The Real Culprit Behind The Twitter Shutdown...

The secret Twitters of Doctor Doom!

BAH! Doom's iPod stuck on "I'm Walking On Sunshine . . ." AGAIN!

about 2 days ago from Twitterriffic

That song's enough to make anyone want to blow up something. Thanks to my pal, Gary for fleshing this out.

Friday Videos #1

Okay, so my work bud, Jimmy McParkway shared these two classic, best-of-the-worst of local television spots with me today. They are hilarious. In light of the difficult events of the week, I do believe we all need a good, long hardy-har-har.

The first is a breakfast song which aired on the WTVA Tupelo Missississississississississippi mornin' show "The Kay Bain Show" way back in May of 2004. It is sung by Minister Cleo Clariet and his fiance Katherine Lane, who incidentally looks more than a bit stoned. It goes on for-E-V-E-R!!

Coincidentally, the right Reverend passed away from congenital heart disease six months later. I know! Ironic, right? No mo' bacon, indeed.

This next one is by far my favorite. A snazzy furniture huckster from I'm guessing, Montgomery doing his thang, getting his groove on, pushing the fine pleather sofas.

LOL!!!! "To the left. To the right. Let's make this..a dance. Flea Market. Montgomery. It's just like...It's just like.. a Mini...Mall." Oh YEAH!! We talking 'bout Flea Market!

OhmiGod! I love this. Me and Jimmy were doing the Flea Market Mambo all morning. This ditty is waaay too catchy. If this doesn't put a smile on your miserable mug, then you are a Cyborg.

It's in your brain now. You know you'll be singing this all day.

You're welcome.

Twitter Down for Hours!! Millions Forced to Communicate Face-to-Face!

Mayhem ensues as people are forced to actually *gasp* phone one another for social contact. Experts reeling. Could this happen to you? What you can do to prevent this atrocity from befalling you and your loved ones. We'll have tips at 11.

Yeah. Apparently people were really freaked out about this Twitter black out thing. Me...I was outside, in the company of an actual person, doing real-life things. By 5pm the "crisis" was averted and Tweeters were back on their collective electronic perches sharing details of their latest fruit smoothie.

And there was joy again in Tweetville.

In Which I Will Never Understand the Darkness in Some Men's Hearts...

Last night a 48 year old man donned his workout clothes, packed his gym bag with four firearms, walked into a dance class at his gym and shot 13 women, killing three of them.

My first thought when these horrendous events occur is, yet another boyfriend unable to accept the relationship is over and unwilling to allow another to be with "his girl". The old if-I-can't-have-her-no-one-will twisted logic which poisons the minds of too many disturbed men.

It is unclear if he had a relationship with any of the women present in that class last evening. He left a note in his bag, the contents of which have not been released by the police. He did, however, pen a manifesto online filled with red flags. These hate-filled ramblings indicate he planned to carrying out these cold-blooded killings in January, but "chickened out" at the last second. His words.

Of course no one read his diary prior to this horrifying incident. He was no one of note or notoriety. Why would anyone Google him and stumble upon his "diary". In fact, I would be surprised if anyone other than himself ever read it.

Until now.

Now everyone is reading it. Trying to figure out what would lead this relatively attractive man with a stable job and a modest home to take the lives of innocent women before turning the gun on himself. Ironic, isn't it.

Life is so light. It's like an outline.

All one can hope for is to surround oneself with those who would fill in that outline, and avoid those who would erase it. So hold your dear ones close. Tell them how much you love them. You never know if you'll have a tomorrow.

As long as I live, I will never understand the darkness in some men's hearts.

Sometimes You Just Have to Try Something New

or my afternoon with The Low Anthem

Okay, so I think of myself as having relatively eclectic taste in music. I run the genre between rock, pop, 40's (Dino to Cab Calloway), world, alt rock, alt country, singer songwriter...etc. But I'm ashamed to say that I rarely venture out to listen to a band with whom I'm unfamiliar.

This afternoon I decided to throw caution to the wind, stick my big toe outside of my cushy, musical comfort box, and head off to our public radio station for a free in-studio session of the relatively unknown-to-me group, The Low Anthem.

I know. I'm a rebel. You can't stop me.

Anywho, my past experience with this group is this: I've heard the name...probably heard a song played on the outstanding WYEP...but cannot connect the dots to save my life. I walked in the door (barely on time because parking is INSANE in the South Side! I was blocks and blocks away! There is like NO parking there! You can tell how exasperating it is to me by my excessive use of !!!) with an open mind and absolutely no expectations.

