Thursday, December 31, 2020

Midnight in Sydney--Happy New Year!

New Year's booty call?

Hike to the falls


 

It is the best night, the worst night, the last night, the first night of the New Year.

It's the dog's favorite dark.

For shortly past 11 tonight, we'll load the red sled with cheese and cold apple wine, a few brittle bits of white birch, tuck a harmonica in my parka and begin the short hike to the waterfall.

It is New Year's Eve again, that final, magic, white night of the year.

You come too. Light the lantern. 

Christmas is over. 

For some of us, Christmas has been over for a long time. It's too often guilt and greed and gluttony. Fat little families and the Yule drool of over-stuffed, bad-tempered consumer children. And in this Covid winter of masks and lonely, you might even miss that.

Tonight is another matter entirely.

New Year's Eve is a clean, cold, secular holiday which happily resists drunks and the animators of TV cartoon specials.

It's a fine time to dodge imitation icicle lights, car horns on Yonge St. or an afternoon snooze of imported football.

It isn't sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself, or a teary, beery pub-crawl where strangers once got sick on your shoes.

Put on your mittens. Follow me. Leave all that behind ... the yahoos, the yelling, this cursed and awful year.

Crossing the road on the high hill, the snow scrunches underfoot like cornstarch. Our breath floats away in icy fog, like 2020. Don't be sad. It's the way things ought to be.

The dog pads along in happy wonder, his paws placed carefully in our footprints.

We leave the road now, down the ravine with stars overhead and the gurgle of the half-frozen brook, in night cloaks of ice.

It's very quiet.

And cold.

And not lonely, but very alone.

We are alone in this world. We come that way. We go alone as well. New Year's Eve is a perfect time to rejoice in yourself, your own magical renewal in the baffling universe.

Catch a snowflake on your tongue.

Do you know the odds of eating that single crystal in all the world? The stars shine and we are here for--the 25th? 26th?---time at the frozen waterfall.

The dog picks snow clumps from his paws. I light the fire while you make a snow angel. And by flickering lantern light, the icy falls shimmer. High above, in the tops of trees, an animal cry floats by on the night wind. Wolf? Polar owl?

We sit on the buffalo sled robe, a sharp pang of cold apple wine in our throats, looking deep, deep into the fire.

Where are Doug Ford or Dr. Faucci tonight? Who cares?

We sit in this snowdrift like wolves, singing in our souls and baying at the sky. We will be in love, and out of love, and somewhere in between, suspended in the hypnotic hiss of fire.

Harmonica notes float away like snow swirls, rising in icy spirals upwards to the breeze.

The fire crackles, and from over the hill the ice-bound lake crackles back.

Snowdrifts shift ... the hiss ... a whisper ... a lover turning in bed ... the noise of rabbit whiskers when a nose crinkles ... snow crystals tumble into drifts ... drifts lift away as days ... fall  into one another ...  the years, the sifting, shifting snow.

Relish a crisp northern New Year's Eve in a Zen forest. Trees fall in silence because there's no human to hear them.

We're here! We see it!

You remember a half-forgotten song. The dog digs a hole, but not enough for a snow cave. The sharp apple wine cuts the throat like an icicle.

And sometime, between the lighting of the logs and the last embers, it is 2021. And it begins to snow.

Hey friend. I really like ya.

Thanks for being. Thanks.

The bottle is empty.

Our toes and noses threaten to disappear.

There is nothing left to connect us to 2020. Without a cheer or whimper, we put out the fire and let it slip away.

The waterfall rumbles, ice spiders weave invisible webs overhead and we walk, arm in arm, back to the road. The dog soils a snowdrift in celebration.

Hey, get on the sled!

With a push you are off, hurtling into downhill darkness. The dog disappears in chase.

The slide sound of sled falls away, far below me. The sky shines, alive with stars ... and four lines come again from the depths of memory...

The world stands out on either side

No wider than the heart is wide.

Above the earth is stretched the sky,

No higher than the heart is high.

Yes.

Happy New Year.

See ya...

 

--GrahamBezantphoto/1970s

 

Wednesday, December 30, 2020

Bubbles

 

Bubbles, my emotional support goldfish, is delighted at news Alaska Airlines is the first carrier to ban emotional support animals.

Bubbles has been terrified some family emergency might force us both on a plane.

He has recurring nightmares about coughs, Covid and the Boeing 737 Max. As do we all.

In a better, less locked-down world, I would seek psychological counseling for Bubbles and his night terrors.

But for the foreseeable future, I am my goldfish's emotional support animal. Banned. Locked down. Home free.

Thank you, Alaska Airlines.

Do you dance better than a robot?

 

The brilliant minds at Boston Dynamics offer this cruel reminder their robots will dance their clanky butts off New Year's Eve... while you're locked down, eating frozen grocery pizza.

