbox upon the world. I'm a little at a loss as to explaining the premise of this comedy in a mildly tasteful fashion.
Really struggling here.
Okay, any impressionable or easily offended types, you may want to stop right here. I won't blame you.
Here it goes:
A lady discovers that her hoohah (to use the clinical term) can talk and sing.
I excrete you not; this was a real movie. In The Golden Turkey Awards, it was a nominee for "Most Unerotic Concept in Pornography," but alas, was beaten (so to speak) by Him, a movie about, well, you look it up. I have my limits.
Now technically, I haven't watched Chatterbox yet. I don't know exactly when I'll get around to it. I mean, seriously, what kind of a mood do you have to be in to watch a talking hoohah movie?
The 1970s, as I'm finding out by watching old crappy movies, was a time of high-concept cinema. Literally, no matter how brain-crackingly stupid the premise was, it didn't keep a movie from being made.
This was the era, after all, of the Bee Gees' musical wonder, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. I always wondered if the Beatles actually saw the movie, and if so, what they thought of it.
But I digress.
1972 gave us the antidrug, pro-Christian turkey vampire biker horror movie Blood Freak. 1976 unleashed Chatterbox upon the world. I'm a little at a loss as to explaining the premise of this comedy in a mildly tasteful fashion.
Really struggling here.
Okay, any impressionable or easily offended types, you may want to stop right here. I won't blame you.
Here it goes:
A lady discovers that her hoohah (to use the clinical term) can talk and sing.
I excrete you not; this was a real movie. In The Golden Turkey Awards, it was a nominee for "Most Unerotic Concept in Pornography," but alas, was beaten (so to speak) by Him, a movie about, well, you look it up. I have my limits.
Now technically, I haven't watched Chatterbox yet. I don't know exactly when I'll get around to it. I mean, seriously, what kind of a mood do you have to be in to watch a talking hoohah movie?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way
Long before Fight Club, I was one of a number of kids who participated in fighting activities that were expressly forbidden at my school.
Even a nerd like me threw caution to the win and engaged in the fights. There was no elaborate setup; often you and your opponent would just throw down.
But first you needed to prepare, and that meant a trip to the school library at lunchtime. That was where you got your gear.
All the professional pencil fighters swore by the NFL team pencils from the library vending machine. Occasionally, some joker would try to play with one of those Husky pencils that you get in kindergarten--you know, the ones that are as big around as an elephant's leg. But those weren't considered regulation gear.
Many a quarter vanished into that machine, and in addition to dispensing pencils, it also dispensed fate.
In mid-80s Northern California, two team pencils were coveted over all others: the 49ers and the Raiders. If you managed to get one of the red-and-gold or silver-and-black marvels, you had a better chance of winning your pencil fight. The Steelers and the Jets were acceptable second-tier teams.
If, however, you were unlucky, your the machine would puke out teams such as the Browns or Colts. You might as well have snapped those in half yourself rather than risk embarrassment.
Every pencil fighter had his style, but the general approach was the same: while securing one end of the pencil in one hand, you used the other to flick the metal end, at which point the middle of your pencil--the meat, if you will--clashed with your opponent's.
You weren't supposed to try to hit with the metal end; in fact, that was the dangerous part. Every flick had the potential to smash the living crap out of someone's finger by "accident."
But assuming you made the regulation pencil-to-pencil contact, you and your opponent took turns, hoping each hit would be the one that splintered a pencil into oblivion.
The audience took pains to obscure the view of the fight from any teacher, lest the fight get canceled. But once they heard the telltale crack, they got louder and more sure of who was going to win.
We nerds had a bit of an advantage, as it was not uncommon for the badass kids to make such a show of delivering the famed one-hit fatality that they snapped their own pencils.
And suggesting that said badass was only pencil fighting to compensate for anatomic deficiencies usually didn't go over very well.
In any event, even if the nerd won, he'd lose; the badass would just grab the winning pencil and snap it in his face.
Douche.
Even a nerd like me threw caution to the win and engaged in the fights. There was no elaborate setup; often you and your opponent would just throw down.
But first you needed to prepare, and that meant a trip to the school library at lunchtime. That was where you got your gear.