You know what...it wasn't the least bit painful. I mean, okay, it wasn't the most uplifting music I've ever heard. Nor was it the most energetic performance ever witnessed, but they were...interesting.

First off they played a random selection of traditional and unorthodox instruments. First couple songs included a rhythm guitar, upright bass and a clarinet mournfully played by the lone female of the group. Then they started pulling out the weird shit...an old pump organ they restored, an ancient, flat-ish tuba and a Crotales.

That was the oddest thing I've ever seen. According to Wikipedia, they are antique cymbals which can be played by striking the plates or bowing. Our lass chose the bow, resulting in quite the lovely, sorrowful sound.

Then for the ending of one song (I can't remember which), the singer, Jeff pulled out two cell phones set on speaker to create a whistling sound. That was pretty cool. All of these oddball elements resulted in a unique musical quality.

The thing that struck me as I observed these youngsters, was the difference in each member's stage presence. The bass/pump organ player was bedecked in his jazzy black hat, longer hair and made eye contact with the small crowd as he bopped around slightly to the beat of his upright.

The singer/guitar/horn/cell phone player stood stone still, head lowered, hair dangling over his down-cast eyes and rarely made contact with the onlookers even when answering questions from the host.

The girl...aaah, the girl was interesting. She had long blonde hair pushed to one side, waif-like. When she played the Crotales and especially the clarinet, she made up for all the non-movement of the other two. She would sort of prance in place, horse-like to a strange inner rhythm not played out in the song. And she never opened her eyes while singing or playing the clarinet.

Peculiar, but not unexpected. They're just babies really. They lack the confidence of seasoned performers and haven't quite figured out how they want to project themselves to the public. However, they were all very nice at the meet and greet. Humble without attitude.

Did I like The Low Anthem. Not really. Not at this point in their very young history anyway. Their music lacks the variety, the energy and punch which make me hot for a band. It all sounded a little too similar and doleful. But they're just pups, and have a long way to grow. Hopefully in a few years, their sound will be as compelling as their instrument choices.

Here's a clip from YouTube:

The Big Madonna Gun Controversy

and no, I'm not talking about weapons

Okay, so I open up a new page on Safari, and on Netscape's home page there's this big ole to-do about Madonna's arms. "Has she gone too far?" the headline reads.

YIKES!! I'd say, yes. WTF?!

You know the older she's gotten--with all the tightening of her face and the hollowing of her cheeks--the more she's started to look like Waylon Flowers' puppet, Madame. You remember them?

Or maybe it's Mrs. Chancellor from The Young and the Restless.

Either way. DAMN! Get a grip, Madge. You're almost 51. It ain't the end of the world. Give them guns a rest. And eat a hoagie while you're at it.

KA-CHUNK!!!!

or why I'll never be a successful knife thrower in the circus

Okay, so I'll admit it. I have a love/hate affair going on with my Santoku knife.

It is hands down (no pun intended) the GREATEST knife on this entire blue planet! Seriously. It's the only knife anyone ever needs. It's completely flat on the bottom so you can effortlessly chop through a line of veggies in no time flat. It makes cutting food a true joy. Look at how pretty it is. I LOVE IT!!

It also has a tendency to attack me.

No shit. I have more than one scar on my hand to attest to the occasional evil nature of my beloved blade.

Case in point... let us revisit last night, shall we. I had spiral cut a pineapple using a handy-dandy pineapple spiral cutting thingie to take along to Girl Fest at the Lake* this weekend. (This is a trip to Lake Erie me and my card club gal pals take every July. Loads of sun, fun and various alcoholic endeavors. Hey, we're girls...it's what we do.) As is illustrated in the photo, one is left with all the pineapple hugging the corer thingie in need of cutting off. I made the first cut... no problem. Spun the fruit a quarter turn and ... Ka CHUNK!!

My Santoku went rabid and attempted to chop my knuckle off!?! Seriously. Almost CHOPPED..IT..OFF!!

At first there was nothing. No pain. No blood. Then Holy CRAP! It hurt like a Son of a Bee-yatch. Blood was pouring forth like a burst pipe. For a moment I thought I'd hit an artery, but there are no arteries in fingers, right? It bleed through one bandage, then a second. When I finally got it wrapped sufficiently to stop making everything in site red, my first thought was "This is why Geo cringes when I wield a knife."

At least I didn't get any of my DNA in the fruit. I mean I love my girlfriends, but there are some things that just don't need to be shared.

Oh Santoku. Why you be hating on me so?

Yeah. Clearly I won't be joining the circus as a knife thrower any time soon.