Bert and Ernie at their Best

My daughter of 4 1/2 is obsessed with Bert from Sesame Street. We have puppet Bert, 12 inch Bert, mini-Bert, baby Bert, finger-puppet Bert, TY Bert, and everything from a Bert car to a Bert hair tie. We frequently look for videos of Bert and Ernie on YouTube. While we have seen "Doing the Er-Er Pigeon" and the "La La La song" a zillion times, no video tops this one I found while searching one day. My daughter has seen it a few times, but the lyrics are a bit, um, questionable, so we only watch when mom's not around. JK. Anyway, brilliant, brilliant, brilliant is this video. It puts the two boys in a whole new light. And this is how they roll...

A Childhood Nightmare - Recommended!

Two words: Roger Corman. I grew up on Roger Corman films. He was the master of late '50's to early 70's well-crafted, atmospheric chillers filmed cheaply and hurriedly, but constantly entertaining. My all time favorite film of Corman's, and still the core of many a nightmare, is his 1961's "Pit and the Pendulum," the title which appears on the opening credits. It has been loosely referred to as "THE Pit and the Pendulum," but any way you slice it, a truly chilling feature "based" on a story by Edgar Allen Poe.

Like the majority of many artistic interpretations of Poe films, this one shares nothing with that story, except its title. Titular issues aside, "The Pit and the Pendulum" is indeed a nifty little thriller, NOT a horror film, with a very fine, if hammy, Vincent Price at the peak of his thespian powers. To his credit, though, if there is any actor who could play over the top, and still capture the audience's sympathy, it is Price. In its brief running time, "The Pit and the Pendulum" manages to tell two haunting interconnecting tales at the same time, in the end though, it is all the same story.

Screenwriter Richard Matheson ("What Dreams May Come," (Robin Williams) and"Somewhere in Time" (the late Christopher Reeves)) lets the past inform the present with every stroke of his pen, allowing history to repeat itself. The tale to be told is that of the Medina family, represented by Don Medina (Price) and Catherine (Luana Anders) mourning the death of Don's beloved wife Elizabeth. Elizabeth has been dead for three months when her brother Francis (John Kerr) arrives to investigate the death of his sister. Francis arrives at the bulking Medina castle, somewhere on the rugged Spanish coast, to be greeted with apprehension and mendacity from the Medina clan. Upon seeing a portrait of the late Medina patriarch, Sebastian, Francis realizes that he is in the home of one of the Spanish Inquisition's most notorious torturers, rating nearly as high on the Inquisition's list as Torquemada! Past and present fuse as Francis is given a tour of the castle's dungeon with all of its devices of torture: a rack, an iron maiden, etc and the grave of his sister Elizabeth, who has been interred in the walls of the basement. Or has she?

Strange things are afoot over at the Medina place: a harpsichord which plays by itself, Elizabeth's ring magically appearing on the scene, whispered instructions to a hapless maid, and a ghostly feminine voice calling out Don Medina's name. Further complications ensue when, with the help of the family doctor who pronounced Elizabeth dead, Elizabeth's grave is exhumed and it is found that Elizabeth had been buried alive! Just as Don and Catherine's mother had been buried alive by their father! Have the sins of the father come back to haunt the son? Has Elizabeth truly returned from the grave to wreak vengeance on her husband? Will Don Medina's ever-increasing insanity lead to the murder of Francis for knowing too many family secrets? Once that pendulum begins to swing its razor-sharp blade will Francis' remains remain ensconced in the blood pit with the skeletons of the pendulum's endless array of victims? These questions will, and many more, will be answered as surely as the pendulum swings both ways, all topped off with a final zinger in a class by itself.

Never dull, and constantly surprising, the film is sure to entertain despite its lack of blood and guts; it is a film which allows the audience to fill in the blanks with their own vivid imaginations. "The Pit and the Pendulum" is an elegant valentine to the talents of Edgar Allen Poe and the nightmares he gave to his readers, as well as to Roger Corman's dedication to bringing Poe's name to the screen. I highly recommend the film for a Saturday afternoon's pleasure as it was mine for many years of my youth. Below is the trailer of the film.

