Deteriorata

The classic parody of Les Crane's recording of "Desiderata" from National Lampoon's Radio Dinner LP, 1972.

The 2009 Diagram Prize

Every year, the British trade magazine, The Bookseller, awards the Diagram Prize for the oddest book title of the year. A record 4500 people voted in the 2009 competition, and the winner is Crocheting Adventures With Hyberbolic Planes by Dana Taimina.

From the Christian Science Monitor web site:

Winning author Daina Taimina, an adjunct associate professor of mathematics at Cornell University, told the Telegraph newspaper that the title wasn’t her original plan. “When I was writing the book, my husband was doing the layout and had to save a file, so he asked me for a title. Since I was expecting the publisher to come up with a great title for marketing purposes I told him to put whatever he wanted and this seemed very appropriate.”

Crocheting Adventures With Hyperbolic Planes won decisively with 42 percent of the vote, beating second place finisher What Kind of Bean is this Chihuahua? By Tara Jansen-Meyer by 12 percentage points. My personal favorite, Collectible Spoons of the Third Reich, received a disappointing eleven percent.

The Bookseller received a record 90 submissions to the 2009 contest. Horace Bent, custodian of the contest, cited Twitter as the reason for the tripling of submissions compared to the 2008 competition. As a result, he had to create an intermediate "very longlist" of 49 entries before a panel of judges could produce a shortlist of six for voting.

Not Your Average Tuba and Accordian Duo

I have become obsessed with Flickr. I enjoy posting photos there and seeing how many people view them. One feature I discovered is the ability to create galleries. You can pick other Flickr users' photos and put them together in groups of eighteen. My most recently assembled gallery is "Tuba Madness." Why? Because I'd already done sousaphones ("Sousaphones Through the Ages"). When I searched Flickr for tubas, one of the pictures which turned up was titled "The Itinerant Locals" and showed a family posing with a tuba. One thing led to another, and I found out the band is based in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and plays in a local establishment called the Brauhaus, and they also tour. They are getting ready for a national tour by train! So, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present this video of the Itinerant Locals, an example of unbridled self-confidence.



Link to my Flickr galleries.

New Manly Blogger Guy Award Recipient

The Manly Blogger Guy Award has languished for months in its parents' basement, awaiting the opportunity to be bestowed on a deserving recipient. It didn't go far after I initiated it last year. Here is an excerpt from the inaugural post:

One of my other blogs, The Marx Brothers, recently received the "One Lovely Blog" award, replete with a logo composed of pink roses, pink ribbons, and a teacup. Obviously, this award was created by a woman to boost the self-esteem of her sister bloggers. One of the requirements of the award is to pass it on to other bloggers, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I toyed with the idea of a more male-oriented blog award, such as a "Blog and Suds" award with a stein of beer for its logo, or a "Silent But Deadly" award, to be awarded only after a blog had received the "Blog and Suds" award. The logo of the SBD award would be an atomic mushroom cloud. I even considered a foldout "Blog of the Month Award." After fellow male blogger Archie also received the "One Lovely Blog" award, I knew it was time for action. Even though Archie graciously accepted and passed on the award, we guys (as men are invariably called in commercials for prostate-shrinking pharmaceuticals) need our own award. Thus I hereby launch the "Manly Blogger Guy Award." The conditions of the award are as follows:

1. The blog receiving the award must demonstrate masculine qualities such as sloth, boorishness, urinary hesitancy, or flatulence. In the interest of equal opportunity, these criteria do not entirely exclude female nominees.

2. No blog which plays background music such as "Somewhere My Love" or "My Heart Will Go On" is eligible.

3. The award should be passed on to as many other blogs as possible, but watching televised sports or taking a nap should take precedence over passing out awards.

For the award logo, I have selected a classic symbol of male self-delusion. Back in the 60s and 70s, Hai Karate aftershave commercials used dialogue like:

GUY: Hey how about a movie tonight?

GIRL: Wow, what's that aftershave?!