All the professional pencil fighters swore by the NFL team pencils from the library vending machine. Occasionally, some joker would try to play with one of those Husky pencils that you get in kindergarten--you know, the ones that are as big around as an elephant's leg. But those weren't considered regulation gear.
Many a quarter vanished into that machine, and in addition to dispensing pencils, it also dispensed fate.
In mid-80s Northern California, two team pencils were coveted over all others: the 49ers and the Raiders. If you managed to get one of the red-and-gold or silver-and-black marvels, you had a better chance of winning your pencil fight. The Steelers and the Jets were acceptable second-tier teams.
If, however, you were unlucky, your the machine would puke out teams such as the Browns or Colts. You might as well have snapped those in half yourself rather than risk embarrassment.
Every pencil fighter had his style, but the general approach was the same: while securing one end of the pencil in one hand, you used the other to flick the metal end, at which point the middle of your pencil--the meat, if you will--clashed with your opponent's.
You weren't supposed to try to hit with the metal end; in fact, that was the dangerous part. Every flick had the potential to smash the living crap out of someone's finger by "accident."
But assuming you made the regulation pencil-to-pencil contact, you and your opponent took turns, hoping each hit would be the one that splintered a pencil into oblivion.
The audience took pains to obscure the view of the fight from any teacher, lest the fight get canceled. But once they heard the telltale crack, they got louder and more sure of who was going to win.
We nerds had a bit of an advantage, as it was not uncommon for the badass kids to make such a show of delivering the famed one-hit fatality that they snapped their own pencils.
And suggesting that said badass was only pencil fighting to compensate for anatomic deficiencies usually didn't go over very well.
In any event, even if the nerd won, he'd lose; the badass would just grab the winning pencil and snap it in his face.
Douche.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Custard's Last Stand
I just read that Strawberry Shortcake is getting a redesign. This puzzled me, as I thought this had already happened, but I guess it's a reredesign.
According to this article, the line of dolls will be more "fruit forward."
Which means, I presume, that in addition to spending "her time chatting on a cellphone instead of brushing her calico cat, Custard," The Peculiar Purple Pie Man will also be absent.
If you're already wondering "Um, dude, why do you care about dolls? Like girl dolls, anyway," I might remind you that I have a daughter.
Also, I was the only XY at all-XX birthday parties in elementary school, so I'm quite familiar with Strawberry Shortcake and Hello Kitty and all that kind of stuff.
When we got our cat, my first suggestion for a name was Custard because it was the first thing that came to mind. That was nixed pretty quickly, and I came up with Muffin, because you know, Strawberry's friend was Blueberry Muffin...
Honestly, I don't know why I was pushing for a Strawberry Shortcake-related name. The only thing I can think of was that I was trying to impress a girl in my class. I had this unfortunate tendency to do things just because girls asked me to.
Remind me to tell you about the Jeff the Cuddly Kitten Incident sometime.
Um. Right.
Anyhow, why does she have to have a cell phone and not a cat? You can identify with a fictional character without them being exactly like you (not that my daughter is getting a cell phone any time soon).
How much like Superman am I (aside from the cape)? For that matter, how much like Strawberry Shortcake were girls of the 1980s?
Their hair didn't smell fruity; it was either Johnson's Baby Shampoo or at the most, Jean Nate. They didn't dress like Holly Hobbie rejects, though in fairness, I do remember one classmate wearing a bonnet on a field trip.
Instead, the design is veering a little too near Bratz territory for my tastes, so I'm hoping I won't be begged by my daughter to buy these fruit tarts for her.
She's only 10 months old, but you never know...
And while researching this, I found the Web site for Holly Hobbie. This is not Holly Hobbie.
Hang on a sec.
(reading)
Oh, okay. This Holly Hobbie toy is apparently the great-granddaughter of the one we old people grew up with.
Like having kids doesn't make you feel old enough. Sheesh. Next thing you know, they'll be making a Smurfs movie or something.
What?
Seriously?
Smurf me.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Behold the Shat
Off to play some Guitar Hero with the missus, but here's something profound to think about until tomorrow.