Crime, hunger, plague and poverty? Go fish.

Our best and brightest teach robots to do the twist and mashed potato. A magical era to be sure.

"vaxxies"

"Vaxxies" are selfies, taken when you get a covid shot.
The word was first used in the New York Times, which should know better.
 
Coming soon: Fake "vaxxies" to show at airports and border crossings, "vaxxies" for virtue signaling on Instagram

Are you a social influencer?
Show you matter.
You jumped the line.
You were first on your block.
Document it.
Vaxxie. 
Now.
 
 

Tuesday, December 29, 2020


 

When it was hip to be square I was square

 

Hey Nissan!
Your ad campaign: "the Fam?"
You claim your cars are "great for the Fam?"
As in...
No can do, gotta spend today with the Fam.
I'm taking the Fam to the park.
How's the Fam?
 
Stop. Just stop.
 


 

To health and fun in 2021

 Especially ...

 LINK: John Mulaney 

https://twitter.com/nbcsnl/status/1322765818862645248?s=20

Monday, December 28, 2020

Covid cozy

 

Barb and Susan have been exchanging gag Christmas boxes for decades.

This year, Barb sent Susan a mechanical Santa Claus that shakes an annoying little bell. The bell has been replaced by a syringe. Santa now shakes a hypodermic needle.

Susan sent Barb what you see above: a hand-crocheted Corona Virus cell.

Great minds think alike.

Frozen

Early in Netflix's The Midnight Sky, there's a fleeting image of Gregory Peck in On the Beach, the 1959 movie that stunned audiences.

So somebody in this 2020 flick knows there is a great end-of-the-world movie ... and it's not this one.
 
Midnight Sky offers an already-dead world, a few cardboard characters on a spaceship, plus a touch of Sixth Sense. And Gravity.
 
Stanley Kramer's earlier flick, based on the Nevil Shute best-seller, follows flawed humans waiting out the radioactive clouds that will eventually reach Australia, humanity's last outpost.
 
You ached for them.
You shared their peril.
The closing 10 minutes of On the Beach sent stunned audiences into the streets.
 
Once again, Netflix has given film-makers millions to squander on sets and special effects.
 
Nothing in Midnight Sky has heart. The pace is glacial. It's boring.
 
To stick in an actual image as homage to On the Beach invites a comparison.
 
Loser.
 
On the Beach, 1959




 
 
 



 
 

 

Sunday, December 27, 2020

Nate Craig and Pepe Le Pew

Remember Pepe Le Pew?
Looney Tune's over-sexed cartoon skunk?
Aggressive lover of ze ladieees?
 
Pepe now has his own "Predator" page on Facebook. (This is not a joke).
 
This cartoon Casanova was an early PC cancellation. Apparently drooling males and unwanted hugs are not a thing anymore.
 
But there Pepe is, smack dab in the opening moments of Nate Craig's stand-up routine, the funniest thing I've seen in months.
 
Nate Craig is Bill Burr's favorite new comic.
You may recall the first time you saw John Mulaney. Craig's that good.
 
Check out Nate's hour at the link ....
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
=======
 

"Touching, is it not?"
 
"I am the locksmith of love, no?"
 
"Most men would be discouraged by now. Fortunately for her, I am not most men!"
 
"You are my peanut, I am your brittle."
 
"I am Pepe LePew, your lover."
 
 
 

 

Joyful Zoom Call

snowflakes

"Now they'll all want one." 

"If I tell people that I have cartoons in the New Yorker magazine . . . suddenly they start pouring me a glass of Bordeaux and they’re my best friend."

--Paul Karasik, New Yorker cartoonist
 

Saturday, December 26, 2020

TikTok must die

The Cat Wreath is now a Thing.
Damn you, TikTok.
 

 

WORD OF THE DAY: Spatchcock

 


Until two weeks ago, I'd never heard about The Christmas Pickle.

But a day ago, I get the above pic from a pal who claims she is "spatchcocking" a turkey for Christmas. It's her new favorite word.

WTF?

"Spatchcocking a bird is the process of removing the backbone and flattening it onto a baking tray (or butterflying it). It may seem a bit intimidating but it's really easy to do, saves a lot of cook time and helps everything cook evenly. With this method, you can cook a 10-12 lb turkey in about 70-90 minutes!"

Why is it called spatchcocking?

"The term “spatchcockis rumored to be a 17th century shorthand for “dispatching the cock”, meaning to open a chicken carcass in order to cook it. This technique involves splitting the chicken by removing the backbone so you can flatten it, resulting in crispier skin and even, quicker cooking."

Stand back, or I'll spatchcock you. 

Peter Pan revisited

Peter Pan, 1954-present 
 
Several e-mails about yesterday's blog link to the amazing digital version of Peter Pan up on YouTube.