ANNOUNCER: New Hai Karate aftershave is so powerful, it drives women right out of their minds. That's why we have to put instructions on self-defense in every package. Hai Karate, the brisk splash-on aftershave that smooths, and soothes, and cools. Hai Karate--aftershave, cologne, and gift sets. Hai Karate--be careful how you use it.

They really did include self-defense instructions with these cheap toiletries. BTW, I bought the product, but never had the opportunity to fight off crowds of amorous girls--or even one for that matter--while wearing Hai Karate.

I have been remiss in not recognizing fellow blogger Matthew Coniam before now. So, I am giving him the award twice--once for his post "Universal Girls Poll Results" at his blog, Carfax Abbey, and once for his post "Marx Mysteries Solved While You Wait! Just ask the council..." at the Marx Brothers Council of Britain blog.

Congrats, mate!

An American Tragedy: Newspaper vs. Snowblower

He never saw it coming.

Winky Dink and Homeland Security

Winky Dink. Dell comic book, 1955.

Happy young viewer bathed in radiation from the television as she draws with her magic crayons on her magic screen, 1953. Photo by Walter Sanders. From the Life Magazine archives.

The author has on numerous occasions expounded upon the significance of the cartoon character Winky Dink. Like the star inexplicably attached to his head, Winky Dink's influence shone brightly over the cultural landscape of 1950s America, sparking the creativity of hordes of rapt young viewers, while boosting the bottom line at CBS by selling millions of magic Winky Dink drawing kits at 50 cents a pop. The kits consisted of a box of crayons, a sheet of plastic, and a cloth. The cloth served two purposes. First, rubbing the sheet of plastic (AKA the magic screen) with the cloth generated a charge which would then cause the sheet to stick to the TV screen, similar to the way rubbing a balloon on your hair builds up static electricity that allows you to stick the balloon to the wall. Second, the cloth served as an eraser to clear the magic screen. To the chagrin of many parents, the cloth didn't erase crayon marks from the glass of the TV if Winky Dink's little fans forgot to attach the plastic sheet before drawing.

As the show unfolded, pictures would be displayed for Winky's viewers to complete. Missing elements included such items as Uncle Slim's bowtie, or a bridge or a ladder which would allow Winky to escape a bear attack or some other peril.

Sometimes, the missing piece of the picture was presented as a connect-the-dots puzzle.

Judging from the news coverage of the recent attempt to blow up an airliner with explosive underwear, what this country needs is someone who can connect the dots. The pundits and reporters on the cable news shows have seized upon the phrase "connect the dots" to explain what it is the intelligence agencies failed to do with the various pieces of evidence they had about the Nigerian terrorist who tried to blow up the plane. I believe I have heard the phrase "connect the dots" roughly 347 times over the past week. It may be used as frequently as twice in a single sentence. Usually, these sentences begin with the reporter lookly earnestly into the camera and saying "Look." Starting a sentence with the word "look" indicates the speaker without a doubt is speaking the truth, and you shouldn't even consider the possibility that he may be talking through his hat.

Even President Obama is getting in on the act. After meeting with his security team yesterday, he stated, "The bottom line is this, the U.S. government had sufficient information to have uncovered this plot and potentially disrupt the Christmas Day attack, but our intelligence community failed to connect those dots." The only way he could have made it better would have been to start out by saying, "Look, at the end of the day..."

Obviously, President Obama must be able to count on his trusted adviors to "connect the dots." We need change we can believe in! Heads must roll! High-ranking government officials must express a sudden desire to spend more time with their families and resign! I am hereby proposing that Janet Napolitano step down as Secretary of Homeland Security. As her replacement, my fellow Americans, I give you someone whose safety, whose security, whose very existence has depended on "connecting the dots" for over a half-century. I give you the one, the only--WINKY DINK! (Cue music: "Happy Days Are Here Again")

Going Green in the Doctors' Parking Garage

Note the sign. These spaces near the elevators are meant to be an incentive for physicians to decrease their carbon footprints. Well, at least there's a token Prius parked there.