*Note: The voice narrating the trailer of the film is none other than Paul Frees. Have you ever been on "The Haunted Mansion" ride in Disneyworld? That's him: "Welcome, foolish mortals..." He is the Disney narrator of the famed dark ride.

"As ever-lovin’ Hulk! HULK!! HULK!!"

In 1966, several years before I was even born, Marvel Comics produced sixty-five episodes of three seven-minute segments of heaven. These were the original Marvel cartoons. The term "cartoon" is loosely used here. In reality, these images were taken directly from the comics and manipulated to minimize the need for animation production. The cartoons were presented as a series of static comic-strip panel images; generally the only movement involved the lips, when a character spoke, and the occasional arm or leg. Now, the episodes were good, the it was the opening songs that introduced some of the more popular marvel characters that stole the show. If you are between the ages of 40 and 50, you will immediately recognize the brilliance of "Doc Bruce Banner, pelted by Gamma-Rays..." or "Tony Stark, makes you feel, he's a cool exec with a heart of steel!" and finally "When Captain American throws his mighty shield!" Just typing those words put a nostalgic smile on my face. I worshipped these songs and cartoons. My love for the Incredible Hulk started here, and 36 years later, is still going strong. Be sure to check out some of the opening songs below. I hope that you will find them as mesmerizing as I still do.

Happy Easter. Don't call me Jude-y!

For those of you who do not know Eddie Izzard, shame on you! Eddie, the "Executive" transvestite, is an enormously popular British comedian who is known for his brilliant social observations. He is unpredictable, chalking up many of his comedic genius to his early days of Monty Python, Richard Pryor, and Benny Hill. He began doing stand-up at college and, after being ingloriously kicked out of school, he took his act to the streets. Izzard refined his material -- which largely revolved around personal experiences, politics, and social issues -- over the next decade, and in the early '90s, he finally began earning some measure of recognition. His stand-up work brought him British Comedy Awards in 1993 and 1996. His most recent work included the unique television series "The Riches" where he was teamed up with another one of my favorites, Minnie Driver. The pair played a grifter couple that weasels its way into high society with their family by assuming the identity of a wealthy couple. The show was cancelled after two seasons, but don't let that stop you from picking it up on iTunes or Amazon. Please enjoy the video below. It is Eddie's commentary on Easter and Christmas.

A Film with a Pulse

I am not a big Clint Eastwood fan. In fact, most of his films over the past ten to fifteen years I have found to be quite average. When I saw the preview for Gran Torino it caught my eye. In what is his supposed last role, Eastwood shines in a disturbing, yet essential film.

Everyone has seen it. The lovely middle class neighborhood of the 50's with the neatly lined sidewalk, wide front porches and manicured lawn. Now, many of these neighborhoods have since crumbled into the scarred, gang-ridden part of middle-class America. The 1972 Ford Gran Torino muscle car that glistens in Walt Kowalski's Detroit driveway brings us all back to better days. When American automakers thrived, decency dictated behavior and hard work equaled the good life.

The film is called Gran Torino, and Clint Eastwood is a bad-ass old coot. With a stinging wit and a tongue that comes out swinging. "Grrr," he growls and spits his disapproval at the world. It's an idiosyncratic performance that might easily have descended into comedic caricature. But Clint somehow pulls it off with profound pathos and bravado.

At times Gran Torino is a Wild West throw-down, at other moments terrifyingly honest and ugly. Think Dirty Harry: Redemption. This film holds a mirror to the face of an American dream in decline. The gritty, understated truth and heartbreaking familiarity we see compose a reflection of ourselves. Its a fact that is hard to forget while it still haunts us. I highly recommend you take the time to see what this film has to say.

Shaving my legs, again.

Like many of my generation, I had been coerced just before Christmas into signing up for what I now describe as the godawful Facebook. This, as far as I could tell, was because people, if I can call them that, were competing with each other for Facebook popularity - those Friend counts need padding, and I just had to see what it was all about. It lasted a little over a month.