"Peter Pan is a musical based on J. M. Barrie's 1904 play Peter Pan and his 1911 novelization of it, Peter and Wendy. The music is mostly by Moose Charlap, with additional music by Jule Styne, and most of the lyrics were written by Carolyn Leigh, with additional lyrics by Betty Comden and Adolph Green.

"The original 1954 Broadway production, starring Mary Martin as Peter and Cyril Ritchard as Captain Hook, earned Tony Awards for both stars. It was followed by NBC telecasts of it in 1955, 1956, and 1960 with the same stars, plus rebroadcasts of the 1960 telecast thru the 1980s.
The 1960 version was produced in NBC's then-new color studio in Brooklyn."
 
 
The original cast album on RCA Victor has sold tens of millions of copies. The VHS/Beta releases thru decades, then a generation of DVDs, allowed Mary Martin to live 30 years in Brazil, and Cyril Ritchard a very worry-free retirement.
 
A dozen editions of the telecast exist on amazon.com, from the earliest original kinescope--the 1955 black-and-white original many watched as kids--to remastered dvds of the 1960 color show, each slightly better technically then the offering before.
 
The version in the link is remarkable. This is a 60-year-old videotape: how can it look and sound this way?
Obviously, like many archival gems on YouTube, uploaded by somebody who worked somewhere who sometime had access to the original NBC archive.
 

If you read the YouTube comments, this is a much-loved artifact of many, many people's childhood.



 
 
 

 

Friday, December 25, 2020

Christmas in the hospital covid wing

 

-- Jae C. Hong/AP via Axios

Never grow up

  

"Some say as we grow up, we become different people at different ages... "

                       ============

In 1955, I was just a kid.

That year mom got me Tom Corbett Space Patrol pajamas.

But I still remember the night I first learned of Neverland.

That's the simplest explanation of why, all these years later, I still return there in the week between Christmas and New Years.

There is a link to go there just below, and if you choose not to, I understand. Only kids can get to Neverland. But if there is still a kid within you... or you know a kid ... or you remember the first sheepdog you ever saw was probably a human in a dog suit named Nana ...well, I'm just sayin'....

Merry Christmas.

LINK: Peter Pan 1960 telecast (Mary Martin Cyril Ritchard)


P.S. If you can see wires, I'm so sorry. You've grown up. 

Morning walk

--Mary Minor/KingstonSheepdogTrials/Facebook
 
"Sandra Massie taking sheep across the ice to Waupoos (Prince Edward County)"

 

The Christmas Gloves

 

The Christmas Gloves

The guy had to find his girlfriend a perfect Christmas gift.

They'd only dated a few months. He wanted romantic, but nothing cold, creepy or too personal.

He decides on a pair of gloves. Ladylike. Old-fashioned.

He enlists his girlfriend's younger sister to select them at Holt Renfrew. The sister is so delighted by the store, she buys a pair of lace panties for herself.

But the salesclerk mixes up the boxes. That's why the guy's girlfriend opens a box of panties on Christmas morning and reads the following hand-written note...

"I chose these because I notice you never wear any when we go out. If it had not been for your sister, I would have chosen longer ones with buttons. But she wears short ones that are easier to remove.

"These are a delicate shade, but the saleslady showed me a pair she'd been wearing for three weeks and they were barely soiled. I had her try yours on for me and she looked really smart.

"I wish I was there to help put them on you the first time, as no doubt other hands will come in contact with them before I see you again.

"When you take them off, remember to blow on them before putting them away. They will naturally be a little damp from wearing. Just think how many times I will kiss them during the coming year. Will you wear them for me New Years Eve?

"P.S... The saleslady says the latest style is to wear them folded down, with a little fur showing."

She ghosted him on Boxing Day.

 ======

Thanks Annie! 

Thursday, December 24, 2020

Still waiting for Trump pardons

 

The Joker 
 
Emperor Ming of Mongo
 
The Penguin, Riddler & Catwoman
 
Tony Soprano 
 
Lex Luthor

Wile E. Coyote
 


Are you ready?

Good morning Hee Haw....

It's Donkey Day across much of Europe.

This beloved holiday summons happy, smart or wise asses from everywhere to pose in nativity pageants.

By tradition, if you pass a stranger today, bray "Hee Haw" at him. He will "Hee Haw" back. Or throw a punch.


Don't be shy: try



Pickles go to church

On Christmas Eve, all the Christmas Pickles go to church. Then they run home to hide on the tree.
At dawn, they squirt their magic everywhere.

 

Fallen angel


 

Wednesday, December 23, 2020

Boo to blue pickles

Rare blue Christmas Pickle (cucumis santaclaurius).
The Rudolph of holiday pickles.
Probably poisonous.
Repels elves.

 

Burn the evidence

 

--Harry Bliss/NewYorker

The New Yorker's holiday cover captures 
this Covid Christmas and the bleak beginning to a new year. 
The jug of bleach and champagne glasses on the mantel is a nice touch.