French for Americans

In a couple of previous posts ("Flushing Away Convention" and "The Avant-Garde Nature of Winky Dink"), I brought up the name of the French artist Marcel Duchamp. As I edited these posts, I found I tended to put an "s" (called le sigmoid in French) at the end of his name. I have a vague recollection from my single year of French study in high school (l'êcole elevée) that most self-respecting French words have approximately as many silent letters as letters which are pronounced, so it seemed only fitting and proper to tack on the "s" at the end of Marcel's surname. The extra letter adds heft and a certain je ne sais pas to the word without affecting its pronunciation, which I believe is Du-sha, perhaps implying the "m" by pursing the lips diffidently at the end, or perhaps not.

Since my matriculation at Wawasee High School occurred shortly after the glaciers receded from northern Indiana, I thought it would be a good idea to brush up on my French. For this, I turned to one of the books I have managed to retain from my youth. Like my own epidermis, the cover of my copy of The Benchley Roundup (pictured above) has seen better days. The price of $0.75 further betrays the paperback's age. Fortunately, the inside of the book is intact. Turning to the essay, "French for Americans," we learn that that in French the vowels a, e, i, o, and u are all pronounced "ong." Robert Benchley goes on to explain that "the French language has three accents, the acute e, the grave e, and the circumflex e, all of which are omitted." He also supplies a number of "phrases most in demand by Americans," such as "What kind of dump is this, anyhow?" (Quelle espèce de dump is this, anyhow?) and "Two hundred francs? In your hat." (Deux cent francs? Dans votre chapeau.). Benchley provides other helpful travel tips, such as places to find other Americans in Paris, and where to find American food, and side trips that involve getting on a ship and returning to America to relieve the tedium of staying in Paris. He explains currency conversion, with the value of the franc fluctuating as follows:

Monday: 5 cents
Tuesday: 5.1 cents
Wednesday: 4.9 cents
Thursday: 1 lb. chestnuts
Friday: 2 1/2 yds. linoleum
Saturday: What-have -you

He concludes with a list of "Other Words You Will Have Little Use For," including vernisser (to varnish), dromer (to make one's neck stiff working at a sewing machine), and pardon (I beg your pardon).

If you're interested in reading the entire essay, a used copy of The Benchley Roundup may be purchased online for as little as $1.58, though I wouldn't part with my copy for less than a bushel of chestnuts.

Flushing Away Convention

"Fountain," readymade art by Marcel Duchamp, 1917. Photograph by Alfred Stieglitz.

I have developed a tendency to awaken early of late. When this happens, I may get up and read, or write, or watch the special features on a DVD. Sometime I'll have to tell you what happened to the Time Machine after the movie was completed in 1960. Other times I may just lie abed and ponder the Big Questions, such as why does the phrase, "early of late," used so cleverly in the opening sentence of this post, make sense, but the phrase "late of early" does not? Today, I awoke with visions of, not sugar plums, but a urinal dancing in my head. Yes, I have reached an age where the prostate gland looms ever larger on the horizon, much as Vladimir Putin "raises his head and comes into the air space of the United States of America," according to Sarah Palin (this memorable word salad occurs 59 seconds into the clip below of her interview with Katie Couric in 2008). But I was not thinking of a porcelain fixture because of a personal plumbing obstruction. I have not yet joined that jolly band of "guys" (as aging male baby booomers with problems below the belt are invariably called in TV commercials) who frequently must interrupt an ocean kayaking adventure with their buddies (other "guys") to look for a restroom onshore. It's interesting to me that the men in ads for prostate-shrinking drugs are a hale and hearty group, attending baseball games or bicycling across country, and not old coots in motorized chairs who have to take a break from the early bird special at Old Country Buffet to relieve themselves. No, they're all convivial, active "guys."



But enough of that. The reason I brought up the subject of urinals is I want to discuss the dada artist, Marcel Duchamp. As I have pointed out on numerous previous occasions, the blog Lugubrious Drollery is built on a rickety foundation of scant knowledge and an utter lack of expertise, particularly when it comes to the subject of art. This was perhaps best illustrated in the previous post, "The Avant-Garde Nature of Winky Dink," wherein I compared Monsieur Duchamp to a 1950s television cartoon character.