I once shaved my legs for two months in the summer of 1990 because I thought that my new muscle building and weight-lifting regimand demanded it. I walked around with clean-shaven, silky smooth legs for eight weeks. I looked awful. I equate my time on Facebook with shaving my legs: A weak and utterly stupid time in my life.

On Facebook, people from my past flooded back into the present. Friends (and I use that term loosely) I was happy to leave in the halcyon summers of youth had reappeared, now doing tedious jobs in insurance, fashion, entertainment, and financial services. Who the hell cares! It disrupted my personal narrative and thrusted me into some post-modern hell where the past, present and future had become interchangeable. I like the present, it is a good place to be.

I was in a sickened world where complete strangers could see who I associated with and friends told me what they were doing every ten minutes, without me ever asking, mind you. I saw people with over 500 friends. Like I said, sickening.

The notion that "the world is getting smaller"is usually seen as a good thing. I'm beginning to think it might become too small, and that we are losing an appropriate distance between each other. So die, Facebook, and take your ugly-ass sister MySpace with you.

Symbolical Visions

I first watched The Devil And Daniel Johnston on IFC late one night when I had to get up for work at 7:00 AM. I watched the documentary until 3:30 in the morning. It was one of the most memorable documentaries I have ever seen. Daniel Johnston is a singer/songwriter and artist and sometime filmmaker done made his name on the back of a series of self-produced, self-recorded, self-analyzing cassette tapes filled with beautiful, fragile, pop songs recorded on tape decks hung over chord organs in basements reeking of religious mania, loneliness and frustration.

He sings songs about King Kong and Casper The Friendly Ghost and of the unrequited love for an undertaker's wife (the near-mythic Laurie) informs his work to this very day. He sang in a high-pitched child-like voice wrapped round a series of gorgeous, disarmingly simple melodies, and dabbles in preoccupations like Satan, Christianity, lost love. Daniel is self-proclaimed very ill of the mind, living with his parents who care for him and make sure he stays on his medication and take him to the supermarket once a week, when he isn't off touring the art-galleries and music halls of the world. The documentary incorporates home movies, cassette tape recordings, animation, performance footage, fresh interview material and Johnston's own super-8 short films for to create a dazzling tapestry runs the very width and breadth of Daniel Johnston's life and work and illness.

Once you meet Daniel, you will never forget Daniel. I highly recommend letting him into your life.

"I'm her mom...no she is not!"

I was dared to do this.

In an amazing find about two months ago, I stumbled upon this 2008 YouTube video in which a six-year-old girl narrates a children's book titled Kittens. The video, "Kittens, inspired by kittens" shows a closeup of the book, and as the girl turns each page, she gives animated voice and personality to each of the kittens pictured. I had heard somewhere that the video received 750,000 hits in one afternoon on YouTube. I don't really know why I like this video so much, but I must admit that I have yet to watch it without laughing out loud. The girl is hysterical! I hope that I get to see her do stand-up one day. Hell, I would pay $50 bucks to see her read this book live on stage. I paid $30 to see Elmo sing about sharing, so "Kittens Live" would be a welcomed change. I don't know where kids come up with their ideas, but I believe that their innocence and lack of a hardened societal filter embedded in their brains is something that we all could learn from. So I present to you the purest form of comedy left on this earth: A little kid and a whole lot of kittens. Queen Bees Buzz...I am a man!

*Note: Check out her left arm at the beginning of the video. She is sporting a gigantic tattoo. She just went up three points on the cool-kid scale.