Monday, June 09, 2008
The Best of Twitter Collection
If you didn't know, I post teeny things to Twitter, whether they are glorified status changes ("Me am sleepy. Zzzzz.) or gags I couldn't work into a whole blog post.
I also have an autopost to pull whatever blathering I've posted here recently and make a Twitter post of that as well.
I've been using Twitter since February, so I thought I'd look back and see if there was anything worth posting here, partially because this cold is still kicking my ass and I'm really too tired to think of anything clever, and partially to give you a sampling of what you're missing by not following me on Twitter.
Now keep in mind, "follow" is Twitter's verb, not mine. I would go more for "deliberately put up with pointless meanderings for the hope of a nugget of laughter," but that might be a little too long, and we don't want to give Twitter more reasons to be down, do we?
And the most recent:
So if this is the kind of thing you want interrupting your busy day, join the club.
I also have an autopost to pull whatever blathering I've posted here recently and make a Twitter post of that as well.
I've been using Twitter since February, so I thought I'd look back and see if there was anything worth posting here, partially because this cold is still kicking my ass and I'm really too tired to think of anything clever, and partially to give you a sampling of what you're missing by not following me on Twitter.
Now keep in mind, "follow" is Twitter's verb, not mine. I would go more for "deliberately put up with pointless meanderings for the hope of a nugget of laughter," but that might be a little too long, and we don't want to give Twitter more reasons to be down, do we?
Idea of the minute: A Tetris game with oranges, lemons, limes, etc.: Citris. 10:49 AM March 10, 2008
You know, it says something when you switch to a Barry Manilow song to avoid hearing a Michael Bolton song. 03:12 PM March 25, 2008
Viagra turns 10! Hard to believe. So to speak... 08:40 AM March 28, 2008
Would a zombie vampire be easier or harder to defeat? 03:13 PM April 04, 2008
My Tweetcloud lists words that should never be seen together: manilow, marshmallow, marshmallows, masturbating, mcdonaldses 01:24 PM April 07, 2008
Thought for the day: Ra was apparently *not* the god of cheerleading. 10:00 AM April 10, 2008
How have they not used ELO's "Turn to Stone" for a Viagra ad? 01:54 PM April 11, 2008
CleverUserName I sometimes wonder about inappropriate things, like are there "adult" Jell-O molds? I don't really want to know, but still... 02:21 PM April 24, 2008
Pubic Zirconium would be a great name for a band. 12:20 PM May 02, 2008
A movie I can't believe hasn't been made yet: Ax-wielding killer targets defrocked priests---Axcommunication. Rated R. 04:18 PM May 08, 2008
And the most recent:
Waiting for a pro-pornsite story so I can use the headline "Naughty URLs need love, too."
So if this is the kind of thing you want interrupting your busy day, join the club.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Saturday, June 07, 2008
What's in a name?
The ever-enterprising Michelle Collins at Best Week Ever has compiled a list of The 50 Best Pun Stores.
I love these things, because unlike most people, I admit to liking puns. Puns, of course, are like the flatulence of the joke world; everyone can make them, and most of them stink.
That said, if I ever become a restaurateur, I have a few restaurants in mind:
My Tony Roma's competitor, Ribs For Your Pleasure; Donut Make My Brown Eyes Blue; my bakery, Pie R Squared (no round pies here; that's part of the gimmick); and of course, my sushi restaurant, Eat Me Raw.
However, I had nothing to do with the naming of the following restaurant, no matter how much I wish I had:
Awe. Some.
I love these things, because unlike most people, I admit to liking puns. Puns, of course, are like the flatulence of the joke world; everyone can make them, and most of them stink.
That said, if I ever become a restaurateur, I have a few restaurants in mind:
My Tony Roma's competitor, Ribs For Your Pleasure; Donut Make My Brown Eyes Blue; my bakery, Pie R Squared (no round pies here; that's part of the gimmick); and of course, my sushi restaurant, Eat Me Raw.
However, I had nothing to do with the naming of the following restaurant, no matter how much I wish I had:
Awe. Some.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Separated at birth?
Who would notice this if I didn't?