Tonsure. Marcel Duchamp with haircut by George de Zayas, Paris, 1919. Photo by Man Ray.

Winky Dink. Dell comic book, 1955.
My interest in Duchamp was reignited by a connection between one of his more notorious works and a piece of statuary on the courthouse square in Goshen, Indiana. Duchamp's piece is called simply "Fountain" and the Goshen piece is the "Neptune Fountain" or "Poseidon Fountain," and has been discussed here in two recent posts, "Monochrome Fountain," and "Neptune in the Heartland." One thing I found particularly fascinating is that both pieces came from the J.L. Mott Iron Works in New York City. This company produced statues as well as more utilitarian items like stoves, cast iron store fronts, and plumbing fixtures.

People with no more self-respect than to read this blog on a regular basis will appreciate that the author becomes easily fatigued when trying to compose fresh prose and frequently resorts to lifting text from other web sites. Let the current half-hearted effort be no exception! I quote from the article "Idol Thoughts," by Jerry Saltz, in the Feb. 21, 2006 Village Voice. I admire this article if for no other reason than the caption under a picture of Duchamp's urinal: Dada, where's the bathroom? Now there's a title worthy of a "Rocky and Bullwinkle" cartoon or an episode of "My Mother the Car."

In the winter of 1917, Duchamp—then 29, in America less than two years, teaching French, but still a sensation for the scandal his Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 caused at the Armory Show of 1913 (the year he created his first "readymade")—along with collector Walter Arensberg and artist Joseph Stella, bought a Bedfordshire model urinal from the J.L. Mott Iron Works at 118 Fifth Avenue. Duchamp took the fixture to his studio at 33 West 67th Street, laid it on its back, and signed it "R. Mutt 1917." The name is a play on its commercial origins and also on the famous comic strip of the time, Mutt and Jeff (making the urinal perhaps the first work of art based on a comic). In German, armut means poverty, although Duchamp said the R stood for Richard, French slang for "moneybags"...

Mr. Saltz goes on to explain how Duchamp submitted "Fountain" to an exhibit put on by the Society of Independent Artists. Everything submitted was supposed to be displayed, but the Independent Artists made an exception in Duchamp's case. Maybe he would have done better with the Society of Incontinent Artists. In any event, "Fountain" went missing after the exhibit. Duchamp eventually authorized eight replacements. Saltz reported in his article that on January 4, 2006, 77-year-old French performance artist Pierre Pinoncelli took a hammer to one of Duchamp's Fountains, valued at 3.4 million dollars, at a dada show at the Pompidous Center. This wasn't his first assault on Duchamp's work. In 1993, the iconoclastic Monsieur Pinoncelli urinated into "Fountain" and damaged it. Perhaps if he were on a drug to decrease the size of his prostate, he would be less irritable and instead of attacking pricy plumbing fixtures, could spend his time bicycling around the French countryside with other "guys," unimpeded by the need to stop at every pissoir along the way.

Duchamp set off a debate on the nature of art that continues to this day. Can found objects really be considered art? Is something art just because the artist says it is? Is Duchamp chortling up his sleeve in dada heaven to think that someone would consider paying 3.4 million dollars for something that he couldn't even get displayed at an art exhibit in 1917?

I'd like to stay and discuss this further, but I need to visit the restroom.

The Origin of "South Pacific"

Rogers: Knock knock.

Hammerstein: Who's there?

Rogers: Sam and Janet.

Hammerstein: Sam and Janet who?

Rogers: Sam and Janet Evening...

The Avant-Garde Nature of Winky Dink

Tonsure. Marcel Duchamp with haircut by George de Zayas, Paris, 1919. Photo by Man Ray.

In the book, Dada Culture: Critical Texts on the Avant-Garde, edited by Dafydd Jones, T.J. Demos writes:

In 1919 Duchamp had the shape of a star cut into the hair on the back of his head (Tonsure). Here, the articulations of his artistic practice...intersected with his bodily appearance, as language's flight crossed over Duchamp's own physical decontextualisation. Duchamp threw himself into the flux of expatriation, rewriting his own appearance, and giving life to his own inscriptions.