The Haunting of the Borley Rectory

When I was in sixth grade, I used to go to my elementary school library and listen to old records with ghost stories on them. I can distinctly remember that you had to ask the librarian to get the records out from behind the desk because they were deemed "inappropriate" just to be left out for any small soul to venture upon. I have since learned that material held secretively behind a desk or counter, even as an adult, is probably the best stuff to listen to or read. I never really remember being frightened by ghost stories, but I do remember the giant headphones and the scratchy record sometimes gave me the heebie-jeebies. Most of the stories were this-one-really-happened or based-on-a-true-story or believe-it-or-not, so I never really thought these things actually happened. Needless to say I still don't let my foot or arm hang outside of my covers or dangle from my bed, just in case, you know. However, I do remember that one of the stories in particular chilled my bones. The story was about these two English sailors who stumbled upon this vacant rectory in Essex, England one night in need of a place to stay. The place was rather dilapidated, so they went in, settled down in the large main foyer, and made a small fire to keep warm for the night. Shortly after midnight (of course) one of the sailors heard a screeching noise at the top of the large staircase in front of him. The sailor proceeded to climb the stairs in search of the noise. Once at the top, he saw, coming from one of the many rooms in the long, dark hallway, a mist which formed into the shape of a large, devil-like creature with broad shoulders, a hideous scowl on its face, coming towards him. He then described the most disturbing detail of this entity: It's arms were so long that its fingernails were actually dragging along the ground, making a hideous scratching sound as it approached him. He quickly turned to run, but the entity was soon upon him, pressing him backwards towards the ledge of a larger picture window that was adjacent to the staircase. The being forced him backwards and back against the window sill. The sailor leaned back and fell backward through the window and down to the ground a story below. His back was broken. The other sailor, hearing this awful commotion, looked to begin to ascend the staircase. Upon beginning to climb the stairs, he saw this enormous figure standing at the top of the stairs. It was pointing directly at him. He quickly ran from the building. Once outside, he heard the screaming from his friend and quickly went to his aid. They reported the story to the local authorities, to which they were told of many, many occurrences happening at this reported haunted house. That house was called the Borley Rectory.

The history of Borley Rectory begins with the building of a gothic Benedictine monastery in the 13th century. Legend has it that a monk and his lovely young love-interest, a nun from a nearby convent, were both done-in while trying to elope the establishment and start a new life together. They were captured and the monk was hung while his fiancé was walled up, alive in the cold walls of her convent. After its stint as a monastery, it was sold off as a residence and a rectory was soon added in 1862 by Rev. Henry Bull and his family. Reverend Bull had become pastor of Borley Church in 1862 and despite local warnings, built the rectory on a site believed by locals to be haunted. Over the years, Bull’s servants and his daughters were repeatedly unnerved by phantom rappings, unexplained footsteps and the appearance of ghosts. Reverend Bull seemed to find these happenings as wildly entertaining and he and his son, Harry, even constructed a summerhouse on the property where they could enjoy after-dinner cigars and pleasurably idle away the time waiting for an appearance of the phantom nun who roamed the property.
After Reverand Bull passed on in one of the more famous of the haunted rooms (the Blue Room), his son Harry inherited the establishment and position until he himself passed on in 1927. Following Harry’s footsteps was Rev. Guy Smith who was so unnerved by the spectral sights and sounds, that he left the rectory just one year after moving in. After Smith’s hasty departure, the house was then inhabited by Reverend Lionel Foyster and his wife, Marianne. The house only seemed to be getting warmed up as their experiences grew in intensity and frequency. Without any explanation, they found themselves locked out of rooms, windows would suddenly smash and personal items would vanish under their noses. Ịt wasn’t uncommon for them to hear unnerving noises from all over the house. As time went on, these mischievous antics turned aggressive and Marianne was actually accosted one evening. She was thrown off her bed in the middle of the night and even slapped by invisible hands of which she was helpless to do anything about! The final straw was when she was nearly made unconscious by a mattress that was held over her face. It was during a first investigation that actual handwriting on the wall started to appear, usually when Marianne was present. The writing’s ghostly owner seemed more sympathetic to Marianne compared to the other ghosts as some of the messages scrawled were, “Marianne, please help get” and “Marianne light mass prayers”. Price was more of a guest at the manor until the Foysters moved out in 1935 at which point he leased the house for a full year for deeper investigation. Now that Price had the house to himself for an extended period, he ran an ad for other paranormal investigators to help him monitor and document the ghostly activities. He had to weed through some not-so-savory types though, but he ended up working with 40 people to uncover some of the fascinating history of Borley Rectory. In 1937, a fire was started by the new owner, Captain WH Gregson, as he was unpacking library books when an oil lamp fell over and started a fire. The fire spread fast through the manor and the rectory was in shambles, later to be demolished in 1944. Since previously unattainable areas were now exposed, Price decided to excavate the cellar where he indeed found a few small bones, which seemed to be those of a young woman.