Ambassador Dictator Phantom, the bad guy from Prince of Space,
and arch-nemesis of Rainbow Brite, Murky Dismal:
Ambassador Dictator Phantom, the bad guy from Prince of Space,
and arch-nemesis of Rainbow Brite, Murky Dismal:
Thursday, June 05, 2008
In sickness and in hell
I'm still working on getting over this damned cold. My brain feels just fine, but my body feels like it was beaten by little men.
Through the miracle of science, we're able to see what my body says to my brain when it tries to make me move. We truly spare no expense here. There aren't any words, but I think you'll get the idea.
Through the miracle of science, we're able to see what my body says to my brain when it tries to make me move. We truly spare no expense here. There aren't any words, but I think you'll get the idea.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Like a rickroll with poo
There are very few things I haven't seen on the Internet--whether I actually wanted to or not.
That said, I've still managed to steer clear of watching "Two Girls, One Cup," though I've seen videos of people seeing it for the first time. Now that's entertainment. Likewise, I've also avoided the even more repulsive "Four Girls Fingerpainting."
Now if you have no idea just what in the hell I'm blathering on about, consider yourself lucky. And for the love of God, don't look it up. Same goes for Goatse and Tubgirl. You can get a (mercifully) picture-free explanation at Wikipedia, but trust me, you don't want to know.
The lure of the forbidden is hard to resist. Half of you are more tempted to look this stuff up every time I say not to, so don't blame me. That's how I learned about most of the big Internet shock sites.
You think, "Well, come on...how bad can it be?"
*CLICK*
"MY EYES!OMGWTFBBQ!!11!"
I don't know what the next gross-out video meme is going to be. I mean, how do you top what is essentially a rickroll with poo?
Of course, by the time you read this post, e-mails will be crossing the globe, daring friend worldwide to check out "Three Girls, a Yeti, a Frozen Turkey, Two Grapefruits, Half a Tub of Cool Whip and the Collected Poetry of Rod McKuen."
Don't say I didn't warn you.
That said, I've still managed to steer clear of watching "Two Girls, One Cup," though I've seen videos of people seeing it for the first time. Now that's entertainment. Likewise, I've also avoided the even more repulsive "Four Girls Fingerpainting."
Now if you have no idea just what in the hell I'm blathering on about, consider yourself lucky. And for the love of God, don't look it up. Same goes for Goatse and Tubgirl. You can get a (mercifully) picture-free explanation at Wikipedia, but trust me, you don't want to know.
The lure of the forbidden is hard to resist. Half of you are more tempted to look this stuff up every time I say not to, so don't blame me. That's how I learned about most of the big Internet shock sites.
You think, "Well, come on...how bad can it be?"
*CLICK*
"MY EYES!OMGWTFBBQ!!11!"
I don't know what the next gross-out video meme is going to be. I mean, how do you top what is essentially a rickroll with poo?
Of course, by the time you read this post, e-mails will be crossing the globe, daring friend worldwide to check out "Three Girls, a Yeti, a Frozen Turkey, Two Grapefruits, Half a Tub of Cool Whip and the Collected Poetry of Rod McKuen."
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Cruel summer
Some songs will always remind me of summer, no matter how many times I hear them. I used to listen to my radio while I waited to fall asleep every night. If I was lucky, a relatively cool breeze would blow in just over the head of my bed, a respite from the day's oppressive heat.
And when I say summer, I lived in a part of California where we had two seasons: hot and cold. Summer to me could very well have been in April, but when you're wearing shorts and still sweating your ass off, it seems summery.
Interestingly, the three songs that remind me the most of summer despite having heard them a bajillion times in the years since they were new all came from the same summer. So now I'll make a little like Casey Kasem and do a mini countdown.
3. "All I Need is a Miracle," by Mike + The Mechanics
Released in March 1986, this had been a radio staple for a while by the time it seared itself into my memory. At the end of sixth grade, we had a pool party. The radio was tuned to the local Top 40 station, and for one of the few times that school year, I didn't feel like a total outsider.
Sure, I wore a T-shirt in the pool because I was self-conscious and I wore my glasses so I could, you know, see, but I didn't get much crap about it that day. Everyone was busy having fun.