The author goes on, with terms like "ephemeral tattoo," "eventual erasure," "sublime state of pure becoming," and "perceptual counterpoint." You get the idea. I really can't bear to transcribe any more.

Winky Dink. Dell comic book, 1955.
No doubt, existential angst and surrealistic tendencies led my boyhood idol Winky Dink (see previous post "Winky Dink and Me") to adorn his cranium with a star. He was so out there, he went Duchamp one better by wearing a star for a collar.

Shadow Shot Sunday #71

This week's entry for Shadow Shot Sunday, Monochrome Maniacs, and Bad Haiku memes.

In the jungle, the mighty jungle,
intrepid explorer
attacked by cheeky monkey.

Winky Dink Dragged Through the Mud!

The good name of one of my TV cartoon heroes of the 1950s is tarnished forever! The alleged mistress of convicted Ponzi schemer Bernie Madoff has written a book, hoping to recoup some of the dough which her boyfriend bilked her out of. The illustrious New York Daily News reports that Sheryl Weinstein said of Madoff,

He was a "good kisser,"...who gave her a "welcoming smile (she'd)never forget" the moment they met. She even came up with a code name for him - "Mr. Winky Dink" - based on his nervous blinking.

Oh, pity poor Winky Dink, who never wanted anything but for young children to absorb emissions from primitive cathode ray tubes as they sat frighteningly close to their televisions and drew on their magic screens with their magic crayons. We should draw him a magic grave so he can roll over in it as he receives this news.

Monochrome Maniacs: Second Amendment

A well-regulated militia subdues a menacing giant.

The Manly Blogger Guy Award

One of my other blogs, The Marx Brothers, recently received the "One Lovely Blog" award, replete with a logo composed of pink roses, pink ribbons, and a teacup. Obviously, this award was created by a woman to boost the self-esteem of her sister bloggers. One of the requirements of the award is to pass it on to other bloggers, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I toyed with the idea of a more male-oriented blog award, such as a "Blog and Suds" award with a stein of beer for its logo, or a "Silent But Deadly" award, to be awarded only after a blog had received the "Blog and Suds" award. The logo of the SBD award would be an atomic mushroom cloud. I even considered a foldout "Blog of the Month Award." After fellow male blogger Archie also received the "One Lovely Blog" award, I knew it was time for action. Even though Archie graciously accepted and passed on the award, we guys (as men are invariably called in commercials for prostate-shrinking pharmaceuticals) need our own award. Thus I hereby launch the "Manly Blogger Guy Award." The conditions of the award are as follows:

1. The blog receiving the award must demonstrate masculine qualities such as sloth, boorishness, urinary hesitancy, or flatulence. In the interest of equal opportunity, these criteria do not entirely exclude female nominees.

2. No blog which plays background music such as "Somewhere My Love" or "My Heart Will Go On" is eligible.

3. The award should be passed on to as many other blogs as possible, but watching televised sports or taking a nap should take precedence over passing out awards.

For the award logo, I have selected a classic symbol of male self-delusion. Back in the 60s and 70s, Hai Karate aftershave commercials used dialogue like:

GUY: Hey how about a movie tonight?

GIRL: Wow, what's that aftershave?!

ANNOUNCER: New Hai Karate aftershave is so powerful, it drives women right out of their minds. That's why we have to put instructions on self-defense in every package. Hai Karate, the brisk splash-on aftershave that smooths, and soothes, and cools. Hai Karate--aftershave, cologne, and gift sets. Hai Karate--be careful how you use it.

They really did include self-defense instructions with these cheap toiletries. BTW, I bought the product, but never had the opportunity to fight off crowds of amorous girls--or even one for that matter--while wearing Hai Karate.

The inaugural recipients of the MBG Award are:

#167 Dad
Archie's Archive

Congratulations, GUYS!

First Michael Jackson, and Now...