Please enjoy the short video clip below in regards to the rectory.

A Good Read

About six years ago I read a book and it was one of those that just stuck with me. I picked it up again this past weekend, thinking it may have lost some of its luster. It didn't. So I am here to recommend Dave Eggers book A HEARTBREAKING WORK OF A STAGGERING GENIUS to all hardcore readers. Dave Eggers was the a founder of Might magazine in San Francisco. After going defunct, Dave moved on to an editing job in New York with Esquire. In this novel, young Dave, the Tragic Guy (his description), records his journey from college student, son of parents who both succumb to cancer within a month of each other, to guardian by default of his 7-year-old brother, Toph. This is modern Peter Pan with an unresolved ending. Dave never wants to grow up, and he has all the hip reasons why he shouldn't have to. Dave is bitter, angry, scared. He likes that. He likes the attention. Maybe his raw existential howling is a tribute to all of the young stoic single parents who had a stiff upper lip before him. It really is a must read, especially for those under 30. All the media stuff, the friends in trouble stuff. For those of us older, wiser and just as tired as Dave, we will see our parent selves and perhaps recognize that doing the best you can is very often good enough. Enjoy.

"Soy un perdedor"

Listening to my iPod today a song came on that I hadn't heard in a long time. I remember the first time that I heard it. It was 1994, and my friend Doug and I were on our way back from one of our many trips to the Electronics Boutique store in the Pyramid mall in Ithaca, spending money that we didn't have on video games that we didn't need. This song came on the radio. It was unlike anything I had ever heard up to that point. The lyrics were completely odd with some Spanish sprinkled throughout just for good measure. After the song, the DJ announced the name BECK. I immediately went home and, nope, no Google, this is 1994, and wrote down the name on a pad of paper (trying to remember if we even had yellow Post-Its) so I would remember it when I went to the mall on our next trip. No downloads, no iTunes, no YouTube...Jesus, how did I survive back then? Anyway, weeks later I ended up picking up Beck's single, "Loser." I listened to it until it stopped working. I was searching for the video again and I found some interesting information about the song: ''Loser" was first released in March 1993 as a 12" vinyl single on Bong Load, with only 500 copies pressed. Beck felt that "Loser" was mediocre, and only agreed to its release at Rothrock's insistence. "It unexpectedly received radio airplay, starting in Los Angeles. The song then spread to Seattle.By the time stations in New York were requesting copies of "Loser", Bong Load had already run out. The lyrics are mesmerizing, the guitar is classic, and Beck raps like no other. All hell, enough rambling! Below are the lyrics and the video. Oh, one more thing, I'm a sucker for opening lines to songs. It sets the tone for whehter or not you make a connection to them. The opening lyrics to this song just may be my favorite of all time.

*interesting fact: The sample of "I'm a driver. I'm a winner. Things are gonna change soon, I can feel it." is from the film Kill the Moonlight. Beck is on the soundtrack, and the director Steve Hanft is an old friend of Beck's. He in turn directed the video for "Loser."

"Loser"
In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey
Butane in my veins and I’m out to cut the junkie
With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables
Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose
Kill the headlights and put it in neutral
Stock car flamin’ with a loser and the cruise control
Baby’s in reno with the vitamin d
Got a couple of couches, sleep on the love-seat
Someone came sayin’ I’m insane to complain
About a shotgun wedding and a stain on my shirt
Don’t believe everything that you breathe
You get a parking violation and a maggot on your sleeve
So shave your face with some mace in the dark
Savin’ all your food stamps and burnin’ down the trailer park

Yo. cut it.

Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?

(double barrel buckshot)
Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?