You know how when you're a kid, everything compresses to a single point sometimes? For a moment in that pool, with this song playing in the background, everything just kind of came together and I actually felt happy. I thought that maybe seventh grade wouldn't be so bad. For that brief pinprick in time, there was hope.
Happy moments come fairly rarely in middle school, so it's not surprising that they stay with you.
2. "Human," by The Human League
Released in August 1986, I don't think this hit the charts till at least September, by which time seventh grade had started, but it was still pretty hot. Plus, since that feeling of hope hadn't quite panned out thus far, it suited my melancholy attitude. I know it's not really about feeling alienated, but since I felt that way in junior high school, anything the slightest bit sad was an anthem for not fitting in.
"What Am I Doing Hanging 'Round" by The Monkees served a similar purpose, so you see how little I paid attention to the lyrics. What can I say? I was emo before emo was emo.
1. "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off," by Jermaine Stewart
Now it's not so much that I particularly liked this song, though I kinda did. But it hit the charts in May 1986 and was in heavy rotation--one of those songs they played every hour.
It didn't occur to me at the time that the song referred to AIDS; I just thought it was a song about abstinence in general. And honestly, selling abstinence to a hopeless nerd is like selling Crayolas to the blind. Though I have to admit that I was puzzled even then. The message I got: Sex = bad; drinking cherry wine = A-OK.
Seemed to me that if you drank enough cherry wine, you had a better chance of taking your clothes off. But I was a miserable, cynical 11-year-old, so I could've been wrong.
Still, this morning, more than 20 years later, I heard this song on my way to work, and for a second I was back in my bed, waiting to fall asleep and hoping for a cool breeze.
Fortunately, I wasn't driving.
And when I say summer, I lived in a part of California where we had two seasons: hot and cold. Summer to me could very well have been in April, but when you're wearing shorts and still sweating your ass off, it seems summery.
Interestingly, the three songs that remind me the most of summer despite having heard them a bajillion times in the years since they were new all came from the same summer. So now I'll make a little like Casey Kasem and do a mini countdown.
3. "All I Need is a Miracle," by Mike + The Mechanics
Released in March 1986, this had been a radio staple for a while by the time it seared itself into my memory. At the end of sixth grade, we had a pool party. The radio was tuned to the local Top 40 station, and for one of the few times that school year, I didn't feel like a total outsider.
Sure, I wore a T-shirt in the pool because I was self-conscious and I wore my glasses so I could, you know, see, but I didn't get much crap about it that day. Everyone was busy having fun.
You know how when you're a kid, everything compresses to a single point sometimes? For a moment in that pool, with this song playing in the background, everything just kind of came together and I actually felt happy. I thought that maybe seventh grade wouldn't be so bad. For that brief pinprick in time, there was hope.
Happy moments come fairly rarely in middle school, so it's not surprising that they stay with you.
2. "Human," by The Human League
Released in August 1986, I don't think this hit the charts till at least September, by which time seventh grade had started, but it was still pretty hot. Plus, since that feeling of hope hadn't quite panned out thus far, it suited my melancholy attitude. I know it's not really about feeling alienated, but since I felt that way in junior high school, anything the slightest bit sad was an anthem for not fitting in.
"What Am I Doing Hanging 'Round" by The Monkees served a similar purpose, so you see how little I paid attention to the lyrics. What can I say? I was emo before emo was emo.
1. "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off," by Jermaine Stewart
Now it's not so much that I particularly liked this song, though I kinda did. But it hit the charts in May 1986 and was in heavy rotation--one of those songs they played every hour.
It didn't occur to me at the time that the song referred to AIDS; I just thought it was a song about abstinence in general. And honestly, selling abstinence to a hopeless nerd is like selling Crayolas to the blind. Though I have to admit that I was puzzled even then. The message I got: Sex = bad; drinking cherry wine = A-OK.
Seemed to me that if you drank enough cherry wine, you had a better chance of taking your clothes off. But I was a miserable, cynical 11-year-old, so I could've been wrong.
Still, this morning, more than 20 years later, I heard this song on my way to work, and for a second I was back in my bed, waiting to fall asleep and hoping for a cool breeze.
Fortunately, I wasn't driving.
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