Still reeling from the shock of Michael Jackson's death, Lugubrious Drollery has just received the following sad news:

MADISON, Wis. (AP) -- Oscar G. Mayer, retired chairman of the Wisconsin-based meat processing company that bears his name, has died at the age of 95.

Mayer's wife, Geraldine, said he died of old age Monday age at Hospice Care in Fitchburg.

He was the third Oscar Mayer in the family that founded Oscar Mayer Foods, which was once the largest private employer in Madison. His grandfather, Oscar F. Mayer, died in 1955 and his father, Oscar G. Mayer Sr., died in 1965.

Mayer retired as chairman of the board in 1977 at age 62 soon after the company recorded its first $1 billion year. The company was later sold to General Foods and is now a business unit of Kraft.

Mayer's first wife, Rosalie, died in 1998. He married Geraldine Fitzpatrick in 1999.

Even more disturbing is the fact that one of the current fleet of Wienermobiles passed through my hometown recently and I missed it.

Mr. Mayer requested that there be no Wienermobile in his funeral procession. More's the pity.

The Worst TV Show Ever?

Model car kit like the one assembled by the author, ca. 1966

Regular readers of Lugubrious Drollery, if such a class of human beings exists, will be aware that the author has what some might call a disturbing fascination with the contempible. Previous posts have investigated the most boring book of all time, the closely related topic of the weirdest book title, the most hideously decorated cakes, the worst vice-presidential candidate (Sarah Palin), the lowliest weed (burdock), the most maligned mineral (asbestos), and of course, the worst U.S. Presidents, especially that perpetual object of scorn and rebuke, Franklin Pierce.

Recent interactions with fellow bloggers have started me thinking about a television show that has been ranked by TV Guide as one of the worst TV shows ever produced, ranking just above The Jerry Springer Show, which was designated as the worst. Considering the vast collection of dreck broadcast over the airwaves over the last sixty years or so, that's quite a distinction. The show singled out for this dubious honor was My Mother the Car. Thirty episodes were aired in 1965 and 1966, and then it was all over. I don't believe the show was ever brought back in syndication, although a few episodes are now available for viewing on YouTube.

What initially reminded me of MMTC was a post about the fantasy TV shows of the 60s, including The Flying Nun, at the blog of W.Z. Snyder, #167 Dad. He mentioned the premise of MMTC--a guy's mother is reincarnated as a 1928 Porter automobile--which reminded me that one of the many model cars I assembled as a nerdy adolescent was My Mother the Car (shown above). After that, I couldn't get this fragment of the theme song from MMTC out of my head:

A 1928 Porter
That's my mother dear
She helps me through
Everything I do
And I'm so glad she's here

As if that weren't bad enough, Matthew Coniam, at his blog The Marx Brothers Council of Britain, stirred up more memories when his post about director Norman Z. McLeod included a poster for the movie Swing Shift Maisie (1943). The poster features the young and beautiful star Ann Sothern, who went on to have her own TV show, and still later was the voice of none other than My Mother the Car.

Now that MMTC has been forced back into my consciousness, I have done some research and found out the following about the show:

Jerry VanDyke, brother of Dick VanDyke, turned down the part of Gilligan in Gilligan's Island to play Dave Crabtree, the lead in MMTC.

Two cars were used to film the series. Neither was a real Porter. They were assembled from parts of other old cars plus some custom made parts by George Barris, who also created the Batmobile for the Batman TV series, the Munster Koach, and many other cars for TV and the movies. The power train consisted of a 283 cu. in. Chevy V8 and a Powerglide automatic transmission. One of the "Porters" was a stunt car with the floorboards removed and equipped with mirrors so the driver could be out of sight in scenes where Mother was supposed to be traveling around on her own.

Was MMTC really any worse than shows about a witch in the suburbs, a Martian masquerading as an earthling's uncle, hillbillies living in a mansion, etc., etc.? In my opinion, it's a close race.