Forces of evil on a bozo nightmare
Ban all the music with a phony gas chamber
’cuz one’s got a weasel and the other’s got a flag
One’s on the pole, shove the other in a bag
With the rerun shows and the cocaine nose-job
The daytime crap of the folksinger slob
He hung himself with a guitar string
A slab of turkey-neck and it’s hangin’ from a pigeon wing
You can’t write if you can’t relate
Trade the cash for the beef for the body for the hate
And my time is a piece of wax fallin’ on a termite
who's chokin’ on the splinters

Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?
(get crazy with the cheese whiz)
Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?
(drive-by body-pierce)
(yo bring it on down)
Soooooyy....

?em llik uoy t'nod yhw os ,ybab resol a m'I rodedreP nu yos
[It's the Chorus backwards]

(I’m a driver, I’m a winner; things are gonna change I can feel it)

Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?
(I can’t believe you)
Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?
(Nlehh...)
Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?
(Sprechen Sie Deutsch hier, Baby!)
Soy un perdedor
I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?
(know what I’m sayin’? )

He was injured...injured bad!

In 1997, Trigon insurance put out a series of commercials featuring kids talking about a variety of "bad" situations that you can get yourself into, hence the need for insurance. These fantastic commercials received a Gold Award in the fourth annual National Health Information Awards. The award places the Trigon campaign among the nation's best in consumer health information programs and the winning spots were from a recent statewide Trigon brand awareness campaign developed with The Martin Agency who had these children speaking in their own words about health care and other topics. One of the spots received national attention on the "Tonight Show with Jay Leno." They are an absolute joy to watch, the first being my all time favorite. Enjoy.

"Chimps got your clubs!"

Growing up, there were basically three guarantees that were a staple to my childhood. One: If it was Sunday and it was half-way-decent outside, you could bet that from 8:30 am until about 5:30 pm I was going to be in that backseat of the family Chevy Blazer on my way to pick fossils in Cooperstown, feed ducks at Fourth Lake, or venturing to see the famous "Pig On The Rock" just outside of Speculator, NY. Two: June meant one thing and one thing only: The St. Mary's Festival. Living across the street from the church and the school gave me the cool-kid "leg-up" on the exact time of the amusement ride delivery (The Trebant, Paratrooper, or, God save me, BOTH!), the game booth set-up, and the beginning grind of that incessant electric generator that was set up on the front lawn of the school a mere 50 yards from my parents bedroom window (ask my dad to describe that one). Three: If there was a television on in our house, at some time during the day you could rest assure that The Little Rascals were being watched. For those of you under the age of forty, you may be asking yourself, "What is a Little Rascal?" For those of you over forty, you must be saying, "Oh, you mean Our Gang!" Well, for all of you, let us revisit those glorious days of old. According to Hal Roach, the creator of The Little Rascals or Our Gang, the idea came to him in 1921, when he was auditioning a child actress to appear in one of his films. After the girl and her mother left the office, Roach looked out of his window to a lumberyard across the street, where he saw a group of children having an argument. The children had all taken sticks from the lumberyard to play with, but the smallest kid had taken the biggest stick, and the others were trying to force him to give it to the biggest kid. After realizing that he had been watching the kids bicker for 15 minutes, Roach thought a short film series about kids just being themselves might be a success. Characters with such memorable names as Spanky, Alfalfa, Darla, Weezer, Butch, Froggy, Buckwheat, and Pete the Pooch frequented the LeVick household on a daily basis. The best aspect of The Little Rascals was that it was able to be enjoyed by the entire family. My sisters and I would watch Stymie cook a huge giant square cake and fill it with an assembly of prizes such as a hairbrush, a rubber hot water bottle and a shoe to be discovered when the cake was dramatically cut open. The sound of the cake bubbling over "wheeee-wheeee-wowwwww" as Stymie pushed it back into shape can still be heard in my nightmares. I could watch with my dad as a midget (oh, sorry, little-person) comes out of a garbage can filled with newspapers and promptly exclaims to a bumbling cop, "Hey there, flat-foot, call your shots!" I could even spend Sunday afternoons watching with my grandmother as the plaster of paris was added to all the orphan kids mush to create a half-moon like solid mass that was pulled from the bowl and gazed upon amazingly by one of the rascals. Ah yes! The Little Rascals had such a profound affect on me and my life that back in 1995 as I sat in my tiny apartment late one night, I almost fainted when QVC (Quality, Value, and Convenience, fo sho) showed a collection of 12 video tapes, each with four episodes of the Gang for an amazing, one-time, ez-payment plan included, of just $49. I just had to order it. I enjoyed them for several years, but after moving into my home almost ten years ago, the Rascals simply got lost in the shuffle. Just recently, as I was cleaning out the attic of my home, I found this amazing collection. I dusted them off, found my VCR (ancient piece of machinery that now is) and sat for a glorious seven hours in prankster bliss. I watched the gang building and then driving their firetruck down the steep hill, punching people with the automatic-punching-glove device attached to the truck. I was horrified by the fun-house monster (actually a mannequin from Laurel and Hardy's "Babes in Toyland") that comes out of the closet after Alfalfa opens the ill-fated door. I laughed out loud when Uncle George chased the crew through the house repeating, "Yum Yum, eat 'em up!" I now am soon to introduce these magnificent shorts to my four-year-old daughter. I know that with her unique sense of humor that she will receive as much enjoyment out of them as I did, and still do. I leave you with a short clip of Buckwheat and Porky dancing and singing in one of the many variety show theme-based episodes. And in the immortal words of one of the love-stricken rascals, "Learn that poem. Learn that poem. Learn it."