Hold up

 
"Premier Ford sez don't you dare try this after Boxing Day."

 

Artful Dodger

 
Biden, Pence, Faucci get a shot, but Trump has no time to lead by example.
Can't piss off the MAGA anti-vaxers with a photo op. Plus, he has antibodies against illness and democracy.

 

"Don't worry honey, it's not going on the internet..."

From web genius zefrank1: 

Pets talk about Christmas....

Tuesday, December 22, 2020

Thanks of a grateful nation

 Eight cent electricity for 28 days!

But only after the holiday week, when the lights come down, the tree gets tossed and 24/7 streaming stops.


 

Good morning, Hooty!

Yes. I am addicted to YouTube's Owl Channel. Send help.

Two more days til Pickle posts stop

Christmas Pickle ready to jump somebody

 

CHRISTMAS SHOPPER: Barefoot shoes

No shirt, no shoes, no service?
To hell with that.
Got a mask-less scofflaw on your list?
Go barefoot. Everywhere. 

 

CHRISTMAS SHOPPER: Furby bong

 Kids will love this Furby Bong, 
the choice of any "pal" parent.


 

HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE

--Netflix
 
 Above, crazed dancers in Netflix's The Prom try to drown Andrew Rannells in a shopping mall fountain.
I kept my fingers crossed...
Jazz Hands kill. 

 

Monday, December 21, 2020

Sweet winter solstice

 

It's December 21.

And again comes that sweet sound that echoes thru endless Canadian winters. Hear it here...

LINK: The sweetest sound 



Oh Come All Ye Blobs

The Google Blobs 
 
 Google has uncorked its latest machine learning experiment, Blob Opera. Drag one of four Blobs up or down to control the pitch of their singing. When all four Blobs automatically harmonise, it's hard to create something that doesn't sound beautiful.
 
Create your own opera, or let The Blobs break out Santa hats and sing 12 Christmas tunes.
 
One user: "The Internet has reached its peak. We can all quit our jobs. No one will ever make anything more beautiful on the web."

Hint: find the "Christmas tree" symbol.
 

 

Naughty Christmas Pickle

Christmas Pickle that squirted once too often takes a Time Out.

 

CHRISTMAS SHOPPER: Stoner's bathroom kit

 

Got a stoner on your list?
Thousand-piece kit can make any 
bathroom look just like this.
 

Christmas Shopper: Hamster Shredder

 
Let Hammy shred his own bedding with this innovative Hamster Shredder.
Insert paper in top, rodent runs on his wheel and destroys your sensitive documents.
Two spare hamsters included.

 

Sunday, December 20, 2020

James Taylor – Show window has expired

Sorry, two-day show window has ended....

Back in 1970, when "Apple"was the Beatles' record label and not an iEverything megacorp, they signed this kid named James Taylor.

Remember the lime-green label?

The BBC had J.T. in with his guitar to record a studio concert. Fifty years ago, kids.

That concert--restored, clear as a bell and bittersweet--is running right now on YouTube.

But only for 48 hours--til mid-afternoon Tuesday. (3pmET)

Boomers, geezers and folk creakers will adore  this: the time machine they've been looking for. 

Such innocence. The audience smokes! Are there better times ahead? Then? Now?

Click above or ...


LINK: JAMES TAYLOR, BBC 1970 

 

00:00 With a Little Help From My Friends (Lennon/McCartney) 03:26 Fire and Rain 07:28 Rainy Day Man 10:26 Steamroller 14:52 Greensleeves (Traditional) 16:55 Highway Song 21:16 Tube Rose Snuff (Arthur Smith) 23:28 Carolina in My Mind 27:45 Long Ago and Far Away 30:45 Riding On a Railroad 33:30 You Can Close Your Eyes

 

Earlier today, Taylor--now 72--put up his  memories of this concert and those times.

LINK: JAMES TAYLOR ON 1970S  

"Long ago a young man sits, and plays his waiting game
But things are not the same it seems as in such tender dreams.
Slowly passing sailing ships and Sunday afternoon.
Like people on the moon I see are things not meant to be.
Where do those golden rainbows end? Why is this song so sad?"

The Trumps debut their new costumes as Bond villains.
 
Summer 2021: You Only Lie Once or Twice
Summer 2023: To Russia with Love 
Xmas 2024: Live and Let Die (TS Messy)
Xmas 2025: The Man with the Golden Toilet
Summer 2026: Dr. No
Summer 2027: On His Handler's Secret Service
Summer 2028: Thunderballs

 

High-powered microscope reveals Christmas Pickles spawning

 

CHRISTMAS SHOPPER: Toilet Mood Rings

Sit. Stand. Flush.
Keep tabs on your butt's mood with a
Toilet Mood Ring.
Color codes included.