One thing MMTC had going for it was the fact it was created by Allan Burns and Chris Hayward, who also created The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, which usually had great titles for its episodes. Some of this same brilliance shines through in the titles of the MMTC episodes. The complete list follows:

"Come Honk Your Horn"
"The De-Fenders"
"What Makes Auntie Freeze"
"Lassie, I Mean Mother, Come Home"
"Burned at the Steak"
"I'm Through Being a Nice Guy"
"Lights, Camera, Mother"
"The Captain Manzini Grand Prix"
"TV or Not TV"
"My Son, the Ventriloquist"
"My Son, the Judge"
"And Leave the Drive-In to Us"
"For Whom the Horn Honks"
"Hey Lady, Your Slip Isn't Showing"
"Many Happy No-Returns"
"Shine On, Shine On, Honeymoon"
"I Remember Mama, Why Can't You Remember Me?"
"Goldporter"
"The Incredible Shrinking Car"
"I'd Rather Do it Myself, Mother"
"You Can't Get There From Here"
"A Riddler on the Roof"
"My Son, the Criminal"
"An Unreasonable Facsimile"
"Over the Hill to the Junkyard"
"It Might as Well Be Spring as Not"
"Absorba the Greek"
"The Blabbermouth"
"When You Wish Upon a Car"
"Desperate Minutes"

I've watched part of the first episode, "Come Honk Your Horn" (a takeoff on "Come Blow Your Horn," Neil Simon's first play, later a movie starring Frank Sinatra), on YouTube, and I'd have to say the title is the best part of the show.

National Doughnut Day

Today is National Doughnut Day, and those great institutions, Krispy Kreme and Dunkin Donuts, continue to fuel the increasingly morbid obesity of the American population with the offer of a free donut.

Don't forget to stop by Burger King later for lunch. Maybe they'll give you a free crown.

3 Guys: Byron and Shelley and Goethe

Bust of Lord Byron, Nottingham Castle
Photo by David Cory, October 1, 2008

During my fourth year of medical school, we lived in an apartment across the hall from a dermatology resident from Alabama who made us aware of the Red Clay Ramblers, among other musicians. At the time (1980), Mike Craver was a member of the group, and he wrote a brilliant song based on Franz Schubert's "Freuden Sonder Zahl" (Seligkeit D. 433). The lyrics follow. I'd encourage any interested readers to download the song from iTunes. It appears on the RCR album "Hard Times."

You really have to hear it to fully appreciate it.

"THREE GUYS"
words and music by Mike Craver
Joy and bliss and love
Come from Heaven above
Schnitzel and filet mignon
Come from the animal kingdom
Byron and Shelley and Goethe
Were finishing up their dessert-a
When the garcon came to reckon,
Byron to Shelley did beckon
"You stall the waiter, I'll give the slip
Goethe for certain will hide in the curtain
And think up a jolly good quip"
These Three Mousketeers thought it outre
To travel about on the subway
Pedestrians get there too slowly
And buses are common and lowly
They hailed down a nice yellow taxi
Climbed grinning and gay in the backseat
The fare came to over a fiver
So they replied to the driver
"We have no money, we have no tip
But we can see by the love in your eye
That you'll let us get by with a slip"

They snuck in one night to the Bijou
Drinking vodka and Milk of Magnesia
They littered the balcony boxes
Grinning like toothless old foxes
Saint Peter was watching the action
With a dim view of dissatisfaction
He pinned up a sign on the portals:
"WE KNOW LONGER TAKE IN IMMORTALS"
Oh you stall the waiter,
I'll give the slip,
Goethe for certain
Will hide in the curtain
And think up a jolly good quip
Goethe for certain
Will hide in the curtain
And think up a jolly good quip

Bad Bob

As I was writing about Spiro Agnew in the previous post, I thought about other events of the 70s, and recalled a great movie from 1972: "The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean." One of my classmates during the first year of med school coined a term--at least I think he coined it--for drinking a large volume of hot coffee. He called it "Bad-Bobbing." This originated with the scene below, featuring Bad Bob (not Dirty Bad Bob, the Mexican--but the original Bad Bob--the mean one, the albino [played by Stacey Keach]). Watch the clip and you'll understand the concept of Bad-Bobbing.