*Note: The monkey, the one who is sporting a smoking jacket and starts the record player in the video clip below, was the first monkey that began my obsession of one day owning one. I have yet to acquire the aforementioned primate, but I am damn young, and I have a GREAT tree in my backyard.

A Classic from The Little Rascals

Say hello to the Ryhmenosaurus and Hiphoppopotamus

I first met Bret and Jemaine over Christmas break of last year. Being a teacher allows ample time off around holidays to be with family, read books, and view movies and comedians. I inadvertently flipped on HBO at 10:00 PM one night and there they were. Now, I hadn't tested HBO since the cancellation of the greatest television show of all time, The Sopranos, and I truly di not expect that I would ever venture upon an HBO series again. I have heard my wife rave of Sex In The City and Big Love, but neither appealed to me in the least. In fact, I hate them both. So on that fateful night, I am introduced to, now world famous, New Zealander wanna-be folk rockstars. Since then, I have found out a little background on this amazing duo. They first met in Wellington as university students and felt that they'd like to learn how to play guitar. Initially they tried playing other peoples songs, but finding that was too hard decided to write their own. Their first major international success came at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival where they received rave reviews and built up a solid fan base. An initial BBC radio series in 2004 was followed by rising internet fame, which led to HBO picking them to up produce the self-titled sitcom. Along the way they've picked up a Grammy for Best Comedy Album, and have been nominated for an Emmy award. The second season has just concluded, and I am afraid, as I have heard rumors, it was their last. All in all, in might not be all that bad because BOTH the first and second season were nothing short of brilliant. The comedic timing of Brett and Jemaine, the mania of their manager Murray, and their one obsessive fan, Mel, all combine for some of the funniest comedic moments I have seen in many years. The show is simply brilliant. And I haven't even mentioned their songs, which are all original, but occasionally spoof artists such as David Bowie, the Pet Shop Boys, Radiohead, and even Gangsta Rap ("They call me Hiphoppopotamus...my lyrics are bottomless...") So if you have the time...no, make the time to see this series. It is available for download on iTunes or you can pick it up (season one at least) on Amazon for about $20 bucks.

"Inner City Pressure" - Brilliant Pet Shop Boys parody from FOTC


"West End Girls" - The original 1986 Pet Shop Boys video

What the hell am I doing?

Probably the most overused expression for any beginner blogger, but I will go with it. I believe that most people begin blogs for the world to see. I am simply looking for another place (or A place) to organize my interets and obsessions. I hope that anyone who reads this can find something that will enhance and/or improve your well being...that is if you were well before reading any of my words. So sit back, eat an apple, and enjoy my mania. Or not. Oh, the monkey above? Yeah, he is laughing